Daddy
Remy doesn’t like Mustache Man. He looks mean. He looks scary. No, that’s not nice. Daddy looks sad. Sad Daddy is not nice.
Remy frowns, and frowns, and frowns some more because owie. Hurt hand. Why is Daddy squeezing? Daddy doesn’t like hurt, so why does Daddy hurt him?
And no, he doesn’t like this—getting dragged, his little legs stumbling to keep up. He misses Mr. Nick. Tears well up and spill down his cheeks because this is too much.
The pain. The dragging. The hurt.
And then it clicks—Daddy is upset. Daddy is upset, and Daddy is hurting him.
Bad Daddy! Bad Daddy! Bad Daddy!
Everything hurts—his legs, his hand, his heart. He’s screaming, and suddenly Daddy lets go. But the tears don’t stop, and the hurt doesn’t stop, and all he wants is to feel safe again.
Mr. Nick.
Strong arms scoop him up, and suddenly, he’s there. Mr. Nick. Safe. Nice. Kind.
The tears fall faster, hiccuping as he clings to Mr. Nick’s shirt. His voice cracks as he cries out, over and over again, “Papa, Papa, Papa, Papa! Save Daddy! Help Daddy, Papa!”
He buries his face in Mr. Nick’s shoulder, his little fists clutching at the fabric as if it’s the only thing keeping him together. Mr. Nick’s hand rubs circles on his back, and his voice is soft and steady, but Remy can’t hear the words over the sound of his own cries.
He just wants Daddy to stop being sad.
He just wants everything to stop hurting.
Papa can help Daddy. Papa has to help Daddy.
But Daddy doesn’t hear him. Daddy doesn’t hear Papa.
Daddy’s not okay.
Remy clings tighter to Papa’s shirt, his tiny fists trembling as he peeks over at Daddy sitting on the ground. Daddy looks broken. Lost. And Remy doesn’t know what to do because Daddy is always the one who fixes things, not the one who needs fixing.
Daddy’s not okay.
But Daddy is sorry. Remy can feel it, even if Daddy hasn’t said it yet. Remy loves Daddy, but he’s scared. He’s so, so scared.
So he stays next to Papa. Papa is safe. Papa will help. Papa always knows what to do.
“Papa, help Daddy,” Remy whispers, his voice shaking, but Daddy doesn’t hear him. Daddy doesn’t hear him calling out for Papa to save him.
Why doesn’t Daddy hear? Why won’t Daddy listen?
Tears slip down Remy’s cheeks, and he buries his face in Papa’s neck, whispering over and over, “Help Daddy, Papa. Please help Daddy.”
Mr. Nick is Papa. Nicky is Papa.
Remy knows this deep in his little heart. It’s Daddy and Papa now, but Daddy is upset. Daddy is so upset, and Papa—Papa doesn’t know how to help him.
Remy doesn’t know either.
He looks at Daddy, sitting there on the ground, holding his head like he’s in pain, like he’s trying to make something stop. Remy wants to go to him, to hug him, to say, "It’s okay, Daddy," but his hand hurts, and his heart hurts even more.
This is too much.
He clings to Papa’s shirt, his small body shaking, but then he feels something in his chest, like a pull, like his heart saying, Go to Daddy. He needs you.
So he does.
He looks back at Papa, wanting him to come too, because he needs Papa there, needs both of them there.
This is too much.
That’s all he wants. Just Daddy and Papa. Safe and happy and smiley, like when they tell him stories or make pancakes or fix bookshelves.
Just Daddy and Papa.
No hurt. No sadness. No... No... No.
Daddy sad. Dada hurts. Nicky helps. Papa strong.
Papa and daddy, nothing else.