Daddy's Precious Little Girl

Fresh Start

Franklin's POV

The Head Mistress's office was as imposing as ever, her sharp gaze fixed on me like she could see every lie I'd ever told. The tension in the room felt suffocating, but I kept my expression composed, just as my father had taught me. Control was key, even when you were being dissected.

"This is your last chance, Franklin," she said, her tone crisp and unforgiving. She sat back in her chair, folding her hands neatly. "You've shown me little to prove you're capable of fulfilling your responsibilities. And rushing off without ensuring Marcy's care didn't inspire confidence."

I took a breath, carefully measured, projecting the right amount of sincerity. "I know, Head Mistress, and I take full responsibility. I admit, leaving like that was impulsive, and it wasn't fair to Marcy or to the Sanctuary staff. That's why I came back as soon as I realized my mistake. I couldn't stop thinking about her—whether she was alright, if she was being cared for properly."

Her brow arched slightly, skepticism still etched into her features. "You expect me to believe you left for an emergency and then turned right back around out of concern for your charge?"

"Yes," I said firmly, meeting her gaze. "I did leave for an emergency, but Marcy's my responsibility. I knew I hadn't set anything up for her, and I couldn't focus on anything else knowing she was left without proper care."

The Head Mistress studied me, her sharp eyes narrowing as if searching for the slightest crack in my story. I held her gaze, willing myself to appear calm and composed, even as my heart pounded.

"I want to do better," I continued, softening my tone. "I know I haven't been perfect, but I'm committed to proving I can handle this role. Marcy deserves stability, and I'm here to give her that. Please, give me one more chance."

A tense silence stretched between us, and I could feel my resolve being tested under the weight of her scrutiny. Finally, she sighed, leaning forward slightly.

"One more chance, Franklin," she said, her voice firm but reluctant. "And I do mean one. If I receive even the slightest report of neglect, irresponsibility, or poor judgment, I'll have no choice but to intervene directly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, nodding. Relief coursed through me, though I made sure to keep my expression appropriately serious. "Thank you. I won't let you down."

"You'd better not," she replied, her tone clipped. "Marcy is currently in her morning class. You may pick her up there."

"Yes, Head Mistress." I rose, giving her a respectful nod before turning toward the door.

As I left her office, tension lingered in my chest. Convincing her had been a challenge, but I'd done it. Now, I had to maintain the façade. With every step toward the classrooms, the image of Marcy's anxious face filled my mind. She'd be in her academic class, surrounded by other Littles who would likely notice if she was out of sorts. I needed to handle this carefully, present myself as the caring, responsible caregiver the Head Mistress expected me to be.

For now, I just had to collect her and ensure everything appeared seamless. Anything less wouldn't just reflect poorly on me—it could bring my father's wrath crashing down again.

The quiet hum of the classroom corridor filled my ears as I approached Marcy's class. I took a deep breath before stepping inside, bracing myself for what I might find. The classroom was buzzing with activity, Littles working on projects while their teacher, Mr. Sanderson, monitored them. Marcy sat near the back, her head down as she focused on her worksheet.

When she glanced up and saw me standing by the door, her body tensed, her eyes widening. She quickly looked back at her paper, her small hands gripping her pencil tightly.

"Franklin," Mr. Sanderson greeted, his tone neutral. "Picking up Marcy?"

"Yes," I replied, offering him a curt nod. "I'll take her now."

Marcy hesitated when I called her name, her movements slow and guarded as she packed up her things. She approached me cautiously, her shoulders drawn up and her steps hesitant. I couldn't blame her. She had every reason to feel wary after how I'd treated her.

"Let's head back to the dorm," I said, keeping my tone calm and steady.

The walk back was tense, the silence stretching between us like a chasm. I kept my pace slower than usual, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. She looked small and fragile, her posture stiff and her expression guarded.

When we reached the dorm, I opened the door for her, letting her step inside first. She hovered near the entrance, unsure, until I gestured for her to sit on the couch. Taking a seat across from her, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Marcy," I began, my voice low but firm. "I owe you an apology."

Her eyes darted up to meet mine, then quickly back down, as if unsure whether to believe me.

"I haven't been the caregiver you deserve," I continued. "I've been harsh, impatient, and... unfair to you. That's not what you need, and it's not what you deserve. I've realized I need to do better—for you and for myself."

Marcy fidgeted with the edge of her shirt, still not looking at me. "Why now?" she asked softly, her voice trembling.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Because I realized how wrong I was. You've been doing your best, and I've made it harder for you. I want to change that. I want to make things better."

She glanced up again, her expression softening slightly, though wariness still lingered in her eyes. "You mean it?"

"I do," I said, nodding firmly. "From now on, I promise to be more patient, more understanding. I want to help you, not push you away."

Marcy didn't respond right away, but the tension in her posture eased just a bit. "Okay," she said quietly. "I'll try too."

A flicker of relief washed over me. It wasn't forgiveness, not yet, but it was a start.

"Good," I said, offering a small smile. "How about we get some lunch? You can pick whatever you want."

Marcy hesitated before nodding. I ordered us sandwiches and a few snacks, and we ate in relative quiet, the atmosphere less strained than before.

After we finished, I checked the time and stood. "Let's get you to the Sanctuary," I said, grabbing her bag. "I'll come by after my classes to pick you up."

Marcy followed me without hesitation this time, her steps lighter, though I could still sense her guardedness. It would take time, but at least I'd begun to rebuild what I'd broken.

As I walked to my afternoon classes, a strange feeling settled over me—one I couldn't quite place. It wasn't triumph or relief. It was something quieter, something unfamiliar. I realized it was contentment, a sense of satisfaction in knowing I had been able to comfort Marcy, to see the small spark of trust begin to return to her eyes. It wasn't a feeling I'd ever expected to have, but it lingered, soft and unexpected, as I stepped into the rhythm of the day.