At the altar, my six-year-old daughter begged me, “Don’t leave me with the new mom…”

“Lily,” I said softly, trying to keep my nerves steady, “what is it, sweetheart? You can always tell me anything.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the distant organ music and the rustling of guests preparing to witness what was supposed to be a joyous occasion. I could feel the congregation’s eyes on us, but I focused solely on Lily. I needed to know what was troubling her.“Daddy,” she started, her voice so faint I had to lean in closer to hear her, “Claire said… she said I’m not her real daughter. And that… that she doesn’t have to be nice to me.”