The morning arrived with a chill that seeped through the nursery walls. I woke to the sound of Daddy's footsteps, measured and deliberate, approaching the crib. My body still ached from the bar—my shoulders screamed from the suspended position, my thighs trembled from the stair work, and my jaw was sore from the inflatable gag. But beneath the pain, I felt that familiar dark warmth blooming in my chest. The kiss. That fragile, tender press of his lips against my forehead. It lingered like an ember, and I clutched it to myself.

Daddy stood over me, his silver-streaked hair catching the dim light. His expression was unreadable. "Up," he said. "We have an appointment."