I considered. My tummy was making small noises. "Maybe a little."
From somewhere—a bag I hadn't noticed him bring—Daddy pulled out snacks. Juice boxes with bendy straws. Goldfish crackers in the rainbow kind. Apple slices cut into stars, just like he did at home.
He opened the juice box for me because the straws were tricky, then held the box while I drank. The juice was cold and sweet and exactly what I needed. Then he fed me crackers one at a time, letting me munch while I stayed curled in his lap.
"Careful, don't choke," he said gently when I tried to take too many at once. "Small bites."
The apple slices were crispy and tasted like happiness. I ate them slowly, savoring each star-shaped piece. Daddy wiped my mouth with a napkin when juice dribbled down my chin, so gentle I barely felt it.
"Thank you for taking care of me," I said, the words muffled around a goldfish.
"Always, baby girl." He kissed the top of my head. "That's what Daddies do."
I looked up at him—at his kind gray eyes and the paint still smudged on his cheek that I'd put there. At the man who'd brought me to this safe place and watched over me while I played and never once made me feel silly or wrong or too much.
"I love you, Daddy," I said, and meant it with my whole heart.
His eyes went shiny again, the way they had when I first called him Daddy today. "I love you too, sweetheart. So, so much."
Timedidsomethingweirdin the Garden Room—stretched and compressed simultaneously until I couldn't tell if we'd been there three hours or three minutes. But my body knew. The kind of bone-deep tired that came from emotional catharsis combined with actual playing made my eyelids heavy, and I found myself drifting in Nikolai's lap, caught between little and big.
The transition back was gentler than I expected. Not a sharp snap into adult consciousness, but a gradual surfacing. Like swimming up from deep water toward light, my thoughts becoming more complex with each metaphorical stroke upward.
"How do you feel?" Nikolai asked, his voice still soft but with an edge of concern. Not Daddy voice exactly, but not quite just Nikolai either. Something in between.
"Amazing." The word came out with more adult inflection than Little Sophie would have used. I was coming back up. "Tired. But good tired. The kind where your body's been somewhere important."
His hand stroked my hair in that familiar four-count rhythm. "You did so well, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."
I shifted in his lap, becoming more aware of my body as mine instead of something small and simple. My knee was starting to ache from being curled up so long. My fingers were still faintly stained with paint. And my heart felt simultaneously full and fragile—like I'd accessed something precious that could still be taken away.
"I didn't think I could do that again," I said quietly, fully big now but with the emotional vulnerability of little still clingingto me. "Be that small. That free. Without something terrible happening."
"But you did." He cupped my face gently, making me look at him. "And nothing terrible happened. You were Little, and you were safe, and the world didn't end."
The observation settled in my chest like proof. Evidence against the trauma narrative that said being vulnerable meant being destroyed. I'd been completely regressed—younger than I'd been in years, maybe younger than I'd ever been with Sergei—and I'd survived it. More than survived. I'd thrived.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For bringing me here. For knowing I needed this."
"Always."
We sat there for a few more minutes, me getting steadier in my big headspace, him just holding me while I completed the transition. Eventually, though, the real world started pressing in. We couldn't stay in the Garden Room forever, no matter how much I wanted to.
"We should probably go," I said reluctantly.
Nikolai nodded but made no move to rush me. "Whenever you're ready."
Ready felt like a relative term when leaving meant giving up this sanctuary, but I made myself stand on legs that remembered how to be adult-sized. Mr. Hoppy and Rosie were still on the beanbag where I'd left them. I picked them up, holding them close.
"Can I keep them?" I asked, then felt silly for asking. Jessica had said the stuffed animals were mine to keep if I bonded with them.
"Of course," Nikolai said. "They're family now."
Family. The word made my throat tight in the best way.
We walked back through the hallway of themed rooms, past the princess room and the nursery and the art studio. Eachdoor we passed felt like leaving behind a possibility, a different version of little I could have explored. But I had the Garden Room. I had Mr. Hoppy and Rosie. I had proof that I could be Little and safe simultaneously.
Jessica was at the main desk when we emerged, her smile knowing and kind. "How was your visit?"
