Thomas raised his hand, only to reconsider his actions at the very last moment and instead pulled his daughter into a peaceful embrace. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her close against his chest, his chin resting atop Emma's head. What had he been thinking? He had once sworn never to raise a hand against his child. And that promise, the one he had made to baby Emma, he intended to keep forever. He loved his child. He loved her so much that he could never have forgiven himself if he had struck her.

Silent tears rolled down Emma's cheeks as father and daughter remained quiet. Neither Thomas nor Emma dared to speak. Instead, Thomas pressed a gentle kiss to her damp cheek, his hand moving in a slow, soothing motion along her back. With his thumb, he wiped away the stray tears trickling down her face. Emma, in turn, buried her face against her father's chest, inhaling his familiar scent—unfortunately mixed with cigarettes. Even without words, she knew she had gone too far. And Thomas knew that he had almost destroyed his bond with Emma. Sometimes, she reminded him too much of himself, and that terrified him. He didn't want her to become like him.

Emma had no idea how long they remained like that, wrapped in each other's arms. At some point, they heard the doors of the other servants opening and closing, likely as they headed to the bathroom or their beds, which suggested that it must have been close to midnight. Meaning they had been sitting like this for over an hour.

"I'm sorry," Thomas finally spoke, his voice quiet. "I couldn't stop myself, you know?" He waited for a small nod from his child before continuing. "What you said hurt me, but that didn't give me the right to scare you like that." He paused briefly, his gaze drifting to the photograph on the dresser—the picture they had taken together just before his medical training.

"I'd understand if you hated me. You wouldn't be the first person. But I want you to know that despite everything… I love you… and I would endure any pain just to see you happy." Thomas took a deep breath. "So please be honest with me. Do you hate me because I'm different?"

"No," Emma shook her head. She bit her lip again—it had already become sore from the habit.

"Did you even understand what you just said? What that word means?"

"I heard it once," Emma admitted briefly, then added in a small voice, "I don't really know what it means."

"It's a mocking, degrading word for…" Thomas hesitated, swallowing hard before finishing his sentence, "for men who are different." He inhaled deeply. "I don't want you to use words like that. I thought I had taught you to respect everyone, no matter how different they are."

"You did," Emma admitted softly. She took a deep breath before explaining, "I couldn't stop myself either."

"You must have gotten that from me," Thomas murmured with a sad smile.

Emma turned her head so she could see her father's face properly. "I'm so sorry, Daddy! I didn't want to disrespect you. I guess I was just really frustrated and angry."

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment, letting her words sink in. He knew Emma hadn't meant it, but it had still cut deep. Still, she was a child—his child—and she was willing to own up to her mistakes. That was more than many adults ever did.

"I love you, Daddy. I just had so much anger inside me because of the whole maths situation, and I didn't know what to do with it," she continued.

Thomas understood that all too well. It was a kind of anger he himself had battled countless times. The kind that boiled inside him whenever he felt treated unfairly. The kind that had led him to make mistakes. But he wanted things to be different for Emma. He never wanted her to be ruled by anger or fear.

"I know, little dwarf," he said gently. "But you have to learn to channel it differently."

"How?"

"Maybe…" Thomas thought for a moment. "Maybe through writing or drawing. Or by talking to me before it gets too much. But never take your anger out on others like that."

Emma looked at him thoughtfully. "But you don't always talk about your feelings either," she countered.

Thomas sighed, offering her a wry smile. "I know. That's exactly why I want you to do better."

Days passed. The usual daily chaos at Downton Abbey resumed as Emma's twelfth birthday drew closer.

After school, Emma and Ruby spent time at Yew Tree Farm, where Peter Drewe helped them with their maths. It didn't take long for Emma to notice how frequently Lady Edith visited the farm. Within just one week, Lady Edith had been at the Drewes' house every single afternoon, always with little Marigold, Peter's foster sister, on her lap. At first, Lady Edith seemed surprised to find Emma there, but Emma quickly countered that she could ask the same question. Lady Edith had only smiled softly at Emma's sharp-witted response and let the matter drop, turning her attention back to Marigold while Peter continued his attempts to explain mathematics to Emma and Ruby.

Yet Emma couldn't shake her curiosity. There was something odd about Lady Edith's constant presence at the farm. Why did she look at the little girl with a tenderness Emma had only ever seen from mothers?

"Are you still with us, Emma?" Peter asked, nudging her with the end of his pencil.

Emma blinked and looked back down at her notebook. "Erm, yeah..."

Ruby grinned. "I think Emma's mind is elsewhere."

Emma pulled a face and pretended to be completely focused, but her thoughts kept circling back to Lady Edith.

She found her father – as she so often did – in the backyard. He was leaning against the wall, a cigarette smouldering between his lips.

"Dad," Emma addressed him with a questioning tone.

Thomas cast her a brief glance, which, as always, meant Go on, what is it you want to ask?

Emma hesitated for a moment. "Lady Edith has been visiting the Drewes at Yew Tree Farm quite a lot. She spends a lot of time with the youngest, Marigold."

That piece of information made Thomas pause. For a brief moment, his expression was unreadable. "Interesting," was all he said.

Emma's twelfth birthday was approaching, and she could hardly wait. This year, her special day fell on a Saturday – a stroke of luck, as it meant no school. No early mornings, no maths lessons, no essays to write. Instead, she could spend the day exactly as she pleased.

Yet, there was one small downside: her father had to work. As always. Emma had hoped that Thomas might be able to take the entire day off, but, unsurprisingly, Mr Carson was not particularly sympathetic. A full day off for the under-butler? Unthinkable. However, after some pleading – and perhaps because Mrs Hughes had spoken up for them – Carson had at least granted Thomas the afternoon off.

So, Emma spent the morning roaming the fields near Downton with Ruby. But by the afternoon, when the sun stood high in the sky, she returned home – and there was Thomas, waiting for her. With a gift.

"Once again, happy birthday, my little dwarf," he smiled, handing her the gift.

Emma took it eagerly, tearing off the paper in quick movements. Inside was a beautiful notebook with a dark brown leather cover. As she opened it, the blank pages crackled softly under her fingers. Along with it, Thomas had bought her a few pens.

Emma looked up, studying her father. She understood immediately what he was trying to tell her. She should put her thoughts, her feelings – all those emotions that were sometimes so difficult to control – onto these pages. Rather than taking it out on him.

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, she gently closed the notebook and pressed it against her chest.

"Thank you, Dad," she said quietly.

Thomas looked as if he wanted to say something more, but instead, he simply ran a hand gently over her hair. "We only have a few hours together, so tell me – what shall we do today?"

"Eat cake in the village," Emma grinned.

Later, as the day came to an end and Emma sat on her bed with her new notebook, she carefully opened it and wrote her very first words inside:

My name is Emma Grace Barrow, and today is my twelfth birthday…