what would be the reactions of the dads at their daughter's first period? Especially because Mia and Amara never had a mother/female figure in their home life🤔
Interestedly I got about four asks for the same question haha.
It had to happen eventually, and yet, Will had never let his mind go there. He had worried, in the abstract, about raising a daughter—about protecting her, about keeping her safe from the sharp edges of the world—but this? He wasn’t prepared for this.
Mia was sitting on the closed toilet lid, hugging her knees, looking half-bored, half-amused at Will’s distress. She had come to him without much fanfare, unceremoniously announcing Dad, I think I got my period, and now he was here, standing in the bathroom with a box of pads in one hand, tampons in the other, feeling like a man staring down an unsolvable equation.
“You probably already know how this works,” he said, scratching his beard, eyes flitting between the instructions on the box and Mia’s unimpressed expression.
“Yep.”
“Right.”
Mia sighed, letting her head drop back against the wall. “Is this freaking you out?”
Will scoffed. “No. It’s just—” He gestured vaguely. “It’s a lot. It’s new.”
Mia stretched out her legs. “I feel like I unlocked a new game level. One with blood.”
Will pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus.”
A beat of silence. Then Mia smirked.
“You gonna give me some biological insight, Dad? You do have a degree in this.”
Will groaned. “You want to talk about uterine lining right now?”
Mia just wiggled her eyebrows at him.
Will sighed and handed her the box of pads, muttering something about supporting the local economy when she asked for chocolate money. But when she hopped off the toilet and wrapped her arms around his waist in a quick, easy hug, he decided he had done well enough.
He could learn. She’d make sure of it.
-
Hannibal had known before she told him. He had seen the signs, the shift in hormones, the slight change in her scent—a biological inevitability approaching like the turning of a season.
Still, he let her come to him.
Amara stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, expression tense. She had always been difficult to read, even for him. A product of both nature and nurture, of sharp intellect wrapped in something softer, something more hidden.
“I think I’ve started,” she said plainly.
Hannibal nodded once. “How do you feel?”
She shrugged. “Fine.”
He studied her, noting the way she held herself, the faintest trace of unease beneath the surface. Not fear, not embarrassment—Amara was beyond such things. But there was something unspoken there, something unsettled.
Without a word, Hannibal moved to the sideboard, selecting a small box wrapped in dark red silk. He had prepared it long ago, knowing this day would come.
She watched as he placed it in her hands.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
She did, carefully unfolding the silk, revealing a collection of items: finely crafted cloth pads, a small vial of herbal oil for cramps, a book bound in soft leather. The book, she opened first. Inside, handwritten notes filled the pages—medical insights, historical observations, even personal reflections, all written in his measured, elegant script.
She ran her fingers over the words.
“You knew.”
“Of course.”
Amara looked up at him then, sharp-eyed, thoughtful. “Did you make this for me?”
Hannibal inclined his head. “A father should provide his daughter with knowledge.”
A long silence. Then, with deliberate care, she set the box aside and stepped forward, resting her forehead against his chest in a gesture so fleeting, so subtle, that another man might have missed it.
Hannibal did not.
He placed a hand on the back of her head, fingers threading lightly through her hair. “This is nothing to be ashamed of, Amara. Or scared.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
And that was all. No fuss, no uncertainty, just understanding.
-
Sav had already gotten hers when she went to live with Francis :).