When my five-year-old daughter, Lily, refused to cut her hair, I assumed it was just a phase. But one night, after she fell asleep with gum in her mouth, it got tangled badly in her hair. As my wife Sara gently reached for scissors, Lily panicked.

“No! I want my real daddy to recognize me when he comes back!” she cried. Her words hit me like a punch to the chest. I’m her father. Who was she talking about? Through tears, Lily revealed her grandmother—Sara’s mother—told her to keep her hair long so her “real dad” would recognize her. We were stunned. Sara confronted her mother the next day.

Carol brushed it off as a harmless story to keep Lily’s hair long, but when she implied I might not be Lily’s real father because of Sara’s “wild past,” we knew she’d crossed a line. We cut contact immediately.

We sat Lily down and reassured her: “I am your real daddy, and I always will be.” Slowly, she started to believe it—and even smiled when we trimmed the gum from her hair.

Lily’s trust is what matters most. And being her father—no matter what anyone says—is the greatest honor of my life.