Chapter Seven: The Daddy Talks
853 Words
The next morning was overcast, and Ari was glad for it.
It felt easier to breathe when the sun wasn’t trying so hard to cheer her up.
She skipped breakfast.
Not on purpose—she’d just lost track of time staring at the fox drawing on her wall, tracing the glittery lines with her thumb like they meant something. Maybe they did.
Halfway through her second cup of tea in the quiet lounge, she got the note.
Session today, 10 AM. Jasper. Studio 2. No pressure. Come as you are.
No pressure, huh?
Ari crumpled the paper halfway, un-crumpled it, then sighed and shoved it in her pocket.
Come as you are, she repeated in her head. That wasn’t something people usually wanted from her.
But she went.
Studio 2 wasn’t a therapy office. It was more like a den—low couch, warm lights, bookshelves. No desk. No clipboard. Just Jasper, sitting with a mug of coffee and no shoes on.
He smiled when she entered. “Hi, Ari.”
“Hi,” she said, then added, “This place looks like a Pinterest board threw up on it.”
Jasper chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She sat stiffly at the edge of the couch. “So what is this? A ‘talk about my feelings’ trap?”
“Not unless you want it to be.” He set his mug down. “I wanted to check in after yesterday. See how you’re doing.”
She looked at the floor. “Embarrassed. Tired. Kind of... raw.”
“All normal,” Jasper said. “That’s what happens when you touch the parts of yourself you’ve been avoiding.”
Ari’s voice was quiet. “I didn’t think coloring would break me.”
“It didn’t break you,” he said gently. “It opened you.”
She hated how much that made sense.
They sat in silence for a while. Then Jasper asked, “Do you know what a caregiver’s job really is?”
“Besides diapers and naptimes?” she said with a smirk.
He grinned. “Besides that.”
She shrugged.
“It’s to see you,” he said. “To notice the parts you’ve hidden, the needs you buried, and meet them without judgment. Littles aren't just playing house. They're creating safety where there never was any. Some people call us Daddies or Mummies, but what matters isn’t the title. It’s the care.”
Ari frowned. “But why ‘Daddy’? That word… feels wrong. For me.”
“That’s okay,” Jasper said immediately. “You never have to use a title that doesn’t feel safe. You can call your caregiver by any name that feels right—or no name at all.”
She nodded, slowly.
But the question lingered in her mind like an itch.
Why did that word feel so... complicated?
She had never had a father. Not really. Just a parade of foster dads, social workers, counselors who were there, then gone, then replaced. Authority figures who made promises. And broke them.
So why did a small, buried part of her ache at the sound of Daddy when Jasper said it to others?
Why did it feel like a name she’d been too scared to want?
“I don’t trust people,” she said, suddenly. “Not really.”
Jasper didn’t react. “You’ve had to be your own protector.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And now I’m supposed to... give someone else that power? Let them feed me applesauce and call me pet names? That’s insane.”
“It’s not about giving away your power,” Jasper said. “It’s about letting someone hold it with you.”
She was quiet.
“Let me ask you something,” he said. “If someone handed you a tiny version of yourself—a real child, five or six years old, hurting, scared—what would you do?”
Ari’s throat tightened.
“I’d hold her,” she said. “Tell her it’s not her fault. Keep her safe.”
Jasper nodded. “That’s what a caregiver does. We become the arms that child never had.”
Ari blinked back tears.
She hated how fast he could find her cracks.
But also—she didn’t want to hide them anymore.
At the end of the session, she stood up to leave.
But before she reached the door, she paused.
“Jasper?” she asked.
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“If... if I wanted to try it sometime—just, like... calling someone that word—could I do it with you?”
His face softened. “You can always try things with me. And if it doesn’t feel right, we stop. No shame. Ever.”
She nodded, quickly, like it wasn’t a big deal.
Like it wasn’t the scariest question she’d ever asked.
And then she left.
Heart pounding.
Head spinning.
Because for the first time, the word didn’t feel dangerous.
It felt like an open door.
And she wasn’t sure, but...
She might be ready to knock.
- Writer
