Am I, not a good dad? ྀི
“I want mama!” your son screams, tears filling up his eyes—the same color as Nanami’s.
And speaking of Nanami…he feels helpless.
The boy won’t stop crying, won’t stop calling for you. His little face is red and scrunched up, his cheeks wet, chest heaving with each shaky breath. You’d told him you’d be gone for a few hours—explained it gently, with a kiss to his forehead and a promise that Papa would take care of everything. But none of it seemed to matter.
You’re gone and his world feels like it’s ended.
“Please, baby…Mum will be back any time soon.” Nanami spares a glance at the clock, in thirty minutes you’d be here. “Should we finish your meal in the meantime, mh?” He tries, voice tight, panic folding over his usual calm.
But your son only screams louder, fists pounding the highchair tray, tears flowing freely.
It’s been hours, and Nanami has come to the conclusion that : he doesn’t want me.
He stares at his son’s red, tear-slicked face. There’s no hatred in it, just unfiltered, helpless longing.
“I want Mamaaaaaa!!” Nanami flinches. Exactly, the toddler is longing for you.
The little boy’s small chest rises and falls in erratic sobs, hiccupping on the edge of breathlessness.
Nanami exhales slowly through his nose. You can do this, he tells himself. You’re his father. You can do this.
So, he tries.
He pulls out the little wooden train you carved together one weekend. Places it on the floor. “Do you want to show Papa how fast it goes again?” he asks, voice as gentle as possible.
No response.
He tries the animal book—the one with flaps and texture that always make him giggle. “Tell Papa where’s the lion. Can you find the lion for me?”
Nothing.
Just a heartbreaking, hoarse little “Mama…”
Nanami even tries to put on the cartoon with the talking blue bear. The one your son usually dances to.
As nothing seems to work, Kento feels his heart breaking inch by inch. He picks him up despite the flailing little arms, holds him against his chest, firm but not tight, like you’ve teached him.
His son won’t stop. Not even a little. The screams turn into an open-mouthed wail, the kind that turns cheeks purple and voices raw for hours.
Nanami’s hands tremble slightly. He sits down on the floor with the boy in his lap, gently cradling him, head bowed. He’s never felt this powerless.
Not during cursed missions, not under pressure—but here, in his own home, with his child breaking apart in his arms… He feels not enough.
Not soft enough. Not warm enough. Not you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the crown of his son’s head. “I’m trying. Papa’s trying so hard.”
And that’s when the front door creaks open. “I’m home!”
And just like that, your son’s head snaps up from where he’s been sobbing into Nanami’s lap. Your husband doesn’t even have the time to rise to his feet that the boy is squirming violently in his arms, “mama! Mama! MAMA!!” Nanami lets him go without resistance. He stands slowly as your son flings himself into your arms when you appear in the doorway.
Concern is written all over your face. “I’m here, baby. I’m here…” you look up and see Nanami standing a few feet away, shoulders sagging, eyes tired behind his glasses.
“he’s been crying for hours,” he says softly. “didn’t want anything from me. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t play.”
You nod as your rubs your son’s back. “I’m sorry. He’s just been going through this clingy phase.”
“I know.” Nanami offers a tired smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “it’s okay.”
Later, after dinner and a bath your son is finally asleep, curled on your side of the shared bed, clutching one of your shirts tightly, your scent comforting him.
Nanami stands in the doorway, arms crosses, watching the soft rise and fall of your kid. You come up behind him, circling his waist with your arms, letting your cheek rest on his strong back.
One of his hands intertwin with yours. “He wouldn’t even let me hold him,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt that…useless before.”
“Kento…”
“I know he’s still small. I know it’s not personal. But…” he pauses, swallowing hard. “I tried everything. Toys, books, food, music. He didn’t want any of it. It felt like…like…I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t…probably am, not a good dad.”
Your heart twists at the words. “Can you please turn to face me, love?”
He lets out a deep exhale, like the breath hurts to let go, and turns. When his eyes meet yours, you feel like the weight of the whole world just collapsed onto your chest.
Nanami is silently crying.
His eyes are rimmed red, and cheeks drenched wet.
You gently cup his jaw. “You were more than enough Kento. You held him even when he didn’t want to be held. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t walk away. You didn’t even raise your voice once. That’s not just ‘enough’. That’s what a good dad does. That’s love.”
He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as more tears gather in his long blonde lashes. “I just…” his voice breaks. “I just wanted to be what he needed.”
Nanami wraps his arms around you tighter, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder. He breathes into your neck, letting your scent comforting him—just like his son does.
“I don’t mind not being the favorite,” he murmurs after a while, his voice quiet and raw. “But I hope, one day, he’ll reach for me too.”
You press a kiss the top of his head, pulling him impossibly closer to you. “He will. And when he does…he won’t want to let go.”
(request)
