"Will it try again?"
"Maybe." He never lied to me, even when the truth wasn't nice. "But Daddy will always bring you back. That's my job."
I thought about that, about Daddy having jobs like keeping me Little and safe. It made sense in the simple way things did when I wasn't trying to think Big Thoughts.
"Okay," I said, already drifting back toward sleep. "Daddy's good at his job."
Through the feelings-connection, I felt something warm and fierce, like he was wrapping himself around me even from across the room. Standing guard. Keeping watch. Making sure the mark couldn't drag me back to the scary place where I was stuck between.
"Sleep, little one," he said softly. "Daddy's here."
And that was enough. Even with the mark cold between my shoulders, even with bad dreams waiting at the edges, Daddy was here.
That was enough.
Daysevenstartedwrong,though I couldn't say why exactly—just that Daddy's hands shook when he helped me with my morning dress and he kept looking at me like I might disappear. He tried to braid my hair three times before giving upand letting it stay loose, which never happened because Daddy always said loose hair got tangled during playing.
"Daddy okay?" I asked while eating my porridge, but he just nodded and went to stand by the window even though he usually sat with me during breakfast.
The wrong feeling got bigger as morning went on. Every time Daddy got close—to help me with a puzzle piece, to read a book, to fix where my dress had gotten twisted—he'd freeze up and sometimes make a sound like something hurt. Then he'd back away, sometimes even leave the room completely, and I could hear him in the bathroom running water or in the hallway taking big breaths like after running.
I didn't understand. Was I being bad? But I was following all the rules. Sitting crisscross-applesauce for puzzles. Using my inside voice. Not arguing about anything, not even when he said it was snack time but I wasn't hungry yet.
The feelings-connection between us felt like a storm was happening inside it. Big waves of wanting crashed from his side to mine and back again, making my tummy feel squirmy like during the bad bath time, but worse. So much worse. Like my whole body was squirmy and tingly and too warm even though the room wasn't hot.
I tried to focus on my blocks, building a tower as tall as me—well, tall as Little Me when sitting—but my hands weren't working right. Too shaky. Too aware of how the smooth wood felt against my palms. Everything felt like more today. The soft carpet under my legs. The way my dress moved when I breathed. The air itself, touching my skin like invisible fingers.
Daddy stood at the window with his back to me, hands gripping the sill so hard I could see his knuckles had gone white-white. His shoulders were rigid like when he was being very careful about something dangerous.
"Twenty more minutes," he was saying to himself, quiet but I could still hear. "Just twenty more minutes and then check. You can do twenty minutes."
But he sounded like twenty minutes was forever, like each second hurt, and I didn't understand why time was being mean to Daddy.
I looked at Stormy, who was supervising my block tower from his place of honor on the cushion beside me. Stormy always made me feel better when things were scary or confusing. Maybe he could help Daddy too?
I picked up my dragon, hugging him tight first for courage, then toddled over to where Daddy stood fighting his invisible battle with time. The squirmy feelings got stronger the closer I got to him, making me want things I didn't have words for, but I pushed through because Daddy needed help.
"Daddy?" I tugged on his sleeve with one hand, Stormy clutched in the other. "Is Daddy sad?"
He looked down at me, and his eyes were that dark storm color that meant Big Feelings were happening. Through the connection, I felt him trying so hard not to pick me up, not to hold me close, not to do things that Big Me would understand but Little Me just knew would feel really really good.
"I want to make Daddy happy," I said, holding up Stormy like an offering. "Stormy makes me happy. Maybe Stormy could make you happy too? He's very good at his job."
Something in Daddy's face changed—broke apart and came back together different. He made a sound that was almost crying but not quite, then dropped to his knees and pulled me against him, careful but desperate, like I was water and he'd been thirsty forever.
"Thank you, little one," he said into my hair, his voice all broken and soft. "Thank you."
I didn't understand what I'd done that was so special—just shared Stormy, which was what you did when someone was sad—but Daddy was holding me like I'd given him something precious. His arms were warm and safe around me, and even though the squirmy feelings were really strong now, making me want to wiggle and press closer, I stayed still because Daddy needed this hug.
"Stormy says you're doing good," I told him, making my dragon pat his shoulder with one soft wing. "Even when things are hard, Daddy's doing good."
He laughed, but it was watery. "Stormy's very wise."
"The wisest," I agreed solemnly.
He pulled back enough to look at my face, and his hand came up to cup my cheek, gentle-gentle like I might break. "You're so good," he said, wonder in his voice. "Fighting something terrifying and you don't even know it, but you still try to take care of everyone else. Even me."
I didn't understand about fighting—I was just being Little, following rules and playing with blocks—but Daddy looked less scared now, so maybe I was doing it right?
