When I met my now-wife, I knew she came with a package: her 5-year-old son. At first, I was nervous.

Would he like me? Could I ever truly be a father figure to him? But from the moment we met, he clung to me like we had known each other forever.

For the first few months, he called me by my first name. Then, one day, out of nowhere, he slipped and called me “Dad.”

He quickly corrected himself, embarrassed, but I just smiled and said, “You can call me whatever feels right.” From then on, I was Dad.

Now he’s 15. His biological father hasn’t been in the picture much, but I’ve always made sure he knows he’s loved.

Last week, we were sitting in the car after I picked him up from basketball practice.

Out of nowhere, he turned to me and said, “You know, anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad. You’re my dad.”

I didn’t say much—just squeezed his shoulder and nodded because I knew if I spoke, I might tear up.

But in that moment, I realized that love isn’t about DNA; it’s about showing up, every single day, and being the person someone can count on.