Ducky and Daddy - Snippets

Not safe, Ducky

It happened fast.

Too fast for Ducky to think. She'd only wanted the tea tin off the top shelf. It wasn't even that high. Just a quick hop onto the counter—she'd done it before.

But this time, she slipped.

Her foot missed the edge, her knee banged hard, and she only barely caught herself before she tumbled down entirely. The tin clattered to the floor.

She froze.

Then winced.

Then tried to play it off, hopping down and muttering, "I'm fine," even as she cradled her knee.

And then she heard him.

"Ducky."

His voice was too calm. Too even. That Daddy tone that didn't rise—but cut through everything.

She turned. He was standing in the doorway. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Eyes locked on hers, unreadable and very still.

He'd heard the noise.

He'd seen the last second.

Her heart dropped.

"I just slipped," she whispered. "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay.

Not to him.

Daddy stepped forward, slow and steady, like he didn't want her darting away. He stopped right in front of her, looking down. Not angry. Not yelling.

Just serious.

"You got hurt."

"Just my knee—"

"You were standing on the counter."

She went quiet.

"You could've hit your head. Broken something." His hand came to her cheek, gentler now, but his voice stayed firm. "You didn't ask for help. You didn't even think to use the step stool, did you?"

Ducky stared at the floor, cheeks burning.

"I didn't think it'd be a big deal."

"But it is. Because you are. A big deal."

That cracked something inside her.

Daddy stepped back and pointed to the living room. "Go wait for me by the chair. Shoes off. I'll be there in a minute."

She hesitated. Swallowed. Then nodded and obeyed, limbs a little shaky.

When he joined her, he sat down slowly, steady as a mountain. Pulled her between his knees. Took her hands.

"I love how independent you are," he said softly. "I love that you try to do things for yourself. But when your choices put your safety at risk—when you don't think, or ask, or use what we have to keep you safe—then it stops being brave and starts being dangerous."

Her eyes welled.

"I'm not mad," he added. "But you are getting a correction."

Ducky nodded. Voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Daddy."

"You're getting ten with my hand. Over my knee. And we'll be done."

She moved slow as he guided her. He didn't rush.

When she was draped over his lap, hands braced on the cushion, heart pounding, Daddy placed his hand on the small of her back.

"I'm right here."

Then came the first swat.

Firm.

Not cruel.

Just felt.

The rhythm was steady. She cried by the third—more from the emotion than the sting. He rubbed her back between each one, grounding her. Repeating low, steady truths.

"You matter too much to me to risk your safety."

"I need you to take care of yourself."

"I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."

By the tenth, she was sobbing softly, and Daddy lifted her immediately into his lap. His arms went around her. Tight. Protective. Safe.

She clung to him, curled in small, hiccuping.

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"I know, baby. I know. It's over now."

He rocked her. Kissed the top of her head.

"You're still my good girl."

"Even when I mess up?"

"Especially then."