Page 85 of Daddy Erik
Erik kisses her temple softly. She leans into him like it’s instinct.
Then Claire whispers, “Do you think I’ll ever stop being scared?”
And I tell her the truth. “Yes. Not today. Not tomorrow. But there will come a moment, maybe months from now, when you’ll make breakfast or fold laundry or walk through your bookstore and suddenly realize… you didn’t feel scared at all. That is how healing works. Quietly. Steadily. And always in your time.”
Tears spill down her cheeks, relief, not pain. Erik wipes them away with shaking fingers. I close my notebook.
“That’s enough for today. You did beautifully. Both of you.”
They don’t move right away. They sit together, breathing, hands intertwined. Two people were scarred. Two people fighting. Two people choosing healing, together.
ERIK
3 months later…
Hermann Park glows soft gold as I help Claire into the car. She moves with more confidence now, but she still pauses anytime she’s stepping into a new space or leaving one. Little pauses, small breaths to steady herself.
I’ve learned to pay attention to those. And three months after being hospitalized with intensive trauma therapy, she still requests the same thing every time: “Stay close to me tonight, Daddy.”
It hits my chest with a mix of ferocity and tenderness so deep I can barely stand it. She didn’t call me that before the kidnapping. Before I found her strapped to a table in that hellhole.
She began calling me "Daddy" in the hospital, whispering it through sedation and fever dreams, her voice fragile and reaching for something safe. Something solid. Something she trusted.
And when she said it the first time while awake… her eyes were full of tears.
“I feel safer when I call you that,” she said one day in therapy. “It helps my brain calm down.” Dr. Alvarez encouraged it. Said that trauma sometimes reorganizes trust in the body.
So, I becameDaddy.And I cherish being herDaddy Erik.
“Always,” I tell her, brushing her cheek as I help her from the car. She gives a small, relieved sigh and interlaces her fingers with mine.
CLAIRE
The elevator opens to the warm glow of Bjorn's and Grace’s penthouse.
And the first thing I see is Grace, standing in the soft lamplight, her hair braided over one shoulder, wearing that pink maternity dress she loves. She looks radiant. Motherhood fits her like sunlight.
Her baby girl, Freya, is swaddled securely in her arms, head supported, blanket tucked around her tiny body.
Grace rocks her gently with a motion so natural I almost ache. “Claire!” she whispers loudly. Her eyes fill instantly, with joy, relief, and affection, and I feel my throat tighten. She had gone into labor not long after everyone returned from rescuing me, and needless to say, a stressful birth plus managing a newborn is a lot for any person.
Now she’s here, glowing and beautiful and whole, and I feel… safe. She doesn’t jostle the baby to hug me. Instead, she leans in and rests her forehead against mine.
“You look incredible. I’m so happy you’re here. And baby girl has been dying to meet her Auntie Claire.” My heart swells.
Freya stirs, tiny face scrunching. I whisper, “She’s perfect.”
Grace beams. “She’s a Halvorsen baby. Of course she is.”
Behind me, Erik’s arm comes around my waist, steady, grounding. I lean back into him automatically.
ERIK
Claire has no idea how beautiful she looks.
Softer. Curvier. Stronger in some places, tender in others. Her lavender dress contours her figure in a manner that causes my chest to tighten with emotion, not desire, not at this moment, but simply a profound sense of relief that she is here, alive, healing, and sharing quiet laughter with Grace.
Her quiet breast pump hums beneath her cardigan.
