I WAS MISSING

By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2020

Warning: If you don't like reading transgender or related fiction, then stop reading now.

Author's Note: none.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

RT

LOST TENT

I can't do justice to the landscape.

The river meanders through a chain of mountains whose lofty peaks are often lost in the clouds. The banks of the river are perpendicular granite cliffs. Pinegrass Trail runs close to the edge of the cliffs; if I fall, I am dead. In certain spots, a promontory allows me to see the river in its majesty and opens my way toward new horizons. The mountains are soaked in a dark coniferous green.

I love backpacking. It's about me, my pack, everything I remember to take, the sun, the wind, the trees, the river, the trails. The silence of the wild. To be fair, the wild is not entirely silent in late August; there's still some mosquitoes around so there's the occasional high-pitched buzz by my ear.

My destination that trip was campsite 17. It's long been one of my favourites in these mountains. I loved its remoteness and solitude. There were never ending ascending trails, innumerable hazardous jumps over petty ravines and cracks in the rock.

I had planned a four-day trip. Arrive at the trailhead and bash through the late afternoon into the early evening to get to site 5: I finished off the leftover pasta I had brought from my fridge and moderately sipped my Grand Marnier. A great meal, a great drink, and a great first night's sleep.

I woke, broke camp, and continued on Pinegrass Trial. The trail markers here were few in number as the trail itself was a lesser travelled one. No humans: another reason I love this trail and this remote area of the mountain range.

After five hours and at precisely the right time, I hit the intersection with the Minnimisettwaugaom Trail. Its trailhead was only 2 miles away, but they were tough miles. From the hard-to-drive-to parking lot off the abandoned logging road to the intersection was an unending up and up and up. The marker at the intersection said, "Campsite 17 - 2 miles.'. This I knew I could travel quickly.

Only a few hundred yards after the intersection, I spotted a blue bag ahead on the trail. I examined it. It was a nylon tent bag. It was dry and looked clean. I opened it. There was no dirt inside. I assumed that the person who dropped it had parked at the Mini' trailhead earlier today and was heading to 17.

Damn it; I had wanted solitude. I had just sold my software startup for $25 million and concurrently had just unburdened myself of constant stress. My parents had died when I was 21: a car accident. They had had so many plans for retirement and never got to fulfill them. I swore to live a full life in their memory. When you're 35 and have millions in the bank, it's easy to dump 14 years of worry and accomplishment in order to relax and enjoy one's time on Earth.

I picked up the tent pack and attached it to my pack using a carabiner. Whoever dropped it would want it. I'm a good backpacker; I'll help them out. And onward I trekked.

-----000-----

Several minutes later, I saw on the trail ahead two young girls approaching. They looked about 12 years old. Each wore a hiking hat, hiking shirt, hiking shorts, and hiking boots. Each was blonde, about 5'6", slender, fit, and quite adorable. Twins?

"Hello, young ladies!" I greeted them. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

"We're looking for our tent, ma'am," the one on the left said. Her politeness was striking.

"You mean this tent?" I smiled as I showed them. Their faces expressed their joy. I took my pack off and sat on a mossy log. "What are you two doing out here by yourself?"

They exchanged looks with each other. The one on the right spoke first: "Our daddy is further ahead on the trail. We're going to campsite 17 tonight. It's where we always stayed when we backpacked with our mom, ma'am." They looked at each other again.

"Where's your mom?" I cautiously asked.

"She died two years ago in a car accident, ma'am," said one.

"Campsite 17 was her fav, ma'am," said the other.

"I'm sorry to hear that, girls. Mine also died in a car accident, 14 years ago." The memory still saddened my soul. "Anyway, here we are and here is your tent. What's your dad doing?" They looked at each other yet again. Hmmm, I thought.

"Daddy is sitting ahead on the trail waiting for us to return, ma'am," the left one said.

"He needed a timeout again, ma'am," the right one said.

Now I was curious. "Why a timeout? Wait. Before you answer, what are your names? Mine's Jessica! Call me 'Jess'!" Their names were (left) Brianna and (right) Belinda. "Twins, right?" They nodded. "So, why a timeout?"

Brianna spoke. "Daddy is trying very hard to be a good backpacker. Mom used to arrange everything. We haven't been here since she died. We asked him to take us. He's trying really hard, Jess, but..."

Belinda spoke. "Jess, he kinda doesn't know what he's doing." She paused. "He's wearing running shoes." She looked at me, embarrassed.

Running shoes? Here? Insane. The girls wore hiking boots. "Where did you get those?" They answered that they had pestered "daddy" to buy them last weekend. They had suggested he buy some too; he said he would, but he had forgotten as he was getting overwhelmed with the many things to do to prepare for the big trip.

"Let's go together!" I cheered. And we began to walk and talk our way to campsite 17. They spoke freely and maturely, for their age. They struck me as well-behaved, unusually confident young girls. They would be starting grade 8 in a few weeks. Each played soccer. They impressed me.

I told them a bit about myself, the company, my MMA hobby, my global travels (really: just the Caribbean and Mexico when the company's workload had lessened slightly). I was single, had never been married, and didn't care to, given the supply of toxic masculinity on the market. I was proud to be an independent woman who didn't need a man --- for now. I was open-minded.

I rambled on for several minutes. "Strong is the new pretty," I instructed. "Never apologize for being a powerful woman," I chanted. "If you want something said, ask a man; if you want something done, ask a woman," I quoted.

They stopped in their tracks. "Jess, are you kidding us?" they quietly asked. I shook my head: no. They whispered to each other, glancing at me as they did.

"Jess, our daddy's name is Richard," Belinda said, looking at me carefully.

"Our mom called him 'Rikki', Jess," Brianna said cautiously. "R-i-k-k-i, Rikki," she said.

They looked at each other again. Twins: it's a bit creepy sometimes watching them do it. What they said next spoke volumes:

"Jess, you should call him 'Rikki' too."

-----000-----

"Hi, Rikki!" I shouted when I saw him. I startled him. He jumped up off the pack. He hadn't heard us approach, which is hard to do in the middle of the woods unless one is in deep thought.

He was a shorter man, a tad on the frail side but probably best described as scrawny. His hair was matted with sweat. His grey T-shirt was ringed by salt stains on the back and front from where his backpack straps had been. He wore jeans. And running shoes. He was still youthfully cute for his age, which I estimated to be about 30. I towered over him by several inches and muscularly outweighed him by at least 30 pounds.

"I'm Jessica, and I've just met the two most awesome kids I've met in a long time!" I stuck out my hand.

He smiled at that and stuck out his: "Richard," he said.

"It's good to meet you, Rikki." His eyes went wide as I said that name. "I'm going to call you Rikki. You have no problem with that, right? It's what your daughters suggested I call you, and I happen to like it. So, that's that. Right, Rikki?"

I glared at him defiantly. He glanced at his daughters; they smiled at him lovingly. "I guess, so," he said, politely.

"Good. I have your tent. Let me see your pack so I can clip it on securely."

"I can get that," he started.

"I got it," I said without looking at him while grabbing his pack. It was heavier than mine. It seemed to weigh about 50 pounds. "What have you in here? A kitchen sink?" I asked. The girls giggled. They sipped water from their Camelbacks. Without asking, I opened his pack.

An iron frying pan. Three ceramic plates. One quart of dish soap. Three gas containers. Heavier fleece sleeping bags. A large jar of peanut butter. Heavy plastic cups. A loaf of bread completely squished. And so on. So much unnecessary weight. He plainly didn't know what he was doing. I looked at the twins. They smiled at me. I grinned and emptied the pack.

"I'm going to repack it. Girls, prepare to carry some stuff. Rikki, take the clips off my pack. No, the other ones."

"I can get this if---"

"No, you can't," I said evenly to him. "I can. I will. You watch. Sit." He sat. The twins smiled.

We eventually set off together.

-----000-----

I pitched my tent and set up my gear. From arrival to set-up: 15 minutes. I was slick and well-practiced. Rikki was not. The twins stood off to the side with a dash of exasperation on their faces. I saw him heroically strive to attach the poles to the two-person tent he had brought. Oh my, I thought: he's clumsy.

"Rikki, do you want a hand?" I asked.

"I've got it! Thanks though!" he overconfidently replied. I sat. I waited. I beckoned the twins to sit next to me. They came. They sat. We watched. We knew. I looked at each of them; each looked at me sympathetically. They would have been embarrassed had they not known me as they had come to know me.

It was time for action.

"Rikki, stop what you're doing. I want you to go into the woods and scavenge kindling for our fire tonight. Belinda," she jumped when I mustered her, "you go with him and make sure he, I mean, neither of you get lost. Brianna, you and I are going to pitch the tent." I got to work. So did Brianna. Belinda moved up the trail to look for wood. Rikki stood there, mouth agape.

"What are you looking at? Get to work!" I firmly but collegially ordered him.

Off he went, following Belinda.

-----000-----

My fire roared. A few sparks drifted up toward the stars. The orange flames lit our faces. The fire warmed us as we sat around it. Belinda sat on my left, Briana on my right, and Rikki on the other side of the fire. The three of them held a hot chocolate in their hands; I had given all of mine to them. I sipped my Grand Marnier.

"Rikki, tell me about yourself." This younger man intrigued me. His daughters were beautiful, smart, and mature. He was polite to a fault and obviously devoted to them. He had diligently carried out the several minor tasks I had assigned him. He moved closer to the fire.

"I was born in the capital, attended high school, played some sports, none very well, and graduated, and was working in a restaurant cleaning tables and pinch-hitting for some waiters work when my future wife, whom I had never met before, asked me out on a date.

"I had seen her in the restaurant a few times before. I may even have waited on her. I didn't know. Janet was beautiful and kind. I was blessed to have her give me any attention. I said yes. We went to a movie, and three weeks later, she asked me to marry her. My parents liked her. 'Just right for you', my mom said. My dad loved Janet too; they yapped back and forth about the NFL and---"

"What teams, Rikki?"

"Oh. My dad loves the Packers and Janet followed the Saints. Anyway..." And on he went. They had the twins early on. He was seven years younger than she was. He stayed home and looked after the house and kids. I noticed how he breezed over that part. She had an MBA and had been a senior executive at Rathskeller Guns & Ammo. He had been surprised by their whirlwind romance and unorthodox lifestyle but would do anything for her.

I interrupted him. "Brianna, it's your turn. Please poke the fire like I showed you."

Brianna moved to do it, but Rikki intervened. "I'll get that, Brianna. Don't play with fire."

I immediately countered: "No. It's fine. I'll watch her. Keep on with your story."

I nodded to Brianna who smiled at her dad and poked the fire. He sat back; he seemed a bit relieved. I liked him and his history. He was downto -earth and modest. Genuine. He seemed to lack a single evil cell. He struck me as a kind man who had suffered tragedy and was now beleaguered in caring for his daughters as they moved onward and older. I liked him.

"Belinda, it's your turn now," I said and gave Rikki a commanding look. He said nothing. Belinda took the poker and prodded the fire. The embers roared back to life. "Well done," I approved.

Later, as the fire died down, I issued more instructions. "Girls, here are your bear horns for tonight. Like I said, anything scary, just blow it. I'll be there to help you or to drive the animals away. Both of you get ready for bed now. Be sure to pee before getting in. Off you go."

"Goodnight, Jess!" they said.

Rikki got up too.

"Rikki, sit back down." He did.

"You are going to sleep with me in my tent tonight." I raised my hand to shut him up.

"The girls will be fine. Your tent is designed for two people; three would be too crowded. The girls will stay together; that's what sisters do. Mine can take two. You will sleep in it. Go get your air mattress and sleeping bag." I stared at him.

"Move now," I sternly said. I smiled at him tenderly; I really did like him.

"It'll be fine," I reassured him. He smiled, got up, and brought his stuff over to my tent.

"Now it's your turn, little man. Go pee and then get in the tent. I'll drown the fire out. Look here: these are the cups for coffee in the morning. And here's the lighter for the stove. If you forget how to use it, then ask the girls. I already showed them. Yes, yes, yes: they're very smart...." And on I talked. And on he listened.

THEY HOST DINNER

Two days later, I was driving to their home.

They lived on Pleasant Street. Theirs was a comfortable looking bungalow in the 2000 square foot range. A well-manicured front lawn without any signs of weeds or grubs in it, some hanging baskets of red annuals by the windows, and a small sign by the front door that said 'Jones'. That would be their surname. Rikki, Brianna, and Belinda Jones. Mine was 'Loving'.

I rang the doorbell. The twins enthusiastically greeted me and gleefully shouted to Rikki that I had arrived. "Jess, I'll be a minute," I heard him shout. Then I heard, "Or maybe ten. Please don't come in the kitchen yet."

The twins gave me that resigned look that I had come to expect of them when Rikki was valiantly trying to do something.

"Show me the house then!" They took my hands and gave me a tour. A large family room adjoined a spacious dining area that adjoined the kitchen. I saw Rikki frantically bend over some pots on the stove. "Stay away!" he nervously cried.

The girls smiled at me and led me to their rooms. Each was immaculate (!!!) and very well decorated. Theirs were not dissimilar to mine when I was their age. I noted the modern music posters, teen books, manga and comix, posters of soccer stars, clothing and accessories; the girls were well maintained. Plainly, Rikki loved them.

They then dragged me to the master bedroom. I recognized a lonely room when I saw one. This was one. The bed was of course made. The carpet was warm, plush, and had been recently vacuumed. His side of the bed was obviously the far one: an alarm clock, a box of tissue, a book ('Raising Daughters To Be Leaders', by Terry Tangmere), a small watch, his iPhone.

"Jess, that's our mom," Brianna said, pointing to a picture on the closer nightstand. There was nothing but the picture on it.

Rikki had spoken fondly of her. I could imagine his pain, his loss. The girls spoke reverently of her. Their mother, I saw, had been attractive beyond belief. A French bun. Sharp, focused eyes. Bushy, full eyebrows. A straight nose, distinguished. And her heart-shaped lips were identical to those on her daughters' faces. I glanced at them; the two of them looked at the picture adoringly.

"Was your mom, Janet, was she kind?" I asked sincerely.

They nodded: "Jess, she was the best mom." I smiled. That they spoke so highly of her even today, two years after her death, indicated much about the love and care that had been in this home.

I looked again at the picture.

Then I saw it, lurking in plain view behind the woman's beauty:

Ruthless decisiveness.

-----000-----

Well, Rikki did say to seat ourselves.

Acting on instinct and a good hunch, I sat at the head of the table and started bantering back and forth with the twins. Rikki brought the plates out from the kitchen. He appeared surprised when he saw me in what, I suppose, had been his place. Before he or I could say anything, Brianna pulled out the chair at the far end of the table and patted it: "Here, daddy." Belinda nodded. I smiled. He sat.

I watched the three of them place food on each plate. We began to eat. The girls' manners were splendid and refined. They dabbed their napkins properly, used their cutlery smoothly, and sipped their milk quietly.

"Rikki, this is a delicious salmon pasta. What was the panic in the kitchen about?" Although I was a guest, I posed the question in such a way that Rikki the host could not avoid answering it.

"A spillover on the pasta water."

"Did you leave the lid on?" The girls looked at me as I kindly asked.

"Yes, I did." The girls looked at him as he answered.

"Well, in future, don't. And from now on leave a wooden spoon in the pot as the pasta cooks." The girls looked at me as I gently spoke.

"I've never done that before." The girls looked at him as he answered.

I cocked my head at his response. "I have. It works. And that's that. That's how I like it. I recommend it to you. Surely there is no reason that you would not follow my recommendation?" The girls looked at me as I helpfully spoke. There was a brief pause and then he replied.

"Okay. I'll try that next time, Jess." The girls looked at him as he answered.

"Jessica. The girls call me 'Jess' because it's a girls-only thing. You may call me 'Jessica'. I insist." The girls looked at me as I firmly spoke. I raised my eyebrows and playfully grinned at him.

"Yes, Jessica. I'll try that next time, Jessica." The girls smiled at him as he answered.

"And you'll protect your clothes with an apron next time too, right?" He nodded his agreement. "Excellent!" The girls beamed at me as I decisively spoke.

"Excellent, daddy!" Rikki and I looked at them as they gleefully cheered.

We ate.

"Girls, let's continue the tour! Back to the bedrooms, right?"

"Yes, Jess!" they shouted.

I stood and looked at him as the girls took their plates and cutlery to the kitchen. "You're good with the clean-up, yes?" I said in a way that, rather than posing a question, simply conveyed a fact. I stared at him. He looked cute, like a big-eyed puppy dog being given attention by its master.

Or its Mistress.

-----000-----

"What's behind this door?"

The twins looked at each other. It really did creep me out when they did that. So, it wasn't just that one time in the woods. It's them. If they were less attractive, I'd call them the Grady Twins. Well, not really; they weren't malevolent or anything like that (yet).

"Jess, we promise to show you. Before you go. We love our daddy and we so do want you to get to know him better. But not yet please?"

Hmm. "Okay," I replied, mystified, and off we went to the basement and then the backyard.

-----000-----

We sat back at the dining room table. Rikki had laid out the game of Sorry and placed some small snacks which he had neatly arranged on some small trays.

"Red!" said Brianna.

"Green!" said Belinda.

"Blue!" said Rikki.

"No, I'm blue," I said calmly. "You are yellow." I moved the pieces about and set his up. "Did you get the girls their sparkling water?" I asked. Rikki excused himself and fetched their water.

As I began shuffling the cards, I batted my eyelashes at him and said, "I would like a small drink, please." He looked at me blankly. "What do you have?" I asked.

"Oh! Sorry! Oh, I wasn't joking about that. I mean, my apologies. I was thinking that you might want some mineral water too." He bowed his head. "I have some vodka, Drambuie, brandy of some kind, whiskey, Scotch, Baileys, Slivov---"

"Do you have any Grand Marnier?" I leveled the question at him in a flat tone.

"No, I don't."

"Pardon?" I narrowed my eyes at him and drew the word out slowly.

"No, I don't, Jessica. I'm sorry." He looked down at the table. Belinda placed her hand on top of his.

"It's alright, Rikki. Next time, please be better prepared. Tonight then, I would like a nicely warmed brandy." I looked back at the cards and shuffled again.

"Yes, Jessica," he quietly said and fetched it.

I smiled at the girls. They knowingly smiled back at me.

"This is a fun game, isn't it, Jess!" they sang together.

-----000-----

"And move the chairs out before you vacuum under the table, sweetie." I watched him as I issued my instructions. He paid attention. He never looked away from me. He nodded.

"I'll be with the girls," I said and moved down the hallway toward their bedrooms. They were already dressed and cleaned for bed. They were so adorable! Being with them was like, well, it was like having younger sisters (of which I had none). Joyful. Cheery. Bright. Innocent.

Maybe not innocent. That door...

"Brianna and Belinda," I summoned them. They appeared before me and stood side-by-side, smirking. I jerked my thumb toward the last door, the mysterious door. "Show me now, please, girls."

Their smirks vanished; in their place were two anxious faces.

"Do you like daddy?" one of them asked trepidly. I nodded vigorously.

"Would you ever want to hurt daddy?" the other asked protectively.

I shook my head: "Absolutely not!"

They paused by the door and suddenly appeared nervous.

"You won't laugh, will you?" They asked softly in unison again: twins, creepy.

"No. He's too adorable to be hurt in any way. I never want to see him cry," I happily answered. It was true too.

A visible wave of genuine relief swept over their faces. Belinda took a key out of her nightgown pocket, unlocked the door, and opened it.

I turned on the light and dropped my jaw.

I HOST DINNER

Two days later, my doorbell rang. Exactly 4:22 p.m.; they were precisely on time. I had warned him that there would be repercussions were he to show up one minute late or one minute early. Punctual means reliable, I mused.

I opened the door and saw what I needed to see.

The twins were wearing identical blouses, jeans, socks, and shoes. Their light makeup was identical. So were their ponytails. "Ladies! You look precious! Inside! Shoes off! Run around! Explore!"

They gleefully dashed into my modest 9,000 square foot mansion and disappeared somewhere within it. They'd be back for dinner. They'd told me that they loved turkey stir-fry pasta, and, to make them happy, that is what I had prepared this morning. I simply had to reheat it.

I turned to look back at Rikki. He too was dressed per my instructions (to avoid my admonitions): a plain white T-shirt, a bland pair of light cotton shorts, and cheap running shoes. "Excellent!" I greeted him after my inspection. He smiled at my approving grin.

I closed the door after him and led him by the hand on a quick spin around my little cozy shack. We never saw the twins during the tour. I thought I had heard them once in the entertainment centre. It mattered not.

I led. I narrated. He followed. He listened. I was again surprised at how easy it was to talk with him. His patience and understanding were unparalleled and exemplary. His delightful "you have exquisite taste", his innocuous "is that so?", and his self-deprecating "I never thought of that" endeared him to me.

I grabbed his arm as we entered my bedroom. It was, admittedly, an indulgence on my part: 1,200 square feet of a sleeping area, a lounge area, two massive walk-in closets, and a splendidly magnificent, marbled bathroom. His jaw dropped.

I pushed him on his back onto my bed. I straddled him. I grabbed his forearms and pushed them over his head. I hung my feet over his thighs, inside his groin. He was pinned.

-----000-----

"I like you, Rikki. Very much in fact," I spoke tenderly.

"I like you too, Jessica." He spoke tenderly.

"Ms. Jessica." My voice and face went cold.

"I like you too, Ms. Jessica," he said nervously.

"I love it when you call me that, sweetie," I said, my voice dripping with genuine care. "The girls are wonderful. I am so looking forward to living with them, and you sweetie, and you, here. Starting tomorrow." I saw his eyes widen. Was I going too fast? Fuck it. Full speed ahead.

"No more worries for you about working at that office," I leaned over him.

"No more stress about the girls' education, their future, their upbringing," I softly kissed him on one cheek.

"No more worries about anything," I kissed the other cheek.

I gazed into his gentle eyes. I saw a beautiful meek creature that had no place trying to be a man in this world. His was a soul that needed protection, guidance, and comfort, all of which I had the capacity, capability, and determination to provide.

"Do you understand, honey?" I asked him. He nodded.

"The girls want this too, dear," I kissed him again. He nodded again.

"Don't be afraid. Ms. Jessica will care for you," I said, and he moaned under my kisses.

"Yes?" I whispered.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" My tone ever so slightly changed.

"Yes, Ms. Jessica," he whispered back.

"Good. I shall be downstairs in the living room with the girls. It's four fifty now. Be down there in 60 minutes. Not a moment sooner. Understood?" He nodded.

"Good. And Rikki, when I was at your place the other day, the girls gave me something for you to wear today. They told me that it was their favourite. I can see why. Now, you shall put it on for me, prepare yourself, and come downstairs. It's on the chair in the lounge. Next to my vanity. There are other instructions on the vanity; read them and comply." I kissed him one more time, passionately this time, and swiftly left him.

-----000-----

The twins flanked me on the couch. We muttered back and forth about our plan. Frankly, they were more upbeat and positive about it than I was. I thought he might back out and flee; if that happened, I do not know what the girls would do. Would they silently follow him? Demand to stay with me? Berate him endlessly?

We held hands. We wore blouses. We wore pants. We anxiously waited for any noise or movement from the top of the stairs.

Here I was, 35, educated, filthy rich, retired, and lonely no more. What a blessing to have had these stunning young girls walk into my life. They exuded potential. I could see it in their eyes. School. University. The corporate ladder. The sports field. I perceived in both of them the ability to climb the greasy pole and attain the highest of heights.

If they just had the right amount of mentoring...

Their mother had excelled in the time that she had had with them. I knew that I could build upon the solid foundation laid by their beloved Janet. And I knew that they would be my best friends and the most flawlessly modern women.

She had gifted to them an advanced degree of sophistication unusual for girls their age. I had detected it immediately. I regretted that I had never met Janet; on the anniversary of her death, I would mourn and honour her with my new girls. Their future accomplishments would be a lasting tribute to their beautiful mother, and in lesser part to me. And that was fine by me. I was truly happy for them.

Both Belinda and Brianna tightened their grips. Our eyes turned upward.

-----000-----

Rikki appeared slowly. He put his hand on the railing and slowly began his descent of the stairs. Belinda's foot tapped the floor. Briana murmured something to herself. Their faces expressed joy. I exhaled: anticipation.

With the grace of a cat, Rikki approached. He was nervous. His daughters saw that and let go of my hands. They lovingly raced to his side. His breathing increased. Might he be afraid that I'll bite? That I'll mock?

Fool. I wouldn't dare do that to this gentle person whom I realized was my perfect soulmate.

"Girls, please lead him here," I said, pointing to a spot on the floor before me.

"Everything's going to be fine, daddy. You need this," said Brianna caringly.

"It's been so long, daddy. We love you like this, so does Jess," said Belinda tenderly.

I stood and entered his personal space. My mistake: I moved my personal space closer to him and brought him into it. There! I felt the rush! Everything about him was mine. I wanted to hold him, clutch him, seize him, squeeze him. I would absorb him if I could. I put my arms around his neck and looked down at him.

Even with those 5" heels on, he still had to look up at me.

"Rikki, you have done wonders with the girls these past two years. It's time for you to go back to your proper place. I will take the lead now, and you will assist me." I kissed him on the lips and smeared his perfect lipstick. He shed a tear; his mascara ran. I gently thumbed the tear away.

"We love you, daddy," the girls soothed him.

"I love you, Rikki," I said kissing him with care and compassion. He needed my love.

His dam broke and he started to sob. Poor thing. Two years alone. Two years of heroically trying to accomplish that which he knew not how to accomplish. Two years of noble, loving efforts for his daughters finally rewarded. They were happy. Belinda flattened the back of his dress. Brianna rubbed her fingers over his fingernail polish. And I kissed him again. He fell into my arms. I held him closely.

He wept. "I love you too, Jessica."

I lifted his chin with my index finger and answered him with a caring but firm voice:

"It's Ms. Jessica to you, my Loving wife."

END

By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2020