The espresso machine won’t stop leaking. A vendor messed up a bulk order of books and now I have a shelf full of the wrong titles and no way to replace them before next week’s event.
It’s one of those days where everything feels… heavy.
And I can feel myself slipping.
That voice in my head, my mother’s voice, really, starts whispering cruel things.
You’re not cut out for this.
This isn’t a real business.
You’re playing house with a hobby and pretending it matters.
I drop a ceramic mug while cleaning up behind the counter. It shatters on the tile.
That’s when it hits me in the chest. The sting of failure. The heat of shame.
I brace my hands on the counter and close my eyes. Then I feel it.
The bracelet. Cool leather against my skin. The charm brushing my wrist. My collar. My breath stutters, but this time it doesn’t spiral. Instead, I do something I’ve never done before. I take a breath. And I text him.
Me: Can you come?
Me:I’m not okay. I need… you. Please, Daddy.
The reply is instant.
Daddy:I’m on my way, Baby Girl. Don’t move.
Five minutes later, he walks in, damp from the rain, eyes scanning the room like he’s ready to take it apart for me.He says nothing at first. Just comes behind the counter and pulls me into his arms like I’m fragile but worth saving. I melt.
He holds me until the ache in my chest loosens, until I breathe easier, until I remember how to be here.
“Bracelet still on?” he murmurs near my ear.
I nod into his chest. “Yeah.”
“You remembered?”
“I tried. At first I didn’t. But then I felt it. And it was like… like you were reminding me, even when you weren’t here.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. “That’s what it’s for, Ava. It’s an anchor. When the world tries to shake you loose, it’s your reminder that you’re not alone.”
My throat tightens. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Baby Girl. Asking for help is not bothering me. It’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face in his chest again.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
His hand strokes my hair, and I feel him kiss the top of my head.
“You did good. I’m proud of you. Now let's get you home.”
***
We’re curled up on the couch at home. I’m wearing one of his hoodies, the sleeves too long. He’s got his hand wrapped gently around my ankle, grounding me, and the bracelet still catches the light when I move.
