DaythreestartedwithDaddy's hand gentle on my shoulder and his voice saying "Time to wake up, little one," which was my favorite way to stop sleeping. Better than the loud bells from the bad place, better than being hungry-awake or scared-awake. Just Daddy's voice and knowing today would be soft like yesterday and the day before that.
"Morning, Stormy," I told my dragon, who'd stayed tucked under my arm all night keeping away the scary dreams. Stormy was very good at that job.
Daddy helped me pick a dress—yellow today with little white flowers on it—and I lifted my arms so he could help me even though Big Me probably could dress herself. But Big Me was sleeping way down deep where all the scared thoughts lived, and Little Me liked when Daddy helped.
Breakfast happened at my special table that Daddy made from cloud-stuff. It was just my size, and my feet could touch the ground which made me feel more real somehow. He gave me porridge with honey swirls that I tried to follow with my spoon, making patterns before eating them.
"Slow bites," Daddy reminded when I got too excited about the berries he'd hidden in the middle like treasure. "Your tummy is still waking up too."
Everything had patterns now. Wake up, get dressed, breakfast, play with puzzles, story time in the rocking chair, lunch, nap even though I said I wasn't tired but then always was, more playing, dinner, bath, bed. The patterns made a safe fence around my world. Inside the fence, nothing bad could happen because Daddy had all the rules that kept the scary things out.
Today's puzzle had a hundred pieces and showed dragons flying through rainbow clouds. Daddy sat on the floor with me, helping find edge pieces but letting me figure out where they went. When I got frustrated because sky pieces all looked the same, he showed me how to look for tiny differences in the blue.
"See? This one has a whisper of purple. Like when evening starts thinking about showing up."
I studied the piece hard, and yes, there was purple hiding in the blue, shy but there. Finding it felt like winning something important.
The mark was still there—I could feel it sometimes like cold fingers between my shoulders—but it was confused now. Like it was hungry but couldn't remember what food looked like. Sometimes it pushed at me, trying to make me think about Big Things, but the thoughts just slipped away like soap bubbles. Too slippery for me or it to catch.
"Story time," Daddy said after lunch, and I climbed into his lap in the rocking chair, Stormy clutched tight. Today's book had pictures of a little dragon learning to fly, and Daddy did all the voices different—squeaky for the baby dragon, rumbly for the mountain, whooshy for the wind.
Nap happened even though I wiggled a lot and said I was very awake actually. But Daddy rubbed my back in circles and hummed something that didn't have words, just safe sounds, and then suddenly I was waking up and afternoon light was all golden through the windows.
"Someone was tired," Daddy said, and I hid my face in Stormy because being wrong about being tired was embarrassing.
We painted in the afternoon. I made lots of colors mix together until they turned into muddy purple-brown, but Daddy said it was beautiful anyway and helped me put handprints on paper that he hung on the wall to dry. My hands looked so small outlined in paint.
Dinner was soft things—mashed vegetables that were orange and sweet, tiny pieces of bread for dipping, water in a special cup with handles just for me. I tried to share with Stormy but Daddy explained Stormy ate invisible food which was why we never saw him do it.
Then came bath time, and everything went sideways wrong.
The water was perfect-warm and smelled like the same sleepy flowers as always. Daddy washed my hair with the careful fingers that knew exactly how to make the tight places in my head go loose. I was humming the song about the flying dragon,making bubble mountains with my hands, everything soft and good and right.
Then the mark pulsed.
Not cold this time—hot. Tingly. Making my tummy feel strange and squirmy in a way I didn't have words for. All of me felt too warm suddenly, like summer had shown up inside my skin without asking first.
"Daddy?" My voice came out funny, smaller than usual.
"What is it, little one?" His hands kept washing my hair, steady and safe.
But they felt different now. Better. Too better. Like every time his fingers touched my head, sparkles happened in my tummy and lower, in places I didn't usually think about when I was Little. I made a sound that wasn't words, just confused wanting.
"Why do I feel funny?" I turned in the tub to look at him, water sloshing. "Daddy's hands feel really nice and my tummy is doing something and I don't understand."
Through the feelings-connection that tied us together, something big crashed into me—Daddy's wanting, bigger than mine, held back by walls he'd built out of will. He wanted things I didn't have words for, wanted to do things that Big Me would understand but Little Me could only feel the edges of.
"Daddy, why are you far away?" I reached for him with wet hands, confused why he was all the way over there when I wanted him close-close-close. "Want you closer. Want—" I didn't know what I wanted, just that the squirmy feeling would be better if Daddy would hold me. "Please?"
His hands caught my wrists gentle but firm, keeping me from climbing out of the tub toward him. His breathing had gone funny, too fast and shaky.
"Not right now, little one," he said, and his voice sounded broken at the edges. He put Stormy in the water with me, the dragon immediately getting soggy but still smiling with hisbutton eyes. "Play with your dragon while Daddy finishes your bath."
"But—"
"Play with Stormy." This time it wasn't a suggestion, and even though Little Me didn't understand why, I knew Daddy's serious voice meant listen.
I picked up Stormy, made him swim through the bubbles, but the squirmy feeling kept happening. Every time Daddy's hands touched me to rinse my hair, to wash my arms, sparks happened under my skin. I wanted to climb into his lap. Wanted to press close until the squirmy feeling found what it was looking for. Wanted wanted wanted in a way that made me feel too big for my skin.
