Rainbow Diapers

It is a feeling I've grown to really enjoy. I wear for incontinence, but honestly I enjoy diapers now. Waking up in the morning with a warm and wet diaper on feels incredible😍

Hey everyone! Just a reminder, I won’t be posting again this week, but two more chapters should be coming at some point next week. These two will be the final of this first section, and after, I will be taking a break. It’ll probably only be for about a week… maybe two if things get really crazy, but I’ll definitely remind you of this in chapter 12 and likely post an announcement on here again closer to when I’m coming back. As I noted in another chapter, this first section is focusing more on Addy and her time as a nurse… but the last chapter was more of a preview of what’s to come. The second section will also be a lot more traditional with Littles and all that, so if that’s something you like, loads more is coming. For now, though, and as usual, I hope everyone enjoys this next chapter of my story! Chapter 10: Frantic Studies and Scribbles in Red The birds were chirping with their finest songs this morning. Addy sat on the back porch and Mindy was right beside her, switching from watching her favorite cartoons on the tablet that Addy had given her to watching the Littles play in front of her. Occasionally, she would smile… giggle… even let out a chuckle or two, but her strength was waning and her spirit diminishing right along with it. Addy sighed as silently as she could to herself as she looked at her poor Little once more… now wheelchair-bound and likely not to get up from it ever again. Addy still feverishly worked through each and every night to find a cure, but textbook after textbook… she was still hitting a dead end. As much as she didn’t want to believe it, Mindy was dying. Her body was simply too weak for even the strangest and mildest of cures out there. She had even broken into the stacks in the basement to find something there. She found a few things… but Mindy wouldn’t be Mindy anymore after most of them. The cures were old and barbaric to say the least. Surgeries and chemicals would be Mindy’s life for the foreseeable future and even then, after a year, she might still end up dying as a mere husk of herself with a few of what she found. So, tossing them aside in disgust, Addy made a vow never to return there again… At least until she had to only as an absolute last resort. So, her search continued, likely in vain and tireless but not wasted. At this point, her and Mindy were nearly inseparable. Several of her friends, her dad, her brother… even Dr. Halgen had talked to her with their serious concerns. All were worried about her, but Addy brushed them aside… she just couldn’t give up on her frail little Mindy… At the same time though, an awful ugly feeling started to assert itself in her mind. Out here, where the flowers were blooming and only a handful of perfect puffy clouds in the sky… her Little couldn’t enjoy any of it the way she was meant to. The other Littles, her class now mostly diapered or in pull-ups and just waiting to be demoted, were having the time of their lives. No worries… no fears… nearly all cured. And they were even at the point that if they had an accident, they might sniffle for a moment or two as they patted their thickly padded crotch… but another Little would then ask them to catch a frisbee or a ball or ask to join in with a game of tag and they would be off. Yes, they were coming along nicely… But Mindy wasn’t with them, not really, anymore and Addy’s heart was breaking for her. ‘Adults’ from Earth would come here to be cured, but they would leave this place unburdened by the stresses and fears that once plagued their lives. They could still go back home after five years and bounce back, but for now… Addy thought of this place like a vacation for them. Save their life and ease their burdens? It was a hard offer to pass up, and she was always gleeful when it turned out okay. Mindy began to cough and Addy flashed over to her, that gleeful notion fading every day now. Her cough was nothing new though. Her cancer was spreading and no matter what she or Bruce or Dr. Halgen did… nothing seemed to work. Fortunately, this time, Mindy got her cough under control and looked back pleadingly at Addy. “Addy?” she asked weakly of her nurse. “Can… can you do s… something for me?” Addy got out of her chair and walked over to in front of Mindy and crouched before smiling at her wide and taking her weak tiny hands. “Anything, sweetie… you name it, and I’ll do it. I promise.” Mindy faintly smiled. “I know you don’t want to lose me, but… bury me somewhere peaceful… like this…” She raised up her hand to gesture to the beautiful lawn in front of them; IVs now permanently attached to the top of her hand and nearly weighing it down completely. Addy wanted to object, but she had made a promise and at this point, the last thing she could do was to say no to her dying Little. “I… I…” Addy shook the tears out of her eyes. “I will… but you’re going to be fine.” Addy’s words came out in such a way that it was hard to tell if she was more trying to convince Mindy… or herself. “That’s nice…” She breathed in heavily, her frail chest wheezing considerably. It was something that concerned Addy more than most of her other symptoms at this point. She made a mental note to schedule another scan downstairs for her as soon as possible. If it was another tumor, it could be affecting her lungs, and it would have to be removed or she would… ‘No, no, Addy. Keep it together… don’t go there…’ Mindy smiled once more and gripped Addy’s hands as tightly as she could. A stiff breeze could probably dislodge her grip, but the effort was still there. “I… I love you…” she nearly whispered. “You…?” Addy felt a flood of emotions surging through her body. By now, both had made a pact that Mindy would be going home with Addy as soon as she was cured. Her choosing day would be easy and really just be a formality of the facility. Still though, the ‘L’ word had never been uttered between them before… Mindy then rasped, something seemingly caught in the back of her throat as it came out wet… labored. Her eyes then fluttered closed and she wheeled around in her chair… before going still… limp. Addy frowned. ‘Must be tired, the poor dear.’ But then she looked closely at her Little to be… motionless. ‘Wait… no movement. She can’t be… no, no.’ Addy’s eyes widened and she lurched forward and began to shake Mindy back awake. “Mindy… Mindy, baby… come on, honey…” Nothing… no movement. Addy’s soul dropped and her heart froze. “Dr. Halgen!” She checked her pulse… nothing. “Code blue! Code blue!” Several of the Littles began screaming, but Addy didn’t pay them any attention. She was focused on Mindy, dropping her chair back and starting her honed skills of Little certified CPR. Addy didn’t want to hurt the Little, but Mindy wasn’t going to leave her… not like this… not today. ‘Come on… come on!’ *              *              * Addy’s eyes snapped open. Once more, she could feel her own heart nearly beating out of her chest in panic at the memory from what felt like so long ago. ‘Damn dreams… they’re getting worse… getting closer to…’ She shook her head from the thought. She knew what she was heading toward, and worse, she knew exactly why she was heading there in a hurry. She only needed to look over to Oliver… asleep in his bed. He wasn’t in a wheelchair, and he wasn’t even hooked up to an IV or wheezing with each of his little breaths. All that was still good, but Addy could still see the cracks forming. Wetting the bed a little over a week ago wasn’t great, and she hoped above all that it would stop… and it did, at least for two nights. Then it came back, and then left, and then came back again. It was a lot of work and was always accompanied by fresh tears, shame, and terror by Oliver and all the reassurance that Addy could muster up to her frightened Little. She knew that it just had to be the ‘new project’ that had gotten Dr. Tracey and Mr. Drakos so worked up about… she just couldn’t prove it yet… or even what it did. That would require communication with other facilities and cooperation with other nurses. Addy had noticed an uptick in the number of pull-ups and diapers ordered… but she just couldn’t quite place it yet. She only had Oliver and Katrina to go off… and Katrina was more advanced than the other Littles. In fact, she was already in pull-ups at night now. Addy might have been thankful that she didn’t put up a fuss going into them… but it really just clouded the water, only growing her suspicion of everything here now. But most concerning of all for Oliver at least… she hadn’t found a cure for him yet. Oliver was still dying. The medications she had scoured everywhere for were helping him out stay mobile and keeping him clear-minded and awake. It exhausted him to no end by about midday, but he could at least have fun with the others, something that he seemed to be caving on lately. It should’ve been a celebration… an event that marked when Oliver began to lower his self-imposed shields and just be a Little here… but it wasn’t. Addy ensured he got a scan every week and his just got back… it wasn’t good. The cancer was spreading, and most terrifying of all… it now looked like it was in his brain… exactly like Mindy’s had done. His heart and lungs were still clear, something Addy thanked her lucky stars for every day… but it wasn’t enough. She knew his time was running out and she knew with Juventas being the way it was, he might be booted out of the program… no help, no cure… no Big to protect him. Oliver began to stir and Addy sighed. She could smell the ammonia… she knew what was coming… again. “Sweetie…” she tried to gently nestle him awake. “Come on, honey…” If Oliver cared about any of her language with him these days, he never said anything about it. “Time to get the day started, sweetie…” “Wha…?” Oliver steadily opened his eyes, but like he had started to do recently, as soon as his sleepy eyes locked with Addy, he smiled. “Morning, Addy…” Addy could feel a flutter in her chest over just that cute look staring right back at her. Small and barely noticeable with any other Little maybe, but Oliver was different. For him, it was progress in the right direction. It was trust… a bond between them, and definitely not something Addy was going to take for granted. “Morning, honey… we need to get started for the day and…” She didn’t have to say another word as Oliver’s eyes drew close toward his crotch. With shaking fingers, he pried off his sheets and saw the dampened mess he had left in the night. “Not again…” His voice was so resigned… so apathetic to this whole thing now. Tears swam in his eyes, but his confidence and anger were greatly diminished now. Addy noticed. She always noticed that sort of thing. It was a sign for her… just not the one she needed right now. He was coming to terms with his regression, and that was great, but with the unknown effects of the ‘new project’ everything was murky. She needed more proof of a problem, or that this wouldn’t just go away on its own. She wanted her Littles to regress naturally and on their own. Forcing something was effective… every Big out there knew that much at least. A Big could regress a Little overnight with the proper hypnosis and even surgery to push things along, but if there was even a scrap of the Little left, they would fight their new state for the rest of their days… at least until their mind collapsed on itself and they were mentally gone forever. That was always a heartbreaking sight, and something Addy wanted to stay far away from. For her, Littles needed to see that this life was better. It was slower than say Penny’s methods for her Littles, but they wouldn’t fight a stuffy… a highchair… a diaper when the time came. For her Littles, they were just tools to address a problem with their muscles or bladder or emotional state, and they would instead take them with grace, even embrace them sometimes. So, for now, Addy just smiled and gave Oliver a small hug. “It’s okay, honey. It’s just an accident. You let me take care of these and you pop in the shower, okay?” Oliver wasn’t the only one getting used to this routine. Addy knew just what to say to both reassure Oliver and ensure that he wouldn’t be terrified of her for causing this mess. Guilt was powerful… trust was better. Oliver simply nodded and Addy went with him to the bathroom to turn everything on. Once it was all running, she made sure to step out of the room. A Little stripping was always a fine line in her practice. For her, a naked Little was nothing… just a patient needing her help. For a Little though, their modesty was often one of their last barriers. They cared about how they were seen… even if they long ago accepted that they needed diapers, they could still be shy about a change… especially if it was in public. So, for that moment, she left Oliver alone and went to go check on Katrina, waking her up and already starting her bath. She was further along and she could use the gentler touch of the warm water soaking around her. Plus, Addy didn’t need to guess about her state… she knew Katrina’s pull-up was already going to be wet this morning. ‘How long until it’s wet pants for this one?’ Addy wasn’t sure but considering that Katrina was all smiles and barely showed a scrap of humiliation with the faded flowers on the front of her pull-up this morning, Addy was sure she could nearly count the days on one hand now. Still, Addy had to focus. Today was another round of treatments and every Little would be getting better… except Oliver. So, she got her Littles ready for the day, made sure they were full of breakfast, and then retreated to her own room to both prepare for Valentine’s Day tomorrow and to study more cures. Desperate, she had plunged back into the stacks in the basement. “Okay…” She scanned the books and knew her first task was to divide them up. “Cures that are debilitating on the left, problems that could be solved or are just humiliating in the middle, and everything else on the right…” With qualifiers like that, Addy suspected the right would be piled up high. Unfortunately for her, only three books eventually landed there. About a dozen went to the middle… but over half were on the left side for potential cancer treatments. “Well… shit…” Addy still persisted though. Cracking open the first from the right, she set about reading as she cut out the several hearts that would be needed for tomorrow’s activities. For Little’s, the day had to be handled carefully. Like elementary school, the concept of love had to be limited to familial or more friendly variety. But unlike those ignorant Bigs who just plugged their ears or covered their eyes, Addy knew the Littles were still adults… and most still had feelings… desires. For now at least… So, for Valentine’s Day, it was tempting fate and several facilities barely raised a point to celebrate it. Addy, however, knew it could be a powerful gesture for everyone involved. Being situated in the middle of the second month, Oliver’s and Katrina’s group were now the middle ones. They could see the significance of the day and still be lightly enamored with each other. The third group would just ‘love’ everyone they came across… so the only real danger was the newest group. Brooding, angry, and unsteady, they had already put a foul taste in Addy’s mouth, and they were still the types to push things a little… far.     She persisted though. ‘For Katrina… for Oliver…’ She made sure to use her best penmanship as she signed the several cards as she read potential cure after promising treatment in the dusty text before her. Her confidence was up each time she found something new… only for it to be trashed when she compared the requirements of the treatment to Oliver’s medical file. ‘Drats! Another one incompatible. For something that’s only a maybe, I definitely don’t want Oliver to suddenly break out in hives, or…’ She flipped the page. ‘Yeah… lose all his hair…’ Addy was getting nowhere with the current texts, and she saw the latest reports with Oliver. Despite his strength with the new medication, his body was giving out. In less than two months, it would fail and he wouldn’t last much longer after that. He was still luxuriating in the advances of Big medicine, with him likely having died last week or next without it… but it wasn’t enough. So, desperate as she was, Addy’s eyes skipped over the middle stack of texts and looked straight at those on the far left. Each was elaborate and complex… money obviously having been spent on each volume of potential cures and treatments for cancer. She knew that several of these had already been traded to Earth as part of their treaty… but she knew just how bad each could be. ‘Just a peak though…’ Addy swallowed her own morality for a moment. ‘What is death compared to a momentary loss…?’ She wasn’t sure about everything that was contained in the first volume, but as soon as she opened the pages, she wanted to vomit and immediately regretted opening it in the first place. Not everything was all doom and gloom, but flipping through the pages, at least 90% were just downright awful. “Shit…” Addy’s eyes looked at a random page, and she felt her mouth fumbling the words with dry horrific repetition. “Stage III osteosarcoma with lung metastases… removal of affected lung and bone is required. Significant resection and amputation of affected area required. Little should be subjected to hyperbaric chamber and artificial implements until new ones can be crafted with printing technology. To fuse primary organs, radiation and regular injections of Orchidaceae Regressus are needed.” Addy had to immediately stop. ‘Orchidaceae Regressus… those lying bastards…’ Found on the slopes of most mountain ranges and taught to by her dad, Addy knew the effects of the plant were ride ranging… but horrific to most Littles. Causing some kind of allergic reaction, while it would reverse most cancerous or bodily damage, it would also cause what was essentially strokes in their brains and potential partial muscle death… with focus on their intestines and legs. “Well, fuck that!” Addy said perhaps a bit too loud, quickly looking behind her to see if anyone was suddenly at her door. When there was no one, she focused back on the book, flipping to the next page with disgust and finding a curious drawing… something that she wasn’t outright disgusted with. ‘Okay… just one more and then…’ “Addy! Addy!” she heard her name being shouted out before Cassie burst into her room. “Come quick! It’s… it’s Oliver!” Addy nearly jumped up. “What? What is it, Cassie?” “Come on!” she gestured toward herself and out the door. “Follow me and I’ll explain on the way.” Not missing a beat, Addy followed her friend and increasing trusted confidante in this place these days, her heart racing and her mind swirling with just what was happening with her Little. She tried not to think back to Mindy and how she fell off at the end, but until Cassie spoke, her mind was an evil thing. “He… he just started screaming,” Cassie explained, barreling down the stairs. “Couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so Erin and the other nurses moved the Littles away and I tried to get him to calm down but then he started shouting and pointing at thin air…” Addy nearly froze right there on the steps, this story sounding terribly familiar to her. “He was mumbling… crying… I tried to take him away, but then he started saying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!’” Cassie gasped as she finally made it to the main floor before turning back to Addy who made it as well. “He then… well, he started calling out for a… Carmen?” She looked at her friend directly, signs of concern and questioning written all over her face. “Does that name sound familiar to you?” Addy winced and nodded. “It does… come on. I’ll need you to keep everyone back and let me deal with Oliver alone. I think…” She sighed deeply. “I think one of the spots I saw on his scan the other day is catching up with him… I think he’s seeing someone from his past… someone dead.” Cassie didn’t say a word but nodded solemnly and guided Addy dutifully back outside. Her own Littles were pushed to the side, anxious already and wondering what was happening. Being the good nurse she was, she quickly went to them and pulled back, giving one last nod at Addy before disappearing. Addy took a deep breath and slowly approached the rocking and crying Oliver, sitting all alone on the grass. She had seen it with Mindy before and now… seeing it with Oliver as well, sank her heart into oblivion. She just wanted him to be safe… happy. Even if it meant sending another precious Little away, she just wanted him to live. But that was a fear for the future. Today, she knew she had to calm him down and ground him on this plane of existence. What he saw wasn’t real, but his emotions and sadness and guilt certainly were. Crouching down, Addy stretched out her hand but then pulled it back. What she wouldn’t give to be able to comfort him so tenderly right then… but she knew that depending on how deep he was into all this, touching him now would be worse. Knowing his trauma as much as she did, for all she knew, Oliver could have mistaken her hand for one of the criminals… the tire holding him back… or even Fernando himself. So, Addy took another breath and spoke as clearly and as tenderly as she could to him. “Oliver? Sweetie? Can you hear me?” The Little, emotionally wrecked and still quivering like a leaf ready to blow away entirely by a stiff breeze, turned to look at the soothing voice coming from his rear. His face was puff, wet, and his eyes were red and full of despair. “A… Addy? Is… is that you?” he asked, his voice quaking under the strain of his sorrow. “Yes, Oliver… it’s me. I’m real… I’m here…” She saw Oliver shake with fear. “Addy! She’s saying it’s my fault!” he wailed, gripping the dead grass in his hands and wincing, likely at everything he was hearing. “It’s not! It’s not! It was Fernando! I tried to help you, but… but… I couldn’t!” “Breathe, honey. Breathe…” She saw Oliver attempt to breathe more slowly and then move toward her a little, and seeing that, her mind hit on a plan of action. It was a risk, but that tiny sign was enough for Addy to take a chance. Conventionally, she might have stayed away if it was any other Little, but she saw the signs, the distress, his pain… she knew he needed some direct comfort. He needed something to ground him back to reality. In this case, it just so happened to be her words… and her body. So, with a deep breath, she reached out and pulled him into her arms. Only a few weeks ago, she might have expected a scream or a struggle or even on the worst days, a potential smack across her face. She wouldn’t have cared about any of those, only backing off to let him ease out of it himself, but today… Oliver didn’t do any of that. Instead, he clung to her tightly, her clothing becoming little handles for him to grip. Her arms became like rafters supporting the immense weight of his burden. Finally, he raised a weak finger and pointed just south of them and to the tree line beyond. “She… she’s there, Addy. I… I… I know she’s dead, but she’s yelling at me. She’s… ah!” Oliver let go of Addy and clamped his hands tight around his ears. “She’s yelling at me! Shouting so loud! Make her stop! Make her stop!” Addy winced. She didn’t want to, but she knew what this meant. Both auditory and visual hallucinations weren’t good. She knew if she probably did another scan, Oliver would be even worse off. Seeing that, she knew his time was even more limited now. It filled her with pain and sorrow of her own, but she had to shove that aside. Oliver needed her and he needed help now. “Shhh, shhh…” Addy rocked him, holding him tightly in her arms. “I’ve got you, honey. You’re not going anywhere. You just stay right here in my arms, and you focus on my words. She’s not there. I am. Focus on me. She’ll be gone soon, but I’ll be here… I’m not going anywhere…” Oliver continued to cry and to rock helpless in Addy’s arms but still nodded and pressed his head against her chest, like he was trying to block out the sound of Carmen’s voice with the sound of Addy’s beating heart. For Addy, each action she did made her cling onto him even tighter. She knew she needed help though. She wanted to be enough for him, but she also knew that he needed medicine now. Between the likely expanding spots in his brain and his guilt, Carmen wasn’t going away on her own. So, having trained for this, keeping her arms wrapped around tightly, she flexed her wrists and managed to get a call for help from her watch. Designed for the nurses for just such a purpose, only a minute later, Dr. Halgen was running over to her with Bruce. As tightly cocooned in her arms as he was, Oliver didn’t even notice them until Addy pried one hand off his ear to ask for his consent. Addy could have gone without it… it wasn’t unprecedented around here in an emergency like this for the protection of others, but she didn’t want to risk any thread of relationship she had with Oliver. Seeing him all curled up into her, she didn’t think he would go away so fast, but… it was still nice to see him nod. Moments later, he was out. Addy made sure to carry him with Bruce to get another scan, and to her tormented horror, she saw the spots had grown in his brain. It was serious and they all knew it. Juventas medicine could block those signals and allow Oliver to be weaned off the medicine to be conscious and not see Carmen anymore… but his time was growing thin. So, the next day, when everyone else was opening their cards, Oliver and Addy were nearly inseparable. There was a bond growing between them that everyone noticed… even Katrina. But being who she was, she just made sure to give Oliver a bracelet she had made for him, as well as both him and Addy their own cards, handwritten in her increasingly shaky hands. It was another sign of something going terribly wrong around here, but up half the night, Addy couldn’t help but fall asleep with Oliver in her chair. *              *              * When she reopened her eyes, Oliver was gone and her heart beat a mile a minute when she felt that utter emptiness. Bolting up amongst the Valentine’s Day decorations, she looked around. “Oliver? Oliver? Where are you, sweetie?” “Addy…” Dr. Halgen walked in the room and calmed Addy down as quickly as she could, explaining that he needed some air and some space and that he had been taken to the park. Addy nearly dug her nails into her palms hearing that, but she nodded in resigned acceptance. “Addy… we need to talk,” Dr. Halgen noted calmly. “Let’s have a seat…” Both then took a seat and faced each other, Dr. Halgen’s face showing the weariness of time and stress of the job lately. “I see you with Oliver, Addy… are you… are you and he…?” “I’m not his mommy,” Addy quickly noted, deducing the notion behind her boss’ and friend’s words. “We’re just close. He needs someone stable in his life. You know it’s those blasted hypnotics, right? Making him open all up and be vulnerable that’s doing this…” “And his cancer…” Dr. Halgen added flatly. “Yes… and that…” Addy sighed. “I just… I want him to be okay, but…” “But you’re running out of answers,” Dr. Halgen correctly guess, as evidenced by Addy’s subsequent nod. “I figured as much. I’ve seen you hitting the basement stacks… You swore never to go down there again unless you were desperate… any leads though?” Addy shook her head. “Well… that’s unfortunate, but…” She sighed and looked down for a moment, like she was ashamed of what she was about to ask. “Have you considered what I said before?” Addy blinked, recalling her words. “You mean about giving into my instincts?” Dr. Halgen nodded and for a moment looked relieved. “Then, yes,” Addy confirmed, recalling the several times recently she had given in to her instincts lately… but just not all of them. “More than a few times. Seems to have started working, but…” “You feel a little guilt, huh?” Dr. Halgen correctly guessed again. Addy nodded. “Yes. I just… I want him to be happy… not a mindless drone… you know? I know our protocols. I know what the board wants me to do… what they want to do with him… with all the Littles that come here that are like him. But… I just… I don’t want him to be a vegetable.” “Yes, well… you haven’t done it yet and it’s okay to feel that way.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Addy… you are one of the best nurses here. Your dedication seems to know no bounds, and you care for your Littles as if they were already your own. So, please… don’t feel the guilt. Just… maybe consider something more for Oliver. Consider his life and weigh that against your own guilt.” Addy was about to blow, her rage seemingly erupting like a virulent volcano wanting to explode… but Dr. Halgen quickly stopped her. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret. Just… think about what I said, okay?” Addy let out a breath of hot steam while giving a curt nod, her anger having to be ditched rather than expressed. She might have argued or even said at least one retort, but a parade of rambunctious Littles needing to go down for a nap from being cranky or others simply being too wired, could be heard a long way off. Snapping to the window, she saw the Littles of the facility return. As predicted, several looked about ready to shoot to the moon with the amount of pent-up energy they still had while others looked as if they were about to drop. Oliver, bringing up the rear, looked like he wasn’t even paying attention to where he was walking… only going through the steps to get back home. Seeing him like that, and getting a wave to leave by Dr. Halgen, she raced to the front stoop. There, she saw Yolanda holding onto her Little for dear life. Immediately, on seeing Addy, she frowned… and didn’t even stop until everyone was in the living room, the remnants of Valentine’s Day all around them still. Addy looked over at Oliver, now just sulking on the floor. Worried that he might have hallucinated again, she pushed Yolanda. “Hey… so what’s up with Oliver?” she asked in a whisper. Yolanda sighed and briefly covered her Little’s ears. “Dang it, Addy. You know I’m all for Little’s rights, but… something has to give with him.” “Did something happen?” she asked, trying to remain patient. “He got all twitchy… first when we got him to leave you and second when he got the playground,” she noted coldly, clearly not knowing what was happening with Oliver and his trauma with the tires located there. “Oh, well… I can help him there.” She looked down at Oliver and saw him simply moving a ball a few inches back and forth between his legs. “Thanks for…” “Just fix him up, okay?” Yolanda pressed, interrupting Addy. “We’re all worried about him… about you, but… there’s a time and a place to do your job and to hold your morals. Saving his life takes a priority… so just… get it done, okay?” Addy was beyond flabbergasted over this reprimand from a fellow nurse. On one hand, she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised with his sleepless nights and all. It might have been different if he was getting better, but he wasn’t. On the other hand, though, nurses rarely, if ever, interfered in the operations of their fellow nurses. It went against a code of ethics they had established back when her mom was running this place. Still, Addy sighed, nodded, and gave her some affirmations that she would take care of it… at least to reassure that things would be okay. Addy had to have that confidence in her research, and she did have a few ways if she abandoned all her morals, but she also didn’t feel like she was there yet… at least until she saw a visible sign directly from Oliver himself. So, for the moment, once Yolanda didn’t mount any other objections, Addy sat down against the couch. Just as she was about to speak though, Damien in the other room and Xander in their room both sneered at Oliver. “Look! We’ve got another crier on her hands. Boo hoo! Boo hoo!” Oliver quickly put his hands up to his ears, the ball drifting away from his reach. “Xander!” Cassie hissed, now taking her friendship with Addy to the next level and reigning in her own Little. “We do not make fun of other Littles here. Now, are you going to apologize and keep your toys and your crown… or am I going to have to take them away?” Xander hesitated for a moment, but after Cassie put her hands on her hips, the Little nearly trembled at the prospect. He was still a little shit and misbehaved Little unworthy of their attention… a former criminal even, but he was showing signs of cracking. “Sorry, Olly…” he mumbled out. It wasn’t good enough for Addy, but Cassie was in charge and when she didn’t push, likely knew that she wasn’t going to get anymore out of him. With Xander quickly going back to his toys after and Damien running off after Addy gave him a threatening glare, with Penny nowhere in sight once more, she turned her attention back to Oliver. Around them lay cards and decorated stuffies and even specialty pillows that Erin had pulled down from the attic. There seemed to be love all around, but looking at Oliver, she saw only fear. Checking her watch, she smiled for a second. ‘Yep. 3 in the afternoon. Right on time for his nap…’ It had essentially become habit by now, and Addy wasn’t about to change that. He needed his rest, and when she looked at him closely, she saw both sadness and exhaustion. “Oliver? You okay, buddy?” Oliver shook his head and didn’t move his hands for a second. Addy smiled to herself, his actions looking more and more like a Little every day. He was going out of order a Little should go with… but she couldn’t help but stifle a giggle over his immense cuteness. Still, she wanted to help, so she scooted over and gently pulled his hands from his ears. “Oliver… it’s okay. No one is going to make fun of you now. It’s going to be okay…” Oliver looked around, homing in on Xander… but he was simply too busy with his trains. Oliver didn’t seem to trust him in the slightest but turned back to Addy. “You promise?” Addy looked back over and she was tempted to prove it herself but decided against it. Cassie was keeping an eye on him and with her new regulations with him, she felt they would be okay. “I promise… now, do you want to talk about what happened at the park?” Addy waited for him to respond. With his three times weekly therapy, Oliver was making his way through his emotions. Considering today and what had happened with his hallucination of Carmen, he still had a long way to go, but she also knew a few techniques to employ in the meantime. First up, always check with him first if he wants to talk about it. Oliver looked back up at Addy, his eyes already misty… but silently, shook his head. “Okay…” She was a little disappointed, but she also knew not to push these sorts of things. Instead, she knew what Oliver needed right now. “Let’s get you upstairs and lay you down for a bit.” Oliver looked at her like he was going to protest, but once again, just silently nodded his head. Now, normally, Addy would spring into action, gather her Little up, give them a stuffy and kiss them on the forehead before turning off their light for an afternoon nap. Oliver wasn’t there yet, so she simply stood up and hoped he would follow her. He did, but… things were a little different today it seemed. Normally, Oliver would trudge up the stairs and collapse into bed… all by himself. Today though… Addy was about five seconds away from taking his hand or even carrying him up herself… permission or not. She didn’t, but she could feel her instincts tugging her in one direction… some place she wasn’t sure if anyone was ready for yet. Still, she got him in his room and pulled off his shoes for him. She was feeling the pleasure of the burden in caring for a Little and she was okay with it, but she was feeling that itch to pry open his secret stash hidden in his room like she did with Katrina already. She wanted to give him comfortable clothing and stuffies and sippy cups and hug him all up… but she didn’t. For a moment though… there was one thing she considered… her fingers nearly reaching out to grab something she had hidden under the sink last week. ‘Do I dare?’ She knew what was there… even gathered the most mature version of it that she could find around the house. Katrina loved her butterflies and flowers, but for Oliver… she knew he definitely wasn’t ready for all that yet. She had a feeling it was coming, whether she wanted it to or not, but she stopped herself cold. ‘No… not yet. Wait until after his nap.’ So, she pulled up his covers, turned off his light, and left his room without another word… his eyes already closed. In her study, she was distracted by the notion of what she had left under the sink. More and more, she was feeling their call… a necessity in these times, but a step she knew there was no coming back from… at least for the next five years. She knew it was coming, but today… today was going to be her test. Determined, she went right back to studying the texts, a few… interesting ideas popping up. She would never consider them… or at least now without a sign from Oliver. She almost felt like she was tricking herself though. ‘It’s such a simple test for him to pass. I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do. I could almost guarantee it, but… I guess that’s maybe the point by now though.’ Regardless, a little over an hour later, Addy stretched at her desk and looked at her monitor. Oliver was still sound asleep, and she couldn’t help but reach out and touch the screen, her fingers guiding along his hair so gracefully. But her moment was disturbed by her watch going off. She wanted him to sleep tonight so she knew she had to wake him now. At his door though, she could see the Little’s checklist now and she knew that Oliver was coming right along, and that was good… but stepping through the door, she knew there was no turning back. Whatever she found, she knew she would have to act on it. She couldn’t doubt herself now, and though she knew it would hurt both of them if she was right, she forged ahead. And once again, she could smell it. Before, it was acrid… a sign of distress or a major problem that shouldn’t have occurred for him. Now, the smell of ammonia was feeling like something else. It was like the smell of a steak when it was done, the bubbling sugar on a marshmallow when it was just crispy and brown enough without being burnt. It was strange to Addy, her brain feeling almost a tinge of happiness from all this, and she wanted to hate herself, but she also found herself drifting back toward Oliver’s sink. She knew what she had stored there. She knew the deal she had made with herself, but now that she was here, her fingers stopped short. Katrina was sad for two days when she first donned them, but she wasn’t sure about Oliver. What was better… this new item or a wet bed? It was a question that Bigs had been pushing on Littles for years. Now, once again, Addy was left to ponder her choices. But she knew what she had to do. Call it health or instinct or whatever else, but Addy opened that sink with confidence at last. And pulled out a plain blue pull-up with five dark blue streaks running widthwise across the front and the back. It was simple and plain, but as Addy felt it in her fingers, she knew it was so much more. A sign of defeat for some but a sign of progress for others. A pull-up’s life was so short with a Little. It marked a road sign saying ‘danger ahead’ for a Little… but for a Big… ‘more protection ahead.’ It was a contrast and one that Addy didn’t want to embrace, but now knew she had to. So, she quietly stepped into the main area of his room. For a moment, Addy could have sworn she saw Oliver hugging his sheets like he was hugging a impromptu stuffy… but it was gone in a flash. What remained was her Little… frail, scared, tiny… and definitely wet. This time, she could even see it through the sheets. ‘Nighttime is one thing, but this was only an hour…’ Addy sighed, knowing what she had to do now, regardless of her guilt. Stepping quietly over, Addy then pulled over her footrest from the rocking chair and sat down on it before gently nudging Oliver awake. “Come on, sleepyhead. It’s time to get up…” Oliver’s eyes opened gently, now full of life… energy. It was a tiny sign, but Addy was always relieved when she saw it. It was a notion that she was right with her instincts. Oliver needed a nap. Oliver needed hugs. And feeling the padded garment in her fingers, Addy knew she was going to be right about this… regardless of how much guilt she was feeling today. Oliver stretched wide and gave out a cute little gurgle before looking and smiling back wide at Addy. “Hey there…” His smile faded and he suddenly looked sheepish. “Sorry about earlier. I just… playgrounds… you know?” Addy nodded. “And that’s okay. That’s what I’ve got you talking to a therapist about. Until you’re okay, don’t worry about it. You need a hug from me, just ask. You know I never mind those…” She left her words fade off, an insinuation of something larger… something that Oliver seemed to pick up on and blush over. Addy liked seeing that, but she knew what she had to do. It was like ripping off a band-aid… quick and fast. Terrible at the time, but it would be over. So, she took a deep breath. “Oliver… I think I know there’s something I’m about to see…” Without even a second of pause, she then yanked his sheets down and off him. It was a risk, but as she suspected… wet. Oliver yelped… something involuntary, like a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Shame enveloped his face and he looked like he wanted to hide… to dive away and never be seen again. Addy couldn’t have that fester though and quickly placed her large and reassuring warm hand on his shoulder. “Oliver… it’s okay. I thought this might happen… again.” She didn’t want to be cold with her words… only direct and without any hint of shame or humiliation heaped on him. She needed him to know that he was both okay and yet would need something… more. “Oliver…” She sighed deeply, never liking this step and just hoping they would be okay one day on the other side of it. “I think… I think we need to talk about next steps here.” Oliver’s eyes grew wide… but not as wide when he finally spotted as Addy lifted the pull-up she had been hiding. “I know it’s not ideal, but honey… you’ve wet the bed several nights in the past two weeks now. And now during a small nap?” Addy halted herself before her emotions got too intense and she relaxed once more. “I just… what do you say, huh? Just for the night and just for now. You get better and no more accidents…? Then I stop right then and there. Is that a deal?” She carefully studied Oliver for any sign of distress, inflection in his voice, or even signs that he wanted to murder her in her sleep. She doubted that last one, but after a few recent cases where the Little turned around suddenly on their Big… she made sure she was prepared for anything. Instead, Oliver looked down at the pull-up and then back up at Addy, his eyes full of shame and humiliation like before, but now with an added layer of defeat as well. It wasn’t the best look, but it wasn’t rejection either. “Okay…” he said softly, his voice almost not even audible. But Addy heard it. One word… but a word that would likely change everything between them. For a Little, it was the acceptance of protection, something that seemed only logical in the face of a wet bed. For her though, it was a sign… the one she had been looking for. For him to accept this with no fight… no anger and not even an ounce of defiance in his actions, Addy could see through the former undercover agent. She saw the man… the adult, but now, she also saw the scared Little, desperate and needy and looking for someone to help him in this lonely large world. As this key slid into the lock of her mind previously holding her back, she quickly remembered back to the book… and to one treatment she saw in particular. It was madness… something she swore never to do to a Little under her care… but it was so perfect… so simple and easy. Basic Littlecare in the ‘real world’ really but crossing a line as a nurse she knew she would never be able to come back from. She knew she had to go slow and get Oliver’s and Dr. Halgen’s approval first… but it was a possibility that didn’t want to leave her mind. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to look at herself with pride in the mirror anymore, but… Oliver was dying, and if it worked, it could potentially save his life. And for that, Addy knew she was going to have to risk it.

It depends on whether or not I wanted to sleep with one open that night....  😂🤣😆

Chapter One Hundred & Nine: Part 2 The sound hit Paul first. Not voices exactly—layers of them. Laughter overlapping with instructions. The faint clatter of equipment being set down. A polite but busy energy that lived somewhere between a kitchen and a studio, between home and performance.   Paul reached the bottom of the stairs and slowed without meaning to.   The living room had been transformed. Lights stood on slim black legs like watchful insects, their panels diffused, soft but powerful. A reflector leaned against the wall near the windows. Cables were taped neatly along the floor, careful not to scar the house. Martina stood near the island, already radiant—animated hands, relaxed posture, confidence that came from knowing exactly what she was about to do and why.   But it was Lilly who drew the eye. She wore confidence like a second skin today. Her long blonde hair was braided into a single, elegant plait that fell over one shoulder—intentional, controlled, beautiful without trying too hard. A black French beret sat low and angled just enough to feel editorial rather than precious. Her outfit matched the role she was inhabiting: part creative director, part mother, entirely in command.   Lilly spotted Paul at the foot of the stairs before anyone else did.   Her attention shifted immediately—not abruptly, not theatrically—but with the smooth precision of someone used to tracking multiple realities at once. She finished a sentence, tapped her tablet once, then turned toward him with a smile that was both professional and unmistakably personal.   “Paul,” she said, beckoning him over with two fingers. “C’mere a sec, baby.”   He crossed the room, pulse ticking louder with every step.   “This,” Lilly continued, resting a hand lightly at the center of his back—not guiding, just grounding, “is Hilary. She’s the one I told you about. She helps make sure all of this”—a small, encompassing gesture toward the lights, the crew, the barely contained momentum—“actually works.”   Then, without pause, without qualifiers or hesitation, she added warmly: “And Hilary, this is my son, Paul.” Not stepson. Not clarification. Not explanation.   Son.   The word landed with a quiet finality that made Paul’s chest tighten before he could stop it.   Hilary turned fully toward him. She was standing near the far end of the room, a leather portfolio tucked against her side, her phone balanced easily in her other hand. Mid-thirties, maybe a year or two either way. Dark brown hair pulled back into a low, practical ponytail that still managed to look intentional. Her suit wasn’t flashy—soft gray, tailored well—but the blouse underneath was a warmer tone, humanizing the lines. She had the build of someone who took care of herself without turning it into a performance: average height, grounded stance, a softness at the hips that read more real than polished.   Her face held an easy authority.   Brown eyes. Observant. Kind—but not naïve.   There was something distinctly Midwestern in her cadence when she spoke again, that Minnesota-adjacent way of choosing words carefully, of smoothing edges instead of sharpening them. She carried herself like a woman who had learned how to be listened to in rooms that weren’t always inclined to listen. And yet—there was an unmistakable warmth there too. The kind of warmth that felt like a favorite aunt leaning in during a crowded holiday dinner and asking, quietly, “You okay, sweetheart?” without making it a scene.   Paul offered his hand automatically.   She took it—firm, confident—and then, almost as an afterthought, her other hand came in to give his a gentle tap, sealing the greeting. The gesture was subtle but intimate, an acknowledgment layered beneath the formality.   “Well,” Hilary said, her voice warm with that faint Minnesota lilt, edges rounded instead of sharp, “it’s really nice to finally meet you, Paul.”   She leaned in then—not lingering, not crowding—and pulled him into a quick, meaningful hug. It was brief, well-measured. No babying. No fuss. Just a moment of contact that said, "I see you." I’m glad you’re here.   Paul exhaled without realizing he’d been holding his breath. Hilary smiled at Paul again, just a touch warmer now, like she’d decided she liked him.   “You know,” she said, that gentle Minnesota roundness softening her consonants, “Lilly’s told me so much about you.”   Paul felt the words land—and somehow didn’t flinch. Instead, he lifted an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up despite the tightness in his chest.   “Oh,” he said dryly, “I certainly hope not.”   For half a second, the room held still.   Then Hilary let out a quiet laugh—surprised, genuine. Not loud enough to draw attention, just enough to say well played. Lilly glanced at him sideways, a smile threatening despite herself.   Paul pressed on, emboldened by the moment. “And honestly,” he added, nodding toward Hilary, “anyone who works with her as much as you do must’ve been a saint in a previous life.”   Hilary’s laugh came easier this time. “Oh honey,” she said, shaking her head, “if that were true, I’d have better knees.”   Lilly reached out then—gentle, automatic—and gave Paul a light pat on his padded behind sharply, the kind that lived squarely in the language of ‘mommy and son’.   “Watch your tone, mister,” she murmured, amused but firm.   Paul opened his mouth to reply— —and froze. The clearest crinkle answered for him. It wasn’t a polite whisper but nearly a scream. But both of them heard it.   Lilly’s smile softened instantly, her eyes flicking to his face with a quiet apology that said I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. Paul’s wit evaporated in a breath. His shoulders went still, his voice disappearing somewhere behind his ribs.   Hilary noticed.   Not the way people stare—but the way professionals notice shifts in air pressure. She didn’t look down. Didn’t look at Paul at all. Instead, she turned smoothly back to Lilly, already lifting a hand toward the set.   “Hey,” she said easily, that same soft Midwestern cadence, “do you agree with the lighting nearest the grill top, or do you want it feathered just a bit more? I’m worried it’s pulling focus.”   The moment passed. Just like that.   Lilly exhaled, grateful, and stepped back into director mode. Paul swallowed, steadied himself, and stayed where he was—silent now, but still standing. She adjusted a light with a nod. Leaned in to clarify a framing choice. Checked the angle on the monitor, then smiled, satisfied. Paul watched her with something close to awe. This wasn’t the Lilly who hovered at bedsides or negotiated schedules around doctors’ appointments. This was the Lilly who built things. Who made space and then decided what would live inside it.   His tracker buzzed faintly against his hip. Yellow again. Not danger. Just… pressure. Paul shifted his stance and leaned back against the wall, trying to make himself smaller without disappearing. He told himself he was just an observer. Just a witness to something beautiful happening in front of him. The kitchen didn’t start intimidating. It became that way slowly—through anticipation, through the quiet pressure of being watched, through the invisible weight of translation. Paul felt it even before Martina did, felt it like a low hum in his chest as the ingredients were laid out with care that bordered on reverence. From his seat at the edge of the living room—close enough to help if asked, far enough to stay invisible—Paul watched   Martina pause. Not freeze. Pause.   Her hands hovered over the counter, fingers slightly curled, as though they were waiting for permission to move. The quesabirria spread was beautiful in the way only lived-in food ever was: the birria broth dark and glossy, breathing out warmth and spice; the shredded meat waiting patiently to meet heat; tortillas stacked like they knew they were about to matter. Cheese sat off to the side, pale and unassuming, hiding the drama it would soon deliver. Beside it all, the empanada filling looked almost celebratory—roasted sweet potato glowing, onions caramelized to near sweetness, bell peppers slick with oil, zucchini still firm enough to push back, corn bright, black beans grounding the whole thing. Cumin and smoked paprika hung in the air, garlic softened by heat, lime catching the back of Paul’s throat when he inhaled.   It smelled like belonging. Martina exhaled. Paul recognized that breath instantly. He’d been living inside it for weeks.   “This isn’t the same,” Martina said quietly, more to the room than to anyone in it. “Cooking for family… and cooking for—” She gestured vaguely, toward the lights, the cameras, the idea of strangers. “—this.”   Paul’s fingers curled against his knee.   He knew that fear. It wasn’t about failure. It was about exposure. About taking something that made sense in your hands and hoping it still made sense once translated. Lilly stepped in—not abruptly, not with authority first, but with awareness. Paul noticed how she didn’t correct Martina, didn’t rush her forward. She closed the distance and rested her hand lightly at Martina’s elbow, grounding without claiming.   “Before we roll,” Lilly said gently, “let’s make sure you feel good.”   Her voice was steady, director-clean, but there was warmth under it. She nodded toward the makeup kit like it was no big deal, like this was just another part of the process. Paul blinked—he’d forgotten, sometimes, how many versions of Lilly existed at once. She adjusted the ring light herself, not calling attention to it, just softening the shadows. Then she picked up a brush, movements practiced, economical. She dabbed concealer beneath Martina’s eyes, blended warmth into her cheeks, reduced shine without erasing expression.   “This isn’t about changing you,” Lilly said quietly. “It’s about letting people see you without distraction.”   Martina swallowed.   “Mi comunidad,” she said, voice low but certain. “They deserve to be seen right.”     Something loosened in Paul’s chest. He watched Lilly work—not hovering, not dominating, just supporting. This wasn’t the Lilly who managed his changes or scheduled his day down to the minute. This was the Lilly who understood what it meant to carry someone else’s story responsibly.  Hilary’s presence anchored the edges of the room. She didn’t intrude, didn’t perform authority—she radiated it. Her eyes tracked everything: framing, light spill, pacing. When she spoke, her words landed with that faint Minnesotan roundness, calm and capable.   “Alright,” Hilary said, headset resting against her collarbone, “we let the food breathe. No rushing. If something goes sideways, that’s story. Not failure.”   Martina nodded, shoulders settling.   Cameras rolled.    And somehow, without Paul noticing the exact moment, the room shifted. Martina turned toward the lens—not polished, not rehearsed. Just present.   “Hoy vamos a cocinar algo que se comparte,” she said, her smile real. Today we’re cooking something meant to be shared.   Paul felt himself lean forward without meaning to.   She talked about birria not like a recipe, but like a memory—how it shows up when people are tired, when days are long, when you need to feed more than hunger. She spoke about quesabirria tacos as something eaten standing up, dipping tortillas into broth, laughing with hands that didn’t stay clean.   When the meat hit the griddle, the sizzle answered her like punctuation. Paul’s mouth watered—but more than that, he felt his shoulders drop.   Martina’s hands steadied as she spoke. Not stopped—just gentler now, more deliberate. She lifted the lid from the pot and let the steam roll upward, carrying with it the deep, layered scent of chilies and spice. For a moment, she didn’t speak.   The camera stayed with her.   Paul felt the shift before the words arrived. The air thickened—not with tension, but with memory. The kind that didn’t ask permission.   “You know,” Martina began, voice warm but quieter now, “there are dishes you make when things are good… and dishes you make when everything feels broken.”   She glanced up, just briefly, as if checking whether she could keep going.   “This one,” she said, gesturing to the pot, “this one saved us once.”   Paul’s chest tightened.   Martina smiled faintly, eyes shining. “There was a family I loved and still love very much,” she continued, careful with her phrasing. “A father and a son. They lost their wife… their mother.” Her voice wavered—not enough to stop, just enough to tell the truth. “And the house felt empty in a way that scared me.”   Paul’s throat closed.   Martina stirred slowly, spoon scraping the bottom of the pot in a soft, grounding rhythm. “I didn’t know what to say to them. Words felt too small. So I cooked.” A breath. “I brought this. And we sat together. And we didn’t fix anything.” She smiled through a shimmer of tears. “But for one night, the light came back on.”   Paul blinked hard.   He hadn’t expected to be seen. Not like this. Not without being named. A tear slid free before he could stop it, tracing down the bridge of his nose. He didn’t wipe it away. He didn’t need to. No one rushed him. Lilly didn’t turn. Hilary didn’t cut. Martina dabbed at her own eye with the heel of her hand and laughed softly.   “Ay, perdón,” she murmured. “Food does that to me.”   She straightened then—shoulders back, energy shifting without erasing what had just passed.   “But food isn’t only for surviving,” Martina said, brightness returning like sunrise after rain. “It’s for celebrating too.”   Paul felt the turn coming. It landed anyway.   “When my daughter came home with her ring,” Martina said, pride blooming openly now, “this is what we made. This exact dish.” She laughed, fuller this time. “We cooked until two in the morning. Music loud. Everyone talking at once. Tortillas everywhere.”   Her smile widened. “We dipped and laughed and cried and said, this is how we mark joy. This is how we tell life, yes—keep going.”   Paul’s breath hitched again.   The word daughter pressed somewhere tender. His jaw tightened, just a flicker—so fast it might’ve been missed by anyone not watching him closely. The pain was quick, sharp, familiar. A reminder of what celebration used to mean. Of what it still might.   Martina lifted a tortilla, dipped it into the broth, held it up to the camera with a grin. “So whether you are broken,” she said, “or whether you are celebrating—this food meets you there.”   The sizzle returned. The rhythm resumed.   She moved to the empanadas, explaining the vegetables with pride. “Esto es para todos,” she said. This is for everyone. Comfort without excess. Food that met people where they were.   Paul glanced at Lilly. She hadn’t interrupted once.   She cued softly, adjusted angles, asked questions that expanded Martina instead of correcting her. Paul watched Lilly watch Martina, and something in his understanding shifted. This version of Lilly wasn’t intimidating—not because she was smaller, but because she was generous.   Would it really be so bad, Paul wondered, to let her bring him into something like this? Not as a prop. Not as a problem to manage. But as a person with something worth framing.   By the time the last empanada slid into frame, golden and whole, the room felt lighter. Like something had landed where it belonged. Hilary nodded once, satisfied.   “That,” she said, “is your pilot.”   Paul exhaled.   He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. And somewhere between the steam, the stories, and Lilly’s quiet confidence, a thought took root—small, dangerous, hopeful:   Maybe being seen didn’t have to mean being exposed. Maybe… it could mean being held in the right frame. Applause came first—soft, genuine, a little surprised at itself. Frank the cameraman clapped with the flat of his palms, a grin breaking through his usual reserve. Chad the sound tech, followed, nodding once in approval as he joined in. Hilary’s applause was immediate and enthusiastic, the kind that carried warmth rather than volume. Lilly’s hands came together last—not because she was hesitant, but because she was watching Martina’s face as it happened. Martina blinked, startled.   For a half second she looked like she didn’t know what to do with it—then she laughed, pressing a hand to her chest, shoulders lifting as if she’d just exhaled something she’d been holding since the first camera roll.   “Gracias,” she said softly. “Thank you.” “Okay,” Martina said, already moving again, warmth snapping back into place like muscle memory. “Enough watching me talk. You all eat.”   What followed felt less like a break and more like a shift in gravity. The kitchen transformed. Four sheet pans were slid onto the island and counter—quesabirria tacos stacked generously, tortillas crisped and glossy with fat, cheese melted into that perfect pull that promised both comfort and indulgence. Beside them, rows of baked empanadas—golden, blistered just enough to show they’d been loved—steam escaping when the first one cracked open to reveal the roasted vegetable filling inside.   Paper plates appeared. Chilled sparkling water bottles clinked softly as they were set down.   “Frank, Chad—first dibs,” Lilly said, stepping aside.   Neither man argued.   Frank took two tacos without ceremony, already reaching for the consommé cup. Chad opted for an empanada first, nodding once after the initial bite like he was mentally filing it under worth the drive. Paul had met both of them before—on other shoots, other kitchens, other days where he’d hovered at the edges. Nice guys. Quiet. Professional. That held true now. They migrated naturally to the breakfast nook, settling onto the long wooden bench that felt strangely bare without the dining table nearby. They ate with focus, murmuring occasional approvals but otherwise letting the food speak for itself.   Hilary, Lilly, and Martina clustered at the island, iPads already in hand. Hilary scrubbed back through footage with practiced ease. “Okay—this moment right here,” she said, tapping the screen. “That pause before you lift the tortilla? That stays.”   Lilly leaned in, braid falling forward over her shoulder, eyes sharp but not harsh. “We’ll tighten the opening, but I don’t want to lose her pacing. It’s… honest.”   Martina hovered between them, listening, absorbing, nodding—equal parts creator and student, ambition glowing quietly beneath her ease.   Paul drifted. Not away—just out of the center.   He loaded his own plate with care: two tacos this time, folded tight so nothing would spill, and another empanada because his body was plainly asking for it now. Hunger without panic. Fuel, not fear.   The microwave clock caught his eye as he passed.   11:55 a.m.   Nearly two hours. He registered the time not with stress, but with a kind of stunned respect—for his body, for his focus, for the fact that he was still upright. By the time he finished his first plate, the vegetables alone had him feeling full in a way that wasn’t heavy but complete. Still, he went back for seconds—two more empanadas disappearing before he realized he’d already reached for them.   And with that fullness came awareness. Not shame—just information.   The quiet, familiar heaviness beneath his jeans. The subtle resistance when he shifted his weight. The booster pad Lilly had insisted on earlier had done exactly what she said it would. No urgency. No panic. Just… saturation.   Paul exhaled. He took his plate outside. The backyard was quieter than the kitchen had been—filtered light cutting through the pergola, a breeze moving the leaves overhead just enough to be heard. He sat down carefully, letting the chair take his weight, letting the stillness settle.For the first time since the crew arrived, Paul felt like he could breathe all the way down into his lungs.   He ate slower out here. Not because he had to—but because he could.   The weight beneath his jeans was noticeable, yes. Unavoidable. But it wasn’t a crisis. It wasn’t even uncomfortable yet. Just… there. Managed. Contained. He leaned back, plate balanced on his knee, listening to the muffled sounds of laughter and voices drifting through the open door behind him. Chapter One Hundred & Nine: Part 3 The kitchen had been returned to itself.The lights were gone. The cords coiled and tucked away. The counters wiped clean until they gleamed faintly, as if nothing extraordinary had happened there at all. Only the smell lingered—warm spices, citrus oil, something slow-cooked and patient—like embers refusing to die even after the fire had been smothered.   Lilly sat on the edge of the island, one heel hooked lazily around the rung below, a tall glass of iced tea sweating quietly beside her. The condensation slid down the glass in uneven trails, catching the afternoon light before pooling at the base like something trying to escape.   In front of her lay a single sheet of thick, cream-colored letterhead.   Custom. Heavy. Purposeful.   A delicate seashell border embossed in the top right corner, and beneath it, written in Lilly’s clean, deliberate hand:   Notes for Savannah   Lilly wrote carefully, her pen gliding in smooth, practiced strokes—not rushed, not hesitant. This wasn’t just instruction. It was continuity. Care translated into language. Morning • Wake up by no later than 7:30 a.m. • Bladder Physical Therapy—or “Tummy Time,” as we call it—needs to happen immediately for 10–15 minutes • Depending on the state of his overnight diaper, Paul will ask for a change either before or after PT   Her pen paused. Not from doubt—but from interruption. Her eyes drifted sideways.   The iPad sat propped against the fruit bowl, the nanny cam feed glowing softly. Paul lay in his bed, utterly still except for the gentle bob of his pacifier as he breathed. His lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks. His face was loose with rest in a way that still surprised her every time she saw it.   Lilly’s chest tightened.   A soft sound slipped out of her without permission—barely louder than breath.   “Mmm… that’s it, baby,” she murmured, the words instinctive, rounded, mother-soft. “Just rest.”   She hadn’t meant to speak aloud. She took a sip of tea to cover it, then returned to the page.   • Breakfast must include one serving of fresh fruit • This can be replaced with a yogurt + fruit smoothie (served in a bottle works best—sippy cups don’t) • If no smoothie, then a full sippy cup of juice: Apple & Kale or Pineapple, Watermelon & Beet   The word bottle sat there on the page, unremarkable to anyone else.   To Lilly, it glowed.   Not with shame. Not with embarrassment. With truth.   She remembered the way Paul’s body responded before his pride ever did. The way his shoulders dropped when his system finally got what it needed. The way he finished every last drop when his hands were shaking too badly to hold anything else.   Her mouth curved faintly.   “Good boy,” she whispered, almost unconsciously. “You listened to your body.” Lunch / Snacks / Dinner • Approved snacks are on the counter—other snacks are fine, but please aim for one full plate of approved items daily, with extra veggies + fruit • Pre-sliced trays are already in the fridge • Lunch is fend-for-yourself unless he’s regressing—then you’ll need to make something • Uber Eats gift card is on the island—add it to your account, order what you like (just avoid heavily processed stuff) tonight. • Dinner Saturday is covered: home made chicken pot pie in the freezer + Caesar salad ingredients (non-negotiable)   She smiled at that last line. Some fires needed boundaries. Some burned cleaner when contained. Diapering • Savannah, you already know his needs • Paul is in diapers 24/7, though we encourage any toilet use • He’s good at communicating for #2—wetting happens more frequently • For PT or basketball, he may choose a Step-In • Nighttime diapers must include booster pads—every night, and for naps if needed   Her gaze lifted again. Paul shifted slightly on-screen, sighing in his sleep. The sound—tiny, content—pulled her backward.   She’d found him outside under the pergola barely ninety minutes earlier, still sitting upright, empanada slipping slowly from his hand. He’d fallen asleep mid-bite, head tipped forward like his body had simply decided it was done negotiating.   Cute. Yes.   But Lilly saw more than that. She’d seen the heaviness in his jeans. The tension in his hips. The way his system had been holding on far longer than it should have.   She’d knelt beside him, cooed softly—shh, shh, hey baby—and tapped his shoulder just enough to bring him back without startling him.   When his eyes opened, there had been no fear. No guilt. Just warmth. Trust. They’d smiled at each other like conspirators.   “You did so great this morning,” she’d told him.   “Would you like some time for yourself upstairs? Nap or play?”   He’d said yes.   Then yes again, quietly, when she asked if he needed a change. And for reasons she still couldn’t fully name, she’d taken his hand as they walked through the controlled chaos of the set being dismantled—lights coming down, cords coiled, voices overlapping.   Nobody noticed.   Except maybe Martina. She was packing up food, watching without comment as Lilly guided Paul upstairs like it was the most natural thing in the world.   Later, when she tucked him into bed, he’d asked something small.   “Can you wake me up before Savvy gets here?”   She’d promised. But then he’d asked the thing that stayed with her.   “When you get back… can we talk?” “About your project. The GAP stuff. SMG. I wanna know more.” “…where I might fit?”   That question had lit something inside her that hadn’t burned in years. Regression Sessions • As per Mindy’s guidance, Paul should have one to two dedicated hour-long regression sessions daily • Paul dictates how little and how long—always his lead Bedtime Routine • Weekends begin at 8:00 p.m.—screens off, upstairs time • Reading, toys, or sitting in the hallway rocking chair are all fine • If he’s had a long or fussy day, a warm nighttime bottle (milk + vanilla + honey) is very effective • Tucked into bed by 8:45 p.m. at the latest   She set the pen down. For a moment, Lilly just sat there. Letting the weight of it all settle. The possibilities were intoxicating. Hilary had been buzzing after the shoot—already talking metrics, reach, organic engagement. Martina’s pilot had real traction. There was talk of a Goldhawk umbrella, of lifting other creators the way Lilly wished someone had lifted her years ago. This could work. This would work.   And Paul—brilliant, observant Paul—had seen something today. Not just control. Not just image. But care. Then the fire burned hot. Too hot. And then the other voice crept in, low and intimate, like smoke curling under a door.   You’re very good at this, it whispered. Building warmth. Setting tables. Just before you let them catch fire. Her jaw tightened. Her chest constricted. The voice pressed closer, teasing, cruel. Ask your father. Ask your mother. Ask your first lover or Ask...... Ask the people who trusted you just before you SET IT ALL ON FIRE!!!! Lilly’s breath hitched sharply. As you watched them all burn down..... “SHUT THE FUCK UP,” she snapped aloud, the words cracking through the empty kitchen like a thrown plate.   Silence answered.   Her hands trembled. She forced them still. Inhaled. Exhaled.   She folded the letter carefully—clean edges, precise corners—claiming control back piece by piece. Just then— A knock at the door. Bright. Respectful. Warm with anticipation.   “Lilly?” Savannah’s voice called. “It’s Savvy—I’m here.” Lilly closed her eyes once. Smoothed her shirt. Lifted her chin. The fire was still there. But this time—She held the match.     When Lilly opened the door, Savannah was still in her BeeBop scrubs — bright blues and greens softened by a long day’s wear, the fabric creased at the knees, the collar loosened just enough to show the toll of hours spent moving from room to room, tending to children who needed far more than charts and vitals. But her smile was still there. Unmistakable. Genuine.   The kind of smile that didn’t pretend the day hadn’t been hard — it simply refused to let that hardness win.   “Hey, Savvy,” Lilly said warmly, relief slipping into her voice before she could stop it.   Savannah barely had time to answer before Lilly stepped forward and wrapped her in a quick, instinctive hug — not the clinging kind, not the careful kind, but the kind that said I’m glad you’re here without needing to explain why.   “Long morning?” Lilly asked, pulling back just enough to look at her.   Savannah laughed softly. “Barely. I had three rugrats today who decided the clinic was an Olympic training facility.” There was fondness in the way she said it. Not complaint — pride.   Lilly smiled wider, already turning to lead her inside. “Well, then — welcome to the calm after the storm. Or at least… a different storm.”   “I’m really glad you’re here,” Lilly said quietly.   Savannah felt it — the weight of that sentence. Not as pressure. As trust.   Then the smell hit her. She paused mid-step, breath catching as warmth and spice wrapped around her senses.   “Oh wow…” she murmured. “That smells amazing.”   Lilly smiled, already knowing. “Yeah. That’s the aftermath of what happened earlier today. We shot a cooking pilot this morning — birria tacos and baked empanadas. If you didn’t get a chance to eat yet, there’s plenty left. Enough for two. Or three, if Paul decides he wants another round.”   Savannah’s face softened instantly. “He ate?”   “Two full plates,” Lilly said, pride threading through every syllable. “Slow. On his own.”   Savannah exhaled. Relief bloomed in her chest before she could stop it. “That’s… really good.”   “It is,” Lilly agreed. “It really is.”   Savannah glanced up the stairs. “Where is he?”   Lilly didn’t answer right away. She just turned, already walking. “Come on.”   Upstairs, the guest room waited quietly, sunlight filtering through sheer curtains that softened everything it touched. Savannah paused in the doorway. The room looked like something pulled from a boutique hotel — warm neutrals, layered textures, a queen-sized bed dressed in crisp linens and a hand-stitched throw folded just so at the foot. A small sitting chair rested near the window, a reading lamp angled precisely, as though someone had taken real care in imagining how a body might want to rest there.   A half bath tucked neatly to one side, its marble countertop cool and pristine. The main bathroom down the hall — visible through the open door — promised indulgence: a deep soaking tub, dimmable lights, the quiet luxury of space.   “You’re welcome to use whichever bathroom you want,” Lilly said gently. “Master’s downstairs if you want the big soak.”   A creeping smile tugged at Savannah’s mouth. But what flickered behind her eyes wasn’t just her in that bath.   It was memory.   Not the act itself — but the feeling. The quiet intimacy of helping Paul feel safe in his own body again. The way his shoulders had finally loosened that night. The way the lavender steam and familiar routine had grounded him — and her — into something steady and human.   It stirred something else now, too. Something she hadn’t named yet.   “I might take you up on that,” Savannah said lightly. “After today… I could use some me time.”   “Couldn’t we all,” Lilly murmured, setting Savannah’s overnight bag on the bed.   Then she handed her the folded letter.   “And this,” Lilly added, placing the tablet in Savannah’s hands. “Just in case.”   The nanny cam feed glowed softly on the screen.   Paul rested peacefully in his bed. Calm. Still. His breathing slow and even. Savannah felt the familiar settling in her chest — the same calm she’d felt months ago at Kim’s house, watching him on a screen for the first time. Back then, it had felt invasive. Wrong.   Now?   It felt normal. Like this was simply where he was supposed to be.   “I’ve got him,” Savannah said quietly.   Lilly believed her without question. She glanced at her watch. 1:45 p.m.   “I should head out soon,” she said, the words heavier than she wanted them to be.   Savannah nodded. “Do you want to wake him?”   Lilly smiled. “Together.”     Paul’s bedroom was across from the guest bedroom a little to its right; his room was quiet in that special way naps made possible. Filtered sunlight brushed the walls. The air smelled faintly clean, familiar, safe. He lay diagonally across the bed, limbs loose, without much in the way of attire, simply sporting a pair of his safari themed semi tranulatnt green plastic pants with his quite noticeable thick & thirsty diapers peaking out through a leg hole and the elastic waist band above the plastic pants. It was if he’d intended only to sit down for a moment and been claimed instead by sleep. Neither woman wanted to interupt the secne, in their own quiet way, cooed a sentence of sweet nothing inside her mind at the sight of him like this.   Lilly’s was instinctive and grounding—purely maternal. A soft, steady reassurance shaped by years of loving him through fear, illness, and recovery. There you are, baby. Safe. Resting. Exactly where you’re supposed to be.   Savannah’s came from a neighboring place, still nurturing, still careful—but threaded with something warmer, more personal. Not possession. Not urgency. Just a tenderness that lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary, a closeness that made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t yet put language to protectiveness that had been growing steadily.  A pull toward him that was no longer just professional, no longer just caretaking.  God… he’s so beautiful like this. Peaceful. Perfect.   Savannah moved to the left side of the bed. Lilly to the right. Savannah hummed softly — a wordless lullaby, barely audible.   Lilly reached out and stroked Paul’s hair back from his forehead, slow and familiar. “Hey, baby,” she cooed gently. “It’s okay… Mommy’s here.”   Paul shifted. Not sharply. Not in panic. Just the soft movement of someone drifting between worlds.   Savannah leaned closer, tracing her fingers lightly along his leg — grounding, steady. “Wakey, sweet boy,” she murmured. “Easy now.”   They said his name together. “Pauly.”   His eyes fluttered open. And for the first time in days — maybe longer — there was no fear waiting for him there.   Just warmth. Recognition. Fondness.   “Oh…” he breathed, voice soft, unguarded.   Savannah smiled, her tone slipping instinctively into that gentle cadence the story bible allowed. “Hi there, sweet boy. Looks like you had yourself a good nap, huh?”   Paul blinked slowly, the room coming into focus. Lilly. Savannah. No urgency. No edge.   Lilly leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek, then his forehead. “You did so good today,” she whispered. “Such a brave boy.”   Paul’s throat tightened — not from shame, not from fear — but from being seen.   Savannah squeezed his hand. “We’re gonna have a really good time, okay? Just you and me. Nice and easy.”   Paul nodded, his body already sinking into the softness of their voices.   This was becoming a regression session — not planned, not scheduled — but earned. His nervous system is finally getting a sustained break of peace and healing.   Lilly felt it too.   She trusted Savannah in this space completely. The same way she trusted Kim. The same way she trusted herself and Bryan. Savannah didn’t take. She listened. She followed Paul’s lead.   That mattered.   Lilly kissed him again, lingering. “You listen to Savvy,” she murmured. “And before you know it, Mommy Lilly will be back.”   Paul swallowed, eyes glossy but calm. “Okay… Mommy. Miss you.”   “I know,” Lilly said softly. “I’ll miss you too.”   Savannah leaned in just enough to catch his gaze. “Hi there, sweet boy,” she said again, quieter now. “We’re gonna have a really great time, huh?”   Paul breathed out and nodded as a shy smile began gently crawling across his face. For the first time in what felt like forever, his body believed it. And as Lilly stepped back — heart full, anxious, hopeful — Savannah settled in beside him, humming again, steady and present.   Unlike Harley, Savannah wasn’t chasing a feeling. She was holding space.   As he settled, Paul didn’t feel smaller or fragile—he felt like he’d just stepped into the start of something he didn’t want to miss.

Chapter 19: My First Birthday (Again) A warm ray of sunlight touched my eyes again.  How long has it been?  How long has it been since I just gave up? Days.  Weeks.  Months.  And since I was just a baby again, there was no telling just how much time had passed by. But I was happy.  I had to be.  I…I was used to it.  Used to being coddled every single day by my mother. Used to getting my diaper changed every morning.  Used to being breastfed and rocked in my mother’s lap. Used to my naps and my regularly scheduled tummy time. Used to trying to push myself up until I could sit.  Used to trying to crawl.  Used to being told bedtime stories. Used to being given baths with my twin sister.  Yes.  Abby was my twin sister.  My mother said so.  Now would my mother ever lie to me? Used to being held in my mother’s arms.  Used to being fed warm milk from a baby bottle.  Used to playing with my toys.  The fun colorful shapes that I tried to force through the different holes.  Someday I’ll figure out the right holes but it was all very exciting to me now. Used to trying to grab the couch and balance myself enough to stand.  Used to making short and stubby steps around the vast living room with the help of the furniture.  They were my steps and I was very proud of them. Used to putting all my teething toys in my mouth.  Used to grabbing various things that I saw to see if they could go in my mouth.  My mother had had to take these things away from me for some reason.  Used to being pushed in the stroller with my twin sister on warm days when my mother took us to the park.  Used to riding in the shopping cart when my mother needed new groceries.  Used to bath time with my sister. I was used to it.  All of it.  This was my new life.  A tragic life that I slowly accepted as my own. But fortunately, I wasn’t alone.  My sister Abby shared that life with me. As small as my body was, I almost forgot that I was really just sixteen years old.  Wait.  Was I still sixteen? That didn’t matter anymore.  I was a baby now. Gabby was a baby with me.  We were trapped.  Both of us. THUAK! My head hit the railing of the crib that I was still sitting in.  I could see my sister in the crib beside me. But then I felt the pain from hitting the railing. And as much as I tried to fight the tears, the sensation was just too great for me to take. “WAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”  I cried, now used to hearing my helpless infantile wail. The door creaked open and my mother picked me up. “What’s wrong, my Gab Gab?” My mother chirped in her syrupy sweet voice.  “Oh dear!  That’s quite the bump!  Did you hit your head again?  That’s not a very good birthday gift at all, hun.” I gasped.  Birthday?  It’s my birthday? “12 months, my Gabbycadabry.  You and Abbycadabry.  My twin girls are a year-old today.” One year.  It has been one year since it happened.  One year since I drank the milk.  One year since I became a newborn again. But…I somehow thought of my old memories of when I used to be a teenager.  My homework.  My genealogy assignment.  What did the teachers say?  Did my mother just cover it all up like she did with everything else? “Both of you girls are probably very very hungry.” My mother said with a smile.  “But Gabby, here.  There is no need to cry, hun.  Here’s your pacie.  There you go.” I was still crying.  I was so used to it that I didn’t even realize how red my face was.  Crying was a normal part of life for me now. “Pee yew, Gabby!  It looks like my little Gabby needs a new diaper!” And so it continued.  Continued like it always has.  I cast a curious glance at my mother to notice something different about her.  Is it me, or does my mother look like a teenager now?  Maybe at least 18 or 19.  Did she try to make herself younger again?  Perhaps she used a little bit too much of the youth formula by mistake. Yeah.  I could see it.  The hormone ridden face of my younger mother.  How could she pass for a doctor at Harvard now?  That is not my problem, but my mother’s.  My only problem is the messy diaper that she has to change before I cry again. My mother changed my diaper and put a fresh one on me.  She put me back into my pajamas and sat me in my playpen while she changed my twin sister.  Yeah.  I have entirely given up on saying that Gabby is not my twin, considering how many times my mother said that we were twins.  True or not, it’s my mother’s word now. After my sister was changed, my mother sat us both in a rocking chair.  We sat on her lap, while each of us latched onto one of her breasts.  Yes.  I was now even used to the taste of my mother’s breast milk.  It was sweet like it always has been. What I love the most is how my mother doesn’t discipline me or my sister anymore.  We are just babies so we don’t know anything about rules yet.  All we get at this age is her love and her care.  And I appreciated this more than any of the painful spankings that I got as a teenager. If it has really been a year, then it has been a year since I have been in the west wing of the Rivers Estate.  At this point, the east wing now looked more lived in with my mother taking care of me and my sister there.  Our highchairs were set up in the kitchen in that wing, along with everything else that my mother used to take care of me and my sister. After my mother finished nursing me and Abby, she got us out of our footed sleepers and dressed us both in matching pink and frilly dresses.  For me and Abby, everything matched.  After all, we were twins, so everything had to match.  And despite it being a lie, everyone in public believed it. And with a year of it myself, I started to believe it. I pulled myself up again, lining my stubby legs up against the seat of the couch.  The folds of my frilly pink dress covered part of my legs, as I struggled to maintain my balance. But then my legs gave way.  They both wobbled as I began to crash to the floor. Abby, however, was beginning to steady herself and even began making a few tiny strides towards my mother. “My little Abby is learning to walk!” My mother cooed.  “12 months and she is starting to walk!” That’s when I realized the chilling reality of my twin sister.  She really was my older sister, and this was probably her fourth time that she has learned how to walk. Feeling jealous, I use the couch again to steady my legs but quickly lost my balance after letting go. This is pathetic.  12 months old.  One year old and I can’t even walk!  Maybe if my mother didn’t coddle me so much, I would’ve been walking a couple of months ago! Frustrated, I watched my sister Abby walk all the way into my mother’s arms. “Good job, Abs!” My mother said with a smile.  She then cast a compassionate stare at me.  “Don’t worry, Gabby.  You’ll learn to walk very soon.  Maybe not on your birthday, but maybe in another week or two.  Aw, you’re so close! So close.  Yes.  But then another thought crept into my mind.  So close. I was so close to escaping with my sister a year ago.  So close to leaving the Rivers Estate for good. So close to reporting my mother to the police.  So close. But sadly, that was my old life.  My new life is enjoying the comfort that my mother gives to me and my sister.  No consequences.  No punishments.  Just love. And best of all, I got to share that with my twin sister.  The lie was working too well. That night, my mother fed me and Abby colorful carrots with pasta and mashed potatoes.  Two raspberry vanilla smash cakes sat on the trays of both of our highchairs.  Each of the two cakes had one unlit candle, which my mother obviously didn’t light since she didn’t want either of us to burn our fingers on the candle, even if she were to blow it out. My mother hugged both me and Abby as she began to sing: Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you Happy birthday dear Abigail and Gabrielle Happy birthday to you! “And many morrrrrrrrrrrreeeeee!” My mother sang, holding the last sustained note for a few seconds. “Okay, my girls.  Help yourself to that cake!” And that’s what I did.  I dug both my hands into the raspberry vanilla smash cake and shoved the pieces into my mouth, giving my mother the biggest smile after I did.  Abby too showed a similar smile to mine. Both our faces were completely covered in the smash cake but we were both babies and we didn’t care.  The pieces were falling down our faces as we smeared the frosting all over our cheeks, with a couple of the raspberries splattering on our chins. “You both like it?” My mother chirped. “Good. Let’s get you all ready for bed.” My mother got us both ready for bed.  She gave me and Abby a bath and got us both into nighttime diapers and matching faded pink footed sleepers. But it wasn’t bedtime yet. Instead, my mother had a small pile of presents for both me and Abby. It was more toys.  More dresses.  More onesie rompers.  More pacifiers.  More bibs.  One present was a nice blanket that was big enough to cover me and my sister.  All the clothes that both me and Abby got matched since we were twins. After the gifts were opened, my mother began to tell us a bedtime story, while she stuck a new pacifier in my mouth and in Abby’s. After that, I felt like I was about to fall asleep. But I was on my mother’s lap again.  Abby was beside me. Both of my mother’s breasts were fully exposed.  One for me and one for my sister. The nighttime nursing began, and I drank my fill of my mother’s breast milk.  Like all other days and nights, I was used to it.  Used to the formerly new routine that now felt normal. It was all normal. My old life was gone.  My teenage life felt like a former memory that felt almost false and dream-like.  This was my life now.  I…was a baby now.  My sister was a baby again. I was just about fast asleep when my mother placed me in my crib.  Of all the things that I had to figure out, one thing was certain. I was going to walk again.  I wasn’t about to be outdone by my twin.  Sooner or later, I was going to walk if it was the last thing that I did.   It seems that way.  Hopefully, the girls will encounter them sooner or later.  I'm not going to say when but they will appear later on.