Page 25 of Small Town Daddy

I felt a rush of warmth at his guidance. It struck me how safe I felt, how seen. It was comfortable, cozy, but thrilling, too.

"Can we build another tower?" I asked, my voice small. "A bigger one this time?"

Marcus smiled, moving to sit beside me on the floor. "Of course. Let's see how high we can make it, shall we?"

As we stacked blocks together, I marveled at how natural it felt. This dance of playfulness and gentle boundaries, of letting go and feeling protected. For the first time in forever, I felt truly at home.

I paused, my hand hovering over a bright red block. My heart raced as I gathered my courage. "Marcus?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up, his blue eyes meeting mine. "Yes, Lucy?"

My cheeks burned. Was I really about to ask this? But before I could think too deeply, the words left my lips. "Have you . . . have you ever spanked anyone?"

Marcus's eyebrow shot up, surprise flickering across his face. He set down the block he was holding, giving me his full attention. "I can't say that I have," he replied, his voice steady. "But I'm open to talking about it. What's on your mind?"

I took a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. "I've always wanted to try . . . a caring kind of discipline," I confessed. My words tumbled out in a rush. "I think it might help me deal with some stuff I've been carrying around. The guilt, the doubt . . . you know?"

I bit my lip, searching his face for any sign of judgment. There was none. Just patient understanding.

"It's hard to explain," I continued. "But sometimes I feel like I need . . . something to help me let go. To move forward." I swallowed hard. "Does that make any sense?"

Marcus nodded slowly. "I think I understand," he said softly. "You're looking for a way to process your emotions, to find release."

"Yeah," I breathed, relief washing over me. "Exactly that."

Marcus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His expression was thoughtful, intense. "Lucy, discipline like that... it's not something to take lightly. It needs purpose, trust, consent. All of that."

I nodded, my heart racing. "I know."

"What exactly do you feel you need help with?" he asked, his voice gentle but probing. "I want to make sure whatever we do is actually supportive. Meaningful."

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight. This was it - the moment of truth. "It's . . . it's about my dad," I whispered. “My guilt.”

Marcus waited, silent and patient.

"I didn't visit him enough," I blurted out. "Before he died. I was always too busy, or making excuses. And now . . ." Tears welled up, hot and stinging. "Now it's too late."

"Lucy . . . " Marcus started, but I shook my head.

"I don't deserve to be happy," I choked out. "Not after that. I keep punishing myself, over and over. I can't stop."

The tears spilled over, running down my cheeks. I brushed them away angrily. "God, I'm such a mess," I muttered.

Marcus reached out, his hand hovering near mine. "You're not a mess," he said firmly. "You're human."

I laughed bitterly. "A pretty crappy one."

"No," Marcus insisted. "You're dealing with grief, with regret. That's normal."

I looked up at him, vision blurry. "But how do I stop feeling this way?" I asked, my voice small and broken.

Marcus leaned in, his blue eyes filled with a warmth that made my chest tighten.

"Lucy," he said softly, "everyone has regrets. But punishing yourself won't change the past."

I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "It feels like it should."

He shook his head. "Your dad wouldn't want that for you. He'd want you to be happy."

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