Something thumps wildly in my chest when I hear they don’t want me to change.
Maybe she won’t need me to change either…at least, that’s what I’m desperately hoping.
I don’t know if this will work. I don’t know if I can give her everything she deserves.
But God do I want to try.
And that, for me, is enough to risk this all. To risk falling flat on my face, to be mocked again.To risk it all for her.
Sofia stands in front of me the following morning, clutching a fistful of neon-pink hair bands and sparkly unicorn clips like they’re priceless treasures.
She tilts her head back, her little face shining with hope. “Mama’s sick,” she whispers in a solemn voice like she’s sharing a state secret. “You have to do my hair today.”
My throat goes dry.Me?
I glance toward the den where Avelina is curled up on the couch, pale and wrapped in a blanket. She gives me a weak smile, clearly too exhausted to intervene. She’s probably got the same twenty-four hour bug that Leon just had.
I look back at Sofia. She’s practically vibrating with excitement as she bounces on her tiny toes. “Pigtails,” she declares, holding up the glittering pile of accessories. “Two. With these clips. Please.”
And the word ‘please’wrecks me.
My neurodivergence and autism mean I don’t do touch well. And bright colors like these send my stress levels spiraling. And now I’m supposed to style her hair with those pink monstrosities called hairbands and hair clips? That thought alone makes my skin crawl and has my pulse rate spiking like an out-of-control roller-coaster.For God’s sake, why can’t this cute little girl just wear all black?
But I suppress my huge huff of frustration. Because she’s looking at me like I’m a superhero about to swoop in. And I can’t—I won’t—let her down.
“Okay,” I say gruffly, my voice rough. “Let’s…do this.”
Sofia beams and hops onto the chair, handing me a brush that looks like a medieval torture device. I take a steadying breath and focus on what Icancontrol. One step at a time. Brush. Separate. Gather. Tie.
I wince as I work. Because the bright pink bands are blinding, like tiny suns burning holes in my vision. But I grit my teeth and push through. My hands shake, but slowly—painfully slowly—two lopsided pigtails take shape.
Finally, I clip in the sparkly unicorn clips, flinching at their neon glare, my fingers fumbling with the tiny accessories.
“I need more clips,” she announces as she rummages in her pockets and finds more of them, this time in the shape of tiny rainbows. Rainbows made out ofseven bright colors. Why the heck does anyone need freaking rainbows in their hair? And what’s wrong with black rainbows? I growl under my breath but do as requested.
“All done,” I mutter finally, stepping back like I’ve defused a bomb.
Sofia hops down and runs to the mirror. Her gasp is pure delight. “Iloveit!” She spins, her pigtails bouncing wildly. Then she throws her arms around me without warning.
“Thank you, Viktor,” she whispers against my chest.
I freeze, then awkwardly pat her back.
And something warm uncoils in my chest.
My eyes still ache, my hands still tremble…
But when she looks at me like that? Like I’m her hero?
Yeah.It feels totally worth it.
A few days later, just after dinner, I want to ask Avelina to go out for a drink with me. I rub the back of my neck and pace the length of the hallway outside the office. There’s a pit in my stomach like I’m about to jump out of a plane without a fucking parachute.
I’ve been in gunfights and military ops more relaxed than this. The idea of asking her out on a real date is unsettling to say the least. The kind of unsettling that makes my throat scratchy and dry and my brain race ahead to every possible thing I could screw up.
She could say no.
Or I could mess it up.
