2011

Got it! And thanks for clarifying The more I hear about, the more I am getting myself interested in undergoing the same procedure Given the opportunity, I would be so happy to chat anyone who has been through this. So far I know of @Reddy and @BrownBobby.  I am sorry if it feels like I am asking way too many questions. I really just wish to set the expectations. To understand what it is like. And to see if this is really for me. It looks more and more like it is. But so far I mostly living inside a dream. And dreams are free, after all

I do every so often. I tend to lean toward hard sci-fi. Planetes is one of my favorites.

In Chapter 131, Sally settles into Theresa’s apartment and, almost without noticing, slides straight into little-sister territory—the kind where someone thinks nothing of sending her to bed with a bossy flick of the lights and a cheerful, “Diapers. Pajamas. Now.” What follows is a day that’s warm, funny, and quietly life-changing: a VIP check-up that confirms her body’s healing, a doctor who treats her like a person instead of a headline, a sweet surprise connection through Jana’s mom, and a video call from Bridget that steadies her in ways she didn’t expect. There’s dinner with the Selters, where Sally is doted on like family and Charlie can’t look at her for more than two seconds without blushing, and there’s the slow, steady feeling that her world is widening instead of closing in.  By the time she’s curled on the couch in flannel pajamas, watching a terrible sitcom with Theresa and letting herself feel safe in ways she hasn’t in months, she realizes this chapter isn’t just another stop on her recovery—it’s the moment she understands she gets to have a future again, and it might be bigger, messier, and a whole lot happier than she ever dared hope.   Chapter 131 – Diapers. Pajamas. Now! “Wow,” Sally breathed as the door swung open and she stepped into Theresa’s apartment for the first time. She’d expected… well, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Maybe something small and cramped, maybe a cozy spot wedged between rows of sleepy senior neighbors. But this—this was nothing like that. The living room was wide and welcoming, sunlight spilling through tall windows that framed a tree-lined view from the third floor. The open-concept kitchen glowed softly with under-cabinet lighting and brushed steel accents. A potted plant thrived in the corner like it actually belonged there. “I’ve barely had time to enjoy it, so this week was nice,” Theresa said, stepping inside and setting her bag on the counter. “Welcome to Casa Theresa.” Sally’s eyes drifted around the space as she slowly wheeled her suitcase in. “Thanks. It’s… really spacious. Peaceful. Like a quiet little castle.” Theresa chuckled. “A castle with laundry day and not enough cabinet space, but I’ll take the compliment.” Sally smirked. Her gaze swept to the plush navy sofa in the center of the room. “That couch looks dangerously comfortable.” “Tempting, huh? But don’t get too attached. Your room’s over here.” Theresa motioned to a hallway off to the right. Sally’s brows lifted. “My own room?” “Your very own,” Theresa confirmed with a wink. “Bathroom’s next to it. You’re free to use mine if you’re feeling picky or need a spa moment, but I think you’ll survive.” Sally wheeled her suitcase down the hall, pausing at the doorway. The room was modest, but cozy, with soft white bedding, a writing desk under the window, and a touch of lavender scent lingering in the air. She exhaled slowly. “It’s perfect.” Theresa was already headed back to the kitchen. “Coffee in five. Follow the smell!” Sally grinned, unpacking at a thoughtful pace. She folded her clothes neatly into the built-in drawers, hung up the few nice pieces she’d brought, and slid her unopened diapers under the bed. Her toiletries bag went to the bathroom counter, where she eyed the fluffy hand towels in quiet approval. Then, finally, she padded out to the living room and sank into the sofa. Her whole body exhaled. Shoulders, legs, even her toes. Another city. Another bed. Another round of check-ins and checklists. But this… this was different. This wasn’t just a place to land. With Theresa here, it felt like shelter. Like safety. Like someone had left the porch light on just for her. It felt—almost impossibly—like home. -- Sally Weiss had never been a little sister. Only child. Private schools. Solitary breakfasts with her mother. No hair-pulling sibling wars, no borrowed hoodies, no loud footsteps at night that weren’t her own. But after two weeks in Texas watching Trish and Sheila’s chaotic brilliance—equal parts love and warfare—she’d gotten a taste of sisterhood. And now? Now she had Theresa. Or “Tess,” as Sally was learning to call her in the off-hours. And Tess, it turned out, had zero mercy in the mornings. Which is exactly why, just after dawn, Sally found herself grotesquely curled under a half-twisted sheet, mouth open, a tiny trail of drool on her cheek, wet diaper slightly sagging, when the door to her cozy guest room flew open like a musical number was about to start. “Sally, deedums!” Theresa chimed, sing-song, as she strode in with far too much purpose for that hour. “Up and at ‘em! Breakfast is ready—but not for you! Doctor’s appointment, remember? No food. But coffee’s brewing, praise be. So bathroom, then clothes. But again, no food. I repeat: Nothing!” Sally groaned something that sounded like, “You’re evil,” but might’ve just been snoring in slow motion. “Also,” Theresa added, cheerfully ignoring her, “you look like a crime scene. A very soft crime scene. Tragic victim of pillow assault.” She yanked open the curtains with a dramatic flourish. Sunlight flooded the room like paparazzi. Sally hissed. Actually hissed. She rolled and her diaper crinkled in protest. “Theresaaaaa,” she groaned. But her tormentor was already gone. Minutes later, Sally emerged from the room in her mismatched pajama set—a sagging diaper and an old oversized MIT hoodie she’d adopted as her own—stumbling like a zombie toward the bathroom. Waiting in the open-plan kitchen, Theresa and Jana sat at the island, coffees in hand, both dressed and looking infuriatingly alive. “Morning, sleepyhead!” they said in unison. Jana raised a piece of toast in a solemn greeting. “Apologies. We shall eat in respectful silence while you, poor soul, are tragically un-fed.” Theresa nodded, sipping her espresso. “We’ve lit a candle for your digestive suffering.” Sally stopped in her tracks, eyes narrowing. She stared at the toast. Then at Jana. Then at Theresa. Then at the heavenly-smelling coffee she knew she could at least claim. “I hate all of you,” she muttered with zero heat, already dragging her feet to the bathroom. “Especially you, toast.” Sally’s voice floated back from behind the bathroom door. “You will all answer for this betrayal.” Theresa just grinned and poured her another cup. “Little sisters,” she murmured, fondly. “They’re so dramatic before caffeine.” -- Jana had planned to simply drop them off at the clinic—clean in, clean out, chauffeur-style. She’d been coaxed into the back like some pampered royal—“Pampered Princess seat,” Theresa called it—while Jana and Theresa discussed her plans, schedule, health, and future as though she were a minor aristocrat who didn’t speak English. Sally crossed her arms. “You know, I can hear both of you,” she muttered. They ignored her with matching smirks. When they approached the entrance, Jana eased toward the curb to let them out. But Theresa snapped, “No no no—turn right. Private lot.” Her tone suggested national security protocol, not a pediatrician’s checkup. Jana obeyed, swinging into the discreetly marked VIP garage. They parked in a space labeled Reserved for Suite Clients: 1–4. Jana put the car in park. “Alright. I’ll let you two off—” But Theresa hesitated. Frowned. Shifted her crutch. Looked at Sally. Looked at the clinic. Looked back at Sally. Looked at Jana. She was clearly torn between wanting Jana nearby and not wanting to appear like she needed backup. Sally recognized the symptoms: Classic Theresa Overthinking Syndrome. And so, with the maturity of a girl who had survived goats, guns, politicians, mud, and county fairs, Sally stepped in. “Jana,” she said sweetly, leaning forward between the front seats, “would you mind coming inside with us? Theresa’s coming back with me to the exam room, but… it’d be nice to have someone in the reception area. Just in case.” Jana’s head swiveled. For a moment, her expression softened in an I-will-die-for-you kind of way. “Sure, boss,” she said quietly, smiling at Sally through the rearview mirror. And Sally felt, rather than saw, Theresa’s eyebrows shoot upward. Not annoyed—more like: Oh? So now I’m sharing my little sister?? Sally pressed her lips together to hide her grin. So much for the sister game, she thought. Theresa had competition now. “Alright, troops,” Theresa announced, rallying her dignity as she opened her door, “let’s go get Sally poked, scanned, and judged.” Jana snorted. Sally laughed. And the three of them headed into the clinic—a bizarre, affectionate triangle of protector, sister, and VIP teenager walking toward whatever awaited inside. -- Dr. Corinne Salcedo stood just inside the VIP suite entrance of the private clinic, her white coat crisp, dark curls pinned up neatly, and a welcoming smile lighting her eyes. “Sally!” she greeted warmly, stepping forward with both hands extended. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Sally accepted the handshake with a polite smile — she always liked Dr. Salcedo. Not many adults in her world greeted her like a person instead of a headline. Even fewer called her just Sally, without a title or pity or awe baked into it. “Hi, Doctor,” Sally replied. “You look well.” “I’ll take that as a miracle,” Salcedo chuckled. “Especially coming from my most famous patient.” Theresa stepped up behind Sally and offered her own greeting. “Doctor.” “Theresa. Good to see you up and about,” said Salcedo warmly. Then her eyes landed on Jana, who stood quietly at the back, arms loosely folded, wearing her neutral, alert expression — part assistant, part bodyguard, part unofficial sister-cousin hybrid. But something in her face changed. “Wait,” Jana said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “I know you.” Dr. Salcedo tilted her head. “Really? From the hospital, maybe?” “No, no… not there.” Jana frowned, thoughtful. “Asylum Street Community Center. I take my mom there.” Sally blinked in surprise. Wait, what? Dr. Salcedo’s face lit up. “Yes! That’s right. Your mother is Mrs. Spalding, isn’t she? I recognize you!” Jana’s jaw dropped just slightly. “She is. Wow… I never expected…” “Remind her not to miss her visit Thursday,” Salcedo said, smiling. “And tell her I’m bringing that massage gun she likes. I promised last week.” Sally turned to Theresa with wide eyes. Theresa raised her eyebrows, her expression saying, Did not see that coming. Jana was still processing. “Thanks,” she murmured. “It means more than you know. I… really appreciate it.” “I do too,” said Salcedo simply. “The honor’s mine.” Then she turned back to Sally with professional ease. “Now, I was under the impression it would be just you and Theresa—should I order a third chair?” Jana straightened. “No, I’ll stay out here.” Then, more sincerely than expected: “Thank you again. Really. For everything.” Sally was quiet a moment, looking from Jana to the doctor. Then she smiled — just slightly. “Wow,” she whispered as they walked toward the examination suite. “You’re famous at the community center.” Dr. Salcedo grinned. “Not as famous as you, young lady.” And with that, the trio disappeared into the plush interior of the VIP suite — a teenager, her guardian, and a doctor who had just earned the highest badge of trust: Jana’s surprised respect. -- After Sally’s check-up, she felt as if the clinic had taken a tiny piece of her at every station. First blood draw, then two vials more for “additional labs.” A urine sample. Height, weight, vitals. X-rays of both lower legs and torso. Lung function. Stethoscope. Reflex hammer. A cold pulse oximeter clipped to her finger. And then finally—mercifully—they released her into a beautiful lounge for breakfast. She sat at a sleek little table with a plate of pastries arranged like edible art and fresh orange juice that tasted as if it had been squeezed three minutes ago by angels. Theresa had insisted she eat at least one croissant before her glucose levels dropped. Sally complied, feeling very fancy and slightly overexamined. Soon, the nurse guided them into a comfortable consultation room. Dr. Salcedo sat at a round table with a laptop open, and as she pressed a button, Bridget Weiss appeared on screen—tan, glowing, and very mother-business, sitting in a serene living room somewhere tropical. Her face softened when she saw her daughter. “Hi, sweetheart.” Bridget’s smile could have warmed a cold front. Sally smiled shyly. “Hi, Mom.” Theresa took the seat beside Sally. Dr. Salcedo sat across from them, poised and composed. “Alright,” the doctor began, clicking open her notes. “Let’s review everything together.” She spoke clearly, not rushed, her tone both warm and professional. “Sally’s medical history… fractures to both tibias and fibulas, three ribs, one clavicle; pneumothorax requiring chest tube; mild concussion. All five months ago. Not counting the recent pneumonia.” Bridget winced softly at the list. Dr. Salcedo continued. “The good news is that her recovery progress remains excellent. Her bone density is normalizing, and the X-rays show proper healing on both legs and collarbone. No signs of delayed union or complications. Rib structure is intact. Lungs are clear, no fluid retention, and the pneumothorax has fully resolved.” Sally sat upright in the exam chair, chewing the last corner of a cheese danish as her mother appeared on the clinic’s video screen. Bridget looked focused, but she couldn’t hide the glow of sunshine and salt air, even in her sharp linen shirt. Her eyes softened the moment she saw her daughter. “Hi, darling. You look good. You eating breakfast there?” Sally waved the pastry. “Just a little.” Dr. Salcedo smiled as she turned her screen toward Bridget. “We’ve completed all the check-ups. Vitals are steady, and weight is stable for her age and frame. There’s even some regained muscle tone in the lower limbs. She says she gets sore after long walks or her more adventurous exploits. Chasing goats and getting Broncos stuck in the mud, apparently.” Theresa chuckled. “Jeff told me it was a muddy mess. But she handled it.” Sally grinned. “Totally handled it.” Dr. Salcedo continued. “Her stamina is returning, and balance is good. We’ll continue to recommend light physical activity to rebuild strength gradually, but she’s well ahead of expectations.” Bridget leaned in slightly. “And her lungs? Any concerns?” “Clear,” the doctor confirmed. “No residual issues from the pneumonia. Breathing is regular, no wheeze or obstruction.” Dr. Salcedo turned to Sally with a softer tone. “Now, about the enuresis. How are you managing it, Sally?” Sally hesitated, glancing briefly at Theresa, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Um… well. I still use protection… diapers, at night or on long trips. I haven’t really pushed to stop. I guess I just got used to it,” Sally said, cheeks pink. Dr. Salcedo nodded, voice kind. “You’re not alone. It’s common after trauma. There’s no rush. We can look into behavioral routines if and when you’re ready. For now, comfort and confidence matter most.” Bridget smiled warmly on screen. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.” Dr. Salcedo jotted a few notes, then looked up. “Nightmares?” Sally shrugged. “Still have them sometimes. But not like before. And when I do, it’s easier. Less scary. I can talk myself down now.” Theresa gently squeezed Sally’s hand. “She’s braver than she thinks.” Dr. Salcedo nodded. “That’s another sign of healing.” Finally, she glanced at her screen and back at Sally. “And congratulations. Your cycle came back. That’s a big milestone. It means your body is coming out of crisis mode.” Sally blushed. “Thanks. I guess that’s good.” “It’s very good,” said Bridget. “We’ll celebrate it later, just us girls.” Dr. Salcedo leaned back slightly. “No major red flags at this point. As long as she continues her gradual return to normal activity, stays consistent with emotional support, and checks in every few months, I foresee a strong, full recovery.” Bridget exhaled with relief. “Thank you, Doctor. And thank you, Theresa.” Theresa nodded, pleased. “She’s easy to take care of. She’s a fighter.” Sally sipped her orange juice and looked around the room at the adults who had carried her through one of the hardest journeys of her life. “I’m not fighting so hard anymore,” she said, almost to herself. Dr. Salcedo smiled. “Maybe that means you’re winning.” Dr. Salcedo leaned back slightly, her eyes warm and attentive. “Questions?” Sally hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of her jeans. But something about the calm in Dr. Salcedo’s tone—or maybe the gentle presence of Theresa nearby—coaxed her out. “Well… yeah. I was wondering…” She glanced between her doctor and the laptop screen, where her mother’s tan, glowing face smiled back with quiet encouragement. “What about sports? Like… jogging? Or tennis? I just—how long until I can try again?” Dr. Salcedo’s smile widened. “Ah. The itch to move. That’s a good sign.” Sally gave a sheepish smile. “It’s just… I used to run a little. And I was going to start tennis lessons. Even bought outfits. Then the… well, crash.” Theresa gave her hand a quick, supportive squeeze. “Well, Sally,” said Dr. Salcedo, turning to her tablet and tapping through a few X-rays, “your bones are solid. Healed beautifully. And your strength markers are exactly where I’d want them to be at five months out. You’re not in recovery mode anymore. You’re in reconditioning. That means you’re not just healing now—you’re building back your power, your control, your rhythm.” Bridget, from the screen, beamed. “That’s amazing to hear.” “Let’s talk specifics,” the doctor went on, returning her attention to Sally. “For jogging, start gentle. Walk-jog intervals. Maybe thirty seconds jogging, then a couple minutes walking. Even surfaces only. No trails yet—save the mud for Texas.” Sally laughed. “Tell that to Trish’s Bronco.” “What else?” Dr. Salcedo asked, grinning. “And tennis?” Sally straightened a little. “I’ve… got a racket now. Special one.” “Then let’s honor it,” the doctor said, her voice softening. “Start with drills—no movement. Just footwork in place. Then progress to mini-tennis. Keep it light. Controlled. No competition yet, but yes to technique. Let your body guide you. If it protests, you listen.” Sally nodded, thoughtful. “So I’m allowed to try. Just… responsibly.” “Exactly. Think of it like training, not testing. This phase is about learning your body all over again—its new balance, its strength. You’ll be surprised how quickly your coordination and confidence come back.” Theresa nodded. “She’s already moving more naturally. You should’ve seen her on the range.” Sally turned a bit pink. “I did hit the target.” “I heard,” Bridget chimed in. “Multiple times.” Dr. Salcedo chuckled. “Well, that confirms it—your coordination’s sharp. That brings me to something else I suspect you’ll want to hear…” She lowered her tablet and looked Sally in the eye. “I heard you like cars. Manual driving? Absolutely doable.” Sally’s eyes lit up. “Really?” “You have no ankle involvement, your legs handle pressure well, and if you’re cleared for footwork in tennis, you’re cleared for clutch coordination too. Of course, practice somewhere safe. But yes, start learning. As soon as you’re old enough!” Theresa laughed. “Better clear the driveway.” Sally beamed, eyes misty with relief and excitement. “It just… feels like I’m getting my life back.” “You are,” Dr. Salcedo said gently. “One step, one small victory at a time.” Bridget’s voice came through, warm and firm. “I’m so proud of you, Sal.” Sally’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard. “Thanks, Mom. Thanks… everyone.” Dr. Salcedo nodded and closed the tablet. “Now, a few reminders. Keep up your strength training—bodyweight exercises, bands, maybe some Pilates. And keep your lungs active. Swim if you can. You’re doing beautifully.” Theresa added, “We’ll set up the right routine.” They sat in a moment of silence, warm and reflective. “Well,” said Dr. Salcedo at last, “you’re cleared to begin a new chapter. Carefully, gently… but fully.” Sally nodded. “That’s what I want.” Theresa stood and offered a hand. “Come on, champion. Let’s get you out of here before they find something else to scan.” -- Jana had driven them back from the clinic without much conversation, unusually quiet, her gaze locked on the road, jaw set. But back at Theresa’s apartment, over snacks and a moment to breathe, she finally opened up. “I don’t really talk about it,” Jana said, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. “But since you saw the whole awkward thing with Dr. Salcedo…” Sally looked up from her tea, curious. “So, yeah—when you guys gave me that health insurance package? I added my mom to it. She qualified, no problem.” Jana shrugged, but there was a thread of pride woven through her words. “First thing I did was take her to that clinic. This elegant clinic. Top of the line. I mean, it’s beautiful, right? She walks in, sees marble floors and private elevators, and she freezes.” “She didn’t like it?” Sally asked gently. Jana shook her head. “No. Said it wasn’t for her. Too white. Too rich. Said it made her feel like someone was gonna kick her out for stealing the complimentary hand sanitizer.” She gave a bitter little laugh. “So she made me take her to the Asylum Street Community Center instead. More familiar, more diverse, she said. And guess who’s volunteering there on her own time? Dr. Salcedo.” “That’s amazing,” Sally said, eyes wide. “I mean, that she’s there. And that you… you did all that.” “Yeah, well, I felt weird. Like I’d offered my mom the penthouse and she picked the attic. So I made a donation to the center, kind of to even things out. Doesn’t fix anything, but it helps.” Theresa reached over and poured more coffee, her tone warm but grounded. “You did more than help, Jana. You gave her a choice. That’s what matters.” Sally smiled, chin in her hand. “And she chose a place where she feels at home. With a doctor she trusts. Honestly, that’s cooler than marble floors. And she still has the clinic if she needs it.” Jana let out a slow breath and leaned forward on the counter. “It’s just… hard, you know? Watching your mom struggle with what she thinks she deserves. When I know she deserves better.” Sally nodded, quiet for a moment. Then, with a soft voice, she said, “She deserves what you gave her. And more. You’re a good daughter, Jana. You’re not just around—you’re there. That counts.” Jana’s eyes flicked toward the window. “Yeah. I just hope it’s enough.” “It is,” Theresa said firmly. “Trust me. She knows it. Even when she won’t say it.” Jana gave a reluctant smile, and for once, let herself relax just a little. “Thanks. Both of you.” Sally raised her mug. “To moms. And daughters. And community center doctors who sneak in under the radar.” They clinked mugs with a quiet laugh—and for a moment, the kitchen felt less like a room and more like a sanctuary, shared by people who were building something stronger than medicine or marble: trust, care, and something like family. -- Theresa flipped her laptop open after lunch with the kind of theatrical flair that made Sally immediately suspicious. “Alright, kiddo. As you’ve probably noticed, that was a very light lunch.” “Oh,” Sally said, leaning back in her chair with mock offense. “I thought you’d put me on some kind of weight-loss program.” Jana snorted into her coffee. “As if you’d survive it.” Theresa gave Sally a pointed look. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re my guest. I’d never starve you.” Sally raised a brow. “Guest? Try ‘hostage.’ Or maybe ‘honorary little sister.’ That’s what it feels like around here.” Theresa rolled her eyes. “Well, dear hostage-little-sister, let me enlighten you. Context. Last Sunday at church?” Sally nodded slowly. “Was that before or after I was ambushed at the county fair and nationally broadcast for waving at llamas?” Jana chuckled. “You’ve had quite the resume builder. We mean here in Hartford. At church.” Theresa continued, unfazed. “Sandra and Patricia cornered us after the service. They’ve been planning a dinner—invited all of us. It was supposed to be yesterday, but I figured you’d be exhausted after you trip, and the tension of the doctor’s visit.” Sally blinked. “So instead, we had… what exactly?” “Popcorn and movie night,” said Theresa, holding her mug like a gavel. Sally tilted her head. “We didn’t have popcorn. Or a movie.” “Exactly,” Theresa smirked. “You fell asleep five minutes after dessert. So we had an imaginary movie night. With hypothetical popcorn.” Sally squinted, half-smiling. “I feel deeply nourished by this theoretical experience.” Thersa leaned back in her chair. “Honestly? You were running on fumes. All that travel, the emotional stuff, the media buzz, the llamas—don’t underestimate the llamas.” Sally gave a lopsided grin. “Yeah, I guess I was tired.” There was a pause. Then she looked up. “So… we’re going to Patricia’s?” “And Charlie’s,” Theresa added casually, sipping her tea. Sally nodded once. Then again, slower. “Right. Charlie.” The smile crept up before she could stop it, and both Theresa and Jana caught it. Jana tilted her head. “And there it is. The glow.” “I’m not glowing,” Sally muttered, but she was. “Definitely glowing,” Theresa confirmed, closing her laptop. “Now go pick something to wear that says ‘effortless charm’ without trying too hard. We leave in an hour.” Sally stood with a dramatic sigh, pushing in her chair. “Do I at least get dessert this time?” “There will be pie,” said Theresa. “Then it’s worth it,” Sally declared, already halfway down the hall. -- It was a quiet evening at the Selters, the kind that wrapped around everyone like a soft quilt. The long dining table was scattered with remnants of dinner—plates with streaks of gravy, half-empty glasses of sparkling cider, and the warm scent of apple pie still wafting from the kitchen. Naturally, the conversation had turned to Sally’s parents’ recent wedding in Napa. Patricia had pulled up a few candid photos on her phone, zooming in to show off Bridget’s elegant gown and the vineyard-lit ceremony. Sandra, ever the detail-hawk, had already asked who designed the dress, who arranged the flowers, and the live reception music. Sally, caught somewhere between bashful and flattered, smiled and answered as best she could. Charlie, sitting at the far end of the table, was unusually quiet. He nursed his cider and watched Sally with a kind of contented curiosity. Every now and then, he caught her eye and offered a shy smile. But the women were on a roll. “That sage green really suits you, Sally,” Patricia said, tilting her head. “With your coloring, it’s perfect. And that soft curl in your hair? You looked like a magazine cover.” “Seriously,” Sandra chimed in, leaning her elbows onto the table as if presenting a case before the Supreme Court. “You were the most elegant bridesmaid I’ve ever seen. I mean it. I’ve been to twenty-four weddings.” She held up her hands dramatically. “Twenty-four.” Patricia nodded emphatically. “And somehow, at fifteen, you managed the impossible: looking classic and grown-up without looking like you were trying to look grown-up. That’s a gift, darling.” Sally turned red a shade deeper than the marinara sauce on her plate. “I… I was just wearing what my mom picked. And Theresa helped with the hair. And the dress was—” “Perfect,” Sandra declared. “Divine,” Patricia agreed. “Expensive,” Michael deadpanned, sipping his seltzer. Everyone laughed—especially Sally, who nearly snorted. Patricia waved him off with a dramatic flick. “Dad, please. Some things are priceless. Like a bridesmaid who doesn’t complain about heels.” “I did complain,” Sally corrected sheepishly. “Just… silently.” Charlie glanced up at her from across the table—soft, shy, and maybe a little dazzled. “You looked… really nice,” he offered in a voice so quiet it barely crossed the table. The women pounced instantly. “Awww!” “Oh my goodness!” “Charlie, look at you!” Charlie turned crimson and stared hard at his lasagna. Michael raised his glass. “And now we’ve all participated. Topic achieved.” Sandra laughed, swatting his arm. “Fine, fine. New topic, Mr. Practical.” He straightened with mock solemnity. “Thank you. I propose we discuss the fact that Sally has been to more states in the last two months than I have in my entire life.” Patricia gasped. “That’s true! California, Texas—” “And technically New York,” Charlie added. Sally shrugged, twirling her fork. “It wasn’t glamorous. Just… a lot of airports. And goats. And mud. And… did I mention mud?” Sandra leaned in. “Tell us everything about Texas.” “Oh yes,” Patricia said, eyes sparkling. “Especially the boy in the sports car.” Sally choked on her sip of water. “He’s—he’s not—Matt is Trish’s sister!” “He drives a Corvette ZR1,” Charlie muttered. “And she rode in it,” Patricia added helpfully. Theresa pressed a hand to her forehead. “This is going well.” Jana snorted into her iced tea. Sally groaned, burying her face in her napkin. “Guys…” But despite the teasing, despite her embarrassment, she felt warm. Safe. Inside this bustling dining room full of laughter and roasted garlic and the clinking of forks, she felt something very close to… family. And for the first time that day, the absence of her parents didn’t ache quite so sharply. -- It wasn’t too late when Jana dropped off Theresa and Sally at the apartment. The night air was brisk, and the car ride home had been quiet in that easy, satisfied way that follows a good meal with good people. As the apartment door clicked shut behind them, Theresa exhaled deeply. “Might as well get comfortable,” she mumbled, kicking off her shoes by the door. “I will, anyway. I’m sore. I need… pampering,” she added with a smirk, limping slightly as she moved to the hallway. Sally hung up her coat and wandered into the living room, still digesting both the steak and the attention from the Selters. It had been a lovely evening. Strange to be doted on like family, but she didn’t mind. Not when it came with fresh bread and compliments. Moments later, Theresa emerged in a long, cozy sleep shirt, hair pulled into a loose knot. She looked like someone who had no intention of moving for the next twelve hours. She curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, and let out a contented sigh as she leaned back into the cushions. “There,” she said, half to herself. Sally eyed her from the kitchen, filling a glass of water. “Pain?” she asked gently. Theresa shrugged. “The usual. I’ve had worse. Went to see my doctor right before you got here. Adjusted the meds. Told me to take it easy—so I’m being a good patient. You’d be proud.” Sally walked over, handing her the water before perching on the armrest. “And? Any progress on the nerve stuff?” Theresa patted the diaper lightly. “Equine nerve’s still being stubborn. Better during the day. Nights are a different story. It’ll be a while, but I’m managing.” There was a beat of quiet, the kind that only came when two people understood each other without needing to say much. Then Theresa tilted her head at Sally with mock offense. “Wait a second. Am I the only one ready for bed here? Come on, go put your pajamas on, Miss Guest-Of-The-House.” Sally grinned. “So now I’m a little sister and an honorary niece?” Theresa smirked. “Nope. Just a kid who’s got fifteen minutes to change before I pick the most embarrassing show I can find. Diapers. Pajamas. Now.” Sally stood, stretching with a yawn. “Fine, fine. But I swear, if it’s one of those weird reality shows…” Theresa lifted the remote threateningly. “You have no idea how low I’ll go.” Chuckling, Sally retreated to her room. As she changed into her soft diapers, she found herself smiling at the comfort of it all. This wasn’t just Theresa’s home—it felt like a refuge, a nest, a pocket of peace in the chaos of everything else. She pulled her flannel pajamas on – the night was cold and she needed the extra cozy factor, despite the central heating. When she came back out, Theresa had already queued up a cheesy sitcom. A throwback from the early 2000s with questionable fashion and endless laugh tracks. Sally flopped onto the couch beside her, grabbing the nearest throw blanket.  “This is terrible,” she muttered. “Exactly,” Theresa replied, grinning. “Terribly perfect, diaper buddy.” They watched until ten, just as promised. And when Theresa clicked off the TV and flicked the lamp off, the room faded into a gentle hush, the glow from the city outside softly filtering in through the curtains. Sally and Theresa shuffled off to bed, crinkling duet across the apartment.  “Night, Tess,” Sally called out, pulling the blanket higher. Theresa’s voice was soft in return. “Good night, Sal.” In that quiet, curled up in the guest room like it was the most natural place in the world, Sally knew: she didn’t need a mansion or a five-star hotel to feel at home. Sometimes all it took was pajamas, a diaper, a bad sitcom, and someone who cared enough to boss you around just before bedtime.   (To be continued…)

For sure, Melissa in diapers is a treat for the eyes. Hotter, warmer, needier… thanks for the comment! Just wait and see! It takes a lot of love to feel comfortable revealing something like this. Nothing like two having fun. A lot of fun, for Jasper too.

Good morning to everyone from Moochie in a Seni Quatro diaper that just happens to be very wet and messy, what a surprise, right? My diaper is also covered by plastic pants with blue raindrops (how appropriate) from Protex. How do I feel?