"Okay." I managed a small smile in return, still feeling slightly overwhelmed.
Walker stood, giving me space. "Take your time getting ready.” He hesitated. “There’s some packages that have arrived for you. I'll bring them upstairs so you can look."
After he left, I flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as I tried to process everything. Walker wanted to be my Daddy. The thought sent a shiver of both excitement and terror through me.
I'd gone to Salvation looking for exactly this—someone strong and protective who would take care of me, make me feel safe. But the reality was far more complicated than my fantasy had been.
What would it mean to be Walker's Little girl? Would he expect me to act like a child all the time? Would there be rules? Punishments? The unknown loomed large and intimidating.
Yet when I thought about how he'd cared for me already—carrying me when I couldn't walk, helping with my insulin, making sure I ate properly—it felt right in a way nothing else ever had.
I rolled onto my side, coming face to face with Mr. Snuggles. His worn face seemed to be asking what I was going to do.
"I don't know," I whispered to him. "It's everything I wanted, but..."
But it was scary. Terrifying, actually. Opening myself up to that kind of vulnerability meant risking heartbreak if it all fell apart. And things always fell apart eventually, didn't they?
I reached for my phone, pulling up the message from Fiona. She'd texted me a link to the patient assistance program she'd mentioned, along with an encouraging note, and mentioned if I was looking for a job her aunt needed someone. I stared at it, thinking about how easily she'd shared her own struggles with diabetes, how matter-of-fact she'd been about the challenges.
"It gets easier," she'd told me. "Not the diabetes—that's always a pain in the ass. But managing it gets easier when you have support."
Support. Such a simple word for something I'd never really had. Then I nearly dropped my damn phone as it started to ring, and I stared at the name in shock before immediately powering it off. My uncle Stephen Mallory. This was the fourth time he'd tried to call me in the last few weeks and every time I'd ignored it. After no contact for two years, he had nothing to say that I wanted to hear.
I forced myself to get up, to splash water on my face in the ensuite bathroom. My reflection looked back at me—bruises fading to yellow-green, but my eyes clearer than they'd been in days. I looked...better. Stronger.
Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could let myself accept what Walker was offering, even if it scared me. Maybe I deserved someone who wanted to take care of me.
The thought brought fresh tears to my eyes, and I wiped them away impatiently. I'd cried more in the past three days than I had in years. I glanced at my reflection again, left the bathroom,and caught sight of three packages stacked next to the bedroom door.
They hadn’t been there before. My heart gave a weird little stutter.
I padded over, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, and dropped to my knees. Each box had my name on it in Walker's bold handwriting. I hesitated. I’d seen unboxing videos; people looked so happy and casual, tearing through pretty tissue paper, showing off their clothes. I was never that person. I’d never even had packages arrive just for me. And for a moment, I imagined Walker watching me.
I swallowed hard and started with the smallest one. My hands shook, but not from low blood sugar this time. The tape split easily. Inside was a pale lavender hoodie, the fabric so soft it almost felt plush in my hands. I hugged it to my chest for a second, then pressed my face into it. It smelled faintly of cardboard and something new. It was perfect. Like something Abby or one of the other Littles at Salvation would wear.
The next box was heavier. I opened it carefully, not wanting to rip anything, and found three pairs of soft leggings in pastel colors. One was mint green with little stars on the waistband, another pale yellow, and the last lavender with a silver shimmer. I’d never owned anything so cute. Underneath the leggings were four t-shirts, one pale blue with a cartoon bunny on the front, the other white with rainbow hearts, and two plain pink and purple ones. Then a pink hoodie with an adorable kitten on the front. The sizes were all perfect. He must have guessed by looking at how his own clothes fit my body.
There was something about that—a man noticing, and then buying me things that felt like me, not just whatever was cheap at the discount store. My throat tightened again.
The last box was lighter. I opened it slowly, and tissue paper crinkled. Inside was a pair of fuzzy socks in mint and pinkstripes, a pack of plain pastel-colored panties, and a sleep set that looked too soft to be real: a tank top and matching pajama shorts with watercolor teddy bears and tiny bows. There was also a little plastic bag with two new hairbrushes, pastel scrunchies, and sparkly hair clips. I picked up a pink scrunchie and wrapped it around my wrist, then just stared at it, stunned.
This wasn’t charity. These were the things you bought for someone you thought about—a Little girl you wanted to take care of. These were things you bought for someone…
My stomach fluttered.
I didn’t even realize I was crying again until a fat tear landed on the pale blue t-shirt. I wiped it away quickly, then pressed the soft fabric to my face. I wanted to change immediately. Make myself cute, make myself…his.
But I hesitated. I was already wearing his clothes. Would it be too obvious if I changed into the Little clothes he’d bought before even saying yes to being his?
I stared at the sleep set. It was gorgeous. Maybe if I wore some of the regular clothes, like the hoodie and leggings, it would be less…needy.
I peeled off the t-shirt and sweats and tugged on the mint-colored star leggings, a t-shirt, and the pink hoodie. The fabric hugged my legs like a second skin, the waistband soft and stretchy. The hoodie was even better. It swallowed me up, the sleeves hiding my hands, the hem falling almost to my knees. I looked utterly ridiculous and impossibly cute.
My throat felt tight. I pressed my hands to my cheeks, taking a shaky breath. If I saw myself like this in a mirror, I’d never believe it was me. This was what Littles wore. Not just the desperate, cheap stuff I’d hidden under my uniform, but real Little girl clothes. The kind that said you belonged somewhere soft.
I couldn’t help it—I spun once, testing the feel of the fabric, then reached for a pair of the fuzzy socks and slipped them over my toes. Instantly my feet felt warm, safe. Maybe…maybe I could do this. Maybe I could be Little for Walker. I smoothed my hand over the hoodie, then grabbed the bag of hair accessories.
A pink scrunchie for my hair, and a set of sparkly clips. I didn’t even know what I was doing but muscle memory took over and suddenly I’d wrangled my hair into a messy ponytail, clipped two pastel stars near my temple, and stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
