Page 50 of Tame Me Daddy

Maya shifted to face me more directly. "Listen, Cherry. I don't pretend to understand everything about being a Little. But I know this: you're not sick. You're not broken. And anyone who tries to 'fix' you instead of accepting you is the one with the problem."

Her words were like cool water on a burn. "You don't think it's weird?"

"Of course it's weird," she said with a grin. "But so am I. So is everyone, in their own way. Weird isn't bad. It's just different."

I felt something loosen in my chest. "Grant's been helping me accept that part of myself. He . . ." I hesitated, then decided togo all-in. "He's a Daddy Dom. He takes care of me. Helps me feel safe being little sometimes, and strong the rest of the time."

Maya's eyes widened slightly, but she nodded as if pieces were falling into place. "That actually makes a lot of sense."

"It does?"

"The way he looks at you. How you two interact. I figured something was going on, but this—" She gestured to Hoppy. "This actually explains a lot about the dynamic I was picking up on."

I stared at her. "Really?"

"For what it's worth, I think you're good for each other. He seems... lighter since you came."

"I love him," I admitted, the first time I'd said it aloud to anyone. "But maybe that's not enough. Maybe I'll always be this broken thing people want to fix."

Maya's response was fierce. "You're not broken. And anyone who thinks you need fixing doesn't deserve you."

The conviction in her voice was almost enough to make me believe her. Almost. But my parents' words had wormed their way back into my head, reviving doubts I thought I'd put to rest.

"I don't know what to do," I confessed. "Part of me wants to just go with them tomorrow. Get it over with. Maybe they're right and this program will help me be . . . normal."

"Or maybe it'll crush the best parts of you to fit someone else's idea of normal." Maya's voice was gentle but firm. "Cherry, from what you've told me, your parents don't want to help you—they want to erase parts of you they don't understand or approve of. That's not love. That's control."

She was right, I knew she was right, but the doubt had taken root. Despite Maya's support, I felt myself spiraling deeper into confusion and fear. The confident woman I'd become at Warwick seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the uncertain, ashamed person I'd been before.

After she left, I slipped out of my room and headed toward the barn. The evening had deepened into night, the ranch quiet except for the occasional whicker of horses and the distant sound of coyotes. The barn doors stood partially open, releasing warm light from the interior lamps left on for night checks.

I moved through the shadowy interior, finding comfort in the familiar sounds and scents. Starlight nickered softly as I passed her stall. I paused to stroke her velvet nose, drawing comfort from her steady presence.

"She misses you when you're not around."

The deep voice startled me. I turned to find Grant leaning against a support beam, his face half in shadow. He looked tired, lines etched deeper around his eyes than usual.

"Your parents like to talk," he said quietly, moving to stand beside me at Starlight's stall.

My stomach dropped.

"Now you know what you've gotten yourself into," I whispered, unable to meet his eyes.

"I already knew," Grant replied, his voice gentle but firm. "Nothing they said changes how I see you."

"Maybe it should," I said, voicing the doubt that had been growing since my parents' arrival. "Maybe they're right."

Grant's hand covered mine where it rested on the stall door. "Cherry, look at me."

I forced myself to meet his gaze, braced for pity or uncertainty. Instead, I found nothing but absolute conviction.

"There is nothing wrong with you," he said, each word deliberate and weighted. "Nothing that needs fixing. Do you hear me? Nothing. Today, I held back—and it was difficult, believe me. But I’m on your side. A thousand percent."

The certainty in his voice reached something deep inside me, a small flame of hope in the darkness of doubt. But fear lingered. "What do we do? They're my family. If I don't go with them . . ."

"Sometimes the family we're born into isn't the family we belong with," Grant said softly. His hand tightened on mine. "And whatever you decide," he continued, "I need you to know something." He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "I love you. All of you—every part. And I'll support whatever choice you make, even if it breaks my heart."

His declaration—the first time he'd said the words—stole my breath. I reached up to touch his face, feeling the slight stubble under my fingertips. "You love me?"

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