"I know you were looking forward to moving to the village with me, but I'm afraid we won't be able to find a new home - at least not for now," he paused, taking a deep breath and looking into his daughter's panicked face.

"You said you wouldn't leave me again," Emma recalled his words from a few weeks ago.

"I know, and that hasn't changed. I'm staying with you."

Emma let out a relieved sigh. Her dad would stay with her, so where was the bad news if she didn't have to leave Downton Abbey? She sat thoughtfully on a wooden crate, swinging her legs. They were in the backyard.

"I've decided to move into my old room here at the Abbey."

A radiant smile spread across Emma's face. She could hardly believe her luck. "Really, Daddy? That's wonderful!" She jumped up and hugged Thomas tightly.

Thomas was surprised by Emma's reaction, "I thought you would be excited about the idea of moving to the village," Thomas admitted cautiously. Emma looked down and nervously played with her fingers. "This is my home." Thomas felt a pang in his heart. Emma never wanted to move in with him, even though he was her father… had he done something wrong, or had his child been influenced by the staff?

"Yes, this is your home," he smiled sadly. Suddenly, he wasn't sure if Emma would take the next piece of news well. "Mr. Carson wants you to move into my room."

"Can't I stay with Anna?"

"Absolutely not!" he blurted out. He didn't like the fact that his daughter had an intimate relationship with everyone but him. That his child would rather live with Anna than with him.

"But..." she tried to protest, but Thomas placed his hand on her shoulder. "You are going to like it, my little dwarf. I promise." Thomas closed his eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath. "In the past, I used to tuck you into bed every night. First, I'd give you a piggyback ride to the bathroom, where you brushed your teeth, and then I'd fly you back to bed. Most of the time, I would lie with you for a while and read you a story," Thomas reminisced.

"I don't remember."

A fact that Thomas had already realized with great regret. His child couldn't remember him anymore - the time they played together or when he put her to bed, "Then let's create new memories," he said optimistically.

Only a few days later, Emmas home was transformed into a convalescent home for officers.

"But I urgently need to oversee the medical staff," Thomas exclaimed anxiously. Emma looked curiously between Mrs. Crawley and her father. Sitting at the table, she occupied herself with her toys when suddenly the servants' hall filled up.

"Under my supervision, Carson, I rely on you to handle it," Mrs. Crawley explained.

"What's going on here?" Lady Grantham wondered.

"I'm just assigning duties in the household where they overlap with the nursing staff's responsibilities."

"Shouldn't we discuss this upstairs?"

"Well, I've made a list and..." She paused for a moment. "Of course."

"Didn't you say you were the manager or his representative?" Ethel winked, much to Thomas' displeasure. Emma left her toys and crawled under the table directly to her dad, who apparently didn't notice her.

"This is what we're up against," O'Brien whispered.

"Don't worry. We'll find a solution," he said. Emma now jumped up in front of her dad, "Daddy!" and cheerfully raised her arms in the air. "Do you have time..." before Emma could finish her question, Thomas interrupted her, "I have to work," and with a simple, quick gesture, he pushed Emma out of the way. The girl formed a surprised "o" with her mouth. She hadn't expected her dad to just push her aside like that. Emma felt her shoulders sink down, and a pang of disappointment struck her little heart. She nodded slowly, trying to hide her disappointment. All she wanted was to ask what all these changes meant. Why were there suddenly so many officers living upstairs, where the new staff came from, and if he finally had time to play with her. A promise he made to her many days ago.

"Can't you see that Thomas is busy? Stop pestering him with your pointless questions. You're old enough to play alone," O'Brien hissed.

Two weeks passed, and Emma felt the divide between her and her father widening. She watched him rush from one task to another, without even glancing in her direction. Often, she stood in the servants' hall, trying to catch his attention, but he persistently ignored her. Emma had thought that with the change, her father would finally have time to play with her, but he was hardly ever there for her.

Only Anna and Mrs. Hughes recognized how much Emma longed for her father's affection.

"I suspected it. First, he acts as if he wants to take care of Emma, and at the next opportunity, the child is pushed aside again," Anna observed.

"He has a lot on his plate..." Mrs. Hughes defended the young sergeant. Perhaps Thomas just wanted to show that Lady Grantham didn't choose him without reason and that he was capable of handling the responsibilities of his current position.

"No, I don't believe that, Mrs. Hughes. Thomas has always had a talent for pushing Emma away. It was only a matter of time... don't you wonder why Thomas kept the child? I do. Emma could have been placed with a loving family."

"I highly doubt that," Mrs. Hughes said. "Emma is a Barrow."

"Not by blood."

"I wouldn't be so sure," the housekeeper said, lost in thought. Anna looked at her, confused. Thomas had adopted the child, even if he received the birth certificate. Yet, the child wasn't a Barrow from birth. Thomas chose her.

Mrs. Hughes took a little time for the young girl every day, playing with her and telling her stories. The child had long given up trying to seek Thomas' attention. She couldn't understand why her father rejected her so much. Why couldn't he just find time for her? Why did he keep pushing her aside as if she were a burden? But eventually, the day came when even Mrs. Hughes had too much to do.

"Where do you think you're going?" Thomas asked sternly, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette. Emma froze in her tracks, her face displaying a mixture of surprise and guilt. She hadn't expected her father to find her. But there he was with O´Brien in the backyard.

"I... I wanted to go play with my new friends in the village," Emma stammered, avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, so you decided it was a good idea to just leave without telling anyone?" Thomas inquired.

"You're always so busy." Emma countered.

"If that's the case..." Thomas took another drag of his cigarette. The response was enough for the girl to continue with her plan. Even the Sergeant was left speechless.

"She must not need you anymore," O'Brien smirked.

Thomas stubbed his cigarette against the wall and hurried after the child. "Emma, you can't just run off like that," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I didn't give you permission to go to the village."

"I'm bored, and no one has time to play with me! I wanted to have some fun!" Emma protested, her voice tinged with disappointment. She crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"Nevertheless, you can't run away. You're 5 years old!"

"Not for long," Emma corrected. Although it would be another three-quarters of a year, she insisted persistently on the word 'not for long' because soon she would be a schoolchild.

"You're 5! You're too young to go to the village alone!" he said, running his hand through his face. Thomas sighed, "I know it's boring here. The routines aren't working as they should yet. Once everything settles down with the convalescent home, everyone will have a bit more time, okay?"

Emma nodded silently.

"I don't want to forbid you from seeing your friends, but it's also my job to keep you safe. You're my little dwarf. That's why you won't go to the village alone. But since no one has time to accompany you, you'll have to stay here, whether you like it or not." Thomas replied, his voice filled with both love and authority.

Emma nodded again.

The boring afternoon led her to the garage. Curiously, Emma watched as Tom Branson maneuvered under the car. His hands were covered in grease as he diligently worked on repairing the engine. "I can help you, Tom!" Emma exclaimed excitedly as she squatted down next to him.

Tom looked up in surprise, a smile appearing on his face. "Well, Emma, you want to help me? That's very kind of you."

Emma nodded eagerly and handed him a wrench. "Here, you'll probably need this."

While Tom continued his repairs, Emma patiently handed him every tool he needed. They talked about her favorite games, her secret hiding spots in the estate, and about the animals. After a while, Tom paused his work and looked at Emma earnestly. "Emma, may I ask you something? Why are you with me? Where are Thomas, Anna or Mrs. Hughes?"

A sad expression crossed Emma's face. She sighed softly and looked down at the ground. "They have no time for me. They're always busy with the officers and the convalescent home."

Tom placed his greasy hands on Emma's little shoulders and gently squeezed them. "You're a great help to me, Emma. So, the next time you're bored, feel free to come to me again, okay?" A joyful smile spread across Emma's face.

In the night, Emma jolted awake. The loud screams abruptly awakened her. In the pitch-dark room, she tiptoed to her half-awake father's bed, shaking his shoulder.

"Dad? Do you hear that too?" Thomas nodded wearily. The scream echoed once again. Louder and longer than before. "I can't sleep. I'm scared," she confessed. Thomas sighed and sat up straight in bed. Reaching for the lighter, he lit both candles on the nightstand.

"Stay here. I'll see what's going on," he muttered, grabbing one of the candles. In the hallway, he quickly realized that Mr. Lang was the one screaming. Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and the maids had also come out of their sleeping quarters. Carson woke up the valet. With the assistance of O'Brien, the butler tried to calm down the man. "No one is asking you to return, Mr. Lang," Carson explained.

"No, just stop screaming," Thomas ordered, "There's a child next door trying to sleep," and he blew out the candle in his hand.

Thomas returned to the room quickly. He found Emma in his bed, clutching her stuffed animal, curled up like a little hedgehog.

"Everything alright, little dwarf?" Thomas asked.

"Why was he screaming?" Emma inquired.

"It seems that Mr. Lang had a nightmare. Well, I think we should go back to bed and get some more sleep," Thomas explained curtly.

"Can I stay here?"

"We already share a room," Thomas replied.

"Here," Emma pointed to the bed, "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"You're just one nightstand's width away from me."

"Daddy," she blinked at him with big puppy eyes. Thomas sighed, "Move over then, or do you expect me to balance on the narrow edge?" With his arm around his daughter, he searched for a new comfortable sleeping position, as Emma's head rested on his chest.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"I once had a nightmare too," Emma shared, "Mrs. Hughes told me the story of Hansel and Gretel, and then I had a bad dream that Mrs. Patmore was the evil witch and wanted to eat me!"

"I see."

"After that, I didn't want to be alone with Mrs. Patmore anymore because I was too scared that she would put me in the oven with the Brussels sprouts."

"My little dwarf, it's the middle of the night, and I'm really tired..."

Sleep? No matter how hard Emma tried and forcefully closed her eyes, she simply couldn't fall asleep. Emma glanced up at her sleeping dad. "Daddy?" Emma asked, but he didn't stir. So, she reached up with her little hand and touched his cheek. "Daddy!"

"What's the matter?" Thomas asked wearily.

"I can't fall asleep."

Thomas let out a long sigh. "Maybe you should try to fall asleep in your own bed?" he suggested, closing his eyes again. But the child was not satisfied with the suggestion. "When I can't sleep, Anna always makes me cocoa," she explained.

"You can also get a glass of water," Thomas suggested, as that way he could continue sleeping peacefully while the child drank on her own.

"But water doesn't help with falling asleep."

Thomas lit the candle on the nightstand and put on his dressing gown. Next, he reached for Emma's little coat, helping her slide her arms into the sleeves before leading her down to the kitchen.

"Cold or warm?" he asked.

"Warm," she replied, adding a soft "please."

He warmed up the milk in a small saucepan while Emma sat on the kitchen counter in the middle of the room, "Anna always stirs a little piece of chocolate into the milk."

"But I'm not Anna," Thomas grumbled. Annoyed, he turned to his daughter. What did the child think, giving him instructions in the middle of the night? But when he looked at his child, he couldn't be angry with her anymore. "How about I add a bit of honey? It's supposed to help with falling asleep," he suggested.

Emma nodded, and shortly after, Thomas handed her a glass of warm milk with honey.

"Dad, can I ask you something?" Emma asked cautiously. She held the warm glass of milk with both hands while studying her father. He leaned against the counter across from her.

Thomas nodded encouragingly.

"Why are there so many soldiers living upstairs? What is a convalescent home? Why is there so many new staff?"

"You're not used to so many changes, huh?" Emma took a sip of her warm milk as she felt her dad sitting next to her on the kitchen counter, his arm around her.

"A war always brings about changes."

War. That was the word that adults used every day. Mrs. Patmore had emphasized so many times that everything was better before the war. There was an abundance of food, and even the kitchen staff was more manageable. But Emma couldn't remember a time before the war. The war was to blame for never seeing her dad. For her dad having to live apart from her for a long time. And even now, he had so many duties and tasks during the day that he simply didn't have time for her. William once explained to her that she should imagine the war like this: when two people argue and then fight. Except it's much worse. Countries argue, and many people fight.

"The officers all fought in the war and got injured. That's why there are many injured men living upstairs. And additional staff was hired to take care of the men and Mrs. Patmore also got help in the kitchen because she can't cook for so many people alone."

Thomas looked at his child's face with concern. He had hoped to see some reaction from Emma. All her facial expression revealed was a pensive girl trying to process the words.

Emma took another sip of her glass. The milk was still pleasantly warm. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Even though the topic was not cheerful, she enjoyed the brief moment of togetherness with her father.

"I'm sorry for pushing you away so many times in the past few days. That wasn't my intention," he mumbled as his head rested on hers. He gently pressed his child a little closer.

"Dad, will you be mad at me when you find out that I helped Tom?" At first, Thomas didn't understand what Emma was getting at until he remembered that the girl had spent the boring afternoon with the chauffeur. "Of course not."

He held his child a little tighter, planted a kiss on her forehead. "Do you think we can go back to bed?" he asked hopefully. Emma placed the glass beside her so she could stretch her hands in the air. "Daddy, can you carry me? I'm too tired!"

Thomas grinned. He placed his arms under Emma's belly and flew her back to the bedroom, where he gently laid her in her bed.

"Like the old times," the girl grinned, handing him a book. Thomas snuggled into her bed and began reading the bedtime story. Barely reaching the second page of the book, the child fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. And this time, he stayed lying next to her.