My husband refused to walk my 17-year-old daughter, his stepdaughter for nine years, at her high school senior night. “That’s something a real father should do,” he told her. But when her name was announced Thursday evening, her 79-year-old grandfather appeared with his walking cane and proudly accompanied her onto the court.

I knew exactly what I could say. And I knew that if I said it hard enough, Travis would walk her out.

He’s a man who does what he’s asked.

If I’d looked at him across that table and said, “You’re walking her out, and that’s the end of it,”

he’d have nodded. And he’d have done it.

And then my daughter would have walked onto that gym floor on the arm of a man who was only there because his wife made him.

She’d have known it.

Every picture on the refrigerator would have known it.

I didn’t want that for her.

I wanted him to choose her.

Nine years in, I wanted just one time where nobody had to ask him. Where he just stood up and took the spot. Because it was his.