Chapter 5 #4
"Purple-brown muddy but Daddy said it was beautiful anyway." The adult thoughts were getting quieter, sinking back down where they belonged. "Made handprints."
"I hung them up to dry. They're on the wall by the window so they catch morning sun."
We kept talking—simple questions, simple answers. What I had for lunch. Which puzzle pieces were hardest to find. How clouds tasted according to Daddy's silly stories. Bit by bit, Big Me went back to sleep, taking all her complicated wants and fears with her.
"Better?" Daddy asked after the hourglass had run through twice.
I nodded, rubbing my eyes with my fists. "Sleepy."
"Then let's get you back to bed." He picked me up, and this time I just cuddled against his shoulder, no confusing wants, just Little Me being carried by Daddy who kept me safe.
He tucked me back in bed, reuniting me with Stormy who'd been waiting patiently on the floor. The dragon went straight under my chin where he belonged, keeping guard against more bad dreams.
"Daddy?" I said as he pulled up my blankets.
"Yes, little one?"
"The scary thing tried to make me Big."
"I know." His hand smoothed my hair back from my forehead. "But you're safe now. Little and safe and mine to protect."
"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.
Day seven started wrong, 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 up and 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?
"We need to check something," he said, standing and picking me up in one smooth motion. "Remember the mark? The cold thing that's been making trouble?"
I nodded, though the mark felt far away and unimportant compared to blocks and stories and Stormy.
He carried me to the mirror—the tall one by the wardrobe—and set me down facing away from it. "I need to look at your back, okay? Just for a moment."
"Okay," I agreed, because Daddy could look at whatever he wanted. That was part of the rules—Daddy takes care of me, makes sure I'm healthy and safe.
He lifted the back of my dress carefully, and through the feelings-connection, I felt his shock like sunshine breaking through clouds. Not bad shock—good shock, the kind that comes with presents you didn't expect.
"Wren, look," he said, turning me so I could see the mirror, still holding my dress up.
I tried to understand what I was seeing.
My back looked like my back, except there was a black thing between my shoulders that I remembered being bigger.
Now it was small, like someone had shrunk it.
The scary tendrils that had been reaching everywhere were pulling back, curling in on themselves like dying plants.
"Is that good?" I asked, not really understanding but picking up on Daddy's relief.
"That's very good." He let my dress fall, then picked me up again, spinning me in a circle that made me giggle. "That's very, very good."
"Did I do something right?"
"You did everything right." He pressed his forehead to mine, and we just breathed together for a moment. "You've been so brave, little one. So perfect. The mark is starving because you're too pure for it to feed on."
I didn't understand about marks eating or being pure, but Daddy was smiling now—really smiling, not the careful one he'd been wearing all morning—and that was what mattered.
"How many more days?" I asked, because even Little Me had absorbed that we were counting days for something important.
"Maybe two or three more. Just to be safe. To make sure it's weak enough that it can't hurt you anymore."
"Then what?"
His hand stroked my hair, and this time it didn't shake.
"Then you come back to being Big for a little while.
We do some important grown-up things. And then .
. ." He paused, and through the connection I felt anticipation and nervousness and want all tangled together.
"Then Daddy gets to show you how much he loves his little one. "
I didn't understand the weight in those words, the promise, the hunger barely held in check. But I understood that Daddy loved me, and that was everything.
"Love Daddy too," I said, hugging him tight with Stormy squished between us. "Even when he's sad at windows."
He laughed, real and bright. "Especially then?"
"Especially then," I agreed, though I wasn't sure what especially meant. It sounded right, though. Important and true, like a promise I'd keep even when I was Big again.
He carried me back to my blocks, setting me down gentle as always. But this time when he sat beside me to help build, the desperate tension was gone. Still there, lurking at the edges, but contained now. Manageable, because we could see the end coming.
"Three more blocks and it'll be taller than me!" I announced, carefully balancing a blue rectangle on top.
"Taller than Little You," he corrected with a smile. "Big You would need a lot more blocks."
I considered this seriously. "Big Me sounds very tall."
"Perfect height," he said, and something in his voice made the squirmy feelings return for a moment before settling. "Absolutely perfect."
We built the tower together, Daddy and me and Stormy supervising, and even though the mark pulsed cold sometimes, trying to make things scary, it felt smaller each time. Like an echo getting quieter, a shadow getting paler, a monster learning it had already lost.
I was winning just by being Little. Just by trusting Daddy. Just by letting myself be small and safe and his.
Sometimes the best way to fight was not to fight at all.