Ishigreensa

One shot: short story. Not to replace Pearl or Sent Away, but just to fill writer's block. It was already 7:50, and they said they'd be there around eight. I checked my presentation in the mirror again, making sure my hair was managed, my shirt was straight, and I was as sharp as in my military days. One more glance in the child's to be room, the bed was made nice and neat, the dresser was closed up and polished ready for her clothes, the closet door ajar and ready for her stuff, and the floor polished. It was ready. The cookies were cooling on the table, ready for greedy little hands to taste the first impression of who I'd be for her. The doorbell rang at 7:53. I hadn't expected them to be early, and I hesitated for a split second before adjusting my shirt collar and walking toward the door. Through the peephole, I saw a man in a cheap suit with a lanyard around his neck, and beside him, a girl with arms crossed, looking anywhere but at him or the door. The man had a grim expression, while the girl's face was unreadable, save for the faintest hint of defiance. I opened the door and nodded to the man. "Jim Greene?" he asked as if to make sure he had the right house. "Yes, sir. Please come in. The kitchen table is ready to discuss business, and that goes for little guests, too. There are some cookies with your name on them." "Jim, you can't treat this one with kit gloves. She's hostile and a troublemaker. There's a reason no one else will take her. She's thirteen years of age, and has been in the system for four years. She's been in and out of homes, some of them much like yours only with two parents, and she still wore them down." "Well, I'm sure there's a story behind her behavior." "Jim, every child has a story behind their quirks. Her problem, is that she won't let anyone in. She's not getting better, and people are just tired of dealing with her. I'd already be sending her to Juvenile Hall if it weren't for the fact that you are willing to take any child and that she'd never last there. She has problems that would paint a target on her back that said all stray bullets go here." I frowned. "What could be so bad, she'd have a target that big on her?" "She pisses herself. Not just the bed, but her pants, deliberately. She acts like it's not a big deal and just spits at or pushes anyone that tries to talk about it as if it's not normal, but it's not. She's thirteen years old, Jim." The social worker's voice had dropped to a whisper, and I glanced at the girl standing beside him. She was staring at the wall behind me, her jaw set, her shoulders stiff. I wondered if she'd heard him, if she cared. There was something hollow in her posture, like she'd already decided how this would go. "For you caring that she gets one last chance, you aren't selling her on her good points," I pointed out to the man. "You could at least tell me what she's good at, or if she's dependable for something." He sighed. "No one knows. She won't talk to anyone really, and she doesn't act like she cares if she's accepted or not. She'll sit there in math class, and deliberately shit her pants just so the teacher doesn't make her go to the front of the class to solve an easy problem, even." "That's disturbing, if she's really doing it deliberately. But you've seen her do this?" "Jim, I don't have to. It's in her file," and he dropped a heavy folder on the table. I looked from the file to the little lady and frowned. "Hon? What's your name? I promised cookies. You can grab as many as you want from the plate. It's right there on the table, sweetheart." She glanced at me for half a second, then back at the wall. No answer. The social worker rolled his eyes as if to say, 'See what I mean?' "She's just nervous. New place in her life and probably still faceless given you talk like she's seen at least six homes a year." I dismissed his point. "Sweetheart, come and sit down, please?" I put two cookies on the table in front of the chair I offered her. She didn't move, didn't acknowledge me, just kept staring at the wall. The social worker shifted uncomfortably beside her, clearly waiting for me to give up and admit defeat. One thing about me, though, was I was stubborn. Defeat wasn't in my vocabulary. I walked over and took her hand and waited for her to react. I knew her instinct would be to pull away, but it would force a reaction, otherwise, she'd be guided to the table, either way, I'd get something out of the child, a win. She jerked her hand back like I'd burned her and hissed, "Don't touch me!" Her voice was rough, hoarse, as if she'd been screaming recently, or hadn't used it in a while. Her eyes flashed up to mine for a split second, venomous and sharp. But at least she'd spoken. "Good," I whispered to her. "At least I know something bothers you, now. If you don't want me to reach for your hand again, please go sit at the table, honey. We have a lot to discuss even after the nice man leaves." She hesitated, glancing between the table and the door as if calculating which escape route would be easier. Finally, she shuffled toward the chair, her ratty sneakers dragging against the hardwood floor. She didn't sit so much as collapse into the seat, arms folded tight against her chest, fingers digging into her sleeves like claws. The cookies remained untouched. "Defiant or not, that's not normal teen behavior. There are cookies not only for her, but ones in the middle of the table. I'd be less concerned about her if she just grabbed all the cookies on the plate, but as it is, it's not normal for her not to at least take what she is given. Teens are always hungry." I frowned at the social worker. "So, what was her last placement like?" The man shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze as he flipped open the file. "That's confidential information. Unless it's documented here, it's none of your business what other placements have done." His tone was clipped, defensive. "Focus on what's in front of you." "Sir, this is what is in front of me. Every placement affects a child one way or another. I'm not asking for when they told her to go to bed or when they took her for ice cream. I'm just trying to get a sense of the discipline she's already had." I looked over at the girl momentarily. Her eyes flicked to my belt again before darting away, her fingers tightening around her sleeves. The social worker sighed and flipped through the file, but I saw the hesitation in his hands, the way his fingers lingered on certain pages without turning them. "Fine, if that's all the information you can give me, then I'll just work with her from what I know. I still haven't gotten her name. If that's not too much to ask?" I was a little passive aggressive about this, but after all, it seemed he only told me bad things about her, and wouldn't even tell me how she was treated at her last place. I didn't think I owed anyone like that politeness especially as they aired out the teen's problems without having any praise for her at all. The social worker flipped through the file again, hesitating before finally sighing. "Her name is Leah. That's all you're getting from me." He snapped the folder shut with finality, his jaw tight. Leah didn't react to her name being spoken, just kept staring at the table, her fingers now picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "That's plenty sir. When should I expect the next visit. The kid is starting a new life, so I'm taking her shopping and I don't want to be out when your next visit is." I glanced at the child again, Leah, and wondered if she ever looked at anything but the belt on my hip. The social worker shifted uncomfortably. "Two weeks. That's standard procedure, unless there's an incident." "I'll let you know if there are any incidents," I told him. "But right now, the only thing I plan on, is making this child feel like she belongs here. I don't know what anyone else has done, but no one is comfortable in a place until they know they belong." Leah shifted in her chair at that, her fingers stilling for a fraction of a second before resuming their frantic picking. The social worker exhaled sharply through his nose, like he'd heard this speech before. "Good luck with that, Greene. She's been through the ringer. Don't expect miracles." I laughed. "If you thought I was the type to expected miracles, I doubt you would have driven two hours with her in your car if she's as bad as you say she is." The social worker gave a small shrug before moving toward the door. "Just don't say I didn't warn you." With that, he was gone, leaving Leah and me alone in the kitchen. The silence stretched between us, thick as the scent of peanut butter cookies cooling on the counter. Leah shuffled again, her knees pressing together tightly beneath the table, her shoulders hunched forward like she was trying to fold into herself. Something was off, more than just the defiance, more than the hollow stare. She was hiding something. "Leah, honey, I know it must be hard being moved all the time. I don't expect you to know all the rules at once, hell, even I am not sure what they should be. You're the first kid I've had in my house since nearly twenty years ago. I will tell you this, though, if you accept that my role is to protect you and to give you experiences I think you are ready for, your life with me will be a little easier." She shifted again, pressing her knees tighter together, her fingers now digging into her thighs. The way she sat, rigid, coiled, wasn't just defiance. It was pain. I'd seen that posture before, in the nursing home, when residents tried to hide incontinence accidents from the staff. My stomach dropped. "Baby...," I softened. "Honey? Please stand up. I know you're scared, but I think we need to get you to the potty before it's too late. If it is, it's okay. I won't be mad. I just don't want you to suffer, child." Her breath hitched, and she froze, her fingers digging deeper into her thighs. The flicker in her eyes wasn't just defiance, it was panic. She glanced toward the hallway where the bathroom was, then back at me, calculating. Finally, she shook her head once, sharp, like a dog shaking off water. "You already wet too much? You are scared you aren't going to make it?" I walked over and picked up a cookie handing it to her. "This will help, honey. It will calm you. You can finish in your pants, if you need. Just don't sit there trying to hold it. You are clearly in pain, baby." Leah jerked away, knocking the cookie from my hand onto the floor. "I'm fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, but the tremor in it betrayed her. Her legs were shaking now, pressed together so tightly her knuckles were white where she gripped her thighs. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, though the kitchen wasn't warm. I sighed. I am sorry, but remember how I said it's my job to protect you and to give you experiences you are ready for? Well, right now, you are pissing yourself and scared of it, and may even be hurting yourself from holding it too long." Even as I was speaking, I pulled the defiant child up and started to carry her even as she beat me on my back towards to the toilet. Not caring if she started pissing on me or not. She was surprisingly strong for a malnourished kid, her fists pounding against my shoulders like she was fighting for her life. Her breath came in ragged gasps, halfway between sobs and curses. "Put me down, you bastard!" I ignored her, focusing on the bathroom door just down the hall. The dampness soaking through her jeans was warm against my arm, confirming what I already knew. "In a few steps, baby," I whispered to her as she yelled at me. "In a few steps. You will either need the toilet or a bath, and either way, the bathroom is where that will happen, sweetheart. I know you're scared." I got to the door and had to use her back to gently push the door open and finally sat her seated on the toilet though her clothes were still on. She stared up at me, her chest heaving, her fists still clenched like she was ready to swing again. Her face was flushed, her green eyes wide with something between fury and terror. The wet spot on her jeans had grown, spreading down her thighs, darkening the fabric. "I'll be outside the door, little lady. You can pull down your pants and pee and then when you flush, I'll come back in again. That's my signal you have pulled your pants up if you want them up." Her breath hitched again, her fingers clawing at her jeans now, her knuckles white. She shuffled on the toilet seat, her legs trembling visibly. "I don't need help," she spat, but her voice cracked halfway through, betraying her. She glanced toward the door, then back at me, her jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching. I walked out the door for her, and waited for the signal I had told her about. If she wet through her pants, they were already wet, and I wouldn't care. If she got them down, and peed in the toilet, the better for her self confidence. And if she signaled me before she was dressed again, then I'd just give her a bath.... Right now, it was all up to the signs she showed me. The toilet flushed. I walked back in to see her standing awkwardly by the sink, her jeans bunched around her ankles, her underwear pulled up in the front but still sagging in the back, clinging to her skin where they were soaked. The sour stench hit me before I saw the faint smear of brown on the inside of her thighs. "Baby, bath time," I whispered as I turned on the sink for her hands. "Go ahead and wash your hands, little lady. Then go ahead and take your dirty panties off and your shirt. You need a bath." I started to run the bath for her like she was a little kid. Leah stood frozen by the sink, her fingers twitching at her sides like she wanted to cover herself but couldn’t decide where to start. The wet fabric clung to her thighs, the waistband of her underwear digging into her hips where she’d yanked it up unevenly. A faint tremor ran through her legs, and she kept shifting her weight from foot to foot like she was standing on hot coals. "I know you're just nervous, little lady. No matter what that man said about math class, I am not under the impression you stood there peeing your pants deliberately in my kitchen. You were too nervous to do that. It's okay. Everyone gets scared sometimes." Leah's breath hitched again, her fingers tightening around the hem of her shirt like she wanted to pull it down over her thighs but couldn't move. The water in the tub rose steadily, steam curling into the air between us. She glanced at the bath, then back at her feet, her toes curling against the cold tile. I sighed. "Sweetheart, if you don't take off your shirt on your own, I'll have to do it. You need a bath. Now, you being thirteen, I'd think you'd rather not be touched if you are removing your clothes for a bath. So show me you are a big kid, okay?" Leah hesitated, her fingers twitching at the hem of her shirt. She glanced at the bathwater, then back at me, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. Slowly, reluctantly, she peeled the shirt over her head, her arms shaking. The moment it was off, she crossed them over her chest, her shoulders hunching forward like she could disappear into herself. "Honey, there is no rule you have to face me. You can turn so your chest is facing away. I understand that you feel vulnerable. It's just you are really smelly and not just because you pottied your pants. You smell like you didn't bathe for at least a few days." Leah flinched at that, her arms tightening around her chest. She turned stiffly, presenting her back to me, her shoulders hunched like she expected a blow any second. The waistband of her underwear was still twisted, the wet fabric clinging to her thighs in uneven clumps. A faint, sour odor clung to her, the kind that didn’t come from just one accident. That's when I saw there was still a log of poop mushed in her panties. I sighed. Her panties were multiple stained, like she had peed herself more than twice. I shook my head. This wasn't from just being in the car either. She had to have had the same panties on since being at school earlier that day before I was called. That meant no one had even changed her. "Honey? Don't you even have any clean clothes with you?" I asked putting a tender hand on her shoulder. Leah flinched away, her breath quickening. She shook her head once, sharp, her fingers digging into her arms where she hugged herself. The waistband of her underwear had ridden up unevenly in the back, exposing the smeared mess clinging to her skin. She kept shifting her weight, like standing still burned. "Well, I need to help get the mess out of your butt because that's hard for a teen to get on her own, and after I get the mess off of you, you can take a bath on your own. I'll be making some calls to get you something to wear so you feel more confident around me." I gently put my hands on the waistband of her panties. "I need to do it, or the poop might fall on the floor, sweetheart. At least if It falls on the floor when I do it, then you can't be blamed, right?" Leah sucked in a sharp breath when my fingers touched the elastic, her whole body going rigid. She didn't nod, didn't speak, just squeezed her eyes shut tight enough that wrinkles formed around them. I pulled her panties down carefully, watching as the mess clinging to them peeled away from her skin with a soft, wet sound. A small chunk plopped onto the tile between her feet. Leah whimpered, her knees knocking together. "It's okay, baby. Good girl. I know this is hard. I didn't plan on cleaning up a thirteen year old kid either, but I can't leave you like this. That would be neglect, sweetheart." I started to notice rashes on her legs and light marks from a belt being used on her, at least multiple times, from likely the day before if not that morning before school. I washed her bottom up the best I could, getting the poop away from her and even had to get in her butt area so it didn't linger. "Turn around a moment, honey. I need to check the poop isn't on your front, or you can get an infection." Leah hesitated, trembling like a leaf in wind, then slowly rotated. Her ribs stood out starkly beneath her skin, bruises blooming along her sides in uneven patches. Fresh welts, thin and angry, striped her lower back, definitely from this morning. I swallowed hard, keeping my voice steady. "Someone's been hitting you," I whispered. "That why you were scared to move earlier, thinking if you hid it long enough, I wouldn't know you peed, so you wouldn't get hit?" Her breath hitched again, her arms tightening around herself like she could squeeze the words back in. The bruises on her ribs were old, yellowed at the edges, but the welts were fresh, raised and red, the kind that still sting hours later. The bathwater kept rising, steam curling around her trembling legs. "Change of plans," I let out the bath water. "That water is too hot and is going make your stings hurt worse. We'll do a soft lukewarm shower instead. I won't hurt your owies as much, okay?" Leah's breathing was shallow, quick little gasps like a trapped rabbit. She stared at the drain as the water swirled away, her toes curling against the tile. I adjusted the showerhead to a gentle spray, testing the temperature on my wrist before guiding her toward it. "You go ahead and take a moment to rinse off and relax. When I come back in, I'll help you clean up so don't touch your owies. Let me help. I have something that will make it hurt less than regular soap." I left the bathroom to give her a little space to calm down while I called a good friend. "Jenny? Does your daughter wear...." I picked up the panties I had from Leah. "Size 12's or close to it in teen? I am in trouble over here, and was given a girl that needs clothes. They finally let me foster, but she came to my house no clean clothes at all, and she's a mess. Someone's been mistreating in her and neglecting her hygiene." Jenny gasped softly on the other end. "Oh Jim. I'll have Sarah pack a bag, bras, panties, pajamas, the works. We'll be there in twenty." The line went dead before I could thank her. I came back in the bathroom with a smile. "How's the water, honey? Too hot? Too cold? If it is, we can try to adjust it." Leah stood rigid under the spray, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest, the water running in rivulets down her bruised ribs. She shook her head once, sharp, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders like seaweed. The welts on her back glistened under the water, angry and raw. I reached under the sink and pulled out some soaps and stuff I personally bought when I was expected to give baths at the nursing home. I didn't like that they used generic stuff on some of them because they had different kinds of sores from being in wet diapers sometimes for too long, or from falls or whatever, and I never felt right cleaning them with abrasive soap that hurt them worse. "Here, honey, now I'm sorry, but you need to let me see. I'm not going to touch, but I need to see how red your... pee pee place is." Leah jerked back, her hands flying to cover herself, eyes wide with panic. The water sluiced off her trembling skin, revealing the raw patches between her thighs, deep red, almost chafed, like she'd been rubbing against rough fabric for days. I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Honey, did men touch you there? Is that why you are scared? I promise, you will do any touching, if it needs doing. I just need to see how bad the rash is. I need to know what to tell the doctor. Your skin isn't happy at all.... or if you are too scared... I do have a friend coming with clothes. She's a woman. She could maybe look instead, if that's better?" Leah's breath came in short, ragged bursts, her fingers digging into her thighs. She shook her head violently, sending droplets flying from her tangled hair. "No doctor," she muttered, her voice barely audible over the shower spray. "No doctor," I sighed. "Did a doctor hurt you when you were last checked?" Her fingers dug deeper into her thighs, her knuckles whitening. The water ran pink where her nails broke skin. I turned the showerhead away from her wounds, letting the spray hit the tiles instead. "Okay, no doctor right now. But we gotta treat this rash, baby. It looks painful. I will let you choose though, if my friend Jenny helps you put the stuff to help your rash or if you let me. I know it's your body, but either way, you need medicine, and it's neglect and harmful for me not to take care of it, somehow." Leah's shoulders hunched forward, her wet hair clinging to her face like a curtain. She didn't answer, just stood there trembling, the water washing away the grime but not the tension in her spine. A knock at the front door startled us both. "That'll be Jenny, honey. It's okay. I'll just let you think about who you want to help you while I go talk to my friend. Trust me, I don't want you to hurt, that's why the not so hot bath. I know that would sting open wounds and barely healed bruising." Leah didn't respond, just clenched her jaw tighter, her fingers twitching like she wanted to cover herself but couldn't decide where to start. I grabbed a clean towel from the rack and draped it over the shower curtain rod where she could reach it. I walked out and to the front door, where I immediately pulled Jenny and Sarah into the house. "It's worse than I thought. They've hit her, bad. And she's got rashes from them not letting her clean herself enough... in places... a girl her shouldn't have them. She's scared, and I'm not sure, but she might feel better if you put the medicine on her the first time instead of me." Sarah, Jenny's sixteen-year-old, clutched the duffel bag tighter, her eyes widening. "Oh my god, Dad told me to pack underwear and bras, but I didn't think, " she whispered, "You mean she doesn't have anything?" "She just has the dirty clothes she came in, and apparently, she's been wearing pooped in panties since at least the school day earlier. They got to my place at eight, so you can imagine how long that's been. That's when I noticed the rashes. I couldn't let her try to clean up poop by herself. She's only thirteen, and thirteen year olds shouldn't be pooping their pants, so shouldn't be expected to know how to get clean after an accident like that." Sarah's face twisted in sympathy. "I'll help her," she said firmly, already moving toward the hallway. "I've got pads in here too, just in case." She hesitated, glancing back at me. "But, uh, maybe you should stay out here." "That's the plan, only she is going to have to trust me eventually. You can't change her everytime she has problems. According to the social worker who dropped her, she wets her pants on a daily basis, but he didn't really give me a good reason a kid her age would do that." Sarah hesitated, her fingers tightening around the duffel bag straps. "Did they even try to figure out why?" "I am more than sure they didn't. If they had, they'd have seen she was abused. It's like he just 'warned me' that she was socially unacceptable, but I know there's gotta be more to her story. Don't worry, I'll figure it out, but for now, my most important duty is to get her clean and comfortable. Once she feels safe, she'll open up." Sarah nodded and disappeared down the hallway with the duffel bag. The shower had stopped running by the time Jenny and I reached the kitchen. Jenny busied herself making tea while I stared at the untouched cookies on the table, now gone cold and hard. The social worker's words echoed in my head, *deliberate incontinence*. Bullshit. No kid deliberately sat in filth unless they'd been taught their pain didn't matter. "I didn't know how much to tell your daughter. I didn't want to scare her more than she probably already was. But I know that thirteen year old children don't just deliberately piss themselves let alone, crap their pants in front of all their peers in math class unless something has taught them that that was the only acceptable thing that doesn't hurt them." I looked at Jenny to to see what she thought of what I said. Jenny's hands trembled around the mug she was filling. The teabag string snapped under her grip. "Jesus, Jim. Those welts looked fresh. You think she wet herself to avoid another beating?" "Something like that," I muttered. "I know she would rather sit at the table and slowly pee herself so I didn't see her doing it, than admit she needed the toilet. That's exactly what she did. I had to pick her up and carry her to the bathroom just to get her to the toilet to even try, and then I noticed she pooped, and the poop, it was dry. I know for a fact it happened at least at school, maybe even before school." Jenny stirred her tea absently, her brow furrowed. "That's deliberate neglect. You don't just ignore a thirteen-year-old sitting in filth unless you want them to suffer." "The problem is that is a big accusation because I'd be accusing the school and social services of the same neglect since the man drove her two hours to my place in those messy pants. I don't think anyone will believe me if I told them like that. And that's probably why she didn't correct him when he said she deliberately wets her pants in class at school." Jenny sighed and rubbed her forehead. "So what are you going to do?" "Take care of the child, first and foremost. If we can build a case after I get her to talk about it, then I press it, but more importantly than building a case against her abusers, is to make her feel safe and cared for. She can be violent, but given what she's hinted at, she has reason to be. She ... I'm not sure... I think a doctor sexually abused her. I just wanted to put medicine on her, and told her we'd see a doctor. She covered herself from me, and that's natural. But then she said NO doctor, as if, the very thought... well, it was a bit unnatural the way she said it." Jenny nodded. "I'll tell Sarah to be extra gentle with her, and not to ask too many questions." "I haven't heard any outrage yet. Trust me, if Sarah wasn't already being careful, well, if I took off my shirt, I think you'd see little fist marks on my back where she beat me for carrying her to the bathroom." Jenny snorted, stirring her tea with excessive force. "Yeah, well, considering what you just told me, I'd say she earned the right to throw a few punches." She glanced toward the hallway where faint murmurs drifted from the bathroom. "Think she'll talk to Sarah?" "Not right away, for sure. But if Sarah is patient and doesn't make her feel like a freak for pottying her pants all the time, because I am afraid that's not going away over night, but if she's nice to her and understanding, I could see her maybe opening up to her. Sarah's another kid, so probably feels safer to open up to than to an adult." Jenny nodded, swirling her tea. The steam curled around her face as she took a careful sip. "Sarah's got a good heart. She won't push." "Honestly, of all the church people, that's why I called you instead of the relief society president or anyone else. I don't trust too many people to understand the stress this child has been under and you might think I'm a freak for it, but I plan on treating the baby like an eight year old until she's ready to be a teenager. Right now, with the way she's been treated, I don't think expecting teen behavior from her is the right thing for now." Jenny set her mug down with a soft clink. "You're not a freak, Jim. Trauma does that to kids, freezes them at the age they were hurt. Sarah wet the bed till she was eleven after her grandfather died." She hesitated, then added quietly, "You think that's why she's... having accidents?" "Honestly, the social guy wouldn't tell me even what her last home was like. It was like taking a bone from a hungry dog to even get him to tell me her name. So I don't know what her problem is, but I do know what trauma looks like, and this is clearly a response to trauma. Scared to let someone know she's peed her pants, rather peeing her pants than letting someone see she's started to not make it, violent to push away anyone trying to help, defiant and forcefully telling people to not touch her when she clearly needs help.... One thing alone, no, that's not trauma, but everything the way she's acted today... and even reluctantly letting me get closer the more I saw and clear abusive marks on her skin... that IS trauma." Jenny exhaled sharply, tapping her nails against the ceramic mug. The hallway faucet squeaked off, followed by muffled whispers and the rustle of fabric. "You're right. It's textbook. Freeze response, hypervigilance, avoidance, " She cut herself off as Sarah emerged from the hallway, her face pale. "I'm sorry if she said or did anything mean to you," I told Sarah. "She's not in her right mind, won't be until she feels safe. You look pale. Did she hurt you?" Sarah shook her head, clutching the duffel bag to her chest. "No, she just... she didn't talk. At all." Her voice cracked. "Mom, when I helped her dry off, I saw... bruises on her back, like someone took a belt to her yesterday." She swallowed hard. "And her wrists, there are marks, like she was tied up." I nodded. "I know someone took a belt to her. She was scared of me helping her too much, so I didn't really get a good look at her hands, but I saw that she not only had belt marks, but she's been bruised from someone actually hitting her with other things. She's got rashes from neglect, and she's very violent if you get too pushy because she's defending herself. So, are you sure she didn't hurt you? Don't worry, I won't hit her. I just want to make sure you are okay." Sarah shook her head again. "No, she didn't hurt me. She just froze when I touched her. Like, completely stiff. I had to guide her arms into the sleeves because she wouldn't move." She bit her lip. "She's wearing my old sleep shorts and a tee now. The underwear... she wouldn't let me help with that part." "Did she at least put some on? Honey, she's not ready to talk right now. It's not you. You are a very good person, and if anyone is going to reach her, it's probably going to be you... eventually, but only if you want to try to be her friend. She's not going to be easy to get to know or be friendly at all until she feels safe." Sarah nodded, twisting the hem of her shirt between her fingers. "I... I left them on the counter. She didn't throw them at me or anything." She hesitated, then added quietly, "She smelled like antiseptic. I think she put the rash cream on herself." "Oh, honey. That's why I wanted Jenny, your mom, to help her. I was afraid she'd try to, but only being thirteen, she might not have put in places that really hurt because you know how hard it is to touch an open sore that hurts, and you remember being thirteen, right?" Sarah twisted the hem of her shirt tighter around her fingers, her knuckles whitening. "Yeah. I remember." Her voice was barely audible. "She didn't scream when I helped her dry off, just... clenched her teeth. I didn't even know she had welts until I saw her back." "Yeah, she's got em though, and they do wrap around her, hitting her stomach and thighs on the front, like a belt out of control." Sarah's breath hitched, her fingers twitching toward her own waist reflexively. "Who would do that to a kid?" "Not anyone good," I shook my head. "So, just understand, if she's curt with you, if she's violent sometimes, or she's just stand offish and offensive with language, she's just doing what she's learned will protect her from getting hurt one way or another. Can I ask a special request of you, this Sunday?" Sarah wiped her palms on her jeans, her brow furrowed. "What?" "I don't want her sitting with strangers until she feels safe, and I'm not even sure she'll really trust me yet, but she's seen you were gentle. Can you find it in your heart to miss the older Sunday school class to sit with her in hers, and maybe help her if you see her squirming or possibly wetting herself?" Sarah's fingers stilled against her jeans. She glanced toward the hallway where soft shuffling footsteps approached, then back at me with slow understanding. "You think she'll have another accident?" "Honey, she's going to be wetting her pants daily until she feels safe. I don't know how often she does this, but the panties I took off her earlier indicated she peed herself at least three times today on top of the time she pooped her pants. That's not going to go away anytime soon." Sarah exhaled sharply, pressing her knuckles against her lips. The shuffling footsteps paused just beyond the kitchen doorway, followed by the faint creak of floorboards as Leah shifted her weight. I kept my voice low. "She's listening. So be careful what you say, " I murmured. Jenny reached over and squeezed Sarah's shoulder. "You don't have to do this if you're not comfortable." "No, you don't. I said it was a favor. If you can't do it, there is no shame in saying this is too much. She's been rejected from homes because people couldn't deal with her situation, and some of them might have been good people that were just overwhelmed. It doesn't make you a bad person to admit something is too much. You are still just a teenager." Sarah's jaw set. She smoothed her palms down her thighs and stood straighter. "I'll do it," she said, too loudly, her voice carrying toward the hallway. The floorboards creaked again, Leah stepping back. "She shouldn't be alone." "She won't be. I'll be there. I just thought... a friend... would be helpful." Sarah nodded, her shoulders squaring with determination. From the hallway came the softest sniffle, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. Leah was still there, hovering just out of sight. I lowered my voice further. "She's terrified of doctors. If those welts get infected, " I hesitated, "Jenny, do you still have those antibiotic ointments from when Sarah had her bike accident?" Jenny's eyes flicked toward the hallway. "The strong ones? Yeah, but they sting." "Better they sting because they are healing than the sores sting because they are getting worse. I'll be gentle and warn her. Of course. Sometimes, it takes a little pain before you feel better. I don't think she's a stranger to pain, though." The hallway floorboards creaked again, louder this time. Leah stood in the doorway, barefoot in Sarah's borrowed sleep shorts, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The oversized tee shirt draped off one bony shoulder, exposing the edge of a fresh welt. Her eyes darted between us like a trapped animal assessing exits. "Sweetheart, please come to the table?" I asked. "You're a big girl. You don't need to be carried, right?" Leah hesitated, her fingers tightening around the hem of her oversized tee. The fabric stretched taut over her knuckles, revealing the faint tremor in her hands. She took one shuffling step forward, then stopped, her gaze darting to Sarah. "Sarah's not judging YOU, honey. She's just mad at the people that hurt you. You can ask her if you want. That's what she's been telling her mom. She's scared for you because she saw you were hurt, honey." Leah's breath hitched. She took another halting step forward, her knees trembling under the shorts that hung loose on her hips. The waistband slipped lower, revealing the top edge of another welt. Sarah sucked in a sharp breath but quickly schooled her expression. I got up and walked over. "I won't touch unless you say so, but let me help you if I can." I pulled up her shorts for her. "It's okay, honey. No one's mad at you, baby." Leah flinched but didn't pull away. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her ribs protruding sharply beneath the thin fabric. Up close, I could see the way her lower lip had been bitten raw, the skin around her nails chewed ragged. "Come and sit, sweetie. You can still have a cookie. I am not mad you threw the cookie. It helped me understand you, actually. Everything you did earlier, has been helping me understand what this piece of crap folder says about you." Leah stared at the cookies, then at the folder in my hand, her case file, handed to me with a dismissive shrug by the social worker. Her throat worked silently as I flipped it open to reveal the sparse, typed pages inside. "See? It says 'defiant.' 'Nonverbal.' 'Incontinent.' Like you're a problem to be solved, not a kid who's been hurt." I tapped the page. "But you showed me the truth today. You're scared. And you have every right to be." Sarah edged closer, hesitantly reaching for the duffel bag. "I brought pajamas," she murmured. "And socks. The kind with the grippy bottoms, so you don't slip." "You're allowed to wet the pajamas," I whispered to Leah. "Everyone at this table knows, any night wetting isn't something you are choosing to do. You won't make Sarah mad if the pajamas get wet, and no one will hit. The only rule I have, is you come to me and tell me you've peed so you are not sitting in filth for hours anymore. That's it." Leah's fingers twitched against her thighs, her nails digging crescent moons into the fabric. The fluorescent kitchen light caught the thin sheen of sweat above her lip. Sarah shifted the duffel bag onto the table with deliberate slowness, unzipping it to reveal folded cotton pajama sets, each sleeve meticulously turned inside out to showcase the softness within. "See? Sarah even knows you'll wet the bed, we just told her, and she's still offering. She's trying to be your friend, honey." Leah stared at the pajamas, her breathing uneven. A droplet of water slid from her damp hair onto the collar of Sarah's borrowed shirt. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and touched the fabric of the nearest pajama top, a faded purple with tiny stars. Her fingers trembled as they brushed the material. "I'll be glad to replace anything that my baby accidentally wets in. I know it won't feel good to wear someone else's pee even if you know it was washed. I just got blindsided with her and had no chance to buy anything that would fit her. It was an emergency, or I wouldn't have asked you for some of your daughter's clothes." I looked at Jennifer apologetically. Sarah's fingers hovered near Leah's wrist without touching. "You can keep them," she said softly. "I outgrew these months ago." The lie came easily; the pajamas still smelled faintly of fabric softener, freshly laundered. Leah's breath hitched as her fingers curled around the purple fabric, clutching it to her chest like a shield. I knew it was a lie, and I looked at Jennifer, because it was the parents who had to replace the clothes. I was sincere and was already reaching for my wallet wondering how much to give her for the clothes. Jenny waved me off, her eyes locked on Leah. "Sarah's outgrown them," she lied smoothly. "They'd just go to charity otherwise." I sighed seeing that they must have agreed on this in the car on the way here. I would maybe ask them to take some money later, when Leah wasn't listening, or maybe just buy her daughter something sometime to replace something. They really saved me. And Leah. -the embarrassment of not having anything to take Leah shopping in the next day that didn't smell or was stained so badly. Leah clutched the pajamas tighter, her knuckles whitening against the fabric. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken understanding, until Sarah cleared her throat and nudged the duffel bag closer. "There's toothbrushes in the side pocket," she said. "The pink one's new. I... figured you might need one." I sniffled at how helpful they really were. I didn't have an extra toothbrush, either. I had nothing. After all, eight months ago, they said I wouldn't likely get any kid. I had given up. Leah's fingers brushed against the toothbrush, her touch tentative as if expecting it to be snatched away. She glanced at Sarah, then back at the pink plastic handle, her throat working silently. "Do you want to brush your teeth?" I asked Leah. "You can. It will be bedtime after I make you some dinner. You've had a long day, and I can see you are tired." Leah didn't answer, but her grip tightened around the toothbrush. She glanced toward the hallway, then back at the table, her shoulders tense. "Go ahead. Go test your toothbrush out, sweetheart. I need to start dinner for you anyway, and maybe your friend and her mom will eat with us just for tonight?" I looked at Jennifer mouthing 'please.' Sarah moved first, stepping sideways to give Leah a clear path to the hallway. Leah hesitated, clutching the pajamas and toothbrush like armor, then darted past them, her bare feet slapping against the linoleum. The bathroom door clicked shut a second later, followed by the muffled rush of tap water. I smiled at Jennifer. "She's actually opening up to Sarah faster than I thought. She hasn't once yelled at her, and she seems to be watching her for cues. That's better than my first reception with her." I started to prepare spaghetti, something fast and simple. "I hope spaghetti is alright, Sarah. I know it's a cliche kid food, but I think with the stress of tonight and also maybe just a hint that Leah is still a little girl, it might help soothe her for the night." Sarah leaned against the counter, picking at her nails. "It's fine. Besides, spaghetti reminds me of home, too." "I didn't expect you to bring Sarah with you, but I'm really glad you did. I think Leah is warming up to her," I told Jennifer. "I know you both lied about the donation, and I appreciate you making Leah feel comfortable having the clothes. I just hope she didn't get anything that's a favorite because she will likely poop in it, Sarah. It's just a sad fact that it's going to take time for her to feel safe enough to do what is normal for everyone else." Sarah shrugged. "I don't care. Clothes are just clothes. Besides, she needs them more than I do." The bathroom door creaked open, and Leah shuffled back into the hallway. She'd changed into the purple pajamas, the sleeves pooling over her hands. The toothbrush was clutched tightly in her fist, still damp. Her eyes darted to the stove where I stirred the spaghetti sauce, then to Sarah, lingering for a fraction of a second before she looked away. "Sweetheart, you don't have to say thank you," I told Leah. "Sarah knows you appreciate it, but if you did say or show her that, it would be very satisfying she knows she helped you even a little bit?" Leah froze mid-step, her damp toothbrush dripping onto the floor. Sarah held her breath as Leah's fingers flexed around the pajama sleeves. Then, ever so slightly, Leah dipped her chin, not quite a nod, but close enough. Sarah exhaled sharply, her lips twitching into a wobbly smile. "Please sit at the table, honey, you can pick your place so you don't feel crowded, but Spaghetti will be done in a few minutes. You need to eat before bedtime." Leah edged toward the table, her socked feet scuffing against the linoleum. She paused behind the chair farthest from the stove, her fingers tracing the wooden backrest like she was mapping its texture. Sarah busied herself setting out plates, deliberately placing Leah's fork on the right side, the side without scars encircling her wrist like faded handcuffs. "Good girl. Take the seat that feels safest, baby. It's almost done." I continued trying to coax Leah to sit, hoping not to push but to encourage. Leah hesitated before pulling out the chair, her gaze flicking to Sarah again as if checking for some silent approval. She settled stiffly onto the edge of the seat, her spine rigid, hands folded tightly in her lap. The pajama sleeves still swallowed her wrists, concealing the worst of the marks. "Sarah, there's milk in the fridge, if you would be okay drinking that with Leah just for tonight with dinner. I want Leah drinking milk with her meals for a while instead of tea or other things because she's underweight. I feel like Milk will be more nutritional in case she can't eat enough regular food yet." Sarah nodded and fetched the milk without hesitation, pouring Leah a glass first and setting it carefully in front of her. Leah stared at the glass, her fingers twitching as if fighting the instinct to grab it. The condensation beaded on the surface, sliding down to pool on the tablecloth. "That milk is yours," I told Leah as I got her plate ready. "You go ahead and drink, baby. There's more if you want. There's no limit on milk for you in this house, unless there just isn't any in the fridge, then guess what? We go buy some as soon as we can." Leah's fingers twitched toward the glass, her nails tapping lightly against the condensation. She lifted it carefully, both hands trembling as she brought it to her lips. The first sip left a faint white mustache above her mouth, which she quickly wiped away with the back of her sleeve. "Good girl," I whispered when she wiped her mouth. "And here's some spaghetti. You are a child. No rules about what you use to eat. If you get your sleeves a little saucy, you miss your mouth and get your cheek, or make any other mess, it's allowed here, baby. I just want most of the food in your tummy and not on the floor because my goal is to make you healthy." Leah stared at the steaming plate as I set it down, her hands tightening around the fork. She stabbed at a noodle clumsily, sending sauce splattering onto the tablecloth. Her shoulders tensed, waiting for rebuke that didn't come. "Baby, don't you know how to eat spaghetti like other little kids?" I asked. "It's okay if you don't. We can teach you." Leah froze mid-bite, a noodle dangling from her lips. Sarah giggled and twirled her own fork dramatically. "Watch, like this." She spun her fork until the noodles coiled neatly around the tines, then slurped them up with exaggerated satisfaction. Leah blinked, sauce smeared across her chin. I took Leah's hand with her fork in it, and put it in the middle of a clump of noodles, and then released her hand. "Go ahead, twirl the fork, sweetheart. Do it as full or light as you want and pull it away. Some noodles will drip off the fork, but that's okay. Put it in your mouth like Sarah showed you.... It's okay. You're a child, honey. Children are supposed to get a little messy when they eat." Leah hesitantly twirled the fork, her movements jerky, sauce dripping onto her sleeve. She lifted it to her mouth, her eyes flicking between me and Sarah as if expecting punishment for the mess. Instead, Sarah grinned and twirled another bite, deliberately letting noodles slap against her chin. Leah exhaled sharply through her nose, almost a laugh, before shoving her own forkful in. I smiled and looked at Jennifer. One more mission a success... getting the child to eat one comfortable meal. I looked at Leah with tenderness as she continued eating. "Sarah, honey, I think Leah will want to sleep after dinner, and I want you to go home with your mom, but I want you to tell Leah goodbye before you leave, okay?" Sarah nodded. "I will." After dinner, I started to stack up the dishes, and even though Sarah started to help, I shook my head no. "It's not that I don't appreciate the help, but right now, my little baby is more of a concern I need help with than a few plates I can wash in the sink. You promised to tell her goodnight, okay?" Sarah hesitated, then nodded and turned to Leah, who was still sitting at the table, staring at her empty plate like she wasn't sure what to do next. "Hey, Leah," Sarah said softly, "I gotta go home now, but I'll see you soon, okay?" She waited for any reaction, but Leah just sat there stiffly, her hands clenched in her lap. That's when I saw it, the dark stain spreading across the seat of Sarah's borrowed shorts, the way Leah's thighs trembled as she pressed them together. Sarah followed my gaze and inhaled sharply. Before she could speak, I shook my head slightly. Leah hadn't moved, hadn't even breathed, since realizing we'd noticed. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the chair seat, her shoulders hunched like she expected blows to rain down any second. Sarah swallowed hard and crouched beside Leah's chair without touching her. "May I please change her pants?" she asked me, her voice deliberately calm. "I want her to know it's okay and she's not a freak for having an accident." Leah flinched at the word 'freak,' a whimper escaping her clenched teeth. "I think that's very sweet of you, but ask your mom, honey. It's up to her. As far as I'm concern, as long as Leah is willing to let you touch her, you are allowed to change her anytime, but it's your mom's decision on how involved you get, okay?" Jenny hesitated, watching Leah's shallow breathing, the way her fingers dug into the chair cushion. "Sarah's gentle," she murmured finally. "And Leah's already trusted her once today." "I know. I just wanted to have your permission. This is about your daughter's safety and expectations being met, too." I nodded at Jennifer. Sarah kept her hands visible as she knelt beside Leah's chair. "Hey," she murmured. "Remember the pajamas? They're still yours. Even if they get wet." Leah's breath hitched, her fingers trembling against the chair. Sarah waited, then added, "Can I help you change? No belts. No yelling. Just clean clothes." I looked over to Leah. "She's right, sweetheart. No one hits you with a belt around me. That's not how you treat a child, even an older child struggling to stay dry in the daytime." Leah's chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips pressed into a thin line. A tear escaped down her cheek, carving a path through the spaghetti sauce still smudged near her mouth. She didn't nod, but she didn't pull away when Sarah slowly reached for the waistband of her shorts. "Go ahead and take her, gently. She'll let you know if she doesn't want to be touched. She yelled at me the first time not to touch her, so if she gets scared or doesn't want you to touch her, she'll let you know, Sarah. Just don't do anything that puts you in danger of being hit. It's not important that you change her if she gets scared... that's my job." Sarah nodded, her fingers hovering near Leah's waistband. "I'll stop if you want," she whispered to Leah. "Just say 'red' if you need me to back off." Leah's breath stuttered, her knees pressing together tighter as Sarah carefully peeled the soiled shorts away. The wet fabric stuck to Leah's thighs, leaving damp streaks on her skin. Sarah worked slowly, her movements deliberate like defusing a bomb. "Sarah, wait a moment. She's still pressing her legs. She's scared she's going to pee again. Maybe take her to the bathroom so the toilet is an option, but if she wets on the floor, let her know I expected it, and it's okay." Sarah guided Leah toward the bathroom with feather-light touches, her socked feet sliding against the linoleum. The moment the bathroom tile touched her bare toes, Leah froze, her body rigid as a corpse. A faint trickle hit the floor between her trembling legs. Sarah inhaled sharply but didn't pull away. "It's okay," she whispered. "The floor cleans." "That's what I was talking about earlier. She'd rather sit there and wet her pants quietly at dinner than everyone know she's peeing. You saw yourself, that even though it looked like she felt safe, she still hides needing to pee." I looked to see if Jenny got the same message I did. Jenny sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Conditioned," she murmured. "They trained her to piss herself silently rather than ask." Her fingers dug into the countertop. Sarah kept wiping Leah's thighs with a damp washcloth, her strokes gentle despite the tension in her jaw. Leah sat motionless on the toilet lid, her knees pressed together, staring at the tile between her socked feet. "I don't hear peeing at all. I'm going to check on the girls." I walked over and pushed the bathroom door open. "Leah, baby, you can pee. Go in the toilet or in your pants, it doesn't matter, but please pee. You shouldn't be holding it past the point you are leaking. You can hurt your body doing that." Sarah paused mid-wipe, the damp cloth hovering over Leah's knee. Leah hadn't moved except to tremble, her thighs pressed tight together even as droplets pattered onto the tile. Sarah's mouth tightened. "That's not just abuse," she shook her head. "It's... it's like she thinks she has to sit there or something." "I know," I told Sarah. "That's why I'm giving her permission to pee. I don't know what else to do other than to try seeing if she needs permission to let it happen before she finally pees. She's done this twice like this in front of me now." I looked back at Leah. "Baby? Go ahead and pee. I don't care, pants or toilet, but please pee, okay?" Sarah's fingers hovered near Leah's knee, not touching anymore, just waiting. The only sound was Leah's shallow breathing and the occasional drip on the tile. Finally, Leah's shoulders sagged slightly, her trembling hands gripping the toilet seat as a rush of liquid hit the bowl. Sarah exhaled sharply through her nose. I looked over as Jennifer came up on us, and nodded. "She needs permission to pee, I think. It's the only thing that makes sense. She didn't start letting it go full force until I told her to do it, did she, Sarah?" Sarah shook her head. "No. She just... waited." "And looked scared every time she realized she wet enough to be noticed that another leak escaped?" I prodded Sarah. Sarah nodded, her fingers still hovering near Leah's knee where the washcloth had left damp streaks on pale skin. "Yeah. Like she was waiting for, " She cut herself off, her throat working. Leah's breathing hitched, her fingers tightening around the toilet seat until her knuckles bleached white. "Waiting for permission. This is more than just punishing a child for peeing her pants. This is deliberate control of her body and making her feel ashamed of what is normal to happen." I walked over and hugged my baby. "We'll get through this, sweetheart. We will. I know you're scared, but grandpa is never letting anyone hit you again, whether you pee on accident or deliberately, ever. You understand, baby?" Leah flinched at the hug but didn't pull away, her damp pajama sleeves clinging to my arms. Her breathing slowed slightly, though her fingers still trembled where they gripped my shirt. Sarah remained crouched beside us, her fingers brushing the damp washcloth against her own knee absently. "Can I...stay?" she asked quietly. "Just for tonight? In case she needs help changing again?" "You have school tomorrow, honey. Tomorrow is Wednesday. I don't think your mom can pick you up early enough to get you to school because I live pretty far from town, and I doubt you should miss a day." Sarah hesitated, glancing at Leah who sat frozen on the toilet lid, her soaked pajama pants pooled around her ankles. "She's scared," Sarah whispered. "Like... really scared." "I know, but she's my responsibility, not yours. I'm the one that wanted a kid in my house, honey. You go study and maybe after school, your mom will let you check on your friend. But I have to take care of my baby, too." Sarah hesitated, then nodded and gathered up the damp clothes. "Okay. But promise you'll call if she needs anything? Like... anything." "I'll call your mom and if your mom thinks it's not going to interfere with what you need to do, then she'll let you come and help, honey. And you are welcome to come after school as long as your mom is up for it." The bathroom light buzzed faintly overhead as Leah remained motionless on the toilet lid, her damp pajama bottoms in a crumpled heap by her feet. Sarah hesitated at the doorway, clutching the soiled clothes to her chest. "Text me," she mouthed to Jennifer, who nodded subtly before guiding her daughter toward the front door. Somehow, I got Leah into clean panties and a tshirt to sleep in. I did her laundry so she'd have clean clothes the next day, and then I started to peruse the internet on my laptop in my own bedroom searching about the symptoms Leah was displaying so I could find the best way to go about talking to her and getting her to gain the confidence she needs to eat and pee on her own. After a couple of hours of searching the Internet, I fell asleep. I woke up to the sound of muffled crying and rustling fabric. The clock read 4:37 AM. Frowning, I swung my legs out of bed and padded down the hallway, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. Leah's bedroom door stood ajar, the dim light from the hallway slicing across a soaked mattress and rumpled blankets. "Leah, baby, where are you?" I called to her first looking in the closet for her... an easy hiding place for a thirteen year old child that's scared. The only answer was a muffled sniffle from somewhere near the bed. I knelt down, my knees popping with the effort, and lifted the dust ruffle. There she was, curled into a tight ball beneath the bed frame, her tear-streaked face pressed against the hardwood floor. A puddle spread beneath her hips where she'd crawled away from the soaked sheets above. Her panties clung to her butt, dark with moisture. "Baby? Come on out. It's okay. Don't you remember? You have permission to wet your pants here. I don't care if you do it deliberately, or if it's an accident, you have permission, baby. Please come out. I don't want you sitting in soaked panties. It's going to hurt your pee pee place if you sit in them too long." Leah flinched at the words but didn't move, her body curled tight as a fist beneath the bed. The smell of urine clung to the air, sharp and sour, mixed with the metallic tang of fear-sweat. Her fingers dug into the hardwood, nails scraping faint grooves as she tried to press herself impossibly flatter against the floorboards. I sat down on the floor by the bed. "Leah. I am not moving from here until you come out. If that makes me pee my pants, then so be it. I'm not moving until you feel safe enough to move." The floorboards creaked beneath me as I shifted my weight. Leah's ragged breathing hitched, her fingers curling tighter against the wood. A fresh trickle of urine darkened the fabric between her legs, spreading across the floor in a slow, glistening arc. "You are allowed," I whispered to her. "Actually, just pee, baby. Just do it. That's permission. You have full permission to just pee, right now, then I want you to come out, okay?" Leah shuddered violently beneath the bed, her breath hitching in shallow gasps. The puddle beneath her widened as she finally released, her body sagging with the relief she'd been denying herself all night. Her fingers unclenched slowly from the floorboards, leaving behind faint crescent marks in the wood. "Now, you've had permission to pee, and you are already wet, will you please come out from under the bed? See? I don't have a belt anywhere near me." I was in my sleeping sweat pants and an old tshirt. Leah didn't move, but her breathing slowed slightly, her face still pressed against the damp spot on the floor. Her fingers uncurled slowly, twitching against the wood grain. The scent of urine hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint bleach smell from the mattress pad above her. "Well, then I sit here until you do, and I do have to pee, so I might have an accident, too, if you don't come out soon. I'm not moving until you feel safe enough to do so." The floorboards groaned as I shifted again, letting out an exaggerated sigh. Leah flinched but didn't retreat further, her wet pajama top clinging to her ribs with each shallow breath. A cockroach skittered along the baseboard near her face, she didn't even blink. I wiggled my legs exaggerated so she'd know I had to pee. "Just waiting for my baby," I whispered. "Even if I end up pissing my pants, her safety and her feelings come first." Leah shuddered beneath the bed frame, her fingers twitching against the floorboards. A fresh trickle escaped her, darkening the already soaked fabric between her legs. The scent of ammonia grew stronger, clinging to the underside of the bed frame where she'd pressed herself flat as possible. "Come on, baby. You need to come out now, if you don't want grandpa to pee his pants. If you want me to, then tell me to do it. Otherwise, it's just mean." A choked sob escaped Leah's throat, her fingers digging into the damp wood again. The puddle beneath her had spread wide enough that the edges touched my socked foot. I didn't pull away. The cockroach scurried up the wall, casting long shadows in the dim hallway light. "Baby? I can't hold it much longer. I'm telling you. I'm going to pee...." Leah's breath hitched. She uncurled slightly, her urine-soaked pajamas sticking to the floorboards as she shifted. Her fingers twitched toward me, then recoiled, as if expecting a strike. The cockroach skittered away into the darkness. My pants started to darken and I peed some. I didn't look mad though, but rather, just sad. "I guess you are too scared to let grandpa pee in the toilet, then?" Leah froze mid-sob, her wide eyes tracking the spreading wet patch on my sweatpants. The scent of fresh urine mixed with hers, soaking into the floorboards between us. Her breath hitched as she stared at the dampness creeping across my lap, an adult willingly humiliating himself to prove a point. I finally just started to pee and it went all over me. I sat there, sadly and just stared towards her. "I'm still not moving until you do. Your feelings matter, little one." Leah's breath stuttered as she watched the dark stain spread across my lap, her own wet clothes clinging coldly to her skin. A shudder ran through her small frame, her fingers digging into the damp floorboards again. The smell of urine filled the cramped space beneath the bed, thick and sharp, mingling with the scent of fear still radiating off her trembling body. "Can't you at least come and cheer up grandpa? I haven't peed my pants since junior high school." Leah's breath hitched again, her fingers flexing against the damp wood. A cockroach skittered across her wrist; this time, she flinched. Slowly, like a wounded animal testing its limbs, she uncurled one arm from beneath her chest. The movement sent a fresh trickle of urine pattering against the floorboards. She froze, waiting for my reaction. "Grandpa has already told you to pee your pants, baby. I know you're scared. I'm not hitting you for peeing. Look. Grandpa just did it. That would be... well, evil for me to hit you for something I can't even control." Leah's breath came in ragged bursts, her fingers curling against the damp floorboards again. The cockroach skittered over her knuckles, but she didn't pull away this time. Her gaze flickered between my soaked sweatpants and the wet spot beneath her own hips, her lips trembling. "Please come out, baby. I'm not moving until you feel safe to come and sit in grandpa's lap. We are both wet, so there's no problem with us wetting each other." Leah whimpered, pressing her forehead harder against the floorboards as if trying to disappear into them. Her soaked pajamas clung to her skin, dark patches spreading where fresh urine leaked out despite her desperate clenching. The smell was overwhelming now, sharp, acidic, mingling with the musty scent of dust and mildew beneath the bed. "Come on, baby. You can do it. You're a big girl. There's nothing scary out here. Just a pee pants grandpa that wants you in his lap. You can't come and comfort grandpa after I've had an accident? Please?" Leah let out a shuddering breath, her fingers twitching against the damp floorboards. The cockroach skittered over her wrist again, but she didn't flinch this time. Slowly, inch by inch, she uncurled from beneath the bed, her soaked pajama top clinging to her ribs as she moved. Her face was streaked with tears, her lower lip trembling as she finally met my gaze. "Good girl," I whispered. "Come and sit in Grandpa's lap. Please? We both need comforted right now, and I want you to finish peeing. I'm soaked, so you won't be hurting me by peeing on me." Leah hesitated, her wet socks sticking to the floorboards as she crawled forward. Her fingers trembled where they gripped the edge of the mattress, knuckles white. A fresh trickle darkened her pajama bottoms as she moved, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to her thighs. "Good girl," I reached over and reached under her arms to pull her fully into my lap. "Finish peeing your pants, please. Then we'll get you cleaned up, okay? No belts or hitting, I promise." Leah tensed at first, her thin frame trembling against mine as I settled her across my soaked sweatpants. Her damp panties clung to her skin, cold against my thighs. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she relaxed, just enough that a fresh trickle warmed both our laps. Her breath hitched again, waiting for punishment that never came. "Good baby," I whispered pulling her so I was hugging her against me waiting for her to further pee herself. "Good girl. No more holding it until it hurts, baby. Just pee." Leah shuddered against my chest, her damp pajama top soaking through my shirt. The scent of urine clung to us both, sharp, sour, mingling with the faint bleach smell from the mattress pad above. Slowly, her rigid muscles loosened, and warmth spread between us where she sat on my lap. Her breath hitched, waiting for reprimand, but I just rocked her gently. I brushed her hair to the side out of her eyes. "Look up at Grandpa's face, baby. Is this a mad face to you?" I tried to look as sad as possible. "I know you are having a hard time, that's why I was willing to wait, even though it meant I had to pee my pants to make sure you felt safe." Leah lifted her chin slowly, her green eyes darting across my expression like a rabbit assessing a predator. Her breath hitched when our gazes met, her fingers clutching the fabric of my shirt in tight fists. The warmth of her urine seeped through both our clothes, the wetness spreading between us in a slow, intimate puddle. "Good girl, now pee the rest out, so we can get you clean. You are first, in this house. Your comfort comes before mine, and once you are clean and eating breakfast, then Grandpa Jimmy will get comfortable." Leah let out a shaky breath, her body trembling as she finally released completely into my lap. The warmth spread quickly, soaking through both our clothes, pooling against my thighs where she sat. She whimpered softly, her fingers twisting in my shirt, but she didn't pull away. The scent of urine filled the small bedroom, thick and acrid, but beneath it lingered something else, something fragile and new. Trust. Or maybe just exhaustion. I picked her up patting her wet bottom. "See? No punishment, baby. Just getting clean, okay?" I went to the bathroom with her and even placed her on the toilet in her soaked panties. "If there is anything at all left, you pee, baby. You have permission." Then I went to adjust the shower again for another soft shower to make it easier and less painful for her. Leah sat rigidly on the toilet seat, her soaked underwear still clinging to her hips, fingers gripping the porcelain edges like a lifeline. The faucet dripped into the tub behind her, one slow plink every three seconds, the sound syncopating with her shallow breaths. Her knees pressed together so tightly they trembled, though whether from cold or fear, I couldn't tell. The bathroom mirror fogged with steam, erasing our reflections. "Okay, baby, the shower is ready. Come and let Grandpa take your wet things off. I know you are a big girl, but for a little while, in Grandpa's eyes, you are like an eight year old, okay? Someone that knows better than to pee herself, but who is just having some potty troubles, and someone that Grandpa can help more easily when she wets her pants. No shame." Leah's fingers twitched against the toilet seat, her damp hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. The shower spray hissed against the tile walls, filling the small bathroom with warm mist that softened the harsh overhead light. She didn't move, her soaked panties and shirt clinging uncomfortably to her skin, the elastic waistband digging into her stomach where she'd clenched all night. I walked over and lifted her from the potty. "I know," I whispered in her ear. "You're still scared. I know it's scary, but Grandpa doesn't hit. You are allowed to be wet sometimes as long as you come and get help right after you pee or as soon as you can after it happens, baby." Her breath hitched against my shoulder, her fingers twitching where they clutched my damp shirt. I eased her onto the bathmat, the warm steam curling around us both. Slowly, I peeled her soaked shirt up over her head, careful not to tug at the fresh welts across her shoulders. The fabric clung stubbornly to her skin, releasing with a damp sound that made her flinch. "Good baby," I whispered. "Good girl. Now, we take your panties off. I know it's embarrassing and scary, but remember, Grandpa sees an eight year old, not something to do things to, okay?" Leah flinched as my fingers brushed the elastic waistband of her soaked panties. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her knees pressing together so tightly I could see the tendons in her thighs. The warm shower spray filled the bathroom with steam that curled around us both, softening the harsh overhead light. I got in the shower with her. My sweats were already soaked from both her and myself, so it didn't matter. What mattered was she got clean and she felt safe. I started to gently wash her back. "You can wash your own pee pee place if you want, but be gentle, no scrubbing. Try not to tear your scabs and rash okay?" Leah's hands trembled as she reached down hesitantly, her fingers barely grazing the inflamed skin between her legs. The warm water sluiced over her knuckles, turning her fingertips pink. She flinched when the soap touched raw patches, her breath hitching in a silent sob. "Baby? Don't touch where it stings. Grandpa will help with that. It's not doing any good to touch there if it's too hard to actually clean, baby. Grandpa will only help where you need it, not everywhere, that's why you try to clean your pee pee place as much as you can, so Grandpa doesn't have to touch it too much or for too long." Leah's fingers jerked away from herself, trembling against her thighs as she nodded. Her shoulders hunched forward, water sluicing down her spine in thin rivulets that traced the old scars and fresh welts across her skin. The soap bubbled gently where I worked it across her shoulder blades, careful to avoid the worst of the abrasions. "Why don't you even pee when I tell you that you are allowed, giving you permission, honey? Has people done mean things with that permission to you?" Leah froze under the shower spray, her breath catching in a way that wasn't just about the water hitting her face. Her fingers dug into her thighs hard enough to leave pale crescents in the wet skin. The shampoo bottle slipped from my grip, thudding against the tub as I waited for any reaction, a flinch, a nod, anything. "I'm not trying to scold you, baby. I'm trying to find out how I can best help you see that it's safe to pee once I tell you to do so, and eventually, to just do it naturally." Leah stood rigid under the water, her wet hair plastered against her cheekbones like dark parentheses framing her silence. The shampoo bottle bobbed at our feet, swirling in the runoff that carried traces of urine down the drain. Her fingers twitched against her thighs, nails digging in again as if anchoring herself against some invisible current. "I see. You are still scared, of tricks or something else going wrong. It's okay. We can ask again later when you are more ready to trust. I knew this wouldn't be a one night fix, sweetheart. You're safe. Just try to work on coming near me when you're wet so I can take care of you. You don't have to say you did it, just come near so I can see it if I'm looking.... That's a good place to start." The shower spray softened Leah's sharp edges, her shoulder blades no longer jutted as much, her breathing slowed. She tilted her head slightly under the water, letting it wash the tears from her cheeks. I kept my hands above her waist, soap on her back, fingertips carefully avoiding bruises, while she tentatively scrubbed her own forearms. "This will sting a little," I warned her when I was ready. "But if I don't take care of it, it will sting worse when it causes the rash to open up more. I'd rather the stings be from healing than you getting more sick. And if you are healing, the stinging will eventually go away. Make sense, sweetie?" Leah nodded stiffly, her breath hitching as I gently cleaned the inflamed skin between her legs. Her fingers dug into my forearm, but she didn't pull away. The water turned pink in places as old scabs loosened, swirling down the drain with soap suds and strands of her dark hair. I got the baby girl clean and got medicine properly put on her including the medicine that Jennifer gave me from when Sarah had fallen with her bike a while back, and eventually had her dressed in panties and a shirt again. "I'll wait to put you in your pants and regular shirt they brought for you last night until we go shopping. We need to get you some new clothes and maybe some toys. Is it okay if I get you a few little girls' toys?" Leah sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting in the hem of her oversized t-shirt, one of mine, clean but smelling faintly of mothballs. The antibiotic ointment gleamed on her knees where the rashes had cracked open. She didn't answer, just stared at the floor where the cockroach had disappeared into the baseboard earlier. "Well, as I said, I see you as an eight year old for now. It makes taking care of your owies easier and you peeing your pants a little easier. Once you get healthy and start taking care of yourself again, you'll get all of your teenager responsibilities and rights back, but until then, you need someone to help you with kid gloves." Leah's fingers curled tighter in the fabric of her borrowed shirt, her knuckles whitening. The morning light through the curtains caught the tracks of tears that had dried on her cheeks. She didn't look up when I placed a glass of milk and two peanut butter cookies on the nightstand. "I think it's time for breakfast. Are you hungry, baby?" Leah's stomach growled audibly before she could suppress it, her fingers twitching against the hem of her shirt. She kept her gaze locked on the peeling laminate floor where a water stain spread in the shape of an old continent. The scent of peanut butter lingered between us, mixing with the sharp tang of antiseptic ointment. "I'll get you some cereal to eat and orange juice, and after that, if you have room, you can have a couple of cookies. Does that sound good?" I picked her up to start to carry her to the kitchen. Leah stiffened in my arms, her breath hitching as her fingers curled into tight fists against my chest. The scent of the antiseptic ointment mingled with the faint urine still clinging to her skin despite the shower. She didn't struggle, but her body remained rigid, her bare legs dangling awkwardly as I adjusted my grip. I carefully put her in a chair and then went about getting her breakfast. "You can take as long as you need to heal... physically, mentally, and emotionally, baby. I'm here and on your side. I know you've been mistreated, and I hope that you see in time, that I'm not trying to do that to you." Leah's fingers trembled around the spoon as I placed the cereal bowl before her, milk sloshing against the rim. She stared at the floating flakes like they might bite, her shoulders hunched inward. The kitchen smelled of toast and antiseptic, the lingering scents of trauma and tentative care mingling in the morning air. "Actually, hold on a minute, baby," I told her. I ran to my room and changed my clothes so I'd be dry to sit on, and then I went back to the kitchen. "Come on, grandpa's lap, baby. We're going to make sure you eat, and you feel safe while you eat." Leah hesitated, her fingers twitching against the spoon. The cereal had gone soggy, milk pooling around the edges. Her gaze flickered from the bowl to my outstretched arms, then back again, uncertainty tightening her jawline. A drop of milk slid off her spoon and splattered onto the table between us. I smiled. "Still scared?" I picked her up and put her in my lap and then turning her so she sat facing off to one side of my lap, I started to spoon feed her. "Grandpa wants you to eat, baby. I know you ate your spaghetti last night, but I could see from you peeing in your chair last night, you were so scared that you started peeing while you ate. And that's okay. But you do need to eat." I coaxed the spoon to her mouth. Leah’s lips parted reluctantly, her breath uneven as warm milk dribbled down her chin. Her fingers clutched the fabric of my dry sweatpants, kneading nervously as she swallowed. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon from the toast I’d burned earlier, masking the faint medicinal scent still clinging to her skin. "That’s it," I murmured, scraping another spoonful from the bowl. "Slow and easy. Your stomach’s been empty too long." Leah swallowed mechanically, her throat working as if each bite required conscious effort. A fleck of cereal stuck to her lower lip, and I resisted the urge to wipe it away, letting her discover it herself. Her fingers kept twisting in my sweatpants, dampening the fabric with nervous sweat. The refrigerator hummed loudly in the quiet kitchen, the only sound besides her shallow breathing. "You're doing so good, sweetheart," I said, offering another spoonful. "Just a few more bites." Leah accepted the food with numb obedience, her green eyes fixed somewhere beyond my shoulder. A thin trickle of milk escaped the corner of her mouth, tracing a path down her chin before dripping onto the collar of my shirt. She didn't seem to notice, her body rigid as a mannequin except for the slight tremor in her fingers where they gripped my thigh. The spoon clinked against the bowl as I scraped the last few soggy flakes from the bottom. Outside, a car door slammed, Jennifer arriving for Sarah's forgotten lunchbox. Leah flinched violently at the sound, her elbow jerking sideways and knocking the glass of orange juice over. The liquid spread across the table in a slow, sticky pool, dripping onto the linoleum with soft plinking sounds. "The door is open!" I called out when the doorbell rang. "I'm in the kitchen feeding my baby!" Leah flinched again at my raised voice, her fingers digging into my thigh hard enough to leave bruises. The spilled juice crept toward the table's edge in viscous rivulets, one fat droplet splattering onto her bare foot. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her shoulders hunching inward as Jennifer's footsteps approached down the hallway. I looked up at her not even thinking the thirteen in my lap with a spoon in my hand hovered by her mouth needed any explanation after what she had seen the night before. "What? Did someone forget something?" I asked. Jennifer paused in the kitchen doorway, her gaze flickering from the overturned juice glass to Leah curled rigidly in my lap, milk drying on her chin. She held up Sarah's lunchbox wordlessly, the pink thermos clinking inside. The silence stretched just a beat too long before she cleared her throat. "Sarah insisted I check on Leah before school. Said she'd been dreaming about... belts." "The baby wet the bed and got really scared, but as you can see, she's let me feed her breakfast and give her a bath this morning. She's okay. You give your daughter three cookies for me. She really was a big help last night in breaking the ice this morning with my little one. It took some work, but I think a few more days of trust exercise, she might be okay coming to me with her wet pants at the very least." Leah shrank against my chest as Jennifer stepped closer, her fingers twisting in my shirt like a child half her age would. The spilled juice dripped steadily onto the floor now, forming sticky puddles around our feet. Jennifer set the lunchbox on the counter with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving Leah's hunched form. "Loud noises caused her to spill her juice," I chuckled. "She's learning, but it's not something that will be taught in one day, what safety and trust look like." Jennifer nodded slowly, watching as Leah curled tighter into my chest, her damp hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. The scent of orange juice mixed with antiseptic and peanut butter cookies, an odd combination that somehow felt appropriate for this fractured morning. "Well, thank Sarah for me and make sure she takes three peanut butter cookies with her for lunch today. She's more than earned it." Jennifer hesitated in the doorway, her fingers tapping absently against the lunchbox strap. "Jim... are you sure you don't want me to stay? Just for an hour or two?" "Your daughter needs her lunch, and I'm going to be taking my baby clothing shopping in a bit. She needs clothes because I can't keep begging church friends for their own things." I chuckled. "Besides, I don't trust anyone as much as I do your daughter, as far as making fun of Leah." Jennifer sighed, adjusting the lunchbox strap on her shoulder. "Sarah cried on the way home last night. Kept saying Leah's bruises looked like... well, you know." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Like someone used a belt buckle." "Someone did," I sighed. "I got a better look at it this morning when I showered her again. She's been beaten so bad, and even permission seems tricky. I gave her permission to pee this morning, but even so, she peed a bunch, but it didn't all come out. Someone has played some sick games with this kid's mind." Leah whimpered against my chest, her fingers tightening in my shirt. Jennifer's eyes flickered to the darkening bruises visible beneath Leah's oversized sleeve. The spilled juice pooled around the chair legs, reflecting the overhead light in fractured orange shards. "You tell Sarah she's allowed to come and check on Leah anytime that her mom says she can come. It's an open invitation unless my car is gone because that means I've taken Leah to work with me, or I've taken her somewhere to make her safe, healthy, or happy." Jennifer nodded, her fingers tightening around the lunchbox strap. The refrigerator cycled on with a hum that made Leah flinch again, her damp hair brushing my chin as she pressed closer. Jennifer hesitated before speaking. "Sarah drew Leah a picture last night. Should I, " she glanced at Leah's hunched form, "leave it with you?" "You can give it to her, or it might be better if your daughter gives it to her, so she makes the connection, visually, who made it for her." Jennifer reached into the lunchbox and pulled out a folded sheet of notebook paper, edges slightly crumpled. The paper rustled as she extended it toward Leah, who remained rigid in my lap, her breathing shallow. The drawing depicted two stick figures holding hands under a rainbow, the taller one with green scribbled eyes, clearly meant to be me, and the smaller one with a lopsided smile. Below, in Sarah's uneven handwriting: "You're safe here." "How well do you read, Leah, honey? Not a trick, just a question. Your friend wrote you a note." Leah's fingers twitched toward the folded paper, then retreated back to clutching my shirt. Her breathing hitched as Jennifer held the drawing closer, the crayon rainbow blurring behind the slight tremor in the woman's hand. A drop of orange juice plinked onto the paper's edge, spreading through the fibers in a slow stain that darkened the rainbow's purple stripe. "You are safe with Grandpa," I told Leah. "But I have a feeling she's going to make sure school is safe for you, too, once you start back. That's not today though. You need clothes and other things before you can start school again." Jennifer knelt slowly, placing the drawing on the table beside Leah's clenched fist. The crayon rainbow blurred where juice droplets had smudged the paper. Leah's breathing hitched, her fingers twitching toward but not quite touching the soggy corner. The refrigerator hummed loudly in the heavy silence. I moved the paper into Leah's hand. "It's yours, baby. Sarah wrote this for you." Leah's fingers closed around the damp paper slowly, as if expecting it to burn. The crayon rainbow smeared where her thumb pressed too hard, blending colors into a muddy streak. She didn't unfold it fully, just stared at the crumpled edge where Sarah had written her name in lopsided cursive. I smiled. "I think she gets the message. She's still learning trust though, so don't let Sarah give up on their friendship, if that's what Sarah wants." Jennifer nodded, standing slowly as Leah clutched the damp drawing like a lifeline. Her fingers trembled against the smudged crayon, tracing Sarah's uneven handwriting with hesitant curiosity. The juice puddle spread silently across the linoleum, creeping toward the baseboard where that cockroach had disappeared earlier. "I'll tell Sarah to come by after school," Jennifer murmured, backing toward the door. "If that's alright with Leah." "You tell her to come on buy. Leah's not in any condition to have opinions yet. She's still fighting demons that allowed her to freely even pee the bed when it's too much for her body. Until she can freely pee the bed, she's going to need decisions made for her." Jennifer paused at the doorway, her gaze lingering on Leah's trembling hands clutching the soggy drawing. The orange juice had reached the baseboard now, seeping into the crack where the roach had vanished. Leah's bare toes curled against my thigh, her breathing uneven as she stared at the blurred crayon lines. "She's scared it's a trick," I whispered. "People have played really sick games with her. Like I said, I gave her permission to pee this morning when I knew she was already wetting herself under her bed no less because she was scared she had peed in it without permission, and then when I told her to pee, she eventually peed... but not all of it. It's like she didn't trust letting it all out. It took a lot of coaxing to get her to finally relieve herself." Jennifer frowned as Leah pressed the crumpled drawing against her chest, her fingers shaking against the damp paper. The refrigerator hummed louder, cycling cold air that made goosebumps rise on Leah's bare arms. Her breath hitched when Jennifer took a step closer, the lunchbox strap creaking under her grip. "She just needs patience. That's all we can do. Let her know it's okay, she is loved, and let her have the space to grow and experience her new environment for herself." Jennifer hesitated, her fingers tightening around the strap of Sarah's lunchbox. The drawing crinkled slightly as Leah's grip shifted, pressing the damp paper harder against her collarbone. Her knuckles whitened around the edges, her shoulders tense beneath the oversized shirt. The refrigerator's hum filled the silence between us, punctuated only by the slow drip of juice from the table's edge. "I'll tell Sarah to bring her colored pencils next time," Jennifer murmured. "Maybe they can... draw together." "That sounds like a good idea, but I have a strange request of your daughter? Another one. I'm going to get this little one some toys, some toys for littler kids.... Would your daughter be okay with with her and normalize her playing with little kid toys, you know, until Leah is ready to grow up a bit? I don't mean at her house or in front of her friends, but just with Leah, here, so Leah can see she has a friend that doesn't judge her?" Leah's fingers tightened around the crumpled drawing, her breath catching as Jennifer shifted her weight near the doorway. A faint tremor ran through her shoulders, the oversized shirt slipping down one arm to reveal the edge of a bruise. The scent of peanut butter lingered between us, mixing with the sharp tang of spilled juice soaking into the floorboards. Jennifer's expression softened as she adjusted Sarah's lunchbox strap. "Sarah still sleeps with her old teddy when she's sick. She won't judge." Her gaze flickered to Leah's white-knuckled grip on the drawing. "I'll pack some of her old dolls too, the ones she outgrew but couldn't bear to donate." "They will be her little secret with us. And will be her dolls even if she's letting Leah hold them for her. I'm sure Leah understands sharing and what lending means." Leah's fingers twitched against the drawing, her thumbnail scratching at a smudged crayon line. The paper had begun to dry in wrinkled peaks, Sarah's handwriting warping where juice had soaked through. Jennifer nodded, backing toward the hallway with Sarah's lunchbox thumping gently against her hip. "I'll send Sarah with her old tea set too," Jennifer said, pausing at the doorway. "The plastic one she used to, " Her voice cut off as Leah suddenly jerked upright in my lap, the drawing crumpling further in her grip. Her breath came in sharp bursts, eyes darting between Jennifer and the hallway beyond like a cornered animal assessing escape routes. "What is it, baby? If you need permission, pee, baby. But if that's not it, what is it? It's okay, baby." Leah's breathing hitched, her fingers tightening around the crumpled drawing until the paper tore slightly along one folded edge. Her gaze darted between Jennifer and the open doorway, her bare toes curling against my thigh. The scent of spilled juice grew stronger as it seeped into the cracks of the linoleum, mixing with the lingering peanut butter and antiseptic. "Did someone come with you?" I asked Jennifer. "I think she's scared of something in the hallway." Jennifer shook her head, but Leah suddenly twisted in my lap, her fingers digging into my forearm as she stared past the doorway with wide, panicked eyes. The torn drawing fluttered to the floor, landing in the juice puddle with a wet slap. I lifted her up and started to carry her. "Let's go see Miss Jenny out and make sure no one is out there, okay?" Leah clutched my neck like a vise, her breath coming in shallow gasps against my collar. The hallway stretched empty before us, morning sunlight filtering through the blinds to stripe the carpet with alternating bands of light and shadow. Jennifer followed close behind, her shoes squeaking on juice-slick linoleum. "See? Nothing there, sweetheart," I murmured, bouncing Leah gently in my arms. Her legs locked around my waist, her entire body rigid with tension. A bead of sweat traced down her temple, disappearing into the damp hair clinging to her cheek. I shook my head at Jennifer. "Actually, now she's scared, are you still willing to stay a couple of hours? I need a shower, and I don't trust leaving her alone to play when she's so scared." Leah trembled against me, her fingers cold where they dug into my shoulders. The hallway smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and something metallic, probably the old pipes groaning behind the walls. Jennifer set Sarah's lunchbox down carefully, her gaze lingering on Leah's wide, darting eyes. "I am not sure if it was something said something she saw or heard, or what it is, but she's acting off, and it was just as were were talking about Sarah coming to play with her. I think it started when you said something about a tea set your daughter has." Jennifer moved toward the kitchen sink, washing her hands with deliberate slowness. The water hissed against her palms as she glanced at Leah still rigid in my arms. "Sarah had a pink plastic tea set when she was six. Used to force me to attend her imaginary garden parties." Her voice softened. "Leah, honey, did you have a tea set too?" Leah's breath hitched, her fingers spasming against my neck. A drop of sweat slid down her spine beneath the oversized shirt. I adjusted my grip, feeling her ribs expand in shallow, panicked bursts against my forearm. The hallway clock ticked loudly in the sudden silence. Jennifer turned off the faucet with excessive care, water dripping onto juice-stained linoleum. "Sarah's tea set had little daisies painted on the cups," she continued, drying her hands on a dish towel. "One went missing after, " Her sentence died as Leah suddenly buried her face against my shoulder with a muffled whimper. The torn drawing lay forgotten in the juice puddle, crayon daisies bleeding purple into the fibers. "What happened, baby?" I asked. "Did someone take it away from you? Did someone tease you with it, saying it was yours but never giving it to you? What is it, baby?" Leah shuddered violently in my arms, her breathing ragged against my neck. Jennifer moved closer, her footsteps deliberately slow, stopping just out of arm's reach. The torn drawing lay forgotten in the orange juice puddle, crayon daisies dissolving into the fibers. "Yeah, definitely leave the tea set for later. She's not in the mood to tell us, and I don't want to traumatize her more by having it show up and finding out it was a source of torture for her." Jennifer nodded, her fingers twisting the dish towel into a tight spiral. Leah's breathing slowed fractionally against my shoulder, though her fingers still dug into my skin with bruising force. The hallway clock ticked three times before Jennifer exhaled sharply. "I'll just... stay until she settles. Sarah can manage lunch without me today." "I just need a shower, at least, and then I'll let you go after that if she's not ready by then. Sweetheart? Can Auntie Jenny hold you just for a little while. You have permission to pee, even if it comes out accidentally on Auntie. We'll let Auntie put a towel or something down to protect her clothes, okay?" Leah's grip tightened around my neck, her nails biting crescents into my skin. Her breath hitched against my collarbone, damp and uneven. Jennifer moved cautiously, draping a dish towel over her shoulder like a makeshift bib. The scent of orange juice rose sharply from the puddle still spreading across the floorboards. "Well, seems she might be trusting me...," I smiled. "She's at least clinging to me. But I really need a shower." I rubbed her back. "Grandpa will just be in the bathroom about twenty minutes. What if we set a timer, and whether Grandpa's ready or not, you can come in and check on Grandpa in the bathroom then?" Leah's breathing stuttered, her fingers loosening slightly but still tangled in my collar. The torn drawing lay forgotten in the orange juice puddle, Sarah's crayon daisies bleeding purple into the fibers. Jennifer hovered nearby, dish towel still draped over her shoulder, her eyes darting between Leah's hunched form and the hallway clock. "Set the kitchen timer for twenty-five," I told Jennifer. "Then when it rings, whether I'm out or not, let her come and check the bathroom. Being a teen, she's only going to open it long enough to make sure I'm there, and if I'm still naked, I'm sure she'll leave immediately." Jennifer nodded, reaching for the plastic kitchen timer shaped like a strawberry. The click of her turning the dial made Leah flinch against me, her damp forehead pressing into the hollow of my throat. I shifted her weight slightly, feeling the tremor running through her thin frame. The scent of peanut butter clung stubbornly to her hair despite the earlier shower. I nodded at the cookies. "Take a cookie, Miss Jenny." Then I made sure Leah could see the cookie as I presented her to Jenny to eventually get her off of me so I could go shower. "I'll be right back, promise. When that timer goes off you can come and check on Grandpa, sweetie." Leah whimpered but allowed Jennifer to take her, her fingers reluctantly releasing my shirt. As Jennifer settled her against the dish towel padding, Leah's body remained stiff as a board, her gaze locked on the strawberry timer ticking down on the counter. The torn drawing lay abandoned in the juice puddle, the crayon daisies now completely dissolved into orange-stained pulp. I rushed the shower not wanting to traumatize my kid anymore, and was dressed in clean clothes in record time, for me. About 18 minutes. Then I walked out and towards them. Leah sat rigid on Jennifer's lap, her fingers twisted in the dish towel draped over Jennifer's shoulder. The strawberry timer ticked ominously in the background, down to its last two minutes. Leah's eyes darted between the timer and the hallway where I'd disappeared, her breath shallow. A faint tremor ran through her legs where they dangled over Jennifer's knee. Jennifer held her gently but firmly, one hand rubbing slow circles on Leah's back. "He'll be back soon," Jennifer murmured, nodding toward the timer. "See? Almost time." Leah's fingers spasmed against the dish towel, her knuckles whitening with tension. The timer ticked once, twice, then exploded into shrill beeping. Leah jerked upright so violently she nearly toppled off Jennifer's lap, her panicked gaze snapping toward the hallway just as I stepped into view. "How has my baby been?" I asked. Leah launched herself off Jennifer's lap with surprising force, her bare feet slapping against juice-sticky linoleum as she barreled toward me. She collided with my stomach hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs, her arms locking around my waist like a vise. The strawberry timer continued shrieking on the counter until Jennifer silenced it with a practiced flick of her wrist. I picked her up. "See? Grandpa's back. I just needed a shower, sweetie." Leah clung to my neck, her breath hot and uneven against my collarbone. The dish towel Jennifer had been using slipped to the floor, landing in the juice puddle with a wet plop. Leah's fingers trembled where they gripped the back of my shirt, her nails digging crescents through the fabric. Jennifer stood slowly, her jeans smeared with orange juice where Leah had been sitting. "I think she needs to see the bathroom now," I murmured, adjusting Leah's weight against my hip. Her legs locked around my waist automatically, her entire body thrumming with tension. The hallway smelled faintly of bleach and damp towels, the shower's steam still clinging to my skin. Jennifer followed silently as I carried Leah toward the bathroom, her footsteps careful on the sticky floor. The door stood slightly ajar, just as I'd left it. Leah's breathing hitched when I nudged it open wider with my elbow, revealing the damp shower curtain and my discarded clothes in the hamper. "See? Just like I said," I murmured, bouncing her gently. Her fingers loosened slightly around my neck as she peered inside, her gaze darting from the sink to the still-dripping showerhead. The scent of my soap lingered, something plain and unscented, the kind that wouldn't overwhelm sensitive noses. Jennifer hovered in the doorway, her arms crossed loosely. "She okay?" "I'll see...," I tried to give her space to try again. "Leah, the potty is over there. You have a choice. Pee your pants or pee in the potty, but Grandpa wants you to pee, if you can, honey. Permission to pee is granted." Leah's grip tightened around my neck, her legs squeezing my waist like a frightened koala. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts against my shoulder, the scent of peanut butter and orange juice still clinging to her hair. Jennifer hovered nearby, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, careful not to crowd us. "You want Grandpa to sit you on the toilet?" I asked Leah. Her fingers twitched against my neck, not a yes, not a no, just the faintest flutter of hesitation. The bathroom tiles felt cool beneath my bare feet as I adjusted her weight against my hip. Jennifer leaned against the doorframe, her shadow stretching across the damp bathmat. "Well, you need to pee, baby. It can be in your panties which is why you are not in jeans yet, or it can be in the toilet with no panties. I need to know before you give up and start leaking. That's always scary for you when it goes before you know you are allowed, honey." Leah's breath hitched, her fingers tightening briefly before loosening, the barest hint of permission. I moved toward the toilet, shifting her weight carefully. The seat was cold beneath my palm as I lowered it. Jennifer lingered in the doorway, her gaze flicking between Leah's rigid form and my hands as I positioned her over the bowl. "Panties up or down, baby. If you want me to pull them down, relax so I can get them down your legs. If you want them up, stay tense until I get you on the potty. Permission to pee even if you pee your pants, baby." Leah's entire body locked tight as I lowered her toward the toilet seat, her fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. Her thighs pressed together rigidly, knees clamped shut despite the gap between her and the porcelain. The scent of peanut butter clung stubbornly to her hair, mingling with the antiseptic soap lingering in the steamy bathroom air. "Grandpa is staying right here, baby. Pee in your panties it is. No worries. But I want you to pee. No more waiting until it hurts, baby." Leah trembled violently in my arms, her breath coming in ragged gasps against my neck. A warm wetness spread against my forearm where her thighs pressed together, the fabric of her borrowed panties darkening slowly. Jennifer exhaled softly from the doorway, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. The scent of urine mixed with orange juice and peanut butter, strangely domestic despite the tension vibrating through Leah's frame. I picked her right back up and held her. "Keep peeing. It's okay. You're not ready for the toilet then." Leah's body remained stiff, but the warm trickle against my forearm continued. Her breathing hitched with each small release, as if every involuntary spurt frightened her anew. Jennifer stepped closer, her shadow falling across the damp bathmat as she reached for a clean towel from the rack. The scent of urine mingled with the lingering steam, turning the air thick and humid between us. "Keep peeing, baby. Grandpa wants it out of your body, even if it's in your panties. No one gets mad for peeing anymore, baby." Leah shuddered against me, her fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt as she wet herself fully now, the warmth spreading down her legs and soaking into my pants where she pressed against me. The scent of urine mixed sharply with the orange juice still clinging to her skin. Jennifer draped the clean towel over my shoulder without comment, her fingers lingering briefly on Leah's trembling back. "You see how bad this is, don't you? The child is scared of the toilet. I'm starting to think that." Jennifer's fingers tightened on Leah's shoulder as she nodded, her eyes tracking the dark stain spreading down Leah's legs. The bathroom tiles felt slick beneath my feet as I shifted our weight, the warmth seeping through my clothes where Leah clung to me. Her breathing came in ragged bursts against my neck, each exhale trembling like a leaf in a storm. "You go ahead and pee your pants for a while," I told Leah. "Do it deliberately, if you need to, just don't keep holding it past it hurting. Please. Most important thing right now, is you don't hurt your body. Right, Miss Jenny?" Jennifer nodded, pressing a damp washcloth into my hand. The cool fabric steamed slightly against Leah's flushed skin as I dabbed at her damp thighs. She flinched but didn't pull away, her fingers twitching against my collarbone. The scent of urine mixed with citrus soap as Jennifer ran fresh water in the sink, the pipes groaning behind the walls. "Sarah wet the bed until she was nine," Jennifer said abruptly, wringing out another washcloth. The water splashed loudly in the basin. "After her father left. We kept a stack of towels by her bed and never mentioned it mornings." Her gaze flicked to Leah's averted face. "Some things take time." "I never knew she peed the bed," I whispered. "I knew she was always scared of me coming to her room, but I thought it was just a getting big girl thing." Jennifer's lips pressed into a thin line as she wrung out the washcloth. The water dripped steadily into the sink, each droplet echoing in the humid bathroom. Leah remained rigid against me, her damp thighs cooling where the wet fabric clung to my arms. The scent of urine mixed with peanut butter cookies still lingering from breakfast. "You know, when she was around ten, and I sometimes babysat, and I had to check on her if she was in bed when she was supposed to be, she'd hurry and yell that she was in bed and don't come in. I never did, of course because I was afraid she might be in just her panties. She was a good girl, so there was no reason for me to check any more than that she was in her room when you said it was her bedtime." Jennifer chuckled softly, twisting the damp washcloth between her fingers. "Yeah, she'd change into pajamas so fast those nights. Had a whole routine, lights off, clothes under the pillow before you even hit the hallway." The pipes gurgled as she turned off the faucet, the silence stretching between us until Leah shifted slightly in my arms. "Don't need to tell her you told me she kept wetting the bed. It's not anything that really matters anymore, and I don't want to embarrass her." Jennifer nodded, smoothing Leah's damp hair back from her forehead. Leah flinched at the contact but didn't pull away, her fingers still twisted tightly in my shirt. The bathroom light flickered overhead, casting wavering shadows across the tiles where orange juice and urine had pooled near the baseboard. "Let me change you, baby. We need to get you some clothes and toys. So, a quick cleaning and then we go?" Leah stiffened again as Jennifer handed me the damp washcloth. I wiped her legs carefully, feeling the tension humming through her thin frame. Her breathing hitched when I reached the waistband of her soaked panties, but she didn't resist as I peeled them down. Jennifer turned away to rummage in the linen closet, giving us privacy while producing a folded towel with exaggerated nonchalance. The bathroom smelled sharply of ammonia now, cutting through the lingering citrus and peanut butter. Leah trembled violently when I lifted her onto the countertop, her fingers scrabbling against the porcelain as I draped the towel across her lap. Her knees were mottled red where she'd clamped them together for so long. Jennifer handed me a fresh pair of Sarah's old panties, cotton, with faded rainbows along the waistband. "These might be loose," she murmured, pressing them into my palm. Leah's gaze locked onto them with sudden intensity, her breath hitching. "It's okay, we still have that pair of jeans from last night you brought. Those will help hold them up on her. I had her in just panties for a reason... so we would have some clean clothes for her when we went shopping. No young teen wants people to see them wet, even if they can't help doing it." Leah's fingers twitched toward the rainbow underwear, her knuckles brushing against my palm before jerking back. Jennifer's lips pressed into a thin line as she turned to rummage through the linen closet again. The scent of fabric softener drifted out as she pulled out a pair of Sarah's old jeans, the knees worn thin from years of play. "Legs up, baby," I murmured, holding the jeans open. Leah's toes curled against the counter's edge, her thighs trembling as she lifted them just enough for me to slide the denim over her damp skin. The waistband gaped loosely around her narrow hips, and I had to roll the cuffs twice before her toes peeked out. Jennifer handed me a length of twine from the junk drawer without comment, her eyes tracking Leah's flinch when I looped it through the belt loops. "Shit, I forgot," I saw the way Leah flinched and tracked the twine and I immediately pulled it out of her loops. "Your daughter said her wrists were tied last night. No, no string on baby's clothes. There has to be something less restraining..." I thought. "Oh, right, um, get me some scissors and a button from the old kit. I'll just make a button that we can tighten this with." Jennifer hesitated, her fingers twitching toward Leah's wrist where faint rope burns still marked the skin. The bathroom light buzzed overhead as she rummaged through the medicine cabinet, producing a small sewing kit with trembling hands. Leah's breathing turned shallow as I threaded a needle, her gaze locked on the sharp point glinting in the fluorescent light. "This needle isn't for your skin," I told baby. "We're making a button for your clothing so it will stay tighter on you without a string or belt. You don't like strings or belts, right?" Leah's pupils dilated as she watched the needle pierce the denim, her breath coming in short bursts through parted lips. The scent of urine and antiseptic clung stubbornly to her skin despite the fresh clothes. Jennifer's fingers twitched near the sewing kit as I stitched the button into place, the thread pulling taut through the fabric. The scissors gleamed dangerously on the counter's edge, and Leah flinched each time they shifted. Eventually, we got her a button fashioned that let me button her clothing at her hips to tighten them up so it wasn't too loose on her. Then I put the sharp things away. "Better, Leah?" I asked hugging her. Leah blinked slowly, her fingers ghosting over the button at her hip where it held the jeans snug against her waist. Her breathing had evened out, though her shoulders remained hunched forward as if expecting a blow. Jennifer exhaled through her nose and nudged the sewing kit further back on the counter, out of Leah's line of sight. "Someone has really done a number on you, child, and eventually you are going to have to get used to seeing string and belts again, but for now, no dangerous things in your mind until you are at least safe enough you can pee your pants without flinching." The button on Leah's jeans caught the fluorescent light as she shifted her weight on the counter, her toes curling against the porcelain edge. Jennifer leaned in to adjust the rolled cuffs, her fingers careful not to linger too long near Leah's ankles where old bruises still faded. The scent of fabric softener mixed uneasily with lingering urine and orange juice. "She's going to need a lot more care than I realized. You... you have to work today though, right?" I asked Jennifer. Jennifer hesitated, glancing at her watch. "I called in late already, " she admitted, smoothing Sarah's old jeans where they pooled around Leah's ankles. The fabric bunched over Leah's scuffed sneakers, still damp from the juice spill. "But I can't push it past nine. Sarah has school, and, " she lowered her voice, "they're strict about attendance with her IEP." "I didn't know your daughter had an IEP. But if you are just taking your daughter to school, then you could join us for shopping. I was more worried about work. The clothing shops don't open before ten anyway, so if you take your children to school first, that's not a problem." Jennifer hesitated, glancing at Leah's trembling fingers still clutching my shirt. "Sarah's bus comes at seven forty-five," she murmured. The bathroom clock ticked loudly in the silence, its hands creeping toward seven-ten. Leah's breathing hitched when Jennifer moved toward the door, her footsteps echoing on the tile. "Oh, well, I do understand that. So you go home and get your kids off to school, and then I'll meet you at your place at ten, and we can go shopping after that, unless you had other plans." Jennifer hesitated in the doorway, her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the frame. The scent of orange juice had faded beneath the sharper odors of urine and antiseptic, but Leah still clung to me like a lifeline, her breath warm against my neck. The bathroom mirror fogged over with residual steam, obscuring our reflections into vague smudges of color. "I can leave Sarah's car seat," Jennifer offered abruptly, digging her keys from her pocket. The metal jingled loudly, making Leah flinch against me. "If... if you need to take her anywhere before I get back." Her gaze flicked to Leah's button-secured jeans, then away just as quickly. "I didn't know thirteen year old kids needed car seats though. CPS didn't even ask if I had one." Jennifer blinked, her fingers tightening around the keys. "Oh, no, I meant for..." She gestured vaguely toward Leah's slight frame curled against me, her jeans swallowing her narrow hips. The unspoken implication hung between us, Leah looked so much smaller than her age, drowning in borrowed clothes. "Right, but CPS knows she's thirteen, and it's in her records. I'm not going to publicly humiliate her for no reason. She's already having enough problems, but if it turns out she needs one, then I'd be happy to get it. Just don't want to... you know... add to what's already keeping her from being healthy and confident." Jennifer's keys jingled softly as she nodded, tucking them back into her pocket. Leah's fingers loosened slightly against my shirt, her damp forehead pressing into the curve of my neck. The scent of fabric softener clung stubbornly to Sarah's old jeans, mixing with the lingering traces of peanut butter on Leah's breath. "You're right," Jennifer murmured, smoothing a hand over Leah's tangled hair. "I wasn't thinking." Her gaze flicked to the clock again, its minute hand jerking forward with an audible click. "I'll get Sarah ready and come back by ten. Text if you need anything sooner." "I will, but I'm sure we'll be okay for about three hours." Jennifer hesitated before nodding, her fingers lingering on the doorframe. The silence stretched thick between us, broken only by Leah's shallow breaths against my shoulder. Finally, Jennifer stepped back, her sneakers squeaking on the damp tiles. "I'll bring Sarah's old coloring books," she offered softly. "The ones with the thick pages." "That might help if things get overwhelming for her, for sure." I nodded in agreement. "And no judgment on the carseat idea. I do understand where you were thinking because she does look a little younger the way she is dressed right now, but still, for her confidence, I'm not getting her a seat unless she really needs it." Jennifer smiled softly as she glanced at Leah one last time, her fingers lingering on the light switch. The fluorescent bulb buzzed above us, casting sharp shadows across Leah's hollowed cheeks. "I'll see you at ten then," Jennifer murmured before stepping into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving us in the humid bathroom with its mingled scents of urine and citrus. I took Leah to the living room and flipped on cartoons for her. "Let's watch a little TV. Tomorrow, you'll get to see where Grandpa works." Leah stayed curled against my chest, her damp jeans absorbing into my shirt. The couch springs creaked under our combined weight as I reached for the remote. The television flickered to life with exaggerated brightness, casting blue shadows across Leah's hollowed cheekbones. A cartoon mouse in overalls danced across the screen, his squeaky voice echoing too loudly in the quiet room. "Volume down," I muttered, fumbling with the buttons. Leah flinched when the remote beeped, her fingers digging into my forearm. The scent of fabric softener and lingering urine clung to her clothes, mixing with the stale popcorn odor embedded in the couch cushions. Smelling how much she still had piss stench in her, I realized I was going to have to do something, and right now, I was scared to give her a real bath because of her skin. I shook my head. The only thing I could think of, was at work, asking a real nurse the best way to take care of this. So, called hoping I could speak with one of the nurses briefly. They had to deal with elderly smells and skin conditions all the time, so they must know something that would help me give her a bath without irritating her rash. "Hey Jim," Nurse Linda answered after two rings, her voice crisp with morning efficiency. I could hear the clatter of medication carts in the background. "You coming in today? We're short-staffed." "Sorry, I really can't. I just got a kid from Social Services last night, but she's in terrible shape. I've already tried to give her a soft shower twice to clean her up, but she's been made to sit in filth for so long that the soft shower isn't doing it but she's got a bad rash where she pees at that I don't want to irritate in a full bath, and on top of that, she's got abusive marks all over her, and she's.... she's not going to stop wetting herself any time soon. So... my question. How can I bathe her so she doesn't stink but it also doesn't hurt her rashes, bruises and blisters?" The line crackled with silence before Linda exhaled sharply. "Christ, Jim. Okay, first, don't use soap on the raw areas. Get those no-rinse cleansing cloths from the pharmacy, the kind for bedbound patients." Her voice dropped as she moved away from background noise. "Second, mix warm water with a capful of vinegar, just enough to cut the ammonia smell without stinging. Pat, don't rub. And for God’s sake, keep her hydrated, retention makes urine more corrosive." "I'm already trying to make sure she drinks lots of milk because I don't trust her to eat enough food yet. She's thin as bones. But more drinks. There is a problem though. Even if I keep her hydrated, even with permission to piss her pants, she still holds it like... it's a sin to let it out, and won't even sit on the toilet unless put there, and acts like it's a bomb when you do put here there." Linda sighed through the phone, the sound muffled like she'd pressed it against her shoulder. A drawer slid open in the background. "Classic punishment conditioning. Get puppy pads or waterproof sheets for now, less laundry stress means less pressure on her." The drawer slammed shut. "And Jim? Skip the milk if she's lactose intolerant. Diluted juice works better for hydration without triggering diarrhea on top of everything." "I think we lucked out on the lactose thing. She's had plenty of milk since last night and no pooping since earlier in the day before I met her.... that also went in her panties." Linda muttered something about 'Jesus Christ' under her breath before continuing, "Alright, stick with milk then, but watch for bloating. Now listen, " Her voice sharpened as medical equipment beeped loudly behind her. "Get zinc oxide cream for the rash, thick as frosting. And Jim? Don't let her see you wince when you smell her. Kids notice." "Well, you know smells don't bother me anymore, working around the older people. The real reason I'm worried about her smell is CPS can be tricky and they'll yank her if there is even a hint I'm not taking care of her right, and yet, they let this stuff happen to her for who knows how long, and also, when she starts school. She's going to piss herself at school. That can't be helped, but the less she smells the more accepting of her the other kids can be." The cartoon mouse squeaked loudly as Leah shifted against me, her damp jeans pressing uncomfortably against my thigh. Linda made a thoughtful humming noise. "School's gonna be rough," she admitted. "But you're right about CPS, document everything. Take photos of her rashes today before you treat them." "Damn! Pictures. I have been watching her since last night, and saw her bruises and evidience of whippings but didn't think to get pictures. I do have a witness, though, a good church friend that brought some clothes for her because they didn't even send her to my house with clean clothes. Just the messy ones she had on from at least mid school day." Leah stiffened at the word 'pictures', her nails biting into my forearm through my sleeve. The cartoon mouse froze mid-dance as I muted the TV, the sudden silence pressing against my eardrums. Linda coughed on the other end of the line, the sound muffled like she'd turned away from the receiver. I patted Leah's arm. "I'm sorry, baby. I should have known pictures might be scary. We have to though, so we can keep you away from people like those who had you just before yesterday." Leah shook against me, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. The remote slipped from my grasp and thudded onto the carpet. Linda's voice crackled through the phone, "Jim? You still there?" "Yeah. My baby is visibly panicking. As soon as pictures was mentioned, she started acting funny, and now, she's moments from having a panic attack. I might come by after all so you can look her over. CPS won't pay for her to see a doctor because they believe she soils herself willfully out of defiance or something weird like that. At least if you put this in a record for us, then we'll have a health professional's opinion on the matter if it comes up." Leah's fingers dug into my wrist hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks. The remote slid further under the couch as she twisted against me, her breathing shallow and uneven. Linda's voice dropped to a murmur, "Bring her in through the service entrance. Less eyes that way." A chair scraped in the background. "And Jim? Bring a change of clothes for yourself too." "Already got initiated this morning. We had an interesting situation come up, and so I don't mind if she wets her pants on me. I just want her safe and healthy. I have a friend that's supposed to help me take her shopping. We'll just go there first, but my friend is sending her kids to school right now." Linda exhaled sharply through her nose. "Service entrance in twenty then. I'll pull some sample creams." The phone clicked dead before I could respond. I called Jennifer. "I have to go straight in to work. There's a nurse there that's going to help me get what we need set up for Leah, and she's going to take the pictures so that we have a health care professional opinion on the abuse and the neglect done to Leah. Leah's panicking, though, so I'm still going to need your help. Please tell your school Sarah has to miss today due to a family emergency... if that's alright. Leah's going to need her friend more than ever right now." Jennifer paused so long I checked the call hadn't dropped. When she spoke, her voice wavered. "Sarah won't be happy about missing her math test...but she'd never forgive herself if Leah needed her." Papers rustled in the background. "We'll meet you at the nursing home." "Sounds good. I'm sorry to put this on you, but as you said, she'd never forgive herself, and Leah needs all the support she can get right now. She's panicking over pictures." I hung up and picked Leah up. "Come on, baby. We have to see some people about keeping you away from creeps like those people that had you last, and then we'll go shopping after that, and you are allowed to pee, baby." I pulled out three cartons of juice from the fridge on our way out. "These are for you, baby. When you're thirsty, just hint that you want some." I raced to the Elderwood Acres somehow avoiding a speeding ticket despite going ten to fifteen over the limit at times to get there in the twenty minutes they told me to. Then I waited for Jennifer to show her the way we were going in. Leah didn't make any trouble, she was just scared. "I know it's going to be scary," I told Leah. "But Grandpa won't let anyone hurt you, okay? We are just trying to help you stay away from abusive people from now on. I don't know this case worker that well, but he left you in shitty panties. I want to make sure he and everyone involved with you from point at school yesterday until you got to my house last night is on a list that don't put you in any homes after this." The nursing home's back entrance smelled of bleach and overcooked green beans, the industrial cleaner barely masking the institutional odors. Leah pressed her face into my shoulder as we waited, her fingers clutching the juice cartons like talismans. The service door buzzed abruptly, making her flinch. I waved Jennifer over. "Over here," I called to her. "We are entering this way. Less eyes on our little angel in case she has another accident." Jennifer hesitated near the dumpsters, her fingers tightening around Sarah's shoulder. The smell of rotting food wafted from the metal bins as Sarah pulled free, her sneakers crunching on gravel. Leah whimpered against my neck, her damp jeans soaking through my shirt. I nodded. "If you don't want to come in, Jennifer, you've done a lot already, but I do want Leah to see that Sarah is here for her." I turned Leah to see Sarah. "See? Your friend is here to support you seeing these people so no one hurts you again." Leah blinked hard, her fingers loosening slightly around the juice cartons. Sarah took a hesitant step forward, her sneakers scuffing against the asphalt. The scent of Jennifer's floral perfume mixed uneasily with the dumpster stench as she crouched to meet Leah's gaze. "Hey," Sarah murmured, holding out a thick coloring book, the kind with pages you could press hard on without tearing. "Thought you might want this for after." The pages rustled as Leah reached out with one trembling hand, her fingers brushing the cover before jerking back. "Actually, the coloring book might be helpful in distracting her from what scares her, honey," I told Sarah. "She's getting pictures of intimate places to prove that she's been abused and neglected. Imagine if someone had to take a picture of where you pee from.... so this is really going to help her." Leah's fingers trembled against my neck, her breath hitching as Nurse Linda pushed through the service door in purple scrubs. The sharp scent of antiseptic wafted out with her, mingling with Leah's lingering urine smell. Linda took one look at Leah's hunched shoulders and softened her voice. "Hey there, sweet pea. We're just gonna take some quick pictures so those bad people can't hurt you again." I showed her the coloring book. "You don't have crayons she can use to distract her from what's happening do you? It'll probably be less stressful if she doesn't see every camera flash." Sarah dug into her backpack and pulled out a handful of broken crayon stubs wrapped in a napkin. The wax smelled faintly of artificial fruit flavors as she pressed them into Leah's shaking hand. Leah stared at the crumpled paper like it might bite her, but when Sarah flipped open the coloring book to a page with thick-lined flowers, Leah's fingers twitched toward the red crayon. "You can come on in, Leah if you want. I don't think you need to see them taking pictures, but you can visit some rooms with friendly patients until you can sit with your friend and color together." I looked up at Jennifer. "It's up to you, Mommy? You going to let Leah support her friend? I know it's hard and this might age her a bit with what the world is like, but she's already seen the worst of what they've done to Leah, you know." Sarah clutched the coloring book tighter, her knuckles whitening around the crayon stubs. The scent of grape-flavored wax intensified as Jennifer hesitated, her gaze flicking between Leah's hollowed cheeks and Sarah's determined expression. Finally, she exhaled sharply through her nose. "Sarah makes her own choices," she murmured. "And she's always chosen kindness." "And that's a credit to her mother," I told Jennifer. "Not a lot of parents out there teaching their kids the kind of kindness that your daughter shows." Leah clutched the crayons in her sweaty fist, the wax softening under her trembling grip. Sarah didn't hesitate, she reached out and took Leah's other hand, her fingers interlacing with Leah's as naturally as if they'd been friends for years instead of hours. The scent of broken crayons mingled with the antiseptic hallway air as Nurse Linda gestured us forward. "The other girl is my friend's daughter. She is the first one to actually get Leah to give much of any hint about what is going on with her, other than me just happenstance discovering her injuries and rashes." Linda nodded, her scrubs whispering as she motioned us toward an exam room. The scent of rubbing alcohol grew stronger as we passed supply carts lined with specimen cups. Leah dug her nails into Sarah's palm but didn't pull away, her breathing shallow as we reached the privacy curtain. "Sarah, they might not let you stay for taking pictures, because this is intimate, but I'm sure a couple of residents would really appreciate a gentle soul like you to talk to. If you are okay visiting them until the pictures are done?" Sarah hesitated, her fingers tightening around Leah's. The crayon wax smeared onto both their palms, leaving streaks of cerulean and crimson. Nurse Linda cleared her throat. "Mrs. Henderson always loves visitors," she offered softly. "And she keeps butterscotches in her drawer." Leah's breath hitched when Sarah started to pull away. Sarah paused, then pressed the coloring book into Leah's arms. "I'll be right outside," she whispered. "Count the tiles until I come back." She pointed to the checkerboard linoleum before stepping back, her sneakers squeaking on the freshly mopped floor. They brought Mrs. Henderson out to a room next to where we were getting Leah's pictures done so that Sarah could be as close as possible to Leah, and so she could be distracted by the old lady that always gave people who visited her two or three butterscotch candies just for taking the trouble to talk to her. Leah clutched the coloring book tighter, her knuckles whitening as Nurse Linda guided her toward the exam table. The paper crinkled loudly under her weight, the sound making her flinch. Across the hall, Mrs. Henderson's raspy voice carried through the thin walls as she offered Sarah a butterscotch. "Take two, sweetheart," she wheezed. "One for you and one for your little friend after her pictures." "You said I should have some extra pants. Does this mean I'm going to hold Leah while you take the pictures?" I asked Nurse Linda. She shook her head, snapping gloves over her hands with practiced efficiency. "You'll stay where she can see you, but I need Jennifer's help for proper documentation." The disposable camera in her hands clicked ominously as she tested the flash. "Oh, I didn't know to tell Jennifer to pack extra pants?" Jennifer blinked rapidly, her fingers tightening around Sarah's shoulder. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting yellow-green shadows across Leah's sunken cheeks. Sarah twisted in her mother's grip, digging into her backpack with her free hand. "I brought my extra gym shorts," she said quietly, pulling out crumpled red fabric. The scent of detergent and adolescent sweat wafted from them as she held them toward me. "You're thirteen, honey. Do you really think your mom can get into your clothes?" Sarah hesitated, then nodded. "Mom helps me with laundry," she murmured, cheeks flushing. Jennifer squeezed her shoulder, silent affirmation. "Okay. I just was a little surprised is all. But yeah, okay. Well, you play with Mrs. Henderson then, and we'll wash your gym shorts for you. You know Leah is likely to pee all over your mom, right?" Sarah didn't even blink. "Mom washes pee clothes all the time," she said, shrugging. "Baby cousins." The butterscotch wrapper crinkled as Mrs. Henderson pressed another candy into her palm. I sighed and took Leah and showed Jennifer into the room where Nurse Linda wanted us. "I really had no idea she meant you should have extra pants. She told me to bring some, but maybe she didn't realize you were coming in with me." Jennifer exhaled sharply, her fingers trembling slightly as she accepted the folded gym shorts from Sarah. The scent of fabric softener clung to them, mixing uneasily with the antiseptic air. "It's fine," she murmured, though her shoulders tensed as Nurse Linda positioned Leah on the exam table. The disposable camera flashed briefly as Linda adjusted the overhead light, casting Leah's bruises into stark relief. I knelt down as they started taking pictures not close enough to touch, but close enough to whisper. "Leah, you have permission if you need to pee. Grandpa doesn't want you holding it until it hurts, okay?" Leah's legs trembled violently, her knees pressing together as Nurse Linda lifted the hem of her shirt. The camera flashed again, illuminating a latticework of old whip marks across her ribs. Jennifer inhaled sharply behind me, her fingers clenching around Sarah's gym shorts. The scent of vinegar and bleach from the cleaning cart outside the door did little to mask the acrid tang of Leah's fear. "Grandpa's big brave girl," I cooed at Leah trying to encourage her. "I know. It will all be over soon, honey." Leah squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails digging crescent moons into her thighs as Nurse Linda peeled back her waistband. The disposable camera flashed again, capturing the angry red rash creeping up her inner thighs. Jennifer turned abruptly, pressing Sarah's gym shorts to her nose like a makeshift filter against the smell. The overhead lights flickered, casting stuttering shadows across Leah's trembling form. Ten minutes in, dark spots bloomed across Leah's borrowed sweatpants despite her obvious efforts to hold back. Her breathing turned jagged, shallow gasps punctuated by tiny whimpers. Nurse Linda paused mid-photo, lowering the camera. "Sweetheart, it's okay," she murmured, but Leah just shook harder, a fresh trickle darkening the exam table paper beneath her. "Baby," I whispered. "Pee, baby. I don't want you hurting yourself. You pee when it starts coming out. That means you'd already been holding it too long, sweetheart. Remember? No belts or hitting in grandpa's home? That means anywhere Grandpa takes you, too, baby." Leah hesitated, her whole body rigid. A warm trickle seeped through the sweatpants, spreading slowly across the crinkling exam paper beneath her. Nurse Linda didn't flinch, just kept snapping photos of the bruises on Leah's thighs as Jennifer turned away, pressing Sarah's gym shorts to her mouth. The sharp scent of urine mixed with antiseptic, but Leah's shoulders relaxed slightly as the floodgates opened fully at last. Her whisper cut through the hum of fluorescent lights. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." Her voice cracked on the last word, her fingers twisting in the damp fabric of her borrowed pants. "Grandpa said to do it." The apology wasn't for me, her wide, frightened eyes locked onto Jennifer's back, tracking every subtle shift in the woman's posture like she expected a blow. Jennifer froze mid-turn, Sarah's gym shorts dangling from one hand. The scent of citrus detergent filled the space between them as she inhaled sharply, then moved. Not toward the laundry cart or the door, but forward in one decisive motion. Her arms wrapped around Leah's shaking shoulders before either of us could react, pressing the girl's face against her sweater. The wet spot soaked through instantly, darkening the knit fabric. "I've changed more diapers than you've had birthdays, sweetheart," Jennifer murmured into Leah's hair, her voice steadier than her hands. She rocked them slightly, the exam table creaking under their combined weight. "Baby cousins, Sarah's kindergarten accidents, heck, I got peed on at a damn rodeo once." The forced chuckle hitched when Leah's fingers clutched at her sleeves, leaving waxy crayon streaks on the wool. Leah's breath came in hot, damp bursts against Jennifer's collarbone. The smell of urine and antiseptic clung to them both now, but Jennifer didn't pull away. Instead, she smoothed Leah's tangled hair with one hand, the other rubbing slow circles between her trembling shoulder blades. Nurse Linda discreetly set down the camera, her gloved hands hovering near Jennifer's elbows like she wasn't sure whether to offer support or step back. "Jennifer's got it," I told Nurse Linda. "I trust her and her daughter and that's why they came with me today. You know me, and how easy... I trust, right? If I say I trust Jennifer, that's something she's earned, and you know it, right?" Linda nodded, snapping off her gloves with a practiced flick. The latex made a dull pop as she dropped them into the biohazard bin, the scent of disinfectant momentarily overwhelming the lingering odors. "Photographs are done," she said quietly, turning toward the supply cabinet. The drawer squeaked as she pulled out zinc oxide cream and no-rinse cleansing cloths, the packaging crinkling in her hands. "Is this the stuff you suggested I get for her? What can I get without a prescription, and what do I need to set up with a gyn/ob to get a prescription for?" Linda tapped the zinc oxide tube against her palm. "This is OTC, but she'll need prescription antifungal cream for the yeast infection." The words made Leah stiffen in Jennifer's arms, her fingers twisting tighter in the damp sweater. Linda lowered her voice, turning slightly away. "I'll write down what to ask for when you get her established with a pediatrician." "Like I said, they are not letting me set her up with one for a month. They said she does this on purpose, so unless you know a medical shortcut that can cut their red tape, we are screwed." Linda's jaw tightened, her fingers drumming against the zinc oxide tube. Across the room, Sarah peeked in from the hallway, her fingers clutching Mrs. Henderson's wrinkled hand. The old woman wheezed softly, pressing another butterscotch into Sarah's palm. "For after," she whispered, nodding toward Leah. I smiled at seeing Mrs. Henderson and Sarah join us. "I told you Mrs. Henderson is nice, right Sarah?" Sarah nodded, her fingers sticky with butterscotch as she hesitantly approached Leah. The scent of caramel mixed uneasily with the lingering antiseptic and urine. Leah flinched when Sarah reached out, but then froze as Sarah pressed the candy into her palm, the one not smeared with crayon wax. "Leah got your letter, Sarah. I'm afraid it got ruined, though. You know how nervous she gets. It fell in spilled juice, but she read it." Sarah's brow furrowed, then smoothed as understanding dawned. She dug into her backpack again, pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope. The paper smelled faintly of strawberries and pencil lead. "I wrote another one last night," she murmured, holding it out toward Leah's trembling fingers. "Mom helped me spell 'friend' right." I narrowed my eyes. I had no idea that Sarah had this much trouble. She wet the bed until she was eleven, has an IEP, and now it seems needs help to spell words that a lot of elementary kids can spell. I was learning a lot about Sarah just because she was friends with my foster kid, well grandkid, really. But I was surprised at how little I really knew of poor Sarah's own struggles. Jennifer caught my gaze and shook her head slightly, her fingers tightening around Leah's shoulders. The silent warning was clear, don't ask. Sarah's cheeks flushed pink as she fumbled with the envelope, her knuckles brushing against Leah's damp fingers. The scent of strawberry-scented stationery mingled with the lingering antiseptic, masking the urine smell for just a moment. I nodded. I knew Jennifer well enough to know when something was a promised private matter between kid and mother, something I was going to have to eventually establish with Leah, once I had her well in hand without needing the help of Jennifer. Leah hesitated, her fingers trembling around the envelope. The crayon wax left smudges on the paper as she traced Sarah's uneven handwriting. Mrs. Henderson chuckled softly from the doorway, her wrinkled hand patting Sarah's shoulder. "Smart girls take their time spelling," she rasped. "My Eleanor couldn't spell 'cat' till she was twelve, and that girl grew up to run three banks." I smiled back at Mrs. Henderson. She always seemed to know the right thing to say at the right time. Jennifer exhaled softly as she eased Leah's grip on her sweater, the damp fabric peeling away with a quiet sound. The zinc oxide tube clicked open in Nurse Linda's hands, the medicinal scent sharp against the lingering sweetness of butterscotch. Leah gasped suddenly, her body jerking as another hot stream escaped despite her obvious effort to stop it. Her knees slammed together, but the damage was done, dark rivulets dripped onto the exam table, pattering softly against the paper. I walked over and hugged her. "It's okay, baby. You are allowed. You have permission. Just keep peeing if you need to. I don't want you to get sick, baby." Leah's breath hitched as her body betrayed her again, the warm trickle turning into a steady stream soaking through Jennifer's borrowed gym shorts and dripping onto the floor. The sharp ammonia scent mixed with the antiseptic air as she trembled violently, her fingers clawing at the exam table paper beneath her. Nurse Linda didn't flinch, just kept applying the zinc oxide cream with clinical precision, her gloved hands moving methodically over Leah's raw skin. "That didn't look deliberate to anyone of you, did it?" I asked as I showed Nurse Linda the file where it showed that that's what was written. She shook her head, snapping the cream shut with finality. The scent of medicinal ointment clung stubbornly to the air between us as she handed me the tube. "These injuries don't lie," she murmured low enough that only I could hear. Leah whimpered against Jennifer's shoulder, her sweatpants now completely soaked through. Sarah's small fingers hesitantly brushed Leah's elbow, transferring sticky butterscotch residue onto her damp skin. "I want this case worker investigated. He brought this child to me in crappy pants without even any clean clothes when they got to my place. I understand they might not have things right away, but you'd think he wouldn't embarrass a teenager like that... if he cared." Nurse Linda sighed, peeling off her gloves with a snap. The latex left red marks around her wrists as she tossed them into the biohazard bin. "I'll make copies of these photos for your records," she murmured, nodding toward Leah's trembling form. The disposable camera whirred as she ejected the film cartridge, the plastic casing clicking against the countertop. "What do you think my next step is, to make sure Leah never gets into the wrong hands again, if somehow, CPS decides to take her away from me?" The question hung between us, thick as the disinfectant fumes. Nurse Linda hesitated, her fingers tapping the film cartridge against her palm. Behind her, Jennifer was murmuring something to Leah, something about how real accidents never got anyone in trouble, not in her house, not ever. Sarah hovered near the doorway, twisting the hem of her shirt, her sneakers squeaking against the damp floor. Linda exhaled sharply through her nose. "You need paper trails," she said finally, low enough that Leah wouldn't hear. "Document everything, the rashes, the accidents, the fear responses. Dates, times, witnesses." She nodded toward Sarah clutching her ruined crayon drawings. "Kids her age don't usually wet themselves from pure defiance. That's a trauma response, and any halfway decent caseworker should recognize it." "Thank you. I really appreciate your help. I know I'm taking you away from the residents, but at least they are safe, here. Leah is only safe while she's in my house, so I need to figure out how to either keep her there, or to keep CPS from moving her somewhere like she's already been." Leah shuddered violently against Jennifer, her damp fingers clutching at the woman's sweater like a lifeline. Sarah hesitantly stepped closer, pressing her crumpled letter into Leah's free hand. The scent of strawberries mixed with antiseptic as Leah's breath hitched, her shoulders trembling under Jennifer's steady hands. "Come here, baby," I reached out to Leah. "Let's let Auntie Jennifer get some clean pants on. I know it was an accident, and that you couldn't help it, but she's uncomfortable, so we need to let her get some dry pants on, okay?" Leah's fingers tightened around Jennifer's sleeve, leaving waxy smudges on the wool. Her breathing hitched, shoulders hunching protectively as Jennifer gently pried her grip loose. "It's okay, sweetheart," Jennifer murmured, peeling the damp sweater away from her skin with a quiet sound. The scent of urine clung stubbornly to the fabric as she draped it over the nearby chair. "Do you want to do anything else, or is that all and we have to wait for CPS to let us get her a pediatrician?" Nurse Linda hesitated, her fingers tapping the zinc oxide tube against her palm. The scent of medicinal cream lingered in the air as she glanced toward Leah, now curled tightly against my chest. Leah's fingers dug into my shirt, her breath coming in shallow bursts against my collarbone. "There's... one more thing," Linda said slowly, lowering her voice. "The nursing home has an arrangement with a mobile pediatric service. They usually handle our residents' grandchildren, but..." "You think you can let them look since she's my direct responsibility and I work here?" Linda nodded, rubbing the red marks left by her gloves. The faint scent of latex still clung to her scrubs as she motioned toward the hallway. "Dr. Patel makes rounds on Thursdays. He's discreet." Her voice dropped lower as Leah stiffened in my arms. "We can schedule her as a resident's visiting grandchild. Paperwork stays in-house unless..." "Unless...?" I was scared but also really knew that the sooner Leah got the help she needed, the less pain she'd be in. Linda exhaled sharply, her fingers twitching toward the biohazard bin before stilling. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sickly shadows across Leah's pinched face as she buried her nose deeper into my shirt. "Unless CPS subpoenas the records," Linda murmured, her voice barely audible over the wheezing rattle of Mrs. Henderson's oxygen tank down the hall. "So... what if we beat them to it, and have a copy sent to our own lawyer as well as what CPS gave me to work with. This will prove CPS, at least the people involved covered up the crimes and treated her like trash, causing us to have to go this route? I'll draw all my savings out, if you point me to an attorney that will help us." Leah whimpered against my chest, her small frame shuddering like a trapped bird. The scent of urine and antiseptic clung to her skin, mingling with the faint sweetness of butterscotch still smeared on her fingers. Nurse Linda's gaze flickered toward the doorway where Sarah stood clutching Mrs. Henderson's gnarled hand, her sneakers squeaking against the damp linoleum. "We don't have one, do we?" I asked. Linda hesitated, glancing at Jennifer. The silence stretched taut as Leah's fingers twisted in my shirt, her knuckles whitening. Down the hall, Mrs. Henderson wheezed out another butterscotch for Sarah, the crinkling wrapper unnaturally loud. Jennifer cleared her throat, peeling Leah's damp hand from her sleeve with a quiet sound. "I... might know someone," she said carefully, avoiding Sarah's curious stare. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting her face in harsh shadows. "My divorce attorney handled custody disputes too. She referred me to a child advocate when..." Her voice trailed off as Sarah stiffened by the doorway. Sarah's knees pressed together suddenly, her fingers tightening around Mrs. Henderson's wrinkled hand. A dark spot bloomed across the front of her jeans, spreading slowly down her thighs. The sharp scent of urine mixed with butterscotch as Sarah's breath hitched, not from embarrassment, but from something deeper. Mrs. Henderson's gnarled fingers tightened around hers as the old woman murmured, "Oh, sweet pea. Not again." Jennifer froze mid-sentence, her divorce attorney's name dying on her lips as she turned toward her daughter. The fluorescent lights caught the wet streaks glistening on Sarah's jeans, the same way they'd glistened two years ago during the custody hearings. Sarah's shoulders hunched, her free hand clutching at her stomach like she was trying to fold inward. I ran over and picked Sarah up, just as I would Leah, and I hugged her. "It's okay, honey. It's okay. Your mama knows you didn't mean to." I rocked her. Sarah's knees buckled against my chest, the warm dampness soaking through my shirt as she trembled violently. The scent of urine mixed with the strawberry gum she'd been chewing earlier, sharp and sour against the sterile hospital air. Jennifer's hands hovered near her daughter's shoulders, her fingers twitching like she wanted to snatch Sarah away but knew better than to startle her further. Leah's fingers twitched at her sides, still sticky with crayon wax and butterscotch residue. Then, hesitantly, she reached out, her palm landing on Sarah's shuddering shoulder with unexpected gentleness. The movement was stiff, unpracticed, but deliberate. Sarah flinched at first, her breath catching in a wet gasp, but Leah didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned closer until their foreheads nearly touched and whispered, so quiet only Sarah could hear: "I peed too." Jennifer's breath hitched. She reached for them both, her hands hovering, not touching, not yet, her fingers trembling like she was afraid they'd dissolve if she made contact. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering once as Mrs. Henderson shuffled closer, her orthopedic shoes squeaking against the linoleum. She pressed two fresh butterscotch candies into Sarah's free hand, wrapping wrinkled fingers around the girl's damp ones. "Twins," she rasped, nodding sagely. "I'm sorry, Sarah." I muttered and looked to Jennifer for the best way to frame this. Honestly, Sarah probably shouldn't have been there when we turned to law and medical advice. I should have sent the kids off with Mrs. Henderson to play, but I was short sighted. Jennifer's hands trembled as she reached for Sarah, her fingers brushing against Leah's wrist before hesitating. The scent of butterscotch and urine hung thick in the air between them. "Sarah's accident," she murmured, her voice cracking, "isn't new. It's why we needed... the advocate." "Oh, wow. Now it all makes sense. Sarah? I'm here for you. You know no one gets personal things out of Grandpa Jim unless I need help, and those I trust to help are very very few. I trust the nurse here, and I trust your mother. None of your school friends will know what happened here today unless you tell them. I will make sure Leah understands how to be a true friend, sweetheart." Sarah sniffled against my shoulder, her damp jeans soaking into my shirt. Leah's fingers twitched toward Sarah's elbow, hesitating before brushing against the wet fabric. Jennifer exhaled shakily, her fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater. "I have diapers," Sarah mumbled into my collarbone, her breath warm and sticky with butterscotch. "In my room. You knew that." "Baby, when you were eleven, you would tell me to stay out of your room when I babysat you, remember? Do you honestly think I go snooping around a teenager's bedroom when I've been told to stay out? There are things that's natural to hide that I wouldn't want to embarrass you with. That's why I only ever checked through your closed door. If you answered me, you were where you were supposed to be, so I had no reason to see your diapers, honey." Sarah stiffened against my chest, her damp jeans pressing uncomfortably against my ribs. The scent of butterscotch and urine clung stubbornly between us as she processed this. Jennifer made a small, wounded noise behind us, her fingers twisting in her sweater sleeves. "I will make a confession though. Your mom sort of assumed I had had seen too, and with everything going on with Leah, I just found out this morning that you had them, but I wasn't going to tell you. I didn't want to embarrass you, and your mom agreed." Sarah nodded, her fingers twisting in the damp fabric of my shirt. "You knew," she whispered, her voice thick with something between relief and resignation. "You always knew." "I knew you had some trouble, but I chose not to go digging for what might embarrass you. You are like a grandchild to me, even if not biologically. You know that, right?" Sarah sniffled, pressing her damp face into my shoulder. Behind us, Leah shifted awkwardly, her fingers still hovering near Sarah's elbow, unsure whether to pull away or stay. Jennifer exhaled sharply, twisting the hem of her sweater into knots. I pulled Leah close to us. "I'd like you two to do a favor for grandpa, if you would try?" Sarah blinked up at me, her damp lashes clumping together as she waited. Leah tensed, her fingers twitching near Sarah's elbow like she wasn't sure if contact was allowed yet. The scent of urine and butterscotch mingled with Leah's antiseptic cream, creating a strange, sour-sweet aroma between us. "I'd like you two to promise, even if you get in a fight or stop being friends, you will respect each other enough, and respect grandpa enough, not to bring up anything that you find out about each other in a way that can hurt the other at school. Can you try to do that for me? It makes me sad when people do that to each other." Sarah nodded vigorously, her damp bangs sticking to her forehead. "I knew you knew," she whispered again, her fingers twisting in my shirt. "About the diapers." "Would you show Leah how to put on diapers and take them off so she can try to be more independent? I think she looks up to you." I put Sarah and down and lifted Leah down next to her. "Leah might not feel as bad about needing them if she knows you know how they work as proof you needed them before." Sarah's cheeks flushed pink as she glanced at Leah, then nodded slowly. The scent of butterscotch and urine still clung to her jeans as she shifted uncomfortably. "I have nighttime ones," she murmured, her fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt. "And... sometimes at school, if I don't make it." Her voice cracked on the last word, her shoulders hunching inward. "Baby, if anyone at school gives you hell over pissing your pants, just like if someone picks on Leah, you tell Grandpa Jim. I won't stand for it, baby. And your mom won't either, especially if it's a teacher that causes your issues to be known." Sarah wiped her nose with the back of her hand, smearing butterscotch residue across her cheek. The scent of urine and antiseptic mingled with her strawberry gum as she nodded. Jennifer's fingers twitched toward her daughter before stilling, her knuckles whitening around the damp sweater sleeves. "You are still allowed to sleep at Grandpa Jims, on weekend, when you don't have school... whether you still need them or not, understand Sarah? No judgment. You have someone you can slumber party with too, because you know Leah isn't going to judge you with her own issues." Sarah's fingers twisted in the hem of her damp shirt, her shoulders relaxing slightly. The scent of urine and butterscotch still clung stubbornly to her jeans as she nodded. "Okay," she whispered, her voice cracking. Behind her, Jennifer exhaled sharply, twisting her sweater sleeves tighter. I turned to Jennifer. "Jennifer? You know you don't have to suffer in silence if you need help coping with stuff. You know I never judge, and you and your daughter are the kindest people I know. I'd never hurt you. You know that, right?" Jennifer's fingers loosened around her sweater sleeves, the damp wool creased from her grip. She exhaled sharply through her nose, the scent of antiseptic and urine still thick around us. "I know," she murmured, glancing at Sarah, who was now tentatively holding Leah's sticky fingers. "But the IEP... the custody hearings... it's not just Sarah's history." Her voice cracked on the last word. "Sounds like we need some private time, and we should talk about it in the car, but right now, you said you know a lawyer, right? Let's get this done so we can talk about what's on your table, how is that?" Jennifer exhaled sharply, her fingers twisting in her sweater sleeves again. The fabric stretched taut under her grip as she glanced toward Sarah, who was now guiding Leah toward the bathroom with hesitant steps. Sarah's damp jeans left faint marks on the linoleum, her shoulders hunched protectively as she murmured something about "pull-up tabs" to Leah. "Well, we might have a lawyer soon," I told Nurse Linda. "Just keep a copy for a lawyer, and we'll be back for that, if you wish. Then CPS can request anything they want, but it won't save their corrupt workers if we have a lawyer that knows the same stuff. So the pediatrician?" Linda hesitated, glancing at Jennifer. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Leah shuffled closer to Sarah, their fingers still loosely intertwined. "Thursday," Linda murmured. "I'll put Leah down as Mrs. Henderson's visiting granddaughter. Paperwork will stay here unless..." She trailed off, her gaze flickering toward Sarah's damp jeans. "I'll make sure to note that in the records and that we set this up because it was the only way to get around CPS's unlawful denial of medical treatment and examination of Leah. That should spin their heads around a couple of times, that I admit it and with our collaborating proof, just imagine who will be in more trouble. It's not going to be a medical staff nurse doing her job she swore to...." Sarah's grip tightened on Leah's hand as she guided her toward the bathroom. The scent of butterscotch and urine trailed after them, mingling with the sharp tang of antiseptic. Leah hesitated at the threshold, her shoulders hunched protectively, but Sarah murmured something about "secret pajama pants" and the tension eased slightly. I turned to Jennifer, lowering my voice. "Let's step outside." The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as we moved toward the nursing home's courtyard, the cold February air biting at our faces. Jennifer's fingers twisted in her sweater sleeves again, her breath fogging in the dim light. "I should've told you sooner," she whispered. "About Sarah's IEP meetings, the custody evaluations... They made her wear monitors. For months." Her voice cracked on the word monitors. "Her father's lawyer kept insisting her accidents were behavioral, that I was..." She swallowed hard. "That I was fabricating medical needs to get full custody." "That seems an invasion of a minor's privacy, and without criminal activity, that seems illegal," I whispered. But I am guessing there's more to it than even that?' Jennifer exhaled sharply, her breath curling in the cold air. The scent of antiseptic still clung faintly to her sweater as she leaned against the brick wall, her fingers digging into the damp wool. "They made her wear wires," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of the nursing home's generator. "Twice a week after school. To 'prove' I wasn't coaching her symptoms." Her knuckles whitened. "Sarah would come home sobbing, begging me not to make her go back to her father's. But the court..." "The court made her... and that's when you asked your lawyer for help from this other lawyer?" I asked. "Trust me, I'd fight for my child, too, hon. You did nothing wrong." Jennifer's fingers twisted deeper into her sweater sleeves, the damp wool stretching under her grip. The courtyard lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across her face. "Sarah couldn't sleep," she whispered. "Started wetting the bed again at twelve years old after two years dry. The court-appointed therapist called it 'regressive attention-seeking.'" A sob caught in her throat. "I stopped going to Bible study when the other moms started asking why Sarah kept missing youth group. Couldn't risk CPS thinking I was... unstable." "And there it is. You knew I was trying to get a kid of my own. You were afraid to tell me because if CPS investigated you, you didn't want it to be your fault I didn't get a kid. Right?" I held her hand. "Jenny? They told me eight months ago that I wasn't likely to get a kid and your name never came up. They weren't planning on giving me a kid, and it had nothing to do with you. I told you about that, remember, that they had already decided I was single, too old, and a man?" Jennifer's fingers trembled in mine, her grip tightening like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go. The courtyard lights flickered again, casting uneven shadows across her tear-streaked face. "I thought, if they saw me struggling, if they knew Sarah still had accidents, " She choked on the words, her shoulders shaking. "They'd say I was unfit. And then they'd look at you next. Single. Older. With a friend who couldn't even keep her own kid dry." "Well, news flash, Jenny. They couldn't even get a thirteen year old girl into clean pants after she pooped herself at school, all caused by them letting her to go a family that severly abused her and neglected her. You are nowhere the monsters they made you to be, and if they try that carp on you again, you just remember, I have a file that proves CPS is a lot less capable than you are." Jennifer's fingers tightened around mine, her knuckles pressing painfully into my palm. The courtyard wind whipped a strand of hair across her face, clinging to the tear tracks on her cheeks. "But the IEP meetings," she whispered. "The custody hearings... it's not just Sarah's history." Her breath hitched. "I couldn't even sit through parent-teacher conferences last year without shaking. Sarah's math teacher kept asking why I wouldn't look at her during meetings." "You were scared you were going to lose your kid, Jenny. It's reasonable that you are shaking and scared. You are getting your daughter the help she needs despite the permission you are giving the state to look into your home with a magnifying glass, and your ex trying to make you seem like this is all your doing! You did absolutely nothing wrong, and any teacher that tries bullying you, well, from now on, any parent-teacher meetings they want, you bring me. We are friends. They will find it a lot harder to bully a Master Sargeant of the Marines." Jennifer's breath hitched, her fingers twisting in her sweater sleeves. The courtyard wind carried the scent of antiseptic from her damp clothes as she leaned against the brick wall. "The divorce lawyer," she whispered, her voice fraying at the edges. "She specializes in custody cases where... where the system gets weaponized. Sarah's father used public school records against me in court. Claimed her IEP proved instability." "Well, the fact that he didn't get her one proves HIS instability and his fear of something being found out. Too bad the lawyers didn't pick up on turing that around. You know what? I might have a friend or two left in the army. If you trust your lawyer, maybe I should get the Marines Legal counsel involved. Your ex will lucky if he doesn't get jail time if he messes with us, but because it sounds like he broke the law to weaponize a system to illegally wire his underage daughter to try to get evidence on her own mother." Jennifer's fingers trembled against the brick wall, her nails scraping faintly against the rough surface. The wind carried the distant sound of Sarah's muffled laughter from inside, mingled with Leah's tentative responses, something about pull-up tabs and strawberry scents. Jennifer swallowed hard, her throat working silently before words finally came. "At church... I stopped going to Bible study after Mrs. Thompson asked why Sarah kept skipping youth group." Her voice fractured. "I couldn't risk CPS thinking I was isolating her. Couldn't risk anyone seeing how often I had to... to change her clothes after school." "Sweetheart, that's where you went wrong. You should have let her go to Youth group. You would have had witnesses that she needed help and that she was peeing her pants, and it wasn't her fault. But that's a tricky slope, I know. I am not sure I trust all those ladies either, but I'm sure if we explain to one person we trust, and we have her watch out for both our kids, that will give you another witness and it will make our kids happier that they don't feel isolated and other young people can be supportive of struggles." Jennifer's fingers twisted deeper into her sweater sleeves, the damp wool stretching under her grip. The courtyard wind carried the scent of antiseptic from Leah's earlier treatment, mixing with the distant smell of Sarah's strawberry gum. "But the IEP meetings... the custody hearings..." Her voice cracked. "It's not just Sarah's history." She swallowed hard, her throat working silently. "After the court ordered those wires, Sarah started hiding her accidents. Wouldn't tell me when she needed help. I found soiled underwear stuffed behind her dresser last winter." Her breath hitched. "She thought if she hid it well enough, they'd stop making her wear those... those things." "That's why what your ex did was illegal. Do you have records of when you found her with wires and all the begging your child did not to go to daddy's, and the lawyers forcing you to let her?" Jennifer's fingers dug into her sweater sleeves, the damp wool stretching under her grip. The courtyard wind carried the scent of antiseptic from Leah's earlier treatment, mixing with Sarah's faint strawberry gum still lingering in the air. "I have everything," she whispered, her voice fraying. "Every IEP meeting transcript, every custody evaluation report... I kept Sarah's soiled clothes in sealed bags for six months because I was terrified they'd accuse me of fabricating her incontinence." Her breath hitched. "The court-appointed guardian ad litem called it 'mother-induced hysteria.'" "Well, let's see what they think of Marine induced hysteria," I frowned. "Forget your lawyers. They didn't do crap. I'm calling my people. I may be retired, but I'm pretty sure I can still get legal advice, and a brother in the service isn't going to steer me wrong if I ask for a decent lawyer, but it might cost an arm and a leg." Jennifer's fingers trembled against the brick wall, her nails catching on the rough surface. The wind carried the faint sound of Sarah and Leah's voices from inside, Leah murmuring something about "secret pajama pants" as Sarah giggled nervously. Jennifer exhaled sharply, her breath fogging in the cold air. "You'd... do that? For us?" "Look what you did for a kid you didn't know at all and in the middle of the night last night, and I know you lied when you said you were donating that stuff. You made sure Leah didn't feel guilty taking it. You, of all people, deserve my loyalty. So, yes, I will do that and more. Your kid still pissing her pants at school and at night? You said she started it up again at twelve years old? So I assume it hasn't stopped then?" Jennifer's fingers twisted in her sweater sleeves, the damp wool stretching under her grip. The courtyard wind carried the faint scent of Sarah's strawberry shampoo from inside, mingled with Leah's antiseptic cream. "Twice last week," Jennifer whispered, her voice cracking. "Her math teacher emailed me a 'behavioral concern' when Sarah leaked during a test. The email... it had CC'd the principal and Sarah's father." Her nails dug into her palms. "He forwarded it to his lawyer with the subject line 'More maternal neglect?'" "He'll wish he didn't make THAT mistake. He just gave us a paper that shows she is struggling with her bladder after he tried for years to deny it! He's dug his own grave with that stunt!" I pulled my phone. "You stay right here. You'll have to tell these people some embarrassing things you told me, but if they believe you, I'm certain they'll ask me to take you to the base this weekend to meet." Jennifer's fingers tightened around mine as I dialed, her breath hitching when the line connected. The wind carried Leah's muffled voice from inside, "No, the tabs go *under*", followed by Sarah's nervous giggle. "I'd like to speak with Major Sargeant Ripps? It's me, Jim Greene, Master Gunnery Sargeant retired. You said if I ever needed help, right?" Jennifer's fingers tightened around mine as the phone clicked over to hold. The wind carried Sarah's muffled instructions from inside, "No, Leah, the sticky part goes *under*", followed by Leah's tentative "Oh." Jennifer exhaled sharply, her breath fogging between us in the cold air. "They connected me not with who I wanted, but with Lieutenant Craigger," I muttered, pressing the phone tighter to my ear. Jennifer stiffened at the name, her fingers twitching against my wrist. The lieutenant's voice crackled through the line, tinny and distant. "Master Guns? That you? Damn, it's been, " He hesitated, and I heard papers shuffling. "Twelve years?" "Wait, you did it? You went to officer school after all? This is Sargeant Craigger, right? Hey! I knew you'd make it as a lawyer someday!" "I know this guy," I smiled at Jennifer uplifted. "We were in the same unit when G.W.Bush put military in Iraq back in 2005!" Jennifer's fingers tightened around mine, her grip turning icy as the phone crackled with Craigger's laughter. "Damn right, Master Guns. JAG Corps now. What's burning?" His voice sharpened abruptly, the same clipped tone he'd used interrogating insurgents in Fallujah. Jennifer flinched at the sudden shift, her fingers digging into my wrist. "I have two separate problems that might be hard to combine, but cash is limited and basically one is a child getting rail roaded into bad positions and the other is a woman being railroaded by her ex who seems to have all the right connections, causing the mother to make social mistakes due to nervousness of losing her kid, but in truth, she's just trying to protect her. There's no chance you can help your old unit leader out, is there?" Craigger's silence stretched for three heartbeats, long enough for Jennifer's fingers to go slack against my wrist. The phone crackled as he exhaled. "You still got that knack for understatement, Master Guns." Papers shuffled again. "Give me the bullet points." "Which story do you want first? As I said, it would probably be hard to combine them." Craigger's chair creaked through the phone line. "Start with the kid." His tone had that familiar battlefield efficiency, prioritize the most vulnerable first. Jennifer's fingers spasmed against mine, her knuckles pressing white crescents into my skin. "This is what I know. I have a fat file I haven't had time to look deeply into yet. Just got the kid yesterday. She came to my house with this guy that kept telling me all the bad stuff she does... not one good word about her. She arrives at my house so quiet, scared, violently volatile, and expecting of punishment, that she sits there in discomfort hoping no one notices she's pissing herself and I come to find out a bath later, she's worn those same panties the whole day, since school at least by the look of it, and she's shit herself at least at school if not before and no one changed her. She has marks all over her from neglect... rashes... belt marks... beatings, and bruises. They say she deliberately and voluntarily shits her pants at school and pisses herself. Clean enough for you? Oh, and I'm not allowed to take her to see a doctor for a month, but the place I work at found a work around for me." Craigger exhaled sharply through the phone. Jennifer's fingers tightened around mine as Sarah's muffled laughter drifted from inside, Leah must have finally gotten the tabs right. "Jesus, Master Guns. That's textbook neglect at minimum. Who's blocking medical care?" His voice had gone tight, the same tone he'd used interrogating corrupt Iraqi police commanders. "CPS. They said they already did medical on her and said her situation hasn't changed so she's being written off as a troublemaker." Jennifer's breath hitched beside me as Craigger muttered something that would've earned him push-ups back in '05. The phone crackled with the sound of his keyboard clacking. "Master Guns," he said slowly, "you still near Pendleton?" His chair creaked. "Because I've got a JAG buddy who just transferred to Family Law at Camp Lejeune. Specializes in dependency cases where..." He hesitated, and I heard papers shuffle. "Where the system's the abuser." "I am about two hours from there, but that's where the girl is from. And the mother case I was telling you about, I... am not sure, but it feels like the same kind of control being manipulated over her. Her child had to unlawfully wear wires to spy on her mom because she's been having trouble, but her mom knows best and can tell you better than I. She's right here." Jennifer's fingers trembled against mine as I passed her the phone. The courtyard wind carried Leah's tentative questions from inside, "Why's this part crinkly?", followed by Sarah's hushed explanation about waterproof layers. Jennifer swallowed hard, pressing the phone to her ear. "Lieutenant? I... I have court records. Everything." Her voice cracked. "They made my daughter wear monitoring devices during custody visits. For six months." Her free hand twisted in her sweater. "The judge called it 'standard procedure.'" "Take your time," I urged her. "Tell him the mistakes you made, were tricked into making through fear, and tell him what your husband's stupid lawyer did a couple of weeks ago." Jennifer's fingers trembled around the phone, her knuckles pressing white crescents into the plastic case. The courtyard wind carried Sarah's muffled instructions from inside, something about elastic waistbands, as Jennifer inhaled sharply. "Lieutenant," she began, her voice steadier than I expected, "my ex-husband's attorney subpoenaed my daughter's IEP records last year. Used them to claim I was..." Her throat worked. "Fabricating medical issues. The court ordered Sarah to wear recording devices during our visits." Her grip tightened. "I have the transcripts where she begged the judge not to make her go." Static crackled through the line. Craigger's chair creaked audibly. "Ma'am," he said slowly, "you're telling me a family court ordered warrantless surveillance on a minor without medical justification?" His tone carried that particular Marine Corps blend of fury and precision. Jennifer's shoulders sagged in relief at his immediate understanding. She shot me a quick glance before continuing. "The therapist claimed Sarah's incontinence was 'mother-induced hysteria.'" Her fingers twisted in her sweater sleeve again. "I have the sealed bags, the soiled clothes I kept as evidence. And the emails from school when..." Her voice broke. "When Sarah's teacher CC'd her father about accidents during tests." Static hissed through the line. Then Craigger's voice came through sharp as a bayonet. "Ma'am, I need those documents. Every IEP meeting transcript. Every custody evaluation. Especially those recordings." His chair creaked ominously. "This smells like coercion of a minor for family court advantage." "Tell him about the stress on your daughter and the increased potty troubles and your own stress taking her out of programs because of fear of CPS." I urged and nodded. "He's military. He's not going to be swayed by civilian authority, so it's okay. CPS cannot bully him, Jenny." Jennifer swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the phone. "Lieutenant," she began, her voice steadier than I expected, "after the court ordered those wires... Sarah stopped telling me when she had accidents. Started hiding soiled underwear behind furniture." Her free hand clenched into a fist. "I pulled her from gymnastics, church youth group, anywhere I thought CPS might misinterpret her accidents as neglect." Static crackled as Craigger muttered something about "psychological warfare." Seeing her nervousness, I motioned for the phone back. "That's enough, Jenny. He can find out the rest on Saturday. If he's going to meet us." Craigger's voice crackled through, sharp with recognition. "Master Guns, I'll have Captain Meyers meet you at the main gate Saturday, 0800. Bring every document you have on both cases." Papers shuffled in the background. "And Master Guns?" His tone darkened. "Don't let CPS near that kid until we've documented her injuries." I have a nurse I trust who has documented her with pictures and who is going to let us sneak her in as a residence's grandchild tomorrow to get her medicine she desperately needs. One of the reasons I knew I'd need a lawyer, is I'm not playing fair by ignoring CPS not allowing her to see a doctor, and that's what started this, then my friend finally told me the truth about what's been happening to her for years with her ex." Craigger's sharp inhale crackled through the phone. Jennifer's fingers twitched against mine as Leah's uncertain voice drifted from inside, "Does this part go in front?", followed by Sarah's hushed reassurance. The lieutenant's tone shifted, that battlefield urgency snapping into place. "Master Guns, listen carefully. Document everything before treatment. Timestamped photos, witness signatures. If CPS tries claiming you fabricated evidence..." He let the implication hang. Jennifer's grip on my wrist tightened. "Understood. That's why I took her to a nursing home, and a nurse documented it. I will make sure you get all the pictures. Do you want me to put her seeing the nursing staff doctor on hold until you see her? I'm sure the nurse can arrange that if she knows that's the legal advice I'm getting." Jennifer's fingers fluttered against my elbow, her breath warm against my shoulder as she whispered, "Wait, I might have another option." The phone crackled with static as Craigger muttered something about chain of custody. Jennifer swallowed hard, her voice gaining strength. "Lieutenant, my divorce attorney specialized in high-conflict custody cases. She might know a civilian lawyer who..." Her throat worked silently. "Who wouldn't make Sarah testify again." "I'm sorry if we are bombarding you, but did you hear my friend?" I asked Lieutenant Craigger. The phone crackled with static. "Heard her loud and clear, Master Guns." His tone shifted slightly, that battlefield pragmatism I remembered from Fallujah creeping in. "Ma'am, what's your lawyer's name?" "Here take the phone. He might have a few questions about that, Jenny. I told you he'd help if he could." Jennifer's fingers trembled as she took the phone, her knuckles pale against the dark plastic. The wind snatched at her hair, whipping strands across her face as she spoke. "Lieutenant? Her name was Elena Vasquez. Vasquez & Associates in San Diego." Her throat worked. "She... she warned me about the recording devices. Called them unconstitutional." Static crackled through the line. Then Craigger's voice came through, sharper now. "Wait. Elena Vasquez? Dark hair, scar above her left eyebrow?" Jennifer froze, her fingers tightening around the phone. "Yes. How did you, " "Know her?" he chuckled. She helped me pass the bar exam to get into JAG. Small world." Jennifer froze, her fingers tightening around the phone. The wind carried Sarah's muffled laughter from inside, Leah must have finally gotten the tabs right. Static crackled as Craigger continued, "Ma'am, Elena's the reason I'm in JAG Corps. She tutored me through torts when I kept mixing up negligence standards." Jennifer exhaled sharply, her breath fogging in the cold air. "Then you know," she whispered, "how thorough she is with documentation." Her knuckles whitened around the phone. "She kept copies of everything. Even the..." Her voice broke. "The recordings they made of Sarah crying in the courthouse bathroom." Static hissed through the line. Craigger's chair creaked ominously. "Ma'am, Elena kept a war chest on your case?" His tone carried that particular Marine blend of fury and admiration. Jennifer nodded before remembering he couldn't see her. "Yes. She warned me the custody fight would get uglier." The wind carried Leah's uncertain question from inside - "What if it leaks?" - followed by Sarah's patient explanation about double layers. Jennifer's fingers tightened around the phone. "Lieutenant, Elena had me document every accident Sarah had for two years. Even the..." Her voice fractured. "The ones during supervised visits when her father made her drink three sodas beforehand." The brick wall scraped against her back as she slid down slightly, her knees giving way under the weight of memory. "My God," I whispered. "That's not just manipulation, that's harmful. He could have damaged his daughter's kidneys doing that shit." Jennifer clutched the phone tighter, her knuckles bone-white against the plastic. "Lieutenant," she rasped, "Elena filed motions to prohibit forced hydration before visits, but the judge..." Her breath hitched. "Called it 'reasonable parenting discretion.'" I took the phone back. "I am in the health industry. You know old people. We have to hydrate them, sure. But if you forced an elderly to drink three sodas back to back, we'd go to prison for basically water poisoning someone for a lack of a better way to explain the condition to a layman." Jennifer slumped against the brick wall, her fingers twisting in her sweater sleeves. The phone crackled with Craigger's sharp exhale. "Master Guns," he said, his tone shifting to that battlefield urgency I remembered from Fallujah, "Elena Vasquez isn't just some divorce lawyer. She's got contacts in the Family Law division at Camp Lejeune." Papers shuffled audibly. "If Jennifer still has access to her case files, " "Yes sir?" I handed Jennifer the phone, her fingers trembling as they brushed mine. The courtyard wind carried Sarah's muffled laughter from inside, Leah's tentative questions blending with Jennifer's shaky exhale. "Lieutenant," Jennifer whispered, pressing the phone to her ear, "I have Elena's card in my wallet still. She told me to call if...if things got worse." Her fingers dug into the brick behind her, flakes of mortar dusting her sleeve. "But I couldn't afford her retainer after the last custody hearing." "She's covered though, now, if I have to use all of my retirement between our two cases. These kids need a good home, one with her mother, and the other with someone that's not just going to treat her as a troublemaker." Jennifer clutched the phone tighter, her breath fogging against the receiver. "Lieutenant, Elena always said pro bono work kept her sane. If you think she'd..." Her voice cracked as Sarah's laughter drifted through the cracked window, Leah's hesitant giggles threading through like frayed stitches. Craigger's chair creaked through the static. "Ma'am, Elena's got a soft spot for Marines and moms who fight dirty." The line hissed with his sharp exhale. "She kept every case file? Even the sealed ones?" Jennifer's fingers trembled around the phone. "Yes. She...she made me keep copies of everything in a safe deposit box." Her free hand pressed against her sternum, where Sarah's first lost tooth still hung in a locket beneath her sweater. "Even the pediatrician's notes about the UTIs after visitation days." The wind carried Leah's uncertain whisper from inside, "But what if it shows?", followed by Sarah's matter-of-fact response about patterned leggings hiding bulk. Craigger's keyboard clacked sharply through the static. "Ma'am, listen carefully. Elena testified before Congress last year about evidentiary abuse in family courts." His chair creaked. "She'll salivate over this case." Jennifer's fingers spasmed against the phone. I watched realization dawn across her face, the same expression she'd worn earlier when Sarah confessed about hidden diapers. "Lieutenant," she breathed, "you're saying Elena already knows how courts weaponize incontinence reports?" Static crackled through the line. Leah's uncertain whisper drifted from inside, "But what if someone sees?", as Craigger exhaled sharply. "Ma'am, Elena wrote the damn manual on evidentiary abuse in custody cases. She testified before Congress last year about parents falsifying bedwetting logs to gain custody." Papers shuffled violently. "If your ex used Sarah's accidents against you in court, Elena's got precedent to rip that strategy apart." Jennifer's breath hitched. Her fingers dug into the brick wall behind her, mortar dust flecking her sleeve. "Lieutenant, I...I thought she was just being thorough when she made me document every accident for two years." The wind snatched at her words as Sarah's patient explanation floated through the cracked window - "No one sees unless you show them." Static crackled. Craigger's keyboard clacks paused. "Ma'am, Elena didn't just help me pass the bar. She drilled chain of custody protocols into my head until I dreamed about notarized timestamps." His chair creaked with the weight of memory. "If she had you logging soiled underwear like evidence tags, she was building something." Jennifer's fingers twitched against the phone. Inside, Sarah's muffled voice explained something about waistband adjustments while Leah's hesitant "Oh" floated through the warped glass. I watched Jennifer's throat move as she swallowed hard. "Lieutenant," she whispered, "Elena made me photograph every accident for six months. Even..." Her knuckles whitened. "The ones during Sarah's piano recital when her father insisted she drink two milkshakes backstage." "Can I have the phone a sec, Jenny?" I spoke with a pause at first. "Sir? This kind of abuse is actually criminal. The man is setting a kid up to piss her pants every opportunity he gets and he's weakening her bladder. Do you think we could actually take the father out of the picture completely by taking him to criminal trial over what we've learned?" Jennifer's fingers tightened around my wrist as Craigger exhaled sharply through the phone. Static crackled, punctuated by the distant clatter of his keyboard. "Master Guns," he said slowly, "you're talking felony child endangerment under UCMJ Article 119B." His chair creaked ominously. "Especially if he's ex-mil and still subject to jurisdiction." "I never asked, Jenny. Is your ex military?" Jennifer's grip on my wrist slackened slightly, her fingers cold against my skin. "No," she whispered, her breath fogging in the cold air. "But his father was. Colonel Ronald Whittaker, retired Marines." The name landed like a grenade in the quiet courtyard. Static crackled through the phone as Craigger inhaled sharply. "The Civilian courts have a similar law though, don't they sir?" Jennifer's fingers trembled against mine as Craigger exhaled sharply through the phone. Static crackled, punctuated by the distant clatter of his keyboard. "Master Guns," he said slowly, his tone shifting to that battlefield deliberation I remembered from Fallujah, "civilian courts prosecute endangerment under state penal codes. But Elena..." His chair creaked ominously. "Elena knows how to leverage military connections even against civilians." "How far away is Elena? Would it be possible for all of us to meet at the local base here? This Saturday? I can't push Leah's doctor visit more than that because the doctor for our health residence is every week, and she's already showing signs of infection." Jennifer's fingers tightened around the phone, her knuckles pressing white crescents into the plastic. The wind carried Sarah's muffled instructions from inside, something about elastic waistbands, as Jennifer exhaled sharply. "Lieutenant," she began, her voice steadier than I expected, "Elena's office is in San Diego, but she keeps a crash pad near Pendleton for high-profile cases." Her thumb traced the edge of the phone case, chipped from too many nervous drops. "She... she might come if I tell her about the forced hydration." Static crackled through the line. Leah's uncertain whisper drifted from the cracked window - "Why's this part so thick?" - before Craigger's chair creaked audibly. "Ma'am, Elena's been hunting evidentiary abuse cases since her sister got screwed in family court." Papers rustled violently. "Text her the photos of Leah's injuries. Use the word 'hydration logs' in the subject line. She'll move heaven and earth to be there Saturday." "I'm all for the getting her here, but you realize they are two different girls. The hydration logs are from Sarah, my friend's daughter, and Leah is the one that we have pictures of abuse. Just so you are aware, sir. Don't want to lie to my military contacts." Jennifer's breath hitched as she took the phone back, her fingers brushing mine with a tremor. "Lieutenant," she said, her voice steadier now, "Sarah's logs prove a pattern of manipulation. Leah's injuries prove outright abuse." Static crackled in response, followed by the sharp tap of Craigger's pen against his desk. "Ma'am, Elena's specialty is connecting dots judges ignore. If your ex used Sarah's accidents to discredit you in court, and CPS ignored Leah's injuries, " His chair creaked with the weight of implication. The lieutenant promised us access to base and to the JAG office, and he told us to keep with the plan with the pictures and the subject line knowing that Elena will piece it together, so we went to the nursing home again, inside to find the girls and ask the nurse for the pictures or maybe a card with the pictures so we could directly send a message to Elena that moment. Sarah was in the middle of explaining something about diaper tabs when we walked in. The nurse, Linda, was already waiting with a thick envelope, her face grim. "Printed duplicates," she said, pressing the packet into Jennifer's shaking hands. "And the originals are timestamped on the nursing home's security system." "I am going to hold off on Leah seeing the doctor until next week so my military buddy can have the people over there do a thorough investigation on what she has needed and what kind of neglect she's been through. Something about custody of evidence being a possible play if 'evidence' touches too many hands, but he did tell us to send the photos you took to the Attorney that Jennifer said she knew." Linda nodded, pressing the envelope into Jennifer's hands. Jennifer's fingers trembled as she flipped through the photos, Leah's bruised ribs, the old scars along her back, the raw patches on her thighs where restraints had dug in. Her breath hitched. "Jesus," she whispered. Sarah, sitting cross-legged on the couch beside Leah, glanced up. "Mom?" "Sarah, you are both going to be protected by the military now. Your father's lawyer might even be going to jail, if he's not careful. He had broken the law on many occasions with surveillance and with forcing you to drink when you weren't thirsty. And your mom's old lawyer might make it so you won't even have to testify." Sarah's fingers stilled on Leah's diaper tabs, her eyes widening. Leah shrank back slightly, her fingers twisting in the hem of her borrowed shirt. Jennifer sank onto the couch beside them, the envelope crinkling in her grip. "Sweetheart," she murmured, "remember when I told you about Ms. Vasquez? The one who made us take all those pictures?" Sarah nodded slowly, her gaze flicking between her mother and the envelope. Jennifer exhaled shakily, smoothing a hand over Sarah's knee. "She's...she's going to help make sure your father can't use your accidents against us anymore." Her voice cracked. "And she's going to help Leah too." "She's going to use the military, so the civilian authorities cannot bully this case. There might be state corruption, but the state doesn't supersede military authority, and because Mrs. Vasquez has had experience navigating both, she knows how to use both sides against the other." Jennifer's fingers tightened around the envelope, her thumb brushing against the timestamped edge of a photo showing Leah's rib bruises. Sarah leaned closer, peering at the images with a frown. "Mom, why do they look like handprints?" "Because some of them are, baby," I told Sarah. "She's been beaten, bruised, neglected in so many ways, and the state has allowed it. That's why it's important we do this through the military. It's too easy for the state to try to cover it up, but since the military, when it takes over an investigation has authority, they won't be able to shield those that let this happen." Jennifer's fingers traced the edge of one photograph, her throat working silently. Sarah frowned, leaning closer to examine the image. Leah shifted uncomfortably, her fingers twisting in her borrowed shirt. "It's okay, Leah. These photos are NOT your failures, but the failures of those that had an obligation to protect a CHILD." Jennifer reached into her purse with shaking hands, her fingers closing around a cracked leather wallet. She fumbled through worn cards before extracting one with faded ink. "Here," she whispered, pressing it into my palm. "Elena's number. The, the divorce was finalized, but she told me to call if..." Her voice broke as Sarah leaned against her shoulder. I dialed the number. The phone rang twice before a sharp click interrupted. A woman's voice, brisk but warm, answered: "Vasquez." "First name, please, so I know your call wasn't intercepted by a third party. I have evidence on a pet project." This is a friend of an important case your opponents think is closed, but I know you are still investigating more details." Static crackled as Elena Vasquez inhaled sharply. "Jennifer Whittaker's case?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Tell me she hasn't had another CPS visit." I glanced at Jennifer, her fingers digging into Leah's shoulder as Sarah pressed closer to her mother's side. "This might actually be good news if I can have your first name to confirm this is you." I waited for Elena to confirm who it was. "Elena Vasquez," she said firmly. Then, softer: "Is Jennifer okay? Tell me she's not, " The line crackled as Jennifer reached for the phone, her fingers brushing mine. "She's here. I just had to check. There are two problems that we need help with, and both of them are right where you have your target on. But, here, I'll let you talk to Jennifer now." Jennifer took the phone, her fingers trembling against the plastic. "Elena," she whispered, her voice cracking. Static hissed through the line. Sarah pressed closer, her fingers twisting in the hem of Jennifer's sweater. Leah sat frozen beside them, her hands clenched in her lap. Elena's voice sharpened. "Jennifer? What happened?" Jennifer exhaled shakily. "It's Sarah's...accidents. They're still using them against me. And there's another girl, Leah, they've done worse to her." Her fingers whitened around the phone. "Elena, they made Sarah drink until she wet herself during visitation. And Leah, " She swallowed hard. "They tied her down." Static crackled ominously. Elena's exhale was barely audible. "Jennifer, listen carefully. Do you still have the hydration logs from Sarah's pediatrician?" Her chair creaked through the line. "And Leah, photographs, medical records?" Jennifer's grip tightened around the phone. "Yes. Linda, our nurse, timestamped everything on the nursing home's security system." She hesitated, glancing at Leah's hunched shoulders. "But Elena, we can't, " Her voice cracked. "We can't let Leah testify. Not after what they've done to her." Static hissed as Elena exhaled sharply. "Jennifer, listen carefully. You won't have to. Those logs and photos are enough for a subpoena." Her chair creaked with sudden movement. "But I need you to do something first. The hydration logs, were they notarized?" Jennifer's fingers twitched against the phone. "No, just dated and signed by Dr. Martinez." Elena's chair creaked sharply through the static. "That's good enough. Jennifer, listen, " Her voice lowered to a tactical murmur. "I need those logs scanned and timestamped. Every page, every margin note. And Leah's photos - originals only, no copies." Jennifer's fingers tightened around the phone. "Elena, I...I think I still have the notarized copies from our last custody hearing. They're in the safe deposit box." Static crackled as Elena's sharp exhale carried through the line. "Good. Jennifer, I need you to get those today. Don't wait." Her chair creaked with sudden urgency. "And Leah's photos - originals only, no copies. We'll meet Saturday at Pendleton." Jennifer's fingers trembled against the phone. "Elena, I...I don't have access to the box until Friday. Bank policy." Static hissed. Elena's voice sharpened. "Jennifer, listen to me. Those hydration logs are the smoking gun." Her chair creaked with restless energy. "Didn't you tell me Sarah's teacher emailed your ex about her accidents?" Jennifer's fingers dug into the phone. "Yes, but, " She swallowed hard, glancing at Sarah's wide eyes. "Elena, those emails were sealed as part of the custody agreement." Static crackled ominously. Elena's exhale was barely audible. "Jennifer, listen to me carefully. If that teacher violated FERPA by disclosing medical information without your consent, those emails are admissible regardless of the seal." Her chair creaked sharply. "Do you still have copies?" Jennifer's fingers dug into the phone. Sarah shifted against her, sensing the tension. "No," Jennifer whispered. "The judge ordered them destroyed." "If emails were sent from the school, they are never completely destroyed," I told Jennifer. "It's more the matter of getting the Superintendent to release them through a court order, something Vasquez should know about... if the emails were sent from a computer or network belonging to the school, that is." Jennifer blinked at me, her fingers slackening around the phone. "The superintendent..." she murmured. Then, like a struck match, her expression flared with realization. "Wait. The district archives. They keep backups for litigation holds." She gripped the phone tighter, pressing it to her ear. "Elena, what if, what if I subpoenaed the district server logs instead? Would that, " Her voice hitched, catching on something sharp and hopeful. "Would that bypass the destruction order?" Static hissed before Elena responded, her voice crisp with approval. "Jennifer, that's exactly what we'll do. Get me those server timestamps, and I'll have Craigger file the motion before close of business." Her chair creaked decisively. "But first, we need to establish standing. You still have custody paperwork showing Sarah's medical rights weren't waived, correct?" Jennifer's fingers twitched against her purse strap. "The, the divorce decree has a clause about medical decisions." Her voice wavered as she glanced at Sarah's anxious face. "But Elena, what about Leah? She doesn't have, any records of medical guardianship." Static crackled through the line. Elena's response came clipped and precise. "Technically, they should have signed custody to you, Jim, as foster placement. If they didn't, that's our first breach of protocol." Her chair creaked with sudden movement. "Jennifer, check your decree's exhibit B. Does it specify third-party medical disclosures?" Jennifer fumbled through her purse with one hand, the other still gripping Sarah's shoulder. Paper rustled as she pulled out a folded legal document. Leah edged closer on the couch, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt. "Exhibit B, paragraph four," Jennifer read haltingly. "'Neither parent shall disclose minor's medical information without mutual consent or court order.'" Her thumb traced the notary stamp. "But Elena, this is about Sarah. Leah's paperwork, They gave Jim stuff, but it's pretty much just a shit show showing that she's a troublemaker and nothing concrete about her problems or where she came from." Static hissed. Elena's breath came sharp through the phone. "That's better than nothing. Jim, you have Leah's placement forms?" "Nope. He said we'd finish paperwork on his next visit. Honestly, he just dropped the kid off told me she's trouble, and I had drag her name of him before he left. The stuff in the file just tells us what people says about her, but there are no official forms or even anything notorized that I saw. And all the family names she's had before were cross through with solid black to make them unreadable. The only reason she was dropped to me, according to Mr. Snyde, was that no one else would take her." Elena's silence crackled with static. Jennifer's fingers tightened around Sarah's shoulder. Leah shrank deeper into the couch cushions, her breathing shallow. "I know this is an uphill battle, but my fox hole is made and I'm dug in. Just tell what I've got to do, ma'am." Static surged before Elena responded with military precision. "Jim, first thing, photograph every page of Leah's file, including the blacked-out sections under UV light. Those markings might fluoresce." Her chair scraped sharply. "Jennifer, call the superintendent's office, not the secretary, the litigation coordinator. Say you're verifying retention policy compliance for FERPA audits." "Technically, if Leah is not under any guardian, is there something the military can do to give her military protection until such a time that state can legally give her guardianship? She's afraid that Juvie is her next stop." Elena's exhale was sharp through the static. "Jim, you're standing in her file gap. That's our leverage." Paper rustled violently on her end. "Military Protective Orders cover dependents of active personnel. Craigger can fast-track temporary status for Leah under your veteran designation." Her voice dropped to a tactical murmur. "But you need to act before CPS retroactively files paperwork. Photograph her file now." "I'm not active duty. Retired. Five years, ma'am." Elena's reply sliced through the static. "Doesn't matter. JAG Corps Form 114 still applies, emergency designation for dependents of veterans under Title 10." Papers shuffled violently on her end. "Jim, listen carefully. Take Leah to the VA clinic right now. Tell them she's your granddaughter needing triage. They'll document her injuries under federal medical codes, not state CPS." "Got it. Taking her to the base as we speak." You have the phone, Jennifer. Kids, shopping later. I need to get to the base, now." Jennifer nodded, clutching the phone as she guided Sarah toward the door. Leah remained frozen on the couch, her knuckles white against the fabric of her borrowed shirt. I crouched in front of her, keeping my hands visible. "Leah," I said softly, "we're going to take a ride. Somewhere safe. Where they can't take you back. They can't touch you on a base, especially since they have put you in my care. I can still rent lodging on the base for a week at a time, so if we gotta lay low for a bit, that's what we'll do, honey." Her breathing hitched, but she didn’t move. Behind me, Jennifer murmured rapid-fire instructions to Elena, something about subpoenas and server logs. Sarah hovered by the door, her fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater. I lowered my voice. "Leah, listen. Those people who hurt you? They can’t reach you where we’re going. But we have to leave now." Finally, I picked her up. I could tell she was just overwhelmed and all reasoning had shut down. "You ladies need to get the doors for me. She might go violent and start hitting. She's in overload shut down right now." Jennifer grabbed Sarah's hand and rushed ahead to open the front door while I carried Leah toward my truck, her body stiff as a board in my arms. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps against my shoulder. Sarah scrambled into the backseat, her eyes wide as she reached for Leah's hand. "It's okay," she whispered, squeezing Leah's fingers. "Mom says bases have ice cream." "Jennifer, sit in back with your kid. I don't want Leah to sit next to anyone she's going to hit unless it's me. She's panicking right now." Jennifer nodded sharply, guiding Sarah into the middle seat while I buckled Leah's trembling form next to me. The engine roared to life, vibrating through Leah's stiff limbs. In the rearview, Sarah pressed her forehead against the window, whispering street names like a mantra while Jennifer clutched the envelope of photos against her chest. "You grabbed my file of Leah?" I asked Jennifer. "I was so worried about her, I didn't pick it up." Jennifer hesitated for just a second before shaking her head. "No, I just grabbed the photos Linda gave us." "Shoot, I need to go back in and grab the file. It was on the table. I'll be right back. Leah, honey, Sarah is right over there. See her?" Leah's breathing was still ragged, but she turned her head slightly toward Sarah. Sarah leaned forward cautiously, holding out a piece of folded notebook paper. "Here," she murmured. "I drew you a cat while you were sleeping earlier." I ran back in to grab it, and Nurse Linda handed me the card from the camera. "That's got all the originals. You said you needed those." "Thank you. That's what the lawyer asked for. I think it's because they are afraid reprints can be faked." The truck's headlights flickered as I climbed back in, tossing Leah's file onto the dashboard. The manila folder gaped open, revealing the top sheet, a handwritten note in red ink: Noncompliant. Recommend juvenile detention. Sarah's fingers twitched toward it before Jennifer caught her wrist. "That file is just a lot of jargon like I showed you last night. Hidden codes so that laymen don't get it, but lawyers can read between the lines once they understand the system." Sarah's fingers lingered near the folder, her brow furrowing. Leah remained rigid beside me, but her breathing had slowed fractionally. The engine's vibration seemed to steady her, the rhythmic hum cutting through the panic. I turned to Leah. "Baby, we have a two hour trip. I want you to know right now. You have a right to pee, and you are allowed to do it in your pants if need to. No shame. I don't want you to hurt yourself. If you want, I can try to stop, but if I don't stop before you start leaking, you pee your pants, understand, baby?" Her fingers dug into the seat fabric, knuckles whitening. She gave the smallest nod. Jennifer leaned forward between the seats, her voice steady but low. "Jim, Pendleton's gates close at 2100. We'll make it with thirty minutes to spare if traffic stays clear." "I'm retired. I should still be able to get on base anyway, but still, if we don't want to draw attention, I think you're right. We should get there during hours. Sarah, baby, you pee your pants too, honey. We aren't stopping until we get to the base, so just pee. It's too long to have a teenager wait to use the toilet, especially a teen that's been having bladder issues." Sarah's face flushed pink, but she nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. A quiet trickle sounded beneath her as she let go, her shoulders relaxing slightly. The scent of warm urine filled the cab, mingling with the nervous sweat already clinging to Leah's skin. "Grandpa will get you girls something at the PX after we get to the VA clinic so Leah can be checked." Leah stiffened beside me at the word "clinic," her fingers clawing at the seatbelt strap. Jennifer reached forward, pressing a folded diaper discreetly into my hand. "In case," she murmured. I nodded, tucking it between the seats where Leah wouldn't see it trigger her. "Honey, I know," I whispered to Leah. "We have to do this though, and now. We are on a short fuse because as soon as CPS knows what we are doing, they are going to try to get you moved before I can get you out their corrupt hands." The truck's tires hummed against the asphalt as we merged onto the highway, streetlights flickering past in rhythmic intervals. Leah's breathing hitched each time the light passed over her face, her pupils contracting sharply. In the backseat, Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her damp jeans, her fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against her thigh. Jennifer kept her phone pressed to her ear, murmuring fragmented legal phrases to Elena, "subpoena," "server logs," "hydration records", words that carried the weight of futures yet uncharted. "Sarah, do you have a diaper on?" I asked her. "It's okay. Your mom knows, and Leah won't say anything, so it won't hurt if I know. I'm just trying to help, honey. You can say yes, and no one will laugh, but you can say no, too and you won't be scolded. Teens hate diapers, baby." Sarah’s cheeks burned crimson. Her fingers twisted the hem of her wet shirt. A tiny nod. "I was hoping you were, honey. I want you take your jeans off so I can put them on the floor nearer the heater so they will dry before we get to the base. It's not comfortable wearing wet clothes. A diaper makes you more decent is all, so you won't have to worry about me seeing you, that's the real reason I asked." Sarah hesitated, glancing at Jennifer, who gave a tight nod. With trembling fingers, Sarah unbuckled her belt and shimmied out of her damp jeans, folding them awkwardly before passing them forward. I draped them over the heater vent on the passenger side, the wet fabric steaming slightly against the warm air. "One more thing, baby. There should be a blanket under the seat. Remember when you were nine and would wet your pants and I'd tell you to cover up with the blanket? It's still there, sweetheart." Sarah ducked down, rummaging beneath the seat until she pulled out a faded plaid blanket. The fabric smelled faintly of old laundry and childhood. She spread it over her lap, the edges brushing Leah's arm. Leah flinched at first, then relaxed into the contact, her fingers uncurling slightly. "Leah? You too. Take off your pants, honey. I know you're just in panties, but you have the blanket now." Leah froze, her breath hitching. Her fingers dug into the blanket's fabric, knuckles white. Sarah leaned forward cautiously. "She's, she's got a diaper on too, Mr. Greene." Her whisper was barely audible over the road noise. "I helped her put it on earlier when you were talking to Nurse Linda." "Sweetie...," I sighed taking a breath. "You call me Grandpa, Miss. I have told you since you were nine, you are my grandbaby. We don't have to be related for me to be your granddad, and I've changed your pants enough times when you were nine and I had to babysit so mommy could work." Sarah's lips trembled before she whispered, "Yes, Grandpa." "Thank you for telling me, baby. Leah? It's okay you have a diaper on. We'll put your jeans back on you before we get on the base. I know you don't want people to see you wearing it, and that's private. You don't need anyone to see except those that need to to help." Leah's breath shuddered out of her, the tension in her shoulders easing fractionally. The dashboard clock ticked past 7:30 PM as we sped down the highway, the truck's heater humming against the damp fabric draped over the vents. Sarah reached over carefully, tucking the blanket higher around Leah's lap, her fingers lingering just long enough to squeeze reassurance. "I'm sorry I told your daughter to wet her pants, but you're right, if we stop and draw attention to ourselves, who knows if CPS is watching?" Jennifer shook her head, her fingers tightening around the phone. "No, you did right. She's got medical needs too." Static crackled as Elena's voice buzzed through the speaker again, but Jennifer held up a finger, wait. Sarah's breath hitched suddenly, her hands clutching the blanket tighter. A faint crinkling sound came from beneath the fabric. Leah turned her head slightly, staring at Sarah's lap with wide eyes. Sarah's cheeks flushed deeper crimson, but she didn't move, just let the warmth spread beneath the blanket. "All the way," I told Sarah. "Once it starts leaking, it's too late, and we don't want you hurting yourself, baby. You know it's okay, right?" Sarah nodded, her fingers gripping the blanket's edge. A small whimper escaped Leah as she watched Sarah's subtle movements beneath the fabric. The scent of urine grew stronger in the cab, mingling with the nervous sweat and vinyl seats. Jennifer reached back, rubbing Sarah's knee through the blanket without a word. We were about half an hour from the gate, when I smelled something stronger than pee from one of the girls, and some sniffling like silent crying. "Sarah, honey, you okay?" Jennifer twisted in her seat, blanket rustling as she lifted the edge. The cab's dome light flickered on briefly, illuminating Sarah's tear-streaked face and the dark stain spreading across the blanket's underside. Sarah's breath hitched violently. "I, I didn't mean to, " she whispered, fingers digging into the vinyl seat. "Honey, I thought you already peed earlier," I said keeping my tone low and friendly. "I told you it's okay to wet your pants, honey. Your a teenager and you have bladder issues. If it leaked, the seats been wet on before, baby." Sarah shook her head violently, her fingers twisting in the blanket. The smell intensified, sharp and unmistakable. Jennifer's hand froze mid-reach. Leah recoiled against the passenger door, her eyes wide. "Baby? You are a young teenager. Everyone in the car knows you didn't do any pottying in your pants on purpose, especially pooping, okay? I know we can't stop just yet. It's not your fault, sweetheart." Sarah's breath came in ragged gulps as she pressed her knees together under the blanket, her shoulders hunched forward. The truck's interior light flickered off, leaving only the glow of the dashboard illuminating her tear-streaked face. Jennifer reached back slowly, her fingers brushing Sarah's wrist. "Honey, breathe. We'll get cleaned up at the base." "You have a clean diaper for her, don't you" I asked Jennifer. "Just try to clean her up right now. She's too old to want to wait like that. Poor kid. Give the phone to Leah. She can at least hear what's going on if something is important." Jennifer passed the phone forward, her fingers shaking slightly against Leah's palm. Static crackled as Elena's urgent voice came through, something about pending motions and military jurisdiction, but Leah barely reacted, her gaze fixed on Sarah's hunched form in the backseat. Jennifer reached beneath the seat, pulling out a plastic bag with a fresh diaper and wipes. The crinkling sound made Sarah flinch. "Hold the phone to me, baby," I instructed Leah. "The attorney needs to know there's a situation so we can't hear her right now." Leah pressed the phone to my ear mechanically, her fingers trembling. Static crackled as Elena's sharp voice cut through, something about emergency filings, but the words blurred against Sarah's muffled sobs. Jennifer had the diaper unfolded now, the tabs pulled free with a soft ripping sound. Sarah whimpered, her hands clutching the soiled blanket tighter. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you need to repeat what you said over the last two minutes, and you need to wait another moment. We had an incident in the car with one of the kids. You know. Because of their problems. I'm driving, so my daughter is holding the phone to me, but technically it's still phone use, so I will have to have her take it back until Jenny can talk again." Elena's voice snapped through the static. "Understood. Prepare Leah's military ID photos at the clinic. Craigger filed Form 114." The line hissed as Jennifer peeled back the blanket in the backseat, revealing Sarah's curled form. Leah flinched at the sudden movement, the phone slipping in her grip. I caught it just as Jennifer murmured, "Sweetheart, lift up," her hands gentle beneath Sarah's hips. "Sarah," I sighed. "It's okay. It's not much different than wetting, honey. It just needs to be cleaned up so you stay healthy. I don't care if a little got on the seat, as long as you are healthy, baby." Sarah’s shoulders shook violently as Jennifer worked, the wet wipes leaving cool streaks against her skin. Leah stared at the phone pressed to my ear, her fingers twitching like she wanted to drop it but didn’t dare. Elena’s voice buzzed again, distant and urgent. "Elena, I need you to slow down," I said, watching Jennifer press a fresh diaper beneath Sarah’s trembling hips. "We’re handling a situation here. Say again about the photos." Leah’s breath hitched beside me as Sarah let out a small, mortified cry. The diaper tapes hissed against the fabric, too loud in the tight space. Jennifer murmured something about rashes, her hands steady despite the tension in her jaw. Elena’s clipped response finally registered: "Base ID requires full biometrics. They’ll expedite if Leah’s documented as active-duty dependent." "I don't know how to get active-duty on file this fast. Remember, I'm retired. If you have a way to pull it off, I'm all ears." The truck's headlights illuminated the first Pendleton road sign, 20 miles. Sarah sniffled quietly behind me, her freshly diapered form shifting under the blanket. Jennifer smoothed Sarah's hair back, her fingers lingering at her daughter's temple. Leah remained statue-still beside me, her fingers now gripping the seatbelt like it might strangle her if she let go. Elena's voice crackled through the phone. "Jim, listen carefully. There's a loophole, Article 134. Leah qualifies as a dependent under emergency provisions if we classify her as your ward under military protection. Craigger's already filed the preliminary paperwork." "Okay. He's forwarding that to the base hospital for us then? So do I check in with VA or the base hospital?" The phone crackled as Elena hesitated. "Neither yet. Head straight to the Provost Marshal's office first, they'll need Leah's biometrics before medical will process her." Leah flinched at her name, her nails digging crescent moons into the vinyl seat. Ahead, the highway exit loomed, its green sign reflecting neon in the rain-slicked pavement. "Okay, headed for the new destination first. We might need to head to the PX. Two wet girls need clean pants," I told Elena. We'll get to the Provost Marshal's office first, but after that, we need to hit the PX before it closes to get them clothes." Sarah sniffled quietly, her fingers clutching the fresh diaper beneath the blanket. Leah remained rigid beside me, her breath shallow. Jennifer exhaled sharply into the phone. "Elena, are you hearing this? Those girls need clean clothes before they'll consent to medical exams." Static hissed. Then: "PX closes at 2100. Provost Marshal first, priority. Have Sarah assist Leah through processing if separation occurs." Shit, cutting it close. I will have to drop them and hope I make it to the PX, otherwise, we can't do medical until tomorrow. They'd be too ashamed to be seen in wet pants." The truck's engine growled as I took the exit too fast, tires squealing against wet pavement. Leah jerked forward against her seatbelt, her hands flying up to brace herself. Sarah whimpered from the backseat, the sound muffled beneath the blanket. Jennifer twisted to check on her, but I couldn't look away from the road, base gates loomed ahead, their floodlights casting harsh shadows across the checkpoint. "Privates! Get over here and check my ID. Now. I'm on a schedule. Please." I called at the gate guards. The MP stiffened at my tone, his flashlight beam cutting across the windshield before landing on my retired ID card. His eyes flicked to the backseat where Sarah's tear-streaked face peered from beneath the blanket. Leah had gone completely still beside me, her fingers locked around the seatbelt like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. "The girls in the back are not your concern, soldier. I am. If my ID is valid, and we are at peace time, then you have to allow them on base. You know that." The MP hesitated, his flashlight beam lingering on Sarah's tear-streaked face. Jennifer leaned forward, blocking his view. "My daughter has a medical condition," she said, voice low but firm. "This is a legal transport." "And none of your Goddamn business," I harped. "Who is your unit commander. I'll let him know how a Master Sargeant's family was treated at the gate!" The MP's jaw clenched, but he stepped back with a sharp nod. The barrier lifted with a hydraulic whine. We rolled forward onto base property, the truck's tires humming against the freshly paved road. Sarah's sniffles quieted in the backseat, though I could still see her fingers twisting the blanket edge in the rearview mirror. Leah remained frozen beside me, her breath coming in shallow bursts. "Put your pants back on, girls. You need to wear something into the processing. Jennifer, take my ID with you. If I need help, I'll call the office and they'll verify me. You are to say you are my sister-in-law. Got it?" Jennifer nodded, tucking my ID into her bra for safekeeping. Sarah fumbled with her damp jeans, her fingers shaking as she pulled them over the fresh diaper. Leah remained motionless, staring at the Provost Marshal's office looming ahead. The fluorescent lights inside cast long shadows of uniformed personnel moving briskly past the windows. "Jennifer, if we are getting them clothes I need to go now. You get Leah's pants back on her, okay? Craigger should have already sent information forward, so they shouldn't give you much trouble." Jennifer nodded, reaching for Leah's jeans with careful hands. Leah recoiled against the seat, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Sarah reached over hesitantly, her fingers brushing Leah's wrist. "It's okay," she murmured, voice barely audible over the idling engine. "You can keep the blanket over your lap while I help." "Sorry, baby. Grandpa has to go now. Take the blanket and got in the office, honey. You can hide in the toilets to get your pants back on if you want." The truck door creaked as I pushed it open, the humid base air rushing in, thick with jet fuel and damp concrete. Leah’s fingers twitched toward me like she wanted to grab my sleeve but stopped herself. Jennifer squeezed Sarah’s shoulder before stepping out, her boots hitting the pavement with a sharp tap. "Grandpa will be right there as soon as I can, baby. I just need to get you girls some clean clothes. You'll feel better in dry clothes." Sarah nodded stiffly, the blanket draped over her lap like a shield. Leah remained frozen in the passenger seat, her fingers curled into the vinyl seat. I turned the ignition off, leaving the keys in Jennifer's palm. The dashboard clock read 8:37 PM, twenty-three minutes to get to the PX before closing. "You don't have the right to go to the PX alone because you're not direct line family," I sighed. "Come on, Leah. I carried her Leah and brought the girls to the closest girls' restroom. "Male entering!" I called out and then I put Leah down near Jennifer. "Let her help with your pants, honey. I will be right back, promise." With that, I hurried away knowing that just staying and promising more would only cause more anxiety. The PX loomed ahead, its fluorescent lights harsh against the night sky. My boots slapped against the pavement as I jogged toward the entrance. A young clerk glanced up from her phone as I burst through the doors, already scanning the aisles for girls' clothing. The scent of new fabric and cleaning products hit me, too sterile, too impersonal for what these kids needed. "Excuse me, I know you are closing soon, so you don't want me spending an hour looking for what I need, and I don't have time to do that, anyway. I need girls' clothes, kids age 13, panties, socks, pants and shirts. Now. Can you tell where to go so we don't waste each other's time?" I was talking to a younger person, maybe a dependent of a military person who sometimes got jobs there. The clerk blinked, her gum snapping once before she nodded toward the back corner. "Youth sizes, aisle twelve. Undergarments are in the, " she hesitated, "the middle section by fitting rooms." "Sorry, grandchildren. They are too embarrassed to come in. Girl stuff, you understand." The clerk nodded slowly, her gaze flicking toward the closed bathroom door. She hesitated before grabbing a basket. "Follow me." We moved fast, past rows of camo and regulation boots, the scent of starch and shoe polish thick in the air. Aisle twelve loomed ahead, neon signs marking girls' sizes. My fingers brushed against hangers, grabbing anything soft-looking in Sarah's size. Jeans with elastic waists, cotton tees, socks with cartoon cats. The clerk tossed in a pack of plain underwear without comment. "Anything else?" she asked, already steering me toward checkout. "Just one thing... bedwetting diapers for teens?" The clerk's expression didn't flicker. She led me to a discreet shelf near the pharmacy section, grabbing a pack with purple trim. "Discreet shipping labels," she murmured, tossing them into the basket. The digital clock above the register blinked 8:51 PM as she scanned the items, the beeps unnaturally loud in the empty store. My fingers drummed against the counter, picturing Leah's frozen posture in that restroom stall. I gave her ten dollars too much, but left before she could give me the change, the least I could do for making her work until the last minute on her clock. Then I raced for where I dropped them. Besides, it was also a bit of a selfish reason. I didn't want to wait for them to count change knowing my baby was scared. Sarah was pacing nervously outside the restroom when I got back, her freshly diapered form visible under her loose jeans. She froze when she saw me, relief flashing across her face before she glanced back toward the restroom door. "Leah won't come out," she whispered. "She keeps saying she'll get in trouble." "Did she wet her pants or something again?" I asked. "Poor kid. I'll talk to her." Sarah shook her head, biting her lip. "No, she...she didn't go at all. Just keeps saying she's bad." I sighed. I walked in announcing myself and looked where it made most sense she would be hiding. "Leah? Grandpa's back. Come here, honey." Silence. Then a muffled sniffle from the last stall. The scent of bleach and damp paper towels clung to the air. I knelt by the stall door, the new clothes crinkling in my arms. "Baby, I got you dry pants. Sarah's dressed already. You're not in trouble. Grandpa decides when you are in trouble now, honey. No one else as long as you are with Grandpa." Leah's whisper was so thin I almost missed it. "They'll smell it." "The only people that will smell what happened, honey, if you are scared you wet or worse, are people helping us. CPS isn't allowed on the base unless they are escorted." The stall door creaked open an inch. Leah’s pale fingers curled around the edge, her nails bitten raw. Her eyes darted past me to where Sarah stood shifting from foot to foot by the sinks. "See? Just Sarah and me in here. Sarah? Did your mom go talk to the officer in charge so he knows what's up?" Sarah nodded quickly, her hands twisting in the hem of her new shirt. "She said she'd get everything set up for Leah's paperwork." The words tumbled out too fast, her gaze flicking to Leah's trembling fingers still gripping the stall door. "Baby, the people that need to know, already know you pee your pants here. There has been a motion of events in place since we talked to the nurse earlier. We've been setting things up so you can be safe. The doctors that need to know, know you are wetting and know that it's because you need help, the reason we are here to start with." Leah's breath hitched, her fingers tightening on the stall door until her knuckles whitened. Sarah stepped closer, her socked feet silent on the tile floor. "I peed mine too," she admitted softly. "Right before we got here. That's why Grandpa got us both new pants." "Sarah sweetie pooped, remember?" I told Leah. "She knows it's okay. Her mom isn't mad at her, and no one cares about dirty diapers. We care more about how you two feel, okay?" No one gets in trouble for having potty accidents. Especially two teens on the road for two hours without a chance to stop." Leah's fingers trembled against the stall door. A drop of water fell from the faucet behind us, the sound echoing in the sterile silence. Sarah shuffled closer, her socks damp where they peeked out from her jeans. "I messed mine worse," she murmured, her cheeks flushing pink. "Grandpa didn't even blink." "Now, Sarah, did you change your pants yet and your socks and everything? I got you the whole nine years including panties to go over diapers and everything. The only thing I might have missed is a bra for either of you." Sarah shook her head quickly, her fingers clutching the plastic bag I handed her. "No, Grandpa, I... I just put the jeans on over my diaper." Her whisper was barely audible. "Mom said I could wait until we get to the hospital." "If you want to change everything at the hospital that's fine. We already have you in a clean diaper from earlier. But Leah, you need changed. Your diaper is still wet, baby." Leah made a soft noise, something between a whimper and a sigh. The stall door eased open another inch, revealing her hunched form perched on the toilet seat, knees drawn up protectively. Her sweatpants were soaked through, clinging to her thighs. The scent of urine mixed with the sharp hospital-grade cleaner made my eyes sting. "You peed again," I smiled at her lovingly. "I'm glad you peed, honey. I hope you went all the way. Remember? We don't want you to hurt yourself, so wetting your pants is better than holding it past leaking." Sarah reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a fresh diaper, the purple trim catching the fluorescent light. "I'll help," she whispered, holding it out toward Leah like an offering. The crinkling sound made Leah flinch, but she didn't retreat further into the stall. "Make it fast. She was supposed to see the Provost Marshal already." The words came from Jennifer’s voice just outside the restroom door, sharp with urgency. Sarah froze, the diaper crinkling in her hands. Leah’s breath hitched, she looked toward the sound like a cornered animal assessing escape routes. "Leah," I said softly, crouching to her eye level. "Sarah’s gonna help you change real quick. Then we’ll go meet the nice officer who’s gonna make sure nobody can take you away. Just dry pants first, okay?" Leah’s fingers dug into her wet sweatpants, but she gave the tiniest nod. Sarah stepped forward with the diaper, her movements careful like she was handling something fragile. The stall door creaked wider as Leah shifted stiffly, her soaked fabric sticking audibly when she peeled the waistband down. The smell of ammonia sharpened briefly before dissipating into the sterile air. Sarah didn’t flinch. She unfolded the diaper with practiced hands, smoothing it onto the closed toilet seat before helping Leah step into it. Leah’s breath hitched when Sarah touched her hip to guide her, but she didn’t pull away. "There," Sarah murmured, fastening the sides with a quiet *rip* of the adhesive tabs. "Now the pants." She handed Leah the fresh jeans, their tags still dangling from the hem. Leah’s fingers trembled as she fumbled with the button. Sarah hesitated, then reached over to help, her knuckles brushing Leah’s stomach. Leah recoiled, but only halfway, catching herself. A shudder ran through her as the new denim settled over her hips, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar. "Socks too," I said, pulling out the pair with cartoon cats. Sarah knelt without hesitation, rolling them onto Leah’s damp feet. Outside, Jennifer’s heel tapped impatiently against the tile floor. "Jim, " she started, but I cut her off with a look. Leah flinched at the exchange, her shoulders hunching. Sarah slipped her hand into Leah’s, squeezing once. The contact was brief, but Leah didn’t pull away this time. "You got her?" Jennifer asked, her voice softer now. Sarah nodded, adjusting the hem of Leah’s new shirt where it bunched at her waist. The fluorescent lights caught the faint tremor in Leah’s fingers as she gripped Sarah’s sleeve. Jennifer exhaled through her nose, her gaze flicking toward the hallway where military personnel passed in crisp uniforms. "Okay," she murmured, more to herself than us. "Let’s move." I took point, my boots scuffing against the linoleum as we navigated the maze of bureaucratic corridors. Leah’s breathing hitched every time we passed a uniformed figure, her steps faltering until Sarah’s whispered reassurances urged her forward. The scent of industrial cleaner and gun oil clung to the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of Leah’s fear. Provost Marshal’s office. The plaque gleamed under harsh overhead lights. A sergeant glanced up from his computer, his gaze lingering on Leah’s death-grip on Sarah’s wrist. Jennifer stepped forward, her voice steady as she slid Jim’s military ID across the counter. "Emergency dependent status," she said, fingers tapping the thick file beneath it. "Article 134." The sergeant’s eyebrows lifted. He flipped open the folder, scanning the top page, Linda’s medical notes, timestamped photos of Leah’s bruises. His jaw tightened. Behind me, Leah made a sound like a whimper trapped in her throat. Sarah shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against Leah’s. "That's my ID," I informed the Sergeant. I lent it to Jennifer for a moment so she could get the girls in her because I had to get something at the PX for the kids. But if you look in your records incoming for today, you should see a priority to give my new granddaughter priority military dependent status." The Sergeant studied the laminated card, then tapped his keyboard with deliberate keystrokes. The printer hummed to life behind him, spitting out forms. "Master Sergeant Greene," he acknowledged, his tone shifting from bureaucratic to professional respect. "Your DD-214’s already flagged in the system. Lieutenant Craigger called ahead." "Are we set to go get her checked in with medical so that they can do a work up on her abuse?" I asked. "The system of foster care has allowed her to be abused and has done little to mitigate her abuse, even upon having a chance to realize it. So that's why we are moving forward on this before the corrupt State can cover their ass when they know they've wronged a child." The sergeant hesitated, glancing at Leah's hunched shoulders and Sarah's protective stance beside her. "Master Sergeant, I can process her status, but medical will require, " he lowered his voice, "a full forensic exam." "Yes, that's supposed to be getting set up. It needs to be implemented as quickly as possible, but also with the upmost respect to the sensibility of a child that maybe have been abused in several different ways, likely a different way from different people?" Sarah made a noise like a wounded bird, her fingers tightening around Leah's wrist. Leah didn't react, her gaze fixed on some middle distance point between the sergeant's shoulder and the American flag pinned to the wall. "I believe your office is just supposed to get us a card so she can receive benefits on base. Sorry, I'm a little ahead of myself. Trying to keep straight all the steps, but yes, you are just getting her set up with ID, right?" The sergeant nodded, his fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard. The printer spat out a temporary ID card with Leah's hastily taken photo, her expression blank, eyes hollow, from the base system. He slid it across the counter along with Jim's military ID. "This grants her PX and commissary privileges until her full documentation clears. Medical's expecting you in Building 14." "Thank you. That's what I was trying to remember to ask you, is where. Thanks for your help. Also, I need to set this other little lady up with permission to see a base doctor. She's my sister in law's child! Another case, but one that Craigger and Vasquez know about." The sergeant hesitated, glancing at Sarah's damp socks peeking from her jeans. "Same process," he said, sliding another form across the counter. Jennifer filled it out with quick strokes while Sarah swayed on her feet, her diaper making a faint crinkle under her new jeans. "Thank you, sir. We appreciate all of your help." And with that, Jim took his brood out to his truck. "I need to drive. There are some strict places you can and cannot enter, so it's easiest if I drive, Jenny." Jenny nodded and opened the passenger door for Sarah, before helping Leah into the middle seat. She gently buckled Leah's seatbelt for her, and Leah seemed to tolerate it, if only barely. I started the engine. "Sarah, that card is very limited. I will allow you Youth Center access, PX privileges and Medical access, but you must not ever try to use it on base without my presence. Your mom can't get one because technically, your card expires once the military is done helping you and your mom out. Leah's will be more permanent, but she still is restricted to being with a military person having to be with her such as myself or someone I allow to watch her who is military." Sarah nodded solemnly, her fingers tracing the edges of her temporary ID card. Leah sat rigid between us, clutching her card so tightly the plastic creaked. The truck's heater hummed against the February chill, but neither girl seemed to notice the warmth. We arrived at the hospital building and eventually found pediatrics. I looked through the notes we took from Vasquez and Craigger to make sure we found the right doctor. Leah was quiet, barely reacting when we walked into the pediatric ward, but her grip on Sarah's hand turned white-knuckled when a nurse approached with a clipboard. The scent of antiseptic and baby powder hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of Leah's fear. Sarah leaned into her shoulder, whispering something about crayons in the waiting area. "Master Sergeant Greene?" The pediatrician, Dr. Rosario according to her badge, scanned our faces, pausing at Leah's hunched posture. Her gaze flicked down to Sarah's damp socks, then back up with professional neutrality. "Lieutenant Craigger called ahead. We have a private exam room prepped." "Can we start with Sarah? If Leah sees you are not hurting her, then she maybe less trouble for you. She's traumatized and shuts down if pushed too far." Dr. Rosario's pen paused over her clipboard. "Of course." She gestured toward an alcove with cartoon animal decals on the wall. Sarah hesitated, glancing at Leah's frozen posture before stepping forward. The doctor knelt, speaking too softly for us to hear, but Sarah nodded and lifted her shirt hem just enough to reveal the waistband of her diaper. The crinkling sound made Leah flinch. "You have all the files relevant to her medical?" I asked Jenny. "They will need that information so they can assess the damage done to her from your ex's abuse to her." Sarah turned her head away as Dr. Rosario peeled back the waistband of her diaper, her cheeks flaming. The doctor's expression remained neutral, but I saw the tightening around her eyes when she noted the chafing marks. "These are recent," she murmured, glancing at Sarah's trembling hands. "When was the last bowel movement?" "She just pooped her pants in the car on our way here. We had to rush here, so couldn't stop. Poor teen tried to not do it, but you know... teens especially when they are hurting like these kids are, we told them it was okay to happen." Sarah's breath hitched at the admission, fingers twisting in her shirt hem. Dr. Rosario's gloved hand hovered near Sarah's hip, avoiding contact. "I'm going to clean you up properly," she said, voice low and steady. "Then we'll get you into something dry." Leah's choked gasp cut through the antiseptic air. She'd inched forward without realizing it, her terror momentarily overridden by horrified fascination as the nurse unfolded a fresh diaper. The crinkling sound made both girls stiffen. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking down her cheeks as the doctor worked efficiently, wiping tender skin with warmed wipes from a wall-mounted dispenser. "Breathe, Sarah," Jennifer murmured, her hand hovering near her daughter's shoulder without touching. Sarah obeyed with a shuddering inhale, her ribs expanding under the oversized hospital gown they'd draped over her. Leah's fingers twitched toward her own damp jeans, her trauma responses visibly warring with this new evidence that medical care didn't have to hurt. Dr. Rosario's hands moved with practiced precision, applying barrier cream to inflamed skin. "Your mom mentioned you've been having accidents since the custody hearings," she said, her tone devoid of pity. Sarah's nod was barely perceptible. The doctor glanced at Leah's frozen posture. "Both of you should know, this is neurological. Not behavioral." "For Sarah, right?" I asked. "It's brought on by trauma from being told to do things that are not natural, right? Sorry, I'm a nurse aid at a nursing home, so I know a little too much, but yet, so little I can only guess at things." Dr. Rosario’s fingers paused over Sarah’s diaper tabs. "Stress-induced encopresis," she confirmed, peeling the adhesive gently. "Common in cases of prolonged coercion around bodily functions." Sarah flinched at the clinical terms, but the doctor continued, her voice softer now. "Your body’s reacting to being forced to override its natural signals." "Wait, that sounds like Sarah poops her pants more than I realized. I thought she was just normally wetting, and the pooping in her pants in the car was a one thing off from waiting too long?" Jennifer's lips pressed into a thin line as she answered for Sarah, who was too humiliated to speak. "It's been... intermittent. Sometimes she doesn't feel the urge until it's too late. Other times she holds it until, " She broke off as Sarah whimpered, fresh tears dripping onto the exam table paper. "Grandbaby? You know no one is judging you, right? I was just misinformed about the severity of what that man did to you, honey. You're not in trouble, and no one blames you." Sarah's shoulders curled inward, her fingers plucking at the hem of her diaper while Dr. Rosario continued cleaning her with warmed disposable cloths. The scent of aloe and zinc ointment mixed with antiseptic as she worked, her movements methodical but unhurried. Leah stood rigid near the door, her breathing shallow, until Sarah reached for her hand without looking. Leah's fingers twitched, then grasped Sarah's in a grip so tight their knuckles blanched. "It's okay," Sarah whispered, her voice frayed but steady. "She's not... she's not like them." The doctor pretended not to hear, focusing instead on adjusting Sarah's fresh diaper, this one plain white, without the purple trim, while Jennifer hovered nearby, her jaw clenched. Dr. Rosario snapped off her gloves. "Sarah, I need you to drink this." She held out a small cup of electrolyte solution, its faint citrus scent cutting through the medicinal air. Sarah sipped obediently, her throat working as she swallowed. The doctor turned to Leah, who shrank back against the wall. "Your turn," she said, not unkindly, but Leah shook her head violently, her matted hair swinging. "She's scared of doctors. The first thing she said last night when I mentioned today's plans, was she didn't want to see a doctor. I think someone claiming to be a doctor did things that doctors don't do." Dr. Rosario's pen hovered over her clipboard. Her eyes flicked to Leah's clenched fists, the way she pressed herself into the corner like a trapped animal. Without moving closer, she set the clipboard down and reached for a stethoscope hanging nearby, but stopped when Leah flinched at the motion. "Okay," she said slowly. "No touching today. Let's just talk." "Can we try to introduce ourselves, honey? Let's start easy, okay?" I reached out to hold her hand. "Remember, we need them to do these tests first thing so we can start making you healthy again, and so you don't have to see people like the people that tied you up and whipped you." Leah's breath hitched at the mention of whips. Her fingers curled into Sarah's sleeve, her knuckles whitening. Dr. Rosario noticed, her gaze flicking to Leah's arms where old scars peeked beneath her sleeves. She didn't comment, just pulled a stool closer and sat without looming. "Leah," she said evenly, "I need you to know something. In this room, you say stop, we stop. Immediately. No arguing, no tricks. Your word is law here." Sarah squeezed Leah's hand, her own fingers trembling. "She means it," she whispered. "I said stop when the wipe stung, and she stopped." Leah's nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling too fast. Dr. Rosario kept her palms visible on her knees. "First rule, no gowns unless you want one. Second rule, you keep your clothes on unless you choose otherwise." She gestured to a folded towel on the counter. "Today, we're just going to check your hands and listen to your lungs. No touching anywhere else." Leah's breathing slowed fractionally. Sarah nudged her forward half a step, their socked feet shuffling over the sterile floor. The doctor waited, then reached slowly for Leah's wrist. Leah jerked back with a gasp, colliding with the wall. "Sweetie, she just wants to see your wrist, that's all. May I touch and show her, honey? No arms or legs unless you say so." Dr. Rosario withdrew instantly when Leah recoiled, her hands retreating to her lap as if burned. Sarah, sensing Leah's hesitation, gently turned Leah's palm upward and extended her own wrist toward the doctor. "See? Just pulse," she murmured, her voice cracking. The doctor placed two fingers lightly on Sarah's thin wrist, counting silently while Leah watched with narrowed eyes. After a moment, Sarah guided Leah's trembling hand forward again. This time, Leah allowed it, her breath hitching when Dr. Rosario's cool fingertips brushed her skin, but she didn't pull away. The doctor's touch was feather-light, clinical, her fingers barely grazing Leah's racing pulse before withdrawing. "Good," Dr. Rosario said softly. "Now lungs. May I lift your shirt just enough to place the stethoscope?" Leah's fingers curled into Sarah's sleeve again, her nails digging through the fabric. I saw Sarah wince but she didn't pull back. "Only if you say yes," Sarah whispered. "And only where she said." The stethoscope dangled from Dr. Rosario's neck like a silver snake. Leah stared at it, her breathing shallow. "She...she won't..." Leah's voice was hoarse from disuse, cracking on the words. "No," the doctor confirmed. "I won't move your clothes unless you guide them yourself. Here." She slid the stethoscope across the counter toward Leah, who flinched at the metallic scrape. Sarah picked it up first, pressing the cold disc to her own chest with exaggerated movements. Leah's fingers twitched. She reached out, brushing the tubing like it might bite. Sarah guided it into her palm, wrapping Leah's stiff fingers around the diaphragm. "You do it," Sarah murmured. "Only where you want." "Sarah, the doctor will need to hear specific places, but that's a good compromise that she moves it as the doctor asks, and she can choose not to put it where she's not comfortable, for this session." I looked at the doctor. "Right?" Dr. Rosario nodded, adjusting her stool to stay at Leah's eye level. "Front or back first, Leah? Your choice." Leah's fingers tightened around the stethoscope, her breathing ragged. She glanced at Sarah, who gave an encouraging nod, then pointed stiffly at her own collarbone. The doctor didn't move, just tilted her head slightly. "Good. Now lift your shirt just enough for the disc to fit under. Take your time." The fabric rustled as Leah inched her shirt up with trembling hands, exposing a sliver of pale, scarred skin above her waistband. Sarah guided the stethoscope into position, her own hands shaking against Leah's. The cold metal touched flesh and Leah froze, her pupils dilating, but she held still. "Breathe normally," Dr. Rosario instructed, her voice low and steady. The stethoscope amplified Leah's jagged breaths, too fast, too shallow. The doctor listened without moving, her gaze fixed on a point just past Leah's shoulder to avoid direct eye contact. "Good. Now the other side." Leah's fingers twitched toward Sarah again, her knuckles white around the tubing. Sarah helped guide the disc to the opposite side of Leah's ribcage, her own breath hitching when she glimpsed the lattice of old scars beneath Leah's shirt. The smell of antiseptic couldn't mask the sour tang of fear-sweat rising from Leah's skin. Dr. Rosario kept perfectly still, her stethoscope barely grazing Leah's body. "Deep breath in," she murmured. Leah obeyed with a shuddering inhale that hitched halfway. The doctor's brow furrowed slightly at the wet, uneven sounds in Leah's lungs. "Again, please." Sarah squeezed Leah's fingers tighter when she hesitated. "Like this," Sarah whispered, taking an exaggerated breath that made her ribs expand visibly under her hospital gown. Leah mimicked her with a shaky inhale that dissolved into a cough halfway through. The sound was rough, painful, like dragging gravel through tissue paper. Dr. Rosario's expression didn't change, but her fingers twitched toward her clipboard. "One more deep breath, Leah." Sarah leaned closer, demonstrating another exaggerated inhale, just as Leah's body stiffened violently. A wet, squelching sound filled the room, followed immediately by the unmistakable stench of bowel movement. Leah's face contorted in horror as warmth spread beneath her sweatpants, her fingers clawing at Sarah's wrist hard enough to leave crescent marks. "No, no, not again, " Leah's voice shattered into gasping sobs. Her legs trembled violently, knees buckling as she crumpled against Sarah, who barely caught her weight. The doctor didn't react to the spreading stain, just scooted her stool back to give them space. Leah clawed at her sweatpants, desperate to hide the mess even as it soaked through the fabric. "They'll make me, they always, " Her words dissolved into incoherent weeping, her whole body shaking so hard Sarah had to grip both shoulders to steady her. The stench of urine and feces mingled with antiseptic as Leah's bladder kept releasing in pulses, the warm trickle audible against the tile floor. I ran up and picked my baby up. "It's okay, Leah. It's okay. Grandpa's got you baby. Grandpa's got you.!" I put her in my lap and started rocking her despite her getting me all wet and muddy from her bowl and bladder loss of control. "Remember? Don't hold it, honey. All out. We don't want you to hurt yourself. It's okay, baby." Sarah moved in front of Leah, blocking her from view as much as possible while Jennifer grabbed a stack of paper towels from the dispenser. Dr. Rosario stayed perfectly still, her gaze fixed on her clipboard as if documenting the ceiling tiles. Leah's sobs hitched violently, her fingers clawing at my shirt as her body kept betraying her with fresh wet warmth spreading down my thighs. I said in a low voice, as I rubbed my baby's back. "You see what happens when she's having a body betrayal? I know teens don't just wet themselves, but this is beyond teen mortification. This is... fear," I told the doctor. I kept whispering to Leah as I felt her pee slow. "Keep peeing baby. All out. No one is mad. No one can hurt you. No one is going to shame you, baby." Leah's whole body shuddered against me, her fingers digging into my arms like she was drowning. Her tears soaked through my shirt as she gasped between sobs, her voice breaking into jagged fragments. "They, they made me, stand in front, of everyone, last time, " Each word was wrenched from her throat like shrapnel. Her bladder gave another weak spurt, warmth spreading between us as she curled tighter into my chest. "Baby? No one does that to you anymore. That's why we're here. So we protect you from pigs like that. If the school so much as suggests you stand up in peed pants, you tell grandpa. I won't put up with that shit from anyone, okay? You're my grandbaby now. The State gave you to me and I'm not giving you back. You're my baby, now." Leah's breath hitched, her face buried against my shoulder as her body continued to empty itself against my lap. The smell was overwhelming, ammonia and fear-sweat and the sharp tang of fresh bowel movement, but I didn't flinch. Sarah pressed a towel against Leah's soaked sweatpants, her own hands shaking as she murmured, "It's okay, it's just us," over and over. Dr. Rosario remained motionless, her clipboard lowered, her face carefully neutral as Leah's sobs echoed off the sterile walls. "This...," I whispered to the doctor. "It's psychological abuse, isn't it? Something we can prove is real in a child that shouldn't have that kind of fear?" Dr. Rosario nodded, her pen tapping lightly against the clipboard. "Encopresis and enuresis under extreme distress, classic trauma responses." Her voice was low, clinical, but her fingers whitened around the pen. "But the fear of public humiliation suggests deliberate conditioning." "Exactly what I mean. I've heard foster kids sometimes wet themselves out of fear, but her fear of being publicly humiliated over it, and her break down like this. Yeah, shame, a little nervousness? Normal. Panic and scared to pee at all... so I have to actually tell her it's okay to wet her pants, and she won't even try to sit on a toilet right now? That's trained shame." Leah's sobs turned frantic, her fingers twisting in my shirt as she choked out words between gasps. "They, they made me stand up...in front of the class...with my pants...wet!" Her entire body convulsed with the memory, another hot gush of urine soaking through her diaper and sweatpants onto my lap. The smell intensified as her bowels let go again, a fresh wave of mess filling her pants with a squelching sound that made her wail louder. "No, no, not again, please don't make me show them!" "Baby, sit," I ordered. "You not showing anyone anything. Pee your pants all the way and sit in my lap, baby. You don't move until we are ready to change your pants, okay? No need to stand up and show everyone. We can tell you are having an accident, and I want you to deliberately finish so you don't hurt yourself. It's not good to stop it once you're leaking. It means your body has already held it longer than you should, baby." Leah's cries turned hysterical, her body jerking against mine as fresh warmth spilled down my thighs. She clawed at my sleeves, her voice cracking into jagged fragments. "They'll, they'll pull my pants down, in front of everyone!" Her bladder pulsed again, the wet patch spreading across both our laps as her bowels released another soft, sickening squelch. Sarah pressed closer, shielding Leah's soiled sweatpants from view with her own body while Jennifer silently passed me more towels. "Baby, the doctor isn't interested in seeing the mess in your pants, I promise. No one here is interested either. I will have Sarah stay to help because you trust her, but Miss Jennifer and the doctor will give us space so I can clean you up as soon as you are actually done wetting. Until then, let the doctor keep talking to you and helping us build a case for you to stay with Grandpa. Once I'm sure you finished wetting, only Grandpa and Sarah will stay to clean you. I promise." Leah's fingers dug into my forearms hard enough to bruise, her entire body rigid with terror as she gasped between sobs. The stench of ammonia and loosened bowels clung thickly to the air, her sweatpants now utterly soaked through with warm, spreading stains. Every slight shift in her weight produced an audible squelch, making her whimper and clutch me tighter. "They, they always lied," she choked out, her voice shredded raw. "Said they wouldn't look but then they, they made me turn around, " Another wet spurt pulsed against my thighs, her bladder still emptying in frantic bursts despite the flood already released. "I know, baby. I know," I hugged her. "I hope someone is documenting this. The lawyers asked us to document her accidents, and this information she's telling everyone right now is important." I looked more at the doctor than Jennifer at the moment. Leah was crying uncontrollably now, shaking in my lap as another wet spurt soaked through her sweatpants. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her fingers twisting in my shirt like she was afraid I'd vanish. "They made me stand in front of the class," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "Made me lift my shirt to show everyone, " The words dissolved into a wail as her body betrayed her again, a fresh wave of warmth spreading between us. The diaper was long past its capacity now, the mess seeping through the sides, but I didn't dare move her except to turn her so she was stomach to stomach with me so I could hug the rest of her pee out of her. "You are with Grandpa now, baby. Grandpa just wants you to be healthy and holding it and not letting it all out is hurting you, sweetheart." Her bladder pulsed one final time, a full, gushing release that emptied her completely, turning the front of her pants into a soaked, muddy brown disaster. The smell filled the room, thick and sour, but I kept rocking her gently, whispering reassurances as her tears soaked my shoulder. Dr. Rosario met my eyes and gave a subtle nod before motioning to Jennifer. "Let's step out and discuss documentation," she said quietly, guiding Jennifer toward the door. "Sarah, towels are over there in that cabinet. That's where the doctor got one earlier when you peed. But three on the floor so I can wipe it up," I whispered as I dug in the bag for a clean diaper for Leah. "Whose baby girl are you now, honey? Who do you listen to from now on?" I asked Leah as I started to pull her soaked pants down. "Yours," Leah gasped between hiccuping sobs, her fingers still death-gripping my sleeves. Her thighs trembled violently as the cold air hit her soaked skin, the diaper sagging grotesquely before I peeled it away. Sarah worked quickly, laying out fresh towels like a runway from my lap to the sink, her own hands shaking as she avoided looking directly at the mess. "Good girl," I whispered to both girls. "Sarah, can you get me a diaper for Leah?" And I started to undo Leah's messy diaper, she was still in my lap. I was soaked in her mess, so I didn't care if she got me messy as long as she didn't feel alone and scared. Sarah fumbled with the package, her fingers slipping on the plastic before finally pulling out a fresh diaper with purple trim, the same kind Leah had wet through earlier. She handed it to me, her eyes flicking nervously between Leah's tear-streaked face and the soiled clothes piling up on the floor. The smell was overwhelming, a mix of sour fear and bodily waste, but neither of us flinched. Leah's breath hitched as I wiped her down with warmed wipes, her fingers digging into my arms like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go. "Sarah, honey, don't touch the messy stuff. That's not your job, honey. You are here to help your friend, not touch gross stuff, and while Leah is having a hard time, it's still gross to touch other people's poopy. I'll finish cleaning her mess up in a minute, but after I get most of the mess off her bottom, I want you to put her in a clean diaper while I clean up the floor, okay?" Sarah nodded, her hands hovering uncertainly as I worked the last of the mess off Leah's trembling thighs with careful swipes. Leah's breathing was still ragged, her fingers tangled in my shirt like anchors. I shifted her to the side to stand on a clean part of the floor so I could finish wiping her butt and her privates, and then I smiled at Sarah. "She's clean now, honey. She just needs a clean diaper on, but just a moment." I turned to Leah. "Baby? Grandpa is a mess and I'll just make you messy again. Let Sarah change you, baby. I'm just going to clean up the floor and try to get some of the poop off my clothes so I can talk to the doctor. You stay right new Grandpa though. I promise. Until we are safe in a motel or something, Grandpa's not leaving your sight, baby." Leah's grip loosened slightly, her fingers still clutching at my sleeve as she nodded, her breath hitching. Sarah hesitated, then knelt beside us with the fresh diaper, her movements slow and deliberate. "Can I?" she whispered, holding the diaper up for Leah to see first. Leah gave a tiny nod, her body tense as Sarah carefully slid the diaper beneath her. I got a clean town and wet it so I could clean off my clothes and then added it to the mess to be cleaned up. I cleaned up the floor and put it in a pile. Only after the floor was mostly dry and the mess pushed to one pile, did I looked up to see Sarah had cleaned Leah up. "Stay next to Sarah, baby. Grandpa's still messy and this isn't coming off without a shower." Sarah had managed to get Leah into clean sweatpants and a fresh diaper, her hands steady despite the lingering tremble in her fingers. Leah stood frozen, her arms wrapped around herself like she was holding her own ribs together. The smell still clung to the air, but the worst of it was bundled in the soiled towels now. I stripped off my ruined shirt and used a fresh wipe to scrub at the stains on my pants, knowing it wouldn't do much until I could properly wash them. "Once you get her clean, Sarah, let her stay in the room with me, but you go get the doctor and your mom. I need to know where to go from here, too, and I don't want Leah to think I've disappeared on her." Sarah nodded, her fingers lingering on Leah's shoulder before she slipped out the door. Leah swayed slightly, her arms still wrapped tight around her middle. I moved closer, keeping my soiled pants out of reach but letting my shoulder brush hers. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sharp shadows under Leah's hollowed eyes. Leah looked down, and I saw the tears fall onto her cheeks before she spoke. "That's why I hate doctors," she whispered, her voice frayed at the edges. "Always end up wetting or worse. Then they stop checking me." She swallowed hard, her fingers twisting in the hem of her clean sweats. "They look disgusted. And the people, the ones supposed to take care of me, they get even madder. Because I embarrassed them in public." Her breath hitched on the last word, sharp like a sob caught in her throat. "Baby, you are not causing trouble, you are having trouble. Anyone reasonable can see that. A teenager doesn't just wet herself like that when it scares and shames you so much. You were conditioned to pee your pants, honey." Leah's breath hitched, her fingers twisting tighter in her sweats. The tears kept falling, splashing onto the tile floor between us. "They said, said I was doing it on purpose," she whispered, her voice raw. "Even when I begged to use the bathroom before tests, they'd say I just wanted to cheat." Her shoulders hunched forward, her entire body curling inward like she could disappear into herself. A fresh tremor ran through her as she confessed, "Once I held it so long I threw up. They made me clean it up in my wet pants." "Those fuck-tards had no excuse to treat you like that. You are a child that has been suffering, obviously for a long time. There should have been IEPs on you, giving you accomandation, and at least diapers to wear during tests if tests stressed you so much and they were afraid of said cheating. They should have done anything but humiliate you over something you are having control issues over." Leah's breath stuttered, her fingers digging into her thighs like she was trying to anchor herself to the present. Her sweats were already damp again, fresh warmth trickling down her legs despite the clean diaper Sarah had just put on her. "They...they said I was lying about the pain," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Said if I really had to go, I wouldn't be able to hold it at all." Another hot spurt soaked into the diaper, the faint crinkling sound making her flinch. "Baby, that's the fault of whoever taught you to pee like you are doing now, and not fully pee when you are even told to do so. I just told you to finish in your pants before we changed you. You tried to finish, didn't you, baby?" Leah's lower lip trembled, fresh tears spilling over as she nodded jerkily. The front of her diaper darkened further, warmth spreading unevenly as her bladder emptied in hesitant spurts. Her fingers twisted in her sweatshirt sleeves, knuckles white with tension. "They said...said if I really had to go, it'd all come out at once," she whispered, her voice small and broken. "But it never does. It just keeps coming in little bits, even when it hurts." "A good part of that is training, or fear of punishment at getting caught peeing yourself, baby, but if it hurts and it's extremely constant like it seems to be for at least a good hour, then it might be something more... an infection perhaps. Whatever it is, we are going to help you however we can, and I want my baby to start trying to piss her pants as soon as she has to go. No more holding it, and no potty until you can release all your pee pee within a minute, baby. I don't want you holding anymore... not on purpose." Leah's fingers twitched against her thighs, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The diaper sagged heavier between her legs, warmth still trickling in slow pulses. She looked at me with wide, wet eyes, somewhere between disbelief and cautious hope. "You... want me to go in my pants?" The words came out fractured, like she was testing the edges of a foreign concept. "Baby? I just want this until you are healthy again and peeing normally again. I don't want to shame you, but holding it like you've been doing is hurting you. It's obviously what's causing you to hurt and causing you so much stress when you have to pee." Leah stared at me, her fingers twitching against the damp fabric of her sweatpants. The diaper crinkled softly as she shifted her weight, her breath shallow but steadying. The silence stretched between us, thick with the lingering smell of antiseptic and the faint metallic tang of fear-sweat still clinging to her skin. "I will talk to your school when you start back and let them know I demand an IEP. You get your diaper changed as soon as you raise your hand. You give a signal, and the teacher sends you from the room, no questions asked, no making you sit there and pee in front of your peers. If they say there's a test, they don't make you stand up until they have everyone else out of the room. Anything else they do that could shame you, is a court case ready to happen, okay? No one treats my baby like that." Leah's fingers went slack against her thighs, her mouth slightly open like she'd been struck silent mid-thought. A thin trail of spit connected her lower lip to her chin before she swallowed hard, her throat working around some unspoken protest. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting her tear-streaked face in harsh relief. "Baby? You can tell me what's on your mind. I won't be mad if you are scared, or you think something is not going to work, or you are not wanting to do something because you are unsure... I won't know what's bothering you unless you tell me, baby." Leah's fingers twitched against her thighs again, her breath hitching. She swallowed hard, her throat working around the words before they finally tumbled out in a whisper. "They'll, they'll know." Her voice cracked. "At school. If I wear... those." Her chin jerked slightly toward the diaper package on the counter, her face flushing scarlet. "They'll hear it. The crinkling. They always do." "Then we put you in panties and a thick pad... like when you have a period. Just raise your hand as soon as the pad gets a little wet and go right to the nurse to finish peeing your pants, okay? You will have extra clothes by then." Leah blinked, her fingers unclenching slightly against her thighs. The fluorescent light caught the tracks of tears still drying on her cheeks, making them gleam like faint silver scars. She swallowed again, her throat clicking audibly in the quiet room. "But... what if I can't stop?" Her voice was so small it almost disappeared beneath the hum of the overhead lights. "Once I start, sometimes I can't, ", she gestured weakly at her damp sweatpants, "it keeps coming out. Like a faucet with no shut-off." "Then you sit there, and your teacher doesn't make you move. If he asks you to stand for a reason, and you give him a signal, he or she is to call on someone else and let you alone until the class is over and everyone else leaves. If he forces you to stand, you tell me as soon as you can, baby. That's shaming a student, and I won't allow it. We'll put it in your IEP, he is not to make you move if you have a lake around your chair, and he is not to draw attention to it. He is to keep the class focused away from you and your personal issues until he can discreetly excuse you to the nurse." Leah's breathing slowed fractionally, her fingers loosening their death grip on her sweatpants. A faint crinkle sounded as she shifted her weight in the fresh diaper, still damp from her latest accident, but she didn't flinch this time. Her lower lip quivered before she pressed it into a thin line, her green eyes flicking toward the door where Sarah had disappeared. "Sarah will be back. You know Sarah admitted to peeing her pants at school. She must have things she does to keep others from noticing. I bet she has some ideas that will help without having to wear a scary diaper." Leah's fingers twitched against her thighs, her breath shuddering out in a slow exhale. The faint crinkle of the diaper beneath her sweatpants seemed louder in the silence, but she didn't flinch this time. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, considering. "She...does?" The words came out hesitant, like she was testing the truth of them. "You're not to let on to anyone at school what I told you, or make her feel bad even if she poops her pants, understand? But if you two talk about it, I'm sure she's had to hide accidents for a long time." Leah's fingers twitched against her knees, her gaze flicking toward the door again. The faint scent of antiseptic mixed with the lingering odor of urine as she shifted, the diaper crinkling softly beneath her sweats. Her breath hitched, not quite a sob, but something fragile breaking loose in her chest. "She...she smelled like pee earlier," Leah whispered. "When we were in the truck. I thought, " Her voice cracked. "I thought she was like me." "She's going through her own emotional and physical stress, sweetheart. She pees her pants sometimes, especially when she's stressed and the bed, but again, no being mean about it. Even if you get better before her. She's being a friend to you, so you treat her with the same kindness and respect, okay?" Leah blinked rapidly, her fingers twisting in the hem of her sweatshirt. A tear slid down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away. "She helped me," she murmured, almost to herself. "Even when I..." Her voice trailed off, her gaze dropping to the damp spot on her sweatpants where the diaper had leaked slightly. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across her face. "I know she did, and I expect the same from you. She's your friend, baby. Friends help each other even when they don't know why a friend is behaving a certain way or having a hard time, they help and they never judge. They are there for them when everyone else is against them. That's what caring about someone means." Leah's fingers stopped twisting, her hands lying limp on her thighs now. Her breath steadied, the panicked hitches giving way to something quieter, more exhausted. The diaper sagged slightly between her legs, dampness spreading but no longer in frantic spurts, just the slow seep of a bladder too tired to fight anymore. Dr. Rosario knocked twice before pushing the door open, her dark eyes immediately dropping to Leah's sweatpants. The dark patch was impossible to miss, the fabric clinging where warmth had turned cold against her skin. The doctor didn't react, just hooked her stethoscope around her neck and leaned against the counter. "Leah," she said evenly, "I'd like to listen to your lungs again. You can hold the stethoscope yourself if that helps." "Leah?" I whispered. "Do you trust Grandpa? If I tell you the doctor won't be mean, she won't call you names, or stop her exams, can you let her try to do the full exam? The thing is, if she can do the full exam today, then next Thursday, we can get you to see someone that can get you cremes for your owies from peeing on yourself, so the rashes go away, but things have to be documented before we can do that. And I hate seeing you suffer, baby." Leah's fingers clenched into fists against her thighs, knuckles whitening. The damp fabric of her sweatpants clung to her legs where the diaper had leaked, the scent of antiseptic and urine mixing with the sterile hospital air. Her breath hitched, once, twice, before she gave the smallest nod. "You have a right to just piss your pants when it's ready to come out, baby. The doctor knows you have the right to pee, and that you can't control it easily, so call it permission, call it what you want, but you pee your pants as soon as you feel it, and let the doctor finish. If you get too scared, you say the word and Grandpa makes her stop, okay?" Leah exhaled shakily, her fingers flexing against her thighs. The diaper shifted beneath her sweatpants as she adjusted her weight, the faint crinkle almost lost beneath the hum of fluorescent lights. She nodded again, sharper this time. "Just go slow," I told the doctor. "She should let you go further as long as you keep her trust." Dr. Rosario nodded and held out the stethoscope, letting Leah take it first. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the cold metal, but she didn't pull away. The doctor waited, silent, until Leah finally pressed the diaphragm against her own chest, her breath coming in shallow bursts. "Good," Dr. Rosario murmured. "Now, may I?" She gestured toward the stethoscope, her voice steady and devoid of pity. Leah hesitated, then released it with a jerky nod. The doctor's hands were warm as she adjusted the earpieces, her movements deliberate. "Deep breath if you can," she instructed, but Leah was already gasping, her bladder letting go in a quiet rush beneath the exam table. The sound of liquid hitting diaper padding filled the room, but Dr. Rosario didn't pause, didn't react beyond a slight tightening around her eyes. I walked over and squeezed her hand. "Grandpa's here, baby." Leah flinched when Dr. Rosario touched her ribs, but didn't pull away. Her sweatpants darkened further, the diaper swelling visibly beneath the fabric. Sarah slipped back into the room carrying a fresh change of clothes, her own jeans slightly damp at the thighs, whether from spilled water or solidarity, I couldn't tell. She sat beside Leah without comment, pressing their shoulders together. "Leah," Dr. Rosario murmured, "try exhaling completely for me." The stethoscope slid across Leah's back as she complied, her breath stuttering out in uneven bursts. The doctor's brow furrowed. "Again. Empty your lungs." Leah wheezed, her diaphragm spasming before she'd fully exhaled. Sarah squeezed Leah's hand as the doctor moved the stethoscope lower, tracing the rigid tension along Leah's abdomen. A soft click sounded when Rosario pressed below her ribcage, too soft for anyone but me to notice. The doctor's fingers stilled. "Jim," she said quietly, "when Leah has bowel movements, are they..." She paused, choosing her words carefully as Leah's face flushed crimson. "Exceptionally large? Infrequent?" "This is the first time she's pooped her pants in front of me. I don't know what the mess looked like at school yesterday because by the time they got her to me, she had already sat in the mess for over six hours, maybe longer. I could tell because he panties had several stains like she rewet them more than three times." Dr. Rosario's fingers pressed gently along Leah's diaphragm, her expression tightening as she felt the abnormal protrusion beneath Leah's ribs. Leah whimpered, her fingers digging into Sarah's arm, but the doctor didn't withdraw. "Leah, honey," Rosario said softly, "when you breathe out, does it ever feel like... like there's a rock sitting right here?" Her thumb circled the spot below Leah's ribcage. Leah's breath hitched, her bladder releasing another trickle into the already saturated diaper. She nodded jerkily, her face pale beneath the fluorescent lights. Sarah tightened her grip on Leah's hand, her own knuckles whitening. Dr. Rosario straightened, her dark eyes serious. "I need to confirm something," she said, moving toward the ultrasound machine in the corner. The machine whirred to life as she prepped the gel. "This won't hurt," she assured Leah, though the girl flinched when the cold gel touched her abdomen. The doctor pressed the transducer just below Leah's ribs, her eyes locked on the grainy image forming on the screen. "What's going on?" I asked. "Can I see?" Dr. Rosario hesitated a moment, then angled the screen toward me. The grainy image showed Leah's bladder distended far beyond normal capacity, its outline bulging unnaturally against her pelvic bones. The doctor moved the transducer lower, tracing a thick, coiled mass pressing against her colon. "Severe fecal impaction," she murmured. "But look here, " She shifted the probe upward, freezing the image where Leah's diaphragm curved abnormally. A shadowy bulge protruded through the muscle, pulsing slightly with each shallow breath. "Hiatal hernia. Likely congenital." "Sorry, I have only a little medical knowledge, doctor. Laymen's terms if you please?" Dr. Rosario tapped the ultrasound screen where Leah's bladder glowed unnaturally large. "See how this stretches beyond normal capacity? That's chronic retention, her bladder never empties completely." She dragged the transducer lower, freezing on a dense shadow pressing against Leah's colon. "This fecal mass should've passed days ago. But look here, " The probe angled upward, revealing a jagged protrusion where Leah's diaphragm should have been smooth. "Part of her stomach is squeezing through this gap. That's the hernia. It's trapping air in her lungs, crowding her organs." "If we fix that, she'll be able to piss her pants more normally? I mean, just pee more normal? I'm letting her pee her pants until she learns it's okay to pee, then when she can go normally, we'll start helping her get to the toilet, but you know, one stressful thing at a time?" The ultrasound wand slid across Leah's abdomen again, leaving wet trails on her skin as Dr. Rosario traced the outline of her distended bladder. The image on the screen pulsed faintly with Leah's shallow breaths, the bladder walls stretched thin as a balloon filled beyond capacity. "If we relieve the hernia's pressure," Rosario said, tapping the screen where Leah's stomach protruded through her diaphragm, "her bladder should regain normal function." The probe moved lower, revealing the coiled mass in her colon pressing against her urinary tract. "This is compounding the issue, fecal matter pressing directly on her bladder neck." "Would this cure the years of abuse of her thinking she has to hold it?" I asked. "Or is that a different problem?" Dr. Rosario removed the transducer from Leah's abdomen, wiping away the gel with a warmed towel. "The hernia explains why she can't void completely," she said quietly, watching Leah's fingers clutch Sarah's sleeve. "But the fear...that's learned." She tapped the ultrasound screen, freezing the image of Leah's bladder, still half-full despite the accident. "See this residual volume? Even when she thinks she's emptied, she's retaining nearly 300cc. That's trauma layered atop anatomy." "So... one thing at a time make sense to you? Permission to wet her pants until she's ready? Or would that hurt her more?" Dr. Rosario peeled off her gloves with a slow snap. "No, you're doing the right thing, forcing toilet training now would worsen retention." She tapped the ultrasound screen where Leah's bladder still glowed with trapped urine. "But we need objective measurements." She gestured to a nurse, who wheeled in a portable bladder scanner. "Leah, this will just press lightly on your belly, okay?" "We're getting to the bottom of one of the complications causing you to have to go potty all the time. If you can pee all the way out, you wouldn't be constantly peeing your pants, baby," I explained. "So this is important, okay?" The nurse positioned the bladder scanner over Leah's abdomen, its cold surface making her flinch. The machine beeped softly, displaying numbers that made Dr. Rosario's frown deepen. "Post-void residual of 320 milliliters," she muttered. "That's nearly half her bladder capacity still full." She ran the scanner again, watching as the digital readout fluctuated between 310 and 330. "Consistent chronic retention." "Is there any way to drain it to make it feel better in the short term until we decide how best to solve that permanently?" Dr. Rosario peeled off her gloves with a slow snap. "Catheterization would relieve immediate discomfort, but given her trauma history, " Her gaze flicked to Leah's whitened knuckles gripping the exam table, the way her breathing hitched at the word 'catheter'. "No. We'll manage it conservatively." She gestured to the nurse. "Get CT prep started. I need full abdominal imaging." "Understood. I just want to help my baby, but do it in the safest feeling way we can, of course." The nurse wheeled in the portable CT scanner, its humming filling the room with a low vibration that made Leah's fingers twitch against the exam table. Dr. Rosario adjusted the settings, her eyes flicking between Leah's clenched jaw and the monitor. "Deep breath in," she instructed as the machine began its slow rotation around Leah's abdomen. The scan progressed in whirring segments, capturing cross-sections of her torso in stark detail. "Grandpa's here, baby," I told Leah. "You're safe, baby. The doctor is just doing what we can to help. No one cares if you soak the bedding, baby." I turned my attention to the doctor again. "What do we do as the main course of action to help her? I'm guessing surgery? With her temporary Military dependent status, will the military pay for her surgery or care?" Dr. Rosario pointed to the CT screen where Leah's stomach protruded unnaturally through her diaphragm. "Emergency fund allocation," she confirmed. "Commander's discretionary budget covers dependent care." She tapped the scan, tracing the hernia's edges. "But first, we need to relieve the fecal impaction." "I'm guessing medicine and time for that?" Dr. Rosario shook her head, already scribbling orders on a chart. "Not with this severity. Manual disimpaction under sedation, it's pressing against her bladder neck." Her pen paused. "She'll need bowel retraining after, probably months." The words landed like stones, but Leah barely reacted, her eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles above us, her fingers still curled into Sarah's sleeve. "I think she's already used to pooping and peeing in her pants, so that will probably not cause her too much more stress than she already has. But I'm guessing that will mean special measures at school until we can get it under control?" Dr. Rosario nodded, peeling off her gloves with a slow snap. "A medical note excusing her from bathroom restrictions, accommodations for clean-up kits in her locker." She glanced at Leah, who was staring blankly at the wall, her breathing shallow. "But sedation first, tonight, before that mass causes bowel necrosis." The words hung heavy in the sterile air. "She's staying the night? Can your office call Lieutenant Craigger? He can probably set it up so billeting can accommodate my friend and her daughter. They have no way back if I stay, and I'm not leaving my scared baby granddaughter in the hospital by herself. She maybe thirteen, but with all she's been through, I've been treating her like she's eight years old for now." Dr. Rosario glanced at Leah’s trembling fingers still gripping Sarah’s sleeve, then nodded. "We’ll need pre-op labs first," she said, motioning for a nurse to bring the supplies. Leah’s breath hitched as the needle tray clattered onto the bedside table. "I'll go ahead and call Lieutenant Craigger and let him know to expect a call later from the hospital to confirm. He probably needs time to set it up." "Baby?" I whispered to Leah. "I'm going to have to try to set up our friends a place to stay for the night. This is so I can stay with you, and I have to call into work because there's no way I'm making it to work tomorrow. I'll be right back, okay?" Leah didn't answer, her fingers tightening on Sarah's arm as the nurse approached with the needle tray. Her breathing grew ragged, her pupils dilated wide like a cornered animal. Sarah murmured something low against Leah's ear, her own hands shaking as she stroked Leah's wrist in slow circles. I called the nursing home first because I needed to catch the nurse in charge before she left. It was already nearing ten-thirty. "Hey, this is Jim Greene. I was in today for a minute, so Linda knows more. But I can't come in tomorrow as scheduled. My baby is hurting and in the hospital overnight. Like I said, Linda knows more about it, but I have to get off and talk to other people." The phone trembled against my ear as I ended the call, glancing back through the window where Leah sat rigid on the exam table, Sarah still whispering to her while the nurse prepped the IV line. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sharp shadows under Leah's hollow cheeks. I punched in Craigger’s number with stiff fingers, watching Leah flinch as the needle touched her skin. "I need to speak with Lieutenant Craigger, please," I told the clerk that answered. "He's expecting my call. Master Sergeant Greene. I need some accommodations for my friends who are getting some help at the base hospital. Yes, my daughter-in-law and her child and of course my new fostered baby is the one in the hospital. He should know the rest of the story already. I'll hold." The line clicked over to hold music, some tinny military march that set my teeth on edge. Through the glass partition, I watched Leah's chest hitch as the nurse swabbed her arm with alcohol. Sarah leaned closer, her lips moving rapidly, but I couldn't make out the words over the hold music's brassy blare. Leah's fingers dug into the exam table's paper cover, tearing it in jagged strips. "Craigger." The lieutenant's voice snapped through the receiver like a gunshot. "It's me, sir. My grandbaby's situation is a lot worse than we first though. Medical complications on top of the neglect and abuse. She's going to be in overnight, and so Jennifer and her daughter have no way back home tonight. Can you set them up in billeting for me?" The lieutenant grunted. Paper rustled on his end. "Her condition?" "My grandbaby has a hernia that is blocking her breathing, her bladder evacuation, and her bowel is so messed up, the doctor said once she's healed, she's going to have to be retrained to use the toilet." "Jesus," Craigger muttered. "Alright. Paperwork's already flagged, emergency dependent status covers inpatient care. Billeting for two, standard visitor quarters." His pen scratched against paper. "Jennifer Vasquez and minor child Sarah, correct?" "Yes sir. They've also found out Sarah has complications from being forced to do the things her dad did to her. Nothing sexual, but honestly, I'm not so sure if sexual manipulation would have been kinder or not. She's having bowel and pissing problems, too, and the doctor said it's partly medical from her retaining too much." Craigger exhaled sharply. "Christ. I'll authorize pediatric consults for both." A chair creaked as he leaned back. "How long you need the quarters for?" "Honestly, I'm not sure. I asked the doctor to call you back for details, but as they are busy with emergencies right now, I just wanted to give you a heads up so you weren't already home and get a surprise on your plate. I mean, it is already... Christ... I didn't notice! eleven-fifteen?" Craigger's chair creaked again. "Understood. I'll notify base housing and the hospital admin. You focus on your kid." The line went dead before I could thank him. I walked back in. "Lieutenant Craigger is already setting up quarters for you and Sarah," I whispered to Jennifer. "How long that will be, will be determined later after we see what the hospital says. But you should plan on your daughter missing the rest of the week from school. I'm sorry." Jennifer shook her head, squeezing my arm. "I'll call her school in the morning. You have enough to worry about." "Just tell them she's got a medical emergency. The doctor says she has problems too, so we'll get her to refer your daughter to a civilian clinic nearby, and you can use my truck to get her there if I need to be with my Leah." Jennifer nodded, glancing at Sarah who was still murmuring to Leah while the nurse struggled to find a vein. Leah's arm jerked suddenly, the needle flashing in the harsh light before clattering to the floor. The nurse sighed, reaching for another. I walked over in front of Leah's face. "Hold on the needle for a moment?" I asked the doctor. "Let me talk her down, then it might be easier." "Hey, honey. Remember? Remember how I told you the gel we put on your privates this morning would sting for a moment, but if we did, it would help you hurt less later?" I rubbed her arm. "You haven't been itching as much today, have you?" Leah shook her head stiffly, her lips pressed into a white line. The nurse hovered with the fresh needle, her fingers twitching with impatience. Sarah shifted closer, pressing her forehead against Leah's temple in silent solidarity. "You can talk to Sarah, and if you don't look, and you focus on talking to your friend, the needle's pinch will just last a moment, like a mosquito bit, and then it will turn into an itch and that will be all you feel until they take the IV out of your arm. Trust me, honey?" Leah's nostrils flared, her gaze flicking between me and Sarah's face. Sarah nodded emphatically, her fingers lacing through Leah's. "Tell me about the cookies," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible over the beeping monitors. "The peanut butter ones your grandpa made. Were they soft or crunchy?" Leah swallowed hard. "Cr... crunchy," she rasped, her first word since the needle tray appeared. Her pupils dilated further as the nurse swabbed her inner elbow again, but she kept staring at Sarah's chin. "With... with the fork marks." Sarah squeezed Leah's fingers tighter just as the needle slid in. Leah gasped, her thighs clamping together reflexively. A warm trickle seeped through the exam table's paper covering, spreading in a slow circle beneath her. The nurse pretended not to notice, taping down the IV line with clinical efficiency. "Tell me more about the fork marks," Sarah urged, her voice steady despite the acrid tang of urine rising around them. She rubbed her thumb over Leah's knuckles where the skin was chapped from months of anxious chewing. "Did they make little squares? Or were they crisscrossed?" Leah's breath hitched as another warm pulse escaped her, soaking through the thin hospital gown and dripping onto the floor with soft taps. The nurse adjusted the IV bag, her face carefully neutral as she stepped around the puddle forming beneath the stool. I kissed the top of her head. "You are doing so well, baby," I praised Leah. "So good, honey. Remember what Grandpa said. You try to pee as soon as you feel it leaking though. No holding it, okay?" Sarah kept talking. "The fork marks were crisscrossed, weren't they? Like your grandpa made them extra crispy." She squeezed Leah's hand tighter. "Do you remember how they smelled?" Leah's breath came in uneven hitches, her thighs trembling against the steady trickle beneath her. The nurse adjusted the IV line, her movements brisk but careful not to look down at the spreading wetness. The scent of warm urine mingled with antiseptic, sharp and unmistakable, but Sarah kept her eyes locked on Leah's face. "They smelled like brown sugar," Sarah continued, her voice deliberately light. "And salt. Like when we made playdough in kindergarten." Leah's fingers twitched in Sarah's grip, her bladder emptying in slow pulses that darkened the paper sheet beneath her. A shallow puddle formed at the edge of the exam table, dripping onto the tile in rhythmic splashes. The nurse reached for a fresh gown without comment, draping it over the soiled one as Leah whispered, "Playdough... smelled like flour." Her voice cracked on the last word, her free hand clutching at the damp hospital gown. Sarah nodded, her thumb tracing circles over Leah's wrist where the IV disappeared under tape. "Your grandpa's cookies had vanilla too," she murmured, leaning closer as another warm gush soaked through the layers. The scent of ammonia sharpened when Leah shifted her weight, the wet fabric sticking to her thighs with a soft peeling sound. "Real vanilla. Not the fake kind." When the nurse was done, the doctor reappeared a little later with a man in green cleaning up the puddle. "You can come back with me," the doctor told me as Jennifer took Sarah by the hand. I followed them through a hall of surgical bays and equipment to a small office in the back. The doctor handed me a stack of paperwork. "Mr. Greene, I don't know if you've been told this yet, but Leah's condition is serious. We have scheduled her for surgery tomorrow morning. The hernia is pressing on her lungs and digestive tract, and the fecal impaction, " the doctor paused, "has actually shifted her internal organs slightly." "I was told she'll need to retrain her bowels and that on top of the psychological damage done to her already, I was already guessing she'd need help peeing. But after the surgery, what else should I be prepared for. I'm okay with my baby pissing her pants for a while. I just don't want her to hurt. She's also got skin damage from people forcing her to sit in her messes all the time." The doctor's pen hovered over the consent form. "Post-op, we'll need to manage bowel decompression gradually, enemas would retraumatize her. We'll use osmotic laxatives instead." He flipped to a diagram of Leah's twisted colon. "This kink here", he tapped the image, "is why she couldn't defecate normally even without the psychological component. She'll need scheduled toilet sits with glycerin suppositories at first." "This is going to get real personal and embarrassing for her real quick. Officially, CPS hasn't allowed me to sign a guardian form yet, but the military is supposed to be doing a work around since that's the first thing that should have happened when they dropped her off. This all started because they said they were not going to treat her medically for a month, but I had seen problems with that... so started to take matters into my own hands, leading us here." The doctor nodded slowly. "The hernia explains the breathing issues, but the fecal impaction..." He paused as footsteps approached outside. A soft whimper filtered through the door, followed by Sarah's gentle reassurances. The doctor lowered his voice. "She'll need diaper changes post-op until her muscles remember how to function. The scarring inside her rectum suggests..." "She doesn't like diapers. She's afraid of the public knowing. It think it's one of the control things they did to her. Now, I'm not afraid to change her panties if she wears them, but is there something sort of in between we can do for her so she's not scared all the time?" The doctor exhaled sharply through his nose, tapping his pen against the clipboard. "Compression underwear. Looks like regular briefs, but has an absorbent liner. Military families use them for bedwetting recruits." He scribbled something on a prescription pad. "PX sells them discreetly. Size 13, right?" "Yes sir. The problem is if they work like a diaper at all, I'm afraid she'll be triggered. I'd rather wash out panties for her than have her go through the trauma of what the abusers did to her." The doctor frowned, pulling up a digital catalog on his monitor. His fingers moved stiffly across the keys as he searched for a middle ground. "Here. Cotton training pants with moisture-wicking lining. They look like underwear but absorb small leaks. For heavy accidents, she'd still need changing, but they're more dignified than full containment products." "I plan to change her as soon as she's wet enough, anyway, or has pooped her panties, in either case. I just don't want her to suffer. That little baby has already been through way too much for a child." The doctor's fingers stilled on the keyboard. "You understand she may regress further post-surgery? Pain meds can cause temporary incontinence even in healthy patients." He glanced toward the door where Sarah's murmurs still filtered through. "Given her history, she might revert to deliberate withholding if she associates the hospital bed with previous trauma." "I'm working on letting her wet her pants. That's the first thing I think she needs. Permission to just be and wet her pants and poop them without shame or fear. I think if the nurses remind her to pee her pants if they see her leaking, it will help." The doctor studied me for a long moment before nodding. "We'll note it in her chart, nursing staff will reinforce no punishment for accidents." He slid a consent form across the desk. "Sign here for the absorbent underwear and bowel retraining protocol. The psych team will consult tomorrow." "My signature will hold weight even though the papers are not finalized yet?" I asked as I signed. "I don't want anyone bothering her with signatures or forcing her to make decisions she's not ready for." The doctor nodded. "Military medical powers default to the accompanying adult in dependent cases." He tore off the top copy and handed it to me. "This covers tonight's accommodations too. Visitor quarters are two floors up, Lieutenant Craigger already reserved adjacent rooms." "This is for my friends, or for just me?" I asked. The doctor hesitated, glancing at the paperwork. "Sarah and her mother will be accommodated separately, but I assumed you'd want Leah close, " he said quietly. "We've arranged a pediatric recovery room with an adult cot for you. Given her... episodes, we thought proximity would help." "Yes, that's exactly what I want. I just didn't want to misunderstand. That's why I asked. I get that they will probably go to the base motel lodging." The doctor nodded, tapping the edge of the clipboard against his knee. "Jennifer was already briefed on base accommodations when she took Sarah for vitals. They'll be housed in transient quarters near the commissary." He glanced at his watch. "The nurses should be finishing Leah's prep soon. You can stay with her tonight if, " he hesitated, "if you're comfortable assisting with toileting needs post-anesthesia." "I've already assisted her with baths and toileting. That's how I found out about all her problems. She's not the kind of kid that tells you everything. She's been conditioned to keep quiet most of the time. Will I have time to let Jennifer have my truck keys and maybe she can use my Military ID to get around and use the PX for her and her daughter's needs?" The doctor nodded, sliding a visitor pass across the desk. "PX closes at 2100, but the all-night shoppette stocks basics." He stood, gathering the paperwork. "Let me check Leah's prep status before you go." "Thank you sir." The doctor left, and I stepped into the hall, glancing at the clock, 12:37 AM. Jennifer stood near the nurses’ station, Sarah’s head resting against her shoulder. I handed Jennifer my truck keys and military ID, watching her fingers close around them with practiced familiarity. "PX is closed," I said quietly. "But the Shopperette’s open all night. Billeting will have a small kitchen with a stove so you can make simple dinners. Probably no real oven though, so keep it simple." Jennifer nodded, slipping the ID into her pocket. "We’ll grab essentials, some snacks, bottled water, maybe a few toiletries." She hesitated, glancing toward the prep room where Leah was. "You think she’ll be okay overnight?" "I'm staying with Leah overnight, but they said you and Sarah have to stay at Billeting. I'm sorry. That's why I'm letting you keep the truck. They are getting you a visitor pass, so with that and my ID, you shouldn't have any trouble. If they ask about having it, tell them I'm at the hospital with my grandbaby. They might detain you until they verify, but you shouldn't be in any real trouble." Jennifer squeezed my shoulder, her grip firm but reassuring. "We'll be fine. Call if you need anything, even if it's just someone to sit with Leah while you run to the bathroom." "We'll be okay here. You just make sure tomorrow, you see the doctor here so they can refer you to an off-base nearby doctor for your own daughter, okay?" Jennifer nodded, pocketing my ID and keys. I watched her guide Sarah toward the elevators, Sarah's sneakers squeaking softly on the polished linoleum. Their footsteps faded as the doctor reappeared, his expression unreadable under the fluorescent lights. "What's going on?" I asked not sure if I was nervous yet at the look he was giving me. "The prep team found something," the doctor said quietly, gesturing for me to follow. The hall smelled of antiseptic and industrial cleaner, the kind that never quite masked the underlying odors. As we approached the prep room, I saw Leah through the small window, her thin frame barely visible under the oversized hospital gown. A nurse was adjusting her IV line while another spoke softly to her, but Leah wasn't looking at them, her gaze was fixed on the ceiling, her fingers gripping the sheets like they might dissolve if she let go. "What am I looking at?" I asked. "If you are worried about the way she's behaving, that's kind of normal. She's scared of doctors and I think she's only been calm because of Sarah being close and because she knows I'm near. She'll settle a little if I hold her a minute. She's probably soaked though... with pee." The doctor exhaled slowly, tapping the clipboard against his thigh before flipping it around to show me a thermal scan. "Not behavioral. Anatomical." He pointed to a jagged shadow near Leah's spine. "This isn't congenital. Someone fractured her L2 vertebra and it healed improperly. That's why she can't feel bladder fullness, nerve damage." His finger moved to another shadow. "And this? That's surgical scarring. Someone did a botched laminectomy, probably to relieve pressure from the fracture." "Damn, I knew she was with evil people. Can you document this? I already have an attorney all over this mishandling of this poor child. So, if she can't feel bladder fullness, how do we get her to pee without hurting herself?" The doctor flipped the clipboard back around. "We'll schedule intermittent catheterization until we can assess nerve function post-surgery. But that fracture, " He hesitated, lowering his voice as a nurse walked past. "That's deliberate trauma. The angle suggests a blunt force impact from behind, likely while restrained." "I honestly thought you people were supposed to do these kinds of things, assessing before treating anyway. Did I forget to tell you something? The Lawyer needs confirmed reports of anything that looks like it was abuse, how old you think it is, or how long it seems to have gone on, and the works. Notarized if you can wing it." The doctor hesitated, then exhaled sharply through his nose. "Military protocol requires forensic documentation for suspected abuse cases. I'll flag this for JAG liaison review." He tapped the thermal image. "This fracture's at least three years old based on bone remodeling. The surgical scarring looks newer, maybe eighteen months." "These are things CPS should have noticed, right? When they had her and placing her around?" The doctor’s grip tightened on the clipboard. "Standard pediatric exams don’t include spinal imaging unless there’s complaint of pain." He studied Leah through the window, her shallow breaths, the way her fingers twitched near the IV site. "She wouldn’t have complained. Kids like her don’t." "The thing is... even as her caregiver, in just one night, I knew to take her to the bathroom when she peed her pants twice! How can they miss things that would have lead to this discovery if she was with a CPS official from the end of school until nearly 8 PM? The doctor rubbed his temples, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They see paperwork, not patients. If a file says 'behavioral issues,' they stop looking for medical causes." He motioned toward Leah. "But you saw her flinch when touched near the lumbar region. You noticed the uneven gait. Those are clinical observations any caseworker should've documented." "I have a lawyer military lawyer on the way. She'll be here on Saturday to talk and probably ask you what any Social Worker should have noticed in the least, so reports, please?" The doctor nodded, turning the thermal scan toward me again. "I'll flag her file for forensic review and annotate everything. But right now, we need to stabilize Leah." His finger traced the jagged line of the fracture. "Her urinary retention isn't just behavioral, it's mechanical. The fracture displaced her vertebrae enough to compress the sacral nerves. That's why she can't feel bladder pressure. And this," he tapped the surgical scarring, "was someone's attempt to fix it without proper imaging. They likely made it worse." "That means they either didn't have medical training, or they did it the least costly way they could and still went against medical protocol, right?" The doctor's jaw tightened. "Or they wanted to hide the injury." He pulled a penlight from his pocket, clicking it on and off absently. "We'll need full spinal imaging before hernia repair. Anesthesia carries higher risks with undiagnosed cord damage." "Damn. So that's going to delay them fixing her hernia and other problems even after the other necessary documentations are done, right?" I shook my head and took a heavy breath. "If you can't do anything right now, I want my baby to sleep with me. If she's not being treated yet, then I want her to feel safe, and that means probably clinging to Grandpa until it's impossible." The doctor hesitated, glancing back at Leah through the window. Her fingers had loosened from the sheets now, curling instead around the edge of her gown. "We can move her to a recovery room," he said finally. "But she'll need monitoring. And you'll need to understand, " His voice lowered further, "She may not react well to waking up in an unfamiliar place with tubes attached." "She already showed me that the first night I had her and had to take her to the bathroom when she was having trouble to get her in the shower. She has some strength in those fists. If I didn't know she was scared, I'd have reported elderly abuse." The doctor chuckled, but it was a tired sound. He handed me the clipboard. "Sign here for room transfer. And here," he tapped another line, "for provisional guardianship during medical procedures." The pen scratched against the paper, my signature looking more jagged than usual. "Until she gets used to the nurses that check on her regularly, only I touch her to change her pants when she's wet," I whispered. "When she gets used to one or two, then the ones she starts to trust can change her." The doctor nodded, scanning the signed forms before passing them to a waiting nurse. "Understood." Leah's transfer was quieter than I expected, just the squeak of gurney wheels and the occasional murmur of nurses adjusting her IV line. She didn't stir when they lifted her, her body limp under the thin hospital blanket. The recovery room smelled less like antiseptic and more like stale coffee and overheated electronics. A single chair had been pulled beside the bed, its vinyl upholstery cracked with age. "Grandpa is here," I whispered to her. "If you need to pee, try to pee, baby. It's been a few hours and you don't even know when you have pee inside, so Grandpa is going to start reminding you to try to pee off and on until the doctors see what they can do to fix it, okay?" Leah stirred weakly, her fingers twitching against the blanket. Her face was pale under the fluorescent lights, her lips slightly parted in sleep. The IV line trembled when she shifted, her body instinctively curling away from the foreign sensation. I sighed and pushed lightly at her bladder area trying to see if I could stimulate it into peeing. "Easy baby," I murmured as Leah whimpered in her sleep, her legs jerking slightly. The nurse hovered nearby with a fresh catheter bag, her eyes flicking between the monitors and Leah's tense shoulders. "She's not allowed a catheter right now," I told the nurse. "Check her chart. There's a lot going on inside, so they are being careful on how to relieve her bladder stress." The nurse nodded and put the catheter bag back on the counter. "I'll let Dr. Rosario know she's settled in." "Thank you. I'll just do this another minute or two, and if she doesn't pee, maybe give her another hour or two and try again." The nurse hesitated, her fingers tapping against the countertop before she nodded and slipped out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. The hum of the overhead lights filled the silence, mingling with the rhythmic beeping of Leah’s heart monitor. Her breathing was shallow but even, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she drifted deeper into sedation. My fingers pressed gently just below her navel, feeling the unnatural firmness there, not the soft give of an empty bladder but the taut resistance of one stretched beyond capacity. "Come on, baby, pee," I whispered. "Please pee. You are with Grandpa. You're allowed to wet the bed, baby." Leah's breath hitched in her sleep, her legs stiffening slightly. The monitors beeped faster for a moment, then settled back into their rhythm. Her bladder remained stubbornly distended under my fingers, refusing to release despite the gentle pressure. A faint sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead, her brow furrowing in discomfort even through the sedation. I pressed the call button. I didn't think it was good for her to retain with her bladder stretched as it was. I knew it was fuller than normal people, but it kind of scared me she wouldn't pee at all, and then she started to sweat. The nurse came in, took one look at her, and then looked at me. "She's still retaining?" "Yeah, only it looks worse than than just normal. She looks feverish, too. Might be with her hernia blocking her bladder. The doctor said that's one of the complications." The nurse moved swiftly, adjusting the IV drip and pressing two fingers to Leah's wrist. Her pulse jumped under the touch, erratic and too fast. "Her temp's rising," she muttered, grabbing a thermometer from the wall unit. The digital readout flashed 101.3 by the time it beeped. "Get the doctor, please?" I asked nearly begging. The nurse hesitated only a second before nodding sharply and moving toward the door. The moment she left, I leaned closer to Leah, brushing damp hair from her forehead. Her skin burned under my fingertips. "Hang on, baby," I murmured. "Just hang on." Dr. Rosario arrived within minutes, his white coat flapping as he strode to the bedside. He didn’t speak at first, just pressed a stethoscope to Leah’s abdomen, his expression tightening as he listened. When he straightened, his voice was clipped. "Her bladder’s distended enough to cause reflex fever. We need to relieve the pressure, now." "Tell me what to do. I'll do anything that will save her. Anything!" Dr. Rosario grabbed the catheter kit himself, snapping on gloves with practiced efficiency. "Hold her hips steady. Not too tight, just enough to keep her from thrashing when she startles awake." His fingers probed Leah's inner thigh for the landmarks, then paused. "Actually, no. You talk to her. Keep her hearing your voice." "Yes sir. Baby? It's Grandpa. You need to pee really bad. We are going to help you go potty. Just focus on me. Do you want toys, still? How about a stuffy? Do you like Bears...?" Leah whimpered, her fingers twisting in the sheets as Dr. Rosario worked with swift precision. Her legs jerked involuntarily when the catheter slid in, her breath catching in a ragged gasp. I kept talking, my voice low and steady, recounting stupid details about the base commissary’s terrible coffee and how Sarah had once tried to smuggle a stray kitten into her backpack. Leah’s eyelids fluttered, her pupils dilated and unfocused when they finally opened, but her grip on my sleeve was iron-tight. "Baby...," I sighed. "We're just helping you go potty. You have to go really bad, but your body isn't letting you because organs are not where they are supposed to be, honey. They are working on a solution, but it's more complicated than we thought. Someone hurt you bad. Do you remember someone hitting your back worse than it had ever been hit or fell on it in a way that felt like you broke something?" Leah's fingers tightened on my sleeve, her breath coming in shallow hitches. Her eyes darted between my face and Dr. Rosario's hands, panic tightening her features. The catheter bag remained stubbornly empty. "It's okay. You just need to pee, baby. We weren't going to use this bag because of problems, but it's so bad, you are getting a fever. You need to try to pee, and more, we need to try to coax your hernia loose enough to let the pee out. You are not in trouble. We just want you to pee so you feel better, honey." Leah's breathing hitched unevenly, her fingers digging into my forearm as Dr. Rosario adjusted the catheter angle with careful precision. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, her pupils dilating further under the harsh lights. The monitor's beeping grew erratic, her heart rate spiking as her body rebelled against the intrusion. "I know, baby. I know," I whispered. "It doesn't feel good, but the sooner you pee, the sooner we can take it out. You are dangerously high, and it could back up into your kidneys causing worse damage. Just try to relax, just for a few moments so you can pee, baby." Her lips trembled, her toes curling against the sheets as her whole body tensed. Then, suddenly, her breath caught, and a thin trickle appeared in the catheter tube. Dr. Rosario exhaled sharply, adjusting the tubing slightly to encourage better flow. The trickle became a slow but steady stream, the bag gradually filling with dark, concentrated urine. "Good baby," I whispered. "Keep peeing, baby. Just keep it up as long as you can. It'll be over with soon. Good girl." Leah's grip loosened slightly on my sleeve, her breathing slowing as the feverish flush began to fade from her cheeks. Dr. Rosario kept his fingers braced against her thigh, monitoring the catheter's position with careful precision. The bag filled steadily, the dark yellow fluid a stark reminder of just how long Leah's body had been holding onto waste it couldn't release. I looked at the doctor. "You said the intestine is blocking her bladder, and that it has heavy impaction. Can we try to feed her something to make her poop to release the tension on her bladder neck?" Dr. Rosario hesitated, his fingers tapping against Leah's chart. "Not until we confirm the impaction's position," he murmured. "If we stimulate peristalsis with an obstruction this severe, we risk perforation." He motioned to the nurse. "Get me another ultrasound before we attempt anything." "There's not much she can do, with awareness about this, right? I mean, I am sure she sometimes holds her pee on purpose due to punishment, but this doesn't feel like a situation where she was holding it on purpose...?" Dr. Rosario shook his head, adjusting the catheter tubing with careful precision. "No. This is mechanical obstruction, not behavioral retention. Look." He tapped the ultrasound screen as it flickered to life, pointing to the shadowed mass pressing against Leah's bladder neck. "That's nearly eight centimeters of impacted stool. It's compressing the urethra like a kinked hose." "Surgery is the only thing that's going to fix that, I suppose?" Dr. Rosario nodded grimly, rotating the ultrasound probe to capture another angle. The image showed Leah's bladder deformed into an unnatural hourglass shape, pinched between the impacted mass and her displaced intestines. "We'll have to disimpact manually under anesthesia first. Then assess the hernia repair, her stomach's pushing through the diaphragm here." He indicated a pale smudge crowding her left lung field. "That's why she's been short of breath." "Yeah, I understood that part from earlier. I... I guess I'm just reaching for straws because I know that retaining pee too long can cause the kidneys to get backed up and if those get damaged, well, life is over as she knows it." The doctor glanced up from the ultrasound screen, his expression softening slightly. "Her kidneys are functioning, just stressed. The obstruction is recent, probably exacerbated by preoperative fasting." He motioned to the nurse. "Prep OR three. We'll need pediatric GI on standby." "How close can I be, at least until she loses consciousness before the surgery?" I asked tears in my eyes. Dr. Rosario hesitated, then nodded once. "Until anesthesia takes full effect. No further." He turned to the nurse. "Page anesthesia team stat, tell them we have respiratory compromise and autonomic instability. And get trauma peds on consult." I leaned closer to Leah, pressing my forehead against hers briefly. Her skin was cooler now, the fever breaking as her bladder emptied, but her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. "You hear that, baby? They're gonna fix you up proper." My voice cracked despite myself. "I'll be right here until you're asleep, and I'll be waiting when you wake up." Her fingers twitched against mine, her lips moving soundlessly before she managed a hoarse whisper. "Don't...leave." I squeezed her hand tighter, not caring when the sudden warmth spread across my own thighs. The sharp scent of urine rose between us, my own bladder finally giving way after hours of terrified vigilance. "Not going anywhere, baby," I murmured, shifting just enough to keep the wet fabric from touching her IV lines. The nurse shot me a glance but said nothing, her hands busy prepping Leah's anesthesia port. Dr. Rosario's pager beeped twice before he ripped it from his waistband. "OR's ready," he announced, then hesitated as Leah's fingers clawed at my wrist. The tremor in her grip belied her fading consciousness, the sedatives finally overtaking her panic. "Count, baby," I asked. "Count until you fall asleep. When you wake up, you will feel better, I hope, but it will be a little sore...." Leah struggled against the anesthesia creeping over her. Her lips moved weakly, mouthing numbers without sound. The nurse adjusted the oxygen mask over her nose, fingers brushing Leah's cheek lightly. Leah flinched, but her resistance was fading, her eyelids fluttering like moth wings against glass. When she was gone, I looked down. "Sorry about the mess. I'll mop it up. I just couldn't leave her... I... think you understand?" The nurse nodded silently and tossed me a clean pair of surgical scrubs from the cabinet. "Change before you track it all over recovery," she murmured, already mopping the floor with efficient strokes. Her face gave nothing away, but she didn't call housekeeping, just handled it herself, quick and quiet. Military medical, I thought. They'd seen worse. I stripped off my soaked jeans right there, not caring about modesty. The scrubs were stiff and smelled of industrial detergent, but they were dry. I balled up my ruined clothes and shoved them into the hazardous waste bin without hesitation. "She say anything else while I was getting the supplies earlier?" I asked, nodding toward Leah's empty bed as they wheeled her out. The nurse hesitated, her fingers tightening around the mop handle. "Just kept asking if you were coming back." She glanced at the closed OR doors. "You military?" "Retired. She's my first kid, though. So...." The nurse's expression shifted slightly, her grip loosening on the mop. "She's lucky to have you." She flicked a glance at the monitors still displaying Leah's vitals, heart rate stabilizing, oxygen levels improving. "Most fosters wouldn't stick through this kind of... mess." "That's exactly what is wrong with that messed up...," I calmed myself before I said something that could get me thrown out of the hospital. "... they put kids with the most messed up people, and then when someone decent gets them... well, I'm struggling. I'm trying, but I don't always know what to do. But she's my baby, and I'm not going to let her go back to that. You should have seen the fear in her when I first got her yesterday!" The nurse paused mid-mop, her shoulders stiffening. "Yesterday?" She turned slowly, her eyes scanning my face with sudden intensity. "You got her yesterday, and she's already in surgery?" "This abuse has been going on forever," I nodded. "They taught her to hold it until she wets herself, and then yell at her and punish her and humiliate her in front of the whole school, calling her the behavioral problem when all she's trying to do, is be a normal kid... and can't stop from wetting herself when she's told to wait more than 6 hours! And then I find out someone injured her back... the doctor told us earlier this evening, and they injured her so bad, they basically broke her spine and then didn't even take care of it right, but tried to repair it in a way that hid what they did, and well, it's just...." And I started crying. The emotional stress grew too much, and I couldn't keep it in any longer. The nurse set the mop aside and pulled a packet of tissues from her pocket. "Here," she said quietly. "You're doing right by her now." She hesitated, then added, "I've seen cases like this before. Military brats, mostly. Parents who think discipline means breaking kids." Her voice was low, bitter. "They get creative with punishments. Make it look like accidents." "I better not find a military person mistreating a kid, theirs or otherwise like this," I frowned. "Officer or not, I am retired. I don't care about punishment for myself anymore. I mean... military! They should know better. They should have the self control to realize they are dealing with children, not the fucking enemy!" The nurse pressed her lips together, glancing at the surgical board where Leah’s case blinked in urgent red. "Not always," she murmured. "Some people enlist to get power, not serve. And kids... well, they can’t fight back." She wiped her hands on her scrubs, the motion brisk, practiced. "You want coffee? OR’s gonna be hours." "No. I don't want her smelling anything on my breath that might remind her of her abusive stays. Maybe something childish... hot cocoa or something?" The nurse nodded, motioning toward the staff lounge. "They keep instant packets by the microwave. Marshmallows too." She hesitated, watching me rub my temples. "You should sit down before you fall down. Your BP’s probably spiked." "Yeah. I've not rested, really since last night when they brought her to my house. Got maybe 4 hours of sleep but she woke up around 4 completely terrified she had had an accident in her sleep." The nurse guided me toward a plastic chair near the nursing station, her grip firm but not unkind. "Sit. I'll get your cocoa." She disappeared down the hall, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking against the linoleum. I slumped into the chair, my knees finally giving out. The adrenaline that had kept me upright for the past twenty-four hours was leaching away, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion. My hands trembled when I lifted them to scrub at my face, Leah’s scent still clung to my skin, that sharp, frightened-child smell of sweat and urine and the faint medicinal tang of the hospital soap. Sleep overtook me before the nurse was back. The clink of a ceramic mug on the laminate table jolted me awake. The nurse, her nametag read "Lt. Vasquez", pushed the cocoa toward me, steam curling in lazy spirals. "Drink," she said. Not unkindly. "You’ll be no good to her if you collapse." "Vasquez? Are you related to a lawyer that's Military?" I suddenly asked her. She blinked, her fingers tightening around her own coffee mug. "Elena's my sister," she admitted after a beat. "Small world." "She's the one helping me circumvent CPS not allowing me to let the child see a doctor." Lieutenant Vasquez exhaled sharply through her nose, her grip tightening around her coffee mug. "That explains the urgency flags on your paperwork." She glanced toward the surgical doors, her professional mask slipping just enough to reveal the tightness around her eyes. "Elena mentioned a case involving deliberate medical neglect. Didn't realize she meant pediatric spinal fractures." "I don't think she even knows that yet. We just found out, didn't we? But it's not just my kid. She's already been studying my friend's case. That's what pointed us to each other." Vasquez's expression hardened. "Sarah Calloway." Not a question. "Sarah is the patient, yes. Her mom has been trying to prove her dad was mistreating her for years, for control over guardianship, but he finally made a fatal flaw this week. And I intend to capitalize on that flaw to its fullest. He basically admitted that his daughter was having bladder problems while trying to prove his mother unfit, and his mother is the one that's been decrying that that's the case, and we find out earlier, the medical was caused by the forced fluids he made her drink all the time to try to prove the mother incapable." Vasquez set her coffee down with deliberate precision. "Coercive hydration," she murmured, more to herself than to me. Her fingers twitched toward her phone before she caught herself. "That explains the electrolyte imbalances in Sarah's labs. And the dilation." "Poor kid poops her pants sometimes now, but we are working on getting her to see a specialist to clear it up, after the Military confirms the signs so Vasquez, your sister, can fight properly for her." Lieutenant Vasquez's jaw tightened. She pulled a pen from her breast pocket and scribbled something on a napkin, a string of numbers, letters. "Give this to Elena. It's the access code for Sarah’s archived medical records from when she was stationed here at six. Her father wasn’t stationed overseas yet, just stateside. There’s a pattern." She tore the napkin neatly in half, handing me one piece. "Destroy it after. Chain of custody matters." "Thank you. I know she'll appreciate it." Lieutenant Vasquez nodded once, her fingers lingering on the napkin before she withdrew her hand. The silence stretched between us, filled only with the distant hum of medical equipment and the muffled chatter of nurses at their station. I folded the napkin carefully into my shirt pocket, feeling the weight of Sarah’s past pressing against my ribs. "I am doing the right thing, right? Encouraging my grandbaby to wet her pants until she starts peeing normally and without guilt?" I asked the nurse. Lieutenant Vasquez regarded me with an unreadable expression before answering. "You're reversing years of conditioned terror," she said. "Sarah will heal faster knowing she won't be punished for basic bodily functions." She paused, swirling her coffee. "But don't confuse patience with passivity. That man deserves to burn." I nodded. "I mean, Leah, too... especially Leah. Leah is so scared of being humiliated and shame and everyone seeing her pee, that she holds it for hours on purpose... which while she has other concerns, that has definitely played a part in her health deterioration." Lieutenant Vasquez’s gaze flicked to the OR doors again. "She’ll need rehab. Physically. Mentally. Both." She said it like she was reciting a checklist, but something in her voice cracked. "They always do." "I will be happy to help her through that, once she knows she's allowed to wet herself, first." Lieutenant Vasquez exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, but not quite. "You’re a stubborn bastard, Greene. Good." She glanced at her watch, then toward the surgical board. "Two more hours, at least. You should, " Her words cut off as a shrill alarm blared from the OR. The red light above Leah’s case number began flashing in rapid pulses. Vasquez was already moving, her coffee abandoned. "Code Blue," she snapped over her shoulder. "Stay here." I didn’t stay. I was halfway to the OR doors when Jennifer and Sarah appeared around the corner, Sarah clutching her mother’s arm, her face pale under the hospital’s fluorescent lights. Jennifer’s eyes were red-rimmed, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Jim," she said, her voice strained. "They called us back. Said something about Leah’s chart needing verification." "She's in OR right now. I am actually not supposed to be out here, but well, come back to the rest area they had me in and talk to me. The nurse or someone will be back as soon as Leah is okay." Jennifer nodded and Sarah looked terrified, but I ushered them back to the nurses' lounge where Lt. Vasquez had left my cocoa. It was cold now, but I didn't care. Jennifer sat next to me, her fingers twisting in her lap. Sarah leaned against her mother, eyes darting toward the hallway every few seconds. "Sarah, drink. It will calm you." I pushed the now cold chocolate to her. "Leah is in good hands. She's just had more complications than we thought." Sarah took the cup but didn't sip. Her fingers trembled around the ceramic, her knuckles whitening. Jennifer squeezed her shoulder, but Sarah didn't react, her gaze fixed on the hallway where Lt. Vasquez had vanished. The hospital's PA system crackled, announcing a rapid response team to OR Three, and Sarah flinched so hard cocoa sloshed over her fingers. "She'll be okay," I said resolved. "She's being worked on with the best people, and oh, Vasquez has a sister." I took the paper napkin she gave me. "This has info your lawyer will need to get records released from when Sarah was around six. She seems to know about the court order, but it seems that she thinks this was not in that sealing order." Jennifer took it, puzzled. "Vasquez? The nurse is Vasquez? Elena Vasquez's sister?" "She's the one that was sitting with me when I was trying to calm Leah before she went into OR. She was supposed to wait for Operation, but things got ugly, so they had to start despite the doctor having wanted to wait for some other things to fall in place first. That's likely why the codes all over the place. Not necessarily bad, just precaution, I pray." Jennifer unfolded the napkin carefully, her fingers brushing the smudged ink as Sarah peered over her shoulder. The numbers meant nothing to me, but Jennifer's breath hitched. "These are serial identifiers from Pendleton's pediatric ward," she whispered. "Sarah was hospitalized here for 'dehydration' twice when she was six. Her father listed himself as sole guardian both times. Elena couldn't access these before, they were classified under his service record." "I don't think she was supposed to give those to you. You have to destroy it after you use the numbers to get what you need or someone that's trying to help might get in trouble." Jennifer folded the napkin into her palm like it was a live grenade. "Elena's been trying to get these for years," she said, her voice low. "He had them buried under operational security protocols. Said they were related to his deployment readiness evaluations." Sarah pressed closer to her mother, her fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt. The hospital's overhead lights flickered, casting long shadows across the lounge. Somewhere down the hall, a cart rattled, the sound echoing like gunfire in the tense silence. "So help me, your Ex better hope I don't find out where his military station is. If I so much as get wind of who his current commander is, he will not have a good time. He is still enlisted, right?" Jennifer nodded slowly. "Yes, but, " She stopped herself, glancing at Sarah's hunched shoulders. "Later." Her fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against the armrest. The silence stretched until Sarah suddenly pushed the cold cocoa away, her breath hitching in shallow gasps. I recognized the signs, she was seconds from bolting or vomiting. Jennifer cupped Sarah’s face, forcing eye contact. "Breathe. You're safe here. Leah's safe." "Baby?" I whispered. "I only meant to help. You know you don't have to drink the cocoa, right? I thought you might want some, not that you have to drink it. I'm not trying to make you do something your body doesn't want. You can put the cup down, baby." Sarah let out a shuddering breath, her fingers unclenching around the mug. The ceramic clattered against the table as she pushed it away, cocoa sloshing onto the laminate. Jennifer didn't scold her. She just pulled Sarah into her lap like she was six again, rocking slightly, her lips pressed to her daughter's temple. "You know, even if I offer, you never drink anything you don't want to around us, and if anyone ever suggests you do, you make sure you let your mommy and Grandpa know, right?" Sarah nodded against Jennifer's shoulder, her fingers digging into her mother's sleeve. The overhead lights flickered again, casting strange shadows across Sarah's face, she looked younger suddenly, fragile in a way that had nothing to do with her thirteen years. Jennifer mouthed "thank you" over Sarah's head, her eyes wet. I nodded. "Sarah. Pee, baby. I mean if you need to. It's okay. No one will be mad." Sarah whimpered against Jennifer's chest, her legs pressing together under the hospital chair. Jennifer's hands moved instinctively to Sarah's waistband, but Sarah shook her head violently. The terror in her eyes was too familiar, Leah wore it the same way. "Don't make her pull her pants down, Jenny. She can wet her pants. I have money if you need to go to the PX and get her clean pants tomorrow before you take her to see the doctor." Jennifer hesitated, her hands hovering over Sarah's waistband. Sarah shook harder, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The scent of cocoa mixed with something sharper, fear sweat, the kind that prickled the back of my neck in Kandahar. Sarah's knees knocked together under the chair, her sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. "Come here, baby," I whispered to Sarah. "Come on. Grandpa understands. You are scared about Leah, and you don't want to leave the room until you know she's safe, and you're not sure when you are going to start peeing. Right? Come on, talk to Grandpa, baby." Sarah's breath hitched as she peeled herself from Jennifer's grip. Her socks made damp patches on the floor where she shuffled toward me, her arms crossed tight over her stomach. The overhead fluorescents buzzed, casting stark light on the faint tracks of old tears on her cheeks. "Baby? It's okay if you pee in Grandpa's lap. But don't hold it once you start leaking. We don't need you having some of the same problems Leah has. You already have your own troubles, okay?" Sarah's hands trembled as she reached for mine, her fingers cold and damp. She didn't speak, but her grip tightened when the PA system crackled again, another stat page for OR Three. Jennifer hovered behind us, her knuckles pressed to her mouth. I got up carrying Sarah with me, and walked into the hall to try to get someone to stop and tell me something. "Doctor... Nurse... Nurse...?" Nobody stopped, but a nurse noticed me, and walked over, "They're working. She's stable but they're doing a lot of repairs. The doctor will come talk to you soon." "That's all I wanted to know. Thank you. We were getting scared, weren't we Sarah?" Sarah's grip on my shirt loosened slightly, her damp cheek resting against my shoulder. The nurse's eyes flickered to the wet spot spreading down Sarah's jeans, but she said nothing, just nodded and disappeared down the hall. Jennifer hovered behind us, her fingers twisting in the hem of her own shirt. I carried Sarah into the break room. Sitting down, I whispered. "All the way, baby. You're already wet. No holding it. You didn't make a puddle yet, so I know you're not done, baby. You're not in trouble, and this has nothing to do with your mom taking care of you, and the hospital staff know it, okay?" Sarah shuddered against my chest, her breath hot through my shirt. The warm dampness spread slowly down her legs, soaking into the fabric of my jeans. Jennifer knelt beside us, her hands hovering, not touching, just present. The overhead lights hummed, casting long shadows across Sarah's tear-streaked face. "You want to hold your daughter?" I asked Jennifer. "Trust me, if the nurses document you holding our wet daughter, that will tell more than any lies your ex can come up with. Doctors understand trauma and a parents' need to comfort their children after an accident, especially from a teen girl." Jennifer hesitated only a second before gathering Sarah into her arms, damp jeans and all. Sarah buried her face in her mother's neck, her fingers clutching Jennifer's collar like a lifeline. The smell of urine mixed with hospital antiseptic, but Jennifer didn't flinch. She just rocked Sarah gently, humming something low and tuneless. I stood stiffly, my own pants clinging uncomfortably where Sarah had leaked. A passing orderly glanced at us, the trembling teenager in soaked clothes, the middle-aged man with damp trousers, the mother's white-knuckled grip, and quickly looked away. Some stories didn't need explanations in places like this. The PA crackled again, a garbled announcement about OR Three shifting to recovery status. Jennifer's head snapped up, her arms tightening around Sarah. Before I could move, Lt. Vasquez rounded the corner, her scrubs splattered with something dark that couldn't be blood, not if Leah was okay, but my throat closed anyway. "She's stable." Vasquez peeled off her gloves, the latex snapping against her wrists. "Repaired the hernia, decompressed the bladder. Found adhesions from old injuries, " Her gaze flicked to Sarah's wet jeans, then back to my face. "They're closing now. Another hour." Sarah made a small, wounded noise against Jennifer's shoulder. Vasquez crouched beside them, her voice dropping. "Listen, kid. Leah asked for you both after they extubated her. Kept saying 'Sarah' and 'Grandpa' through the sedation." She pressed a crumpled recovery room pass into Jennifer's shaking hand. "They'll take you when she's out of PACU." Jennifer exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the paper. Sarah lifted her head, her cheeks still wet, but her breathing steadier now. The fluorescent light caught the silvery tracks of old scars on her wrists, parallel lines too precise for accidents. Vasquez noticed too; her jaw hardened, but she only said, "Clean clothes in the pediatric ward locker. Third cabinet." I nodded, watching Jennifer guide Sarah down the hall, one hand pressed protectively against her daughter's damp back. Vasquez waited until they turned the corner before speaking again. "You should know, Leah's injuries weren't just from neglect." She pulled a tablet from her hip pocket, tapping it awake. The screen showed thermal imaging of a spine, the vertebrae glowing like a heat map. "These fractures are deliberate. Someone knew how to inflict maximum nerve damage without visible trauma." "Wait. You are telling me that someone abusing her... didn't accidentally cause the injuries due to violence, but knew exactly what they were doing and purposefully destroying that child?" I felt my eyes narrow. "That fucking Mr. Snyde better not be the one I see in two weeks. There is no fucking way he didn't know about this!" Vasquez’s jaw tightened as she swiped to another image, Leah’s bladder, illuminated in stark blues and reds. "Nerve damage here suggests repeated, targeted trauma. The kind you’d see in interrogation techniques." She paused, her voice lowering further. "Jim, her file’s flagged with a military case number. Not CPS. Not civilian law enforcement. Someone in the system knew." "How do we... sorry, wrong Vasquez. Your sister is the lawyer. But since you are sisters, can you flag this to her, and tell her I want a different CPS office to look into this and to finish the process of putting this baby with me? I'll adopt her, no questions, if the State will allow it." Vasquez pocketed the tablet, her expression unreadable. "They will. Military jurisdiction trumps CPS when active-duty personnel are implicated. Elena’s already filed emergency custody petitions under the Uniform Code of Military Justice." She glanced down the hall where Sarah’s faint sobs echoed. "But Jim, the fractures? They’re old. Years. Whoever did this had training." "They were military, then?" I asked. "How do we make sure the Military doesn't cover for the bastard?" Vasquez hesitated. The hum of hospital machinery filled the space between us. "Depends," she finally said, her voice low. "Depends if they think Leah's more valuable as evidence or as collateral damage." "Then we make sure her treatment becomes a liability," I fumed. "We play warfare. We get the news involved and other people, not implicating the Military, but just making it so the Military sees cover it up as more a liability than an asset." Vasquez exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers tapping against her thigh in a slow, deliberate rhythm, like counting ammunition. "That’s Elena’s angle already. She’s leaking select case details to civilian oversight committees, not enough to compromise Leah, just enough to ensure accountability." She glanced at the recovery room doors. "But Jim, this isn’t just about Leah anymore. If Sarah’s father is active-duty, " She let the implication hang between us. "This stuff is going on in this area. Is it world wide, or is it limited to this area?" I asked. "Or do you know? If it's a certain base or area, it would be easy for the Military to fix and in their best interest to remove officers that allowed it to happen and punish those they can find to court martial. If it's service wide, it's going to be a much bigger fight." Vasquez shook her head, her fingers tightening around the tablet's edge. "I don’t know. That’s the problem. Leah’s case file had redactions deeper than her injuries. Someone scrubbed her origins clean." She hesitated, then lowered her voice further. "But when I ran her scars through the forensic database, the pattern matched archived files from a black site interrogation manual. Decommissioned in '09 after the Senate hearings." "Is there a chance that Leah isn't a citizen, and therefore not under the protection of citizenship laws?" Vasquez's grip on the tablet whitened her knuckles. "Possible. But unlikely, given the foster placement." "Please talk to your sister. I think the two of you collaborating is going to be the easiest way to get information back and forth without it being intercepted, in person rather than phone, if you can?" Vasquez nodded, glancing at the security camera in the ceiling corner. She tucked the tablet under her arm and pulled out a pen, scribbling something on the back of a glove before handing it to me. "Burn this after. Elena's safehouse coordinates. Bring both girls tomorrow at 1400 hours." "What of Sarah seeing a civilian doctor tomorrow?" Vasquez hesitated before answering, her fingers drumming against her thigh. "Deniability. Civilian records complicate military interference. Have Dr. Rosario refer her, his clinic has encrypted backups." She peeled off her second glove, scrawling another note. "Burn this too. Pediatric trauma specialist, ex-Navy, knows when to document and when to stay quiet." "I'm not sure how we meet at Elena's safehouse tomorrow and get Sarah to the doctor plus Leah is still going to be in the hospital recovering here, right?" Vasquez shook her head, glancing at the recovery room doors again. "Leah's being discharged to your care tonight. They'll claim it's standard procedure, surgical follow-up by home health nurses to free up beds." She hesitated, then leaned in closer. "But the truth? They want her out of this hospital before higher-ups start asking questions about those scans." "Got it. So everything else will be out of pocket then?" Vasquez frowned, the harsh light catching the lines around her mouth. "Not exactly. The Army’s footing Leah’s medical bills, officially for dependent care, unofficially to keep the paper trail internal. But Sarah’s civilian treatment?" She exhaled sharply. "That’ll be trickier. Jennifer’s insurance is tied to her ex-husband’s service benefits." "Sarah can file for Social insurance with welfare, though, and with my retirement, I can try to help cover with the Ex-Navy doctor you talked about?" Vasquez nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Yes. But Jim, don’t use your name on anything. If Jennifer’s ex is still active-duty, he could trace payments back." She glanced over her shoulder as footsteps approached, a nurse wheeling Leah’s bed toward recovery, the girl’s small frame barely visible under the blankets, her face pale against the oxygen tubing. Vasquez lowered her voice further. "Elena’s arranged a shell nonprofit for medical grants. Untraceable." "Don't worry. I'll only pay cash where I have to. Cash is harder to paper trail." Vasquez nodded, her gaze flicking to Leah's approaching hospital bed. The wheels squeaked faintly against the linoleum, the sound incongruously cheerful against the tension in the hallway. Leah's fingers twitched under the thin hospital blanket, her eyelids fluttering as sedation wore off. The nurse slowed, her expression carefully neutral. "She's asking for you," she murmured to me. "Do me a favor? Find a way to get those numbers to the Ex-Navy doctor that you wanted Jennifer to have. If it comes from an unknown source, the records can't be traced on how the hospital got hold of the records. It might help in Sarah's care?" Vasquez exhaled sharply, nodding once. "Already done." She peeled off her badge, pressing it into my palm with a folded scrap of paper underneath. "Burn this too. Clinic address and protocol for signal flares." Her fingers lingered on mine for half a second too long, a warning. "They'll know you're coming." I nodded. "Do we sneak out tonight, after Leah's fit for travel?" Vasquez glanced toward the nurse adjusting Leah’s IV line, her voice barely audible. "Better now, before shift change. Less paperwork, less witnesses." She tapped the folded badge against my palm once before stepping back. "Take the service elevators. Basement level three has a loading dock, Elena’s contact will meet you there with a van." "Come," I told Jennifer. "Now I know why they called you to get up in the middle of the night. We move now." Jennifer hesitated, glancing at Sarah curled in her lap, eyes wide with exhaustion and fear. Her fingers tightened around her daughter’s shoulders. "She needs, " she started, then stopped. The unspoken hung between us, Sarah’s wet clothes, Leah’s stitches, the impossibility of moving two traumatized girls in the dead of night without breaking them further. "She wears her wet pants for now. We don't have time. We need to be out of here before shift change, and there is a chance the powers that don't want this story out are already on to us. They are sending Leah home either way, tomorrow, way too early with some excuse of home care. My contacts can only do so much. Your daughter will be seen my another contact that isn't part of the Military anymore." Jennifer looked at Sarah's wet pants, and then at Sarah's eyes. She wiped Sarah's cheeks and hugged her tight. "Sarah, get in bed with Leah," I whispered. "Be careful, she's hurt. We need to move and I know it's going to be hard, but we change your pants in the morning. We can't take a chance of going back to Billeting tonight." Sarah curled against Leah's side, tucking the blanket around them both with trembling hands. Leah stirred but didn't wake, her breath shallow and uneven. I grabbed the IV stand, wheeled it toward the door, and saw Jennifer hesitate, her fingers twitching toward Sarah's wet jeans. "Leave her pants on her, Jennifer. Trust me. We want these kids out of here before something happens. I think your husband has a contingency plan in place. That's the only reason they can be this scared this soon about helping us. Someone had to have known to keep on alert, and since Leah is a new variable, it only stands to reason, your ex is involved." Jennifer's hands froze mid-air, her knuckles whitening before she pulled them back to her sides. The nurse gave us a sharp look, but Vasquez stepped forward, blocking her view with a clipboard. "Room 8C needs discharge papers," she said briskly, her tone brooking no argument. The nurse hesitated, then turned away, footsteps fading down the hall. "That nurse was too curious," I said. "Combat alertness. You spot dangers and assess. She might be just a curious bystander, but we take no chances. We assume she knows something and is reporting it. Vasquez, you are with us now. You are in danger if you stay." Vasquez hesitated, then nodded sharply. "Agreed. My car's in the staff lot. I'll meet you at the loading dock." She disappeared down the hallway, her shoes silent on the tile, moving like someone who knew how to vanish when needed. "Sorry, Jennifer, but piss your pants. We will not stop for a toilet until we get where we are going, and I know you've not really been to the toilet much today. Just piss it's not that big a deal." Jennifer looked at me like I was insane, her cheeks flushing. Sarah whimpered against Leah's side, her fingers clutching the blanket. The IV stand rattled as I pushed it toward the door, my other hand gripping the bed rail. The overhead lights flickered, just once, but it was enough to make Jennifer jump. "Jennifer, I wouldn't command it if it were not necessary. Soldiers don't piss themselves unless its the only way out of a situation. Right now, we don't need you concentrating on your bladder. You need to concentrate on your daughter getting safe, and the best way to do that, is remove the urgency in your bladder. Now please. Do it. I've already done. Vasquez will tell you later when we meet up with her." Jennifer's lips trembled, but she nodded, her shoulders slumping as she released the tension in her abdomen. A quiet sound, barely audible over the hum of hospital machinery, followed by the darkening stain spreading down her jeans. Sarah's eyes widened, but she didn't speak, just pressed closer to Leah's sleeping form. "Sarah, that's your mother. Don't watch. We are doing this for your safety, so you keep your mind on your sleeping friend and let your mother do what she needs to keep you safe." Sarah turned her face into Leah's shoulder, fingers twisting the hospital gown fabric. Jennifer exhaled sharply, her whole body rigid with humiliation even as relief flooded her system. The smell of urine mingled with antiseptic, the scent of fear and survival in this sterile place that wasn't safe at all. "No judgement. Everyone we will see from here on out, ex-military and those that work closely with it, understand evacuation emergencies. The news never shows the messy side of things." The wheels of Leah’s bed squeaked louder as I pushed through the double doors into the dimly lit hallway. Jennifer followed close behind, her damp jeans clinging to her thighs with every step. Sarah kept one hand on Leah’s blanket, the other gripping the bed rail as we moved toward the service elevator. A janitor looked up from his mop bucket, took in our ragged group, the girl in wet clothes, the woman with shaking hands, the old man steering an unconscious child’s bed, and pointedly looked away. The elevator doors slid open just as a man in fatigues rounded the corner. Not just any soldier, Craigger’s man, the one who’d processed Leah’s paperwork earlier with a little too much interest. His boots scuffed against the tile as he stopped short, eyes flicking from Leah’s IV drip to Sarah’s tear-streaked face. "Maintenance only," he said flatly, tapping the sign beside the elevator. Vasquez’s warning echoed in my head, *less paperwork, less witnesses*, but this wasn’t some curious nurse. This man knew. His fingers twitched toward his radio before I stepped forward, blocking his view of the girls. "Fire exit’s jammed," I lied, nodding toward the stairwell he’d just sealed behind him with a swipe of his badge. "Alarm would’ve tripped if we’d tried it." His gaze flicked to Jennifer’s damp jeans, then Sarah’s tear-streaked face pressed against Leah’s shoulder. "Regulations," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. Craigger’s men didn’t patrol hospital basements without reason. The elevator doors began to slide shut. Jennifer lunged forward, her body blocking the sensor. "Sir," she said, voice cracking, "my daughter’s catheter bag needs emptying." A desperate lie, Sarah had no catheter, but the soldier’s eyes dropped to Leah’s IV pole, the tubing snaking under the blanket. His hesitation lasted half a second too long. That was all we needed. I shoved the bed forward, wheels catching the soldier’s boot as he stumbled back. The elevator doors closed on his startled curse. Sarah whimpered, fingers digging into Leah’s blanket as the descent began. The overhead light flickered again, casting shadows across Jennifer’s ashen face. "He recognized us," Jennifer whispered. Her damp jeans clung to her legs, the scent of urine sharp in the enclosed space. The soldier’s badge swipe had sealed the stairwell, fire exit only, rigged to trip alarms if opened. No one would follow that way now, but he’d radio ahead. Sarah pressed her face into Leah’s hospital gown. "He looked at me like Dad does," she murmured. Jennifer stiffened, her fingers tightening around the bed rail. The elevator groaned as it descended, the machinery older than Sarah’s fear. I watched the floor numbers tick down, three, two, one, each one slower than it should’ve been. Hospitals didn’t slow elevators without reason. "He didn’t just recognize us," I muttered. "He was posted there." Craigger’s men didn’t wander. They stationed. That swipe of his badge hadn’t just sealed the stairwell, it had flagged it. If we’d tried that door, alarms would’ve screamed through the building like a tripped fire drill, drawing every MP within half a mile. Jennifer’s breath hitched. "They were waiting for us." The elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors slid open onto a dimly lit loading dock, empty except for Vasquez leaning against a dented van, her posture casual but her fingers tapping the driver’s side door in uneven bursts, morse code for hurry. "Low," she hissed as we pushed Leah’s bed toward her. Jennifer ducked immediately, pulling Sarah down with her. I shoved the bed forward, the wheels catching on a cracked pavement seam. Vasquez yanked the van’s side door open, her eyes darting to the security camera above the dock’s exit. "Craigger’s man is driving. Don’t ask questions." The driver didn’t turn as we loaded Leah inside. His uniform sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing scars that weren’t from combat, thin, parallel lines that matched the latticework on Leah’s back. Sarah whimpered as Jennifer bundled her onto the floorboards, her wet jeans squeaking against the vinyl. The van smelled of antiseptic and diesel, with an undertone of sweat from too many rushed evacuations. Ducking low, I caught the driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror, Craigger’s man from the elevator, his jaw tight beneath the shadow of his cap. His fingers tapped the wheel in the same staccato rhythm Vasquez had used earlier. A question burned in my throat: why block us upstairs only to smuggle us out now? But Vasquez shook her head sharply, pressing a finger to her lips as she slid the side door shut. The van lurched forward, tires crunching over loose gravel. Sarah gasped as Leah’s IV line tugged, the bag swaying violently from its makeshift hook. Jennifer clutched both girls to her chest, her damp jeans leaving streaks on the vinyl floor. Outside, floodlights swept across the loading dock, illuminating a cluster of MPs scanning clipboards. The driver didn’t slow. Instead, he flicked his high beams twice, a signal, and the soldiers stepped back, their postures stiff with reluctant recognition. "Only when we’re off base," the soldier muttered, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. His voice was lower now, rougher, like gravel grinding under boot soles. "Security cameras. Had to make a show." He swerved sharply onto the service road, avoiding the checkpoint’s glare. Sarah whimpered as Leah’s head lolled against her shoulder, the motion jostling her surgical site. The driver’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. "They know Craigger’s in charge of security for the experimental program Sarah’s in. Had to make the cameras think I was following orders to stop you, not Craigger’s real orders to get you out." "Evac gear in the back," the soldier said. "Extra clothes and everything. You will dump what you are wearing at the side of the street up here, including any clothes both the children have on. It will look like that's where you disappeared to, making them focus on a decoy redherring." Jennifer hesitated, glancing at Sarah's wet jeans and Leah's hospital gown. The soldier's jaw tightened. "Ma'am, respectfully, those clothes will have trackers. Hospital issue is tagged. Even civilian wear gets RFID threads now." He jerked his chin toward a duffel bag behind the passenger seat. "Clean stuff's there. No tags." Sarah whimpered when Jennifer tugged at her waistband, her fingers clutching Leah's blanket like an anchor. Leah stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering as the van hit a pothole. I reached for the duffel, my hands brushing against folded sweatpants, plain cotton underwear, socks still stiff from packaging. Nothing with seams that could hide a chip. "I know, Sarah," I whispered. "It's important we do this. You can undo your pants under the blankets if you want, but the bed will be wet, so when you put your panties on, just sit on the edge of the bed and then get out into some panties, okay?" I looked at Jennifer. "That's why I said to go ahead an piss yourself in there. I knew we'd be getting clothes as soon as it was safe to do so." Sarah gasped softly, her fingers gripping the hem of Leah's hospital gown. The soldier's hands flexed on the wheel as we hit another rough patch of road, the van's suspension groaning. "Craigger's got teams watching all exits," he muttered. "But they're looking for a frantic group trying to sneak out, not a routine transport with proper clearance." His gaze flicked to the rearview again, checking the girls. "Change them now. Once we hit the city limits, you'll have two minutes at a gas station before we ditch this vehicle." I sighed and started to unbutton Jennifer's pants. "I'm sorry. I know you're nervous. Once I get you started, you'll see you have no choice, then we'll get the kids undressed." Jennifer trembled, but didn't resist as I worked the button loose. The van hit another pothole, jostling us all, and Sarah let out a small cry as Leah's IV line jerked. The driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Hurry," he muttered. "We're approaching the gate." "Step out. Jennifer. I'll start undressing Sarah." Jennifer hesitated, her fingers clenched around the duffel bag strap. The van slowed as we approached the gate, floodlights bleaching the interior white for half a second before the soldier rolled down his window and flashed credentials at the guard. "Routine transfer," he barked, his voice suddenly younger, higher-pitched, the perfect impersonation of a fresh recruit following orders. The guard’s flashlight beam swept over us, lingering on Sarah’s tear-streaked face pressed against Leah’s shoulder. I kept my grip loose on Jennifer’s waistband, my other hand shielding Leah’s IV line from view. "Didn't see a black van coming this way did you?" the man at the gate asked. "We'll looking for security risks." "No. Nothing behind me but personal vehicles," the driver shrugged. "They probably went the other way, the back way to hide from detection, if they are trying to sneak off base." Jennifer stifled a breath as the guard's flashlight beam swung toward the duffel bag. My fingers tightened imperceptibly on Sarah's shoulder, steady now, don't flinch, but the soldier just scoffed and tossed his clipboard onto the dash. "Figures. Always sending us rookies to check the wrong exits." The gate lifted with a hydraulic whine. As soon as we cleared the perimeter, the driver's posture slumped. His fingers drummed the wheel in that same jagged rhythm, three quick, two slow, while floodlights receded behind us. "Cameras rotate every ninety seconds," he muttered. "Next checkpoint's civilian. You've got until mile marker seven to ditch the tagged clothes." "Now, Jennifer. Get yourself undressed, or I'll come and treat you like one of the kids. I'm serious. We are putting the children in danger the longer we hold on to these tagged clothes." Jennifer flinched, her hands moving instinctively to cover Sarah's ears, too late. The girl had already stiffened, her pupils dilating at the threat in my voice. But necessity outweighed delicacy now. I reached past her and yanked the duffel open, scattering clean clothes across the van floor. The soldier's jaw twitched as he accelerated onto the highway, his eyes locked on the rearview mirror. "Sarah, up, now," I barked. "I might sound scary right now, but this is not the time to be gentle. I'm sorry. If you gotta pee, just pee. I know you're scared. But your clothes are coming off, now." Sarah hiccuped a sob but didn't resist as I peeled her wet jeans down her trembling legs. The van swerved onto an exit ramp, tires screeching. Jennifer's fingers fumbled at her own buttons, too slow. I grabbed the waistband of her pants and yanked hard, the fabric tearing at the seams. She gasped but didn't protest, kicking free of the tangled denim as I tossed it toward the sliding door. "Shirt off, too, Sarah. Bra and everything. Nothing they can have hid anything in. No one is looking at you, baby." I started on getting Leah's hospital gown off her It was trickier and I had to cut the cloth to remove the arm of the garment due to the IV machine. Sarah's hands shook as she pulled her shirt over her head, the fabric catching on her chin for one terrified moment before she wrenched it free. The van hit another bump and Jennifer reached out instinctively to steady her, her own bra straps slipping down pale shoulders. I worked quickly, slicing through Leah's hospital gown with my pocketknife where it tangled around the IV line. The fabric parted with a whisper, revealing the fresh surgical dressing taped to her abdomen, stark white against older scars. I quickly surveyed with my fingers to make sure they didn't try to hide any chips in the bandages, but they were clean. The hospital staff working on the kids were actually under Craigger's command, so they knew to hide the chips in the bandages of another patient. Sarah was crying silently as she pulled her underwear off, clutching a fresh pair in her other hand. Jennifer had already stripped down to nothing, her body rigid with humiliation as she grabbed for the clean sweatpants. Once Leah was naked, I pulled the blanket over her, and then I started to help Sarah again. "Come on, baby. Panties on," I whispered. "I know you're scared, baby." Sarah trembled as she stepped into the fresh underwear, her thighs still damp. Jennifer had already pulled on the clean sweatpants and was helping Leah into hers, careful of the IV line. The soldier glanced back, his expression softening briefly before snapping back to alertness. "One minute," he warned. "Gas station ahead." "Finish getting dressed," I told Sarah. "I still have to get my stuff off." I was quick, no modesty at all, as I just shoved everything off and into the pile, and then went back to Sarah helping her dress, though I was still naked. "You're safe, honey. We get into a different vehicle, and they will be looking around this area for a day or two before they realize we must have had another car already on standby." The van slowed abruptly, pulling into a deserted gas station lot. The soldier killed the engine and twisted in his seat, his gaze scanning the perimeter before landing on the pile of discarded clothes. "Burn barrel out back," he muttered, tossing me a lighter. "Sixty seconds." "If anyone wants to pee, you come out of the van and pee on the ground. We don't stop again until we get to the safehouse, people. If you can't wait or it starts leaking, you piss your pants. That goes for everyone." Jennifer's hands froze mid-motion, the hem of Sarah's new shirt clutched between her fingers. The girl's breath hitched, her gaze darting to Leah's unconscious form. The soldier exhaled sharply through his nose, already moving, snatching the discarded clothes into a bundled heap. "Leah won't be able to pee on her own right away," I told Jennifer. "She'll be fine. She's just going to be pissing her pants for a while anyway, even after all of this." The soldier was already out of the van, dumping our contaminated clothes into a rusted barrel behind the gas station. The flick of his lighter illuminated the sharp angles of his face for half a second before flames engulfed the fabric. The smell of burning polyester stung my nose as I hurried Sarah toward the bushes, her fingers clutching mine like a lifeline. We saw the new vehicle they were assigning us to get to the safe house in the bushes. It was a beat up old jeep, something the Military would definitely not think to stop since they'd think those running away would want a faster vehicle that could try to outrun them. I knew better though. MPs' cars were some of the fastest on the market, so better than quick, was camouflage, and apparently the people that set up our escape agreed with me. "I have to report to the hospital a few hours away," the soldier driving told us. "Part of your cover story. I tell them I didn't know it was you, and then I waste their time bringing them back here where there will be evidence of your burned clothes, but drive the jeep off road for a while before you catch the Interstate again on the map marked, and luck be with us, they'll assume you either had another car on this road, or you didn't have a car and waste time trying to find something that doesn't exist." Sarah was still shaking as I buckled her into the jeep's backseat beside Leah. Jennifer climbed in front, her fingers tapping nervously on the dash. The soldier hesitated before handing me a folded map. "Blue marks are safehouses. Red are compromised. Burn this once memorized." "Thank you. You are a credit to the uniform, soldier." And I drove us off into the desert. The jeep's headlights cut through the darkness as I navigated the rough terrain, following the soldier's hastily drawn map. Sarah's breathing had evened out beside me, her head resting against Leah's shoulder. Jennifer sat rigid in the passenger seat, her fingers tracing the dashboard like it might hold answers. The desert air smelled of dust and sagebrush, thick enough to coat my tongue. "The plan is we try to head directly for Vasquez's actual safe house, but if something goes wrong, then there are other stops along the way that are safe to hide out in until the heat is off." The jeep rattled over a dry creek bed, jostling Leah's IV line. Sarah jerked awake, her hand flying out to steady the bag before the needle could tug from Leah's arm. Jennifer twisted in her seat, her eyes scanning the empty horizon. "We're being tracked," she whispered. "Part of the plan," I nodded. "You don't think I told you that you'd piss your pants again because of a mere two hour plan, did you?" I asked Jennifer. We are going to ditch the Jeep in the desert. The other soldier didn't know this part of the plan so he couldn't tell anyone that figured out he was part of the plan." Sarah stiffened against Leah's side, her fingers tightening around the IV tubing. The dashboard lights cast shadows across Jennifer's face as she exhaled sharply through her nose. "So when do we, " she started, then cut herself off when I tapped the fuel gauge. Three-quarters full. Enough to get us deep enough into the desert that no patrol would follow on foot. "When you gotta go, just piss yourself. We will not be stopping until we get to the right place, then I check the jeep and the IV line for the tracker. Hopefully, it's on the jeep." Sarah let out a shaky breath against Leah's shoulder, her fingers tightening around the thin hospital blanket draped over both of them. The IV bag swayed with the Jeep's movement, casting eerie shadows across Leah's slack face. Jennifer's knuckles whitened on the dashboard as we hit another rut, the suspension groaning. "Almost there," I murmured, more for myself than them. The desert stretched endlessly in the headlights, scrub brush, the occasional silhouette of a Joshua tree. My military training recognized the terrain; knew how easily a person could disappear here if they knew where to step. The map rustled against my thigh, its creases marking more than coordinates. Safehouses weren't just locations, they were surrender points, places to stash evidence of survival when you had nothing left. The cave mouth yawned suddenly, a jagged black slash in the pale rock face. Sarah gasped. It looked like something had taken a bite out of the mountain. Jennifer's fingers dug into the dash, her breath audible. "That's not natural," she whispered. "Actually, it is natural," I chuckled. "That's why it's so clever." The Jeep's headlights barely penetrated the cave's throat as I steered toward the jagged opening. The map's annotation had been clear, *follow the water, erase your trail*. Beneath us, the creek's shallow flow gurgled over smoothed stones, its path cutting straight through the mountain's base. Perfect for masking tire tracks. Sarah whimpered as darkness swallowed us whole. The headlights flickered against wet limestone walls, revealing ancient watermarks high above our heads. "It's okay," I murmured, though my own pulse hammered against my ribs. The cave smelled of damp earth and something metallic, like rusted iron deposits leaching through the rock. "Just a little further in, and we'll see a helipad. We'll have to wait here for a bit though, so everyone will take off their pants and pee on the ground, or piss themselves if they are too embarrassed to pull their pants down." The Jeep's tires slipped on algae-slick stones as we inched deeper into the cavern's belly. Sarah's breath came in shallow bursts beside me, her fingers digging into Leah's hospital gown. The headlights barely illuminated the rushing creek ahead, its path twisting sharply to the left where the map indicated a secondary passage. Jennifer muttered something under her breath as the Jeep lurched over submerged debris, the suspension groaning. "We leave the jeep here. Sarah, Jennifer, follow the side passage. I'll take Leah out and check her IV bag before I put the jeep in reverse. It will look like the Jeep crashed from trying to back out, and another redherring, make them think we tried to reverse our way realizing this was the wrong cave, but it's right." The creek whispered around our ankles as we waded toward the side passage, Sarah clinging to Jennifer's arm. The cave walls pressed close, their damp surfaces slick under my palms as I carried Leah's limp form. Behind us, the Jeep sat half-submerged in the rushing water, its headlights still casting eerie reflections off the limestone. I'd rigged the IV bag to drip slowly into the creek, just enough saline to leave a trail they'd waste time analyzing. Jennifer hesitated at the passage mouth, her damp shirt clinging to her shoulders. "They'll follow the water," she murmured, staring at the dark current swirling around our legs. "That's the plan. The water goes back down to a small ghost town. Once they realize we didn't go that way, the helicopter will be here to pick us up." Sarah trembled against Jennifer's side, her hospital socks soaked through from the creek. The cave ceiling dripped somewhere in the darkness above us, each drop echoing like a ticking clock. Leah's breathing remained steady in my arms, though her skin felt clammy against my neck. The map's coordinates had been precise, three hundred yards upstream, then a sharp turn where the limestone formed a natural shelf. "This is where we stay. There's a bear den not far away. Hate to be the person that tried to follow us and runs into that guy." Sarah whimpered as I gestured toward the narrow ledge above the creek bed, barely visible in the dim glow of my emergency flashlight. The cave's damp chill seeped through my shirt as I adjusted Leah's weight against my chest, her IV line still dripping steadily into the rushing water below. Jennifer's breath fogged in the cold air as she scanned the limestone walls, her fingers brushing a series of faint scratches that might have been claw marks. Or tools. I fixed Leah's bag. We didn't want it leaking on the ground now, as we leave the water behind. "Those are animal marks," I told her. "Stay close, and the bear won't bother you." Sarah whimpered as Jennifer guided her onto the narrow shelf, their feet slipping on algae-coated limestone. The cave's silence pressed against my eardrums, broken only by the distant gurgle of the creek where we'd left the Jeep. My flashlight beam caught glinting mineral deposits in the rock, like frozen constellations. Leah stirred in my arms, her breath hitching as consciousness flickered back. "I'm only doing this this once because it's an emergency. Don't pee your pants yet, Leah. We need to get off the obvious trail before you do, so no one knows we were here. Just a few moments, if you can help it, okay?" Sarah whimpered against Jennifer's side as we crept along the ledge, our soaked shoes squeaking on the algae-slick rock. The cave ceiling loomed low enough that I had to duck while carrying Leah, my shoulders brushing damp limestone that smelled faintly of iron and rot. The creek below gurgled mockingly, its path clearly marked by smooth stones worn down over centuries, the perfect false trail. Any tracker would follow that waterway first, wasting precious hours before realizing it led only to abandoned mine shafts and dead ends. The ledge widened suddenly into a cavern just as the map promised, a yawning space barely large enough for a civilian chopper to hover, its uneven floor scattered with rusted fuel canisters from decades past. Jennifer's breath hitched as she took in the graffiti-scarred walls, faded military stencils warning *DANGER: UNSTABLE CEILING*. Sarah traced fingers over a crude bear claw etching near the entrance, her lips moving silently. "It's not as unstable as the military scouts thought. That's why we can use this place. On record, the military thinks anyone trying to land in here will cause a collapse, but in truth, only a little debris will be pushed from the sides of the cliff. Just stay in the middle until the copter is nearly down, and nothing will fall on you. It's safe to pee your pants now, kids, if you need to go." Sarah made a choked noise against Jennifer's shoulder, her fingers gripping the loose fabric of Leah's hospital gown. The cavern smelled of damp rock and old fuel, the remnants of abandoned military testing that had left its scars on the limestone walls. Jennifer exhaled sharply through her nose, her posture rigid as she scanned the graffiti-marked ceiling. "They wrote this off as unusable," she muttered, tracing a faded stencil with her fingertips. "Too tight for Black Hawks." The IV bag dripped steadily against Leah's collarbone as I shifted her weight in my arms. Her eyelids fluttered, pupils contracting in the dim glow of my flashlight. The map had been right, the cavern's ceiling arched just high enough for a civilian chopper to hover, its uneven floor littered with rusted canisters stamped with dates from thirty years ago. Someone had dragged an old ammo crate into the center, its splintered wood bleached pale by time. A perfect landmark for pilots who knew where to look. "Leah," I whispered to her. "It's time to try to pee. You've waited a bit long, baby. Try to wet your pants, okay?" Sarah gasped at my frankness, but Leah only blinked slowly, her fingers twitching against my arm. Jennifer knelt beside me, her hands shaking as she unclipped the hospital gown's back ties. "She's still soaked from earlier," she murmured. "Jim, she can't feel when she..." "No, she can't tell when she has to go, but she can push herself to go when she's reminded. The reason she couldn't pee at all earlier, had to do with her hernia. That's what they were supposed to have fixed. They wanted to wait, but it became an emergency when not peeing caused her get a fever." I felt Leah tense in my arms, her small frame shuddering as she processed my words. The IV line swayed slightly as I adjusted my grip, the saline drip glinting in the flashlight's beam. Jennifer exhaled sharply, her fingers hovering over Leah's abdomen where the surgical dressing peeked through the gown. Sarah edged closer, her own hands twisting nervously in the hem of her shirt. "Sarah, you can pull your pants down and just wet your panties. There's a reason I'm training Leah to just pee her pants right now." Sarah hesitated, then nodded, her fingers trembling as she undid the button of her jeans. The cavern's cold air made her shiver as she squatted awkwardly, the sound of her urine hitting the limestone floor echoing unnaturally loud in the enclosed space. Jennifer turned away, her jaw clenched, but I kept my eyes on Leah’s face, her pupils were dilated, her breathing shallow. She understood. She just couldn’t feel it. "It's okay, just take your time, honey. Rub your tummy if you want, that might help you realize how full you are." Sarah reached for Leah's hand, guiding it toward her own lower abdomen with surprising gentleness. The cave's damp chill made Leah's fingers stiff against the thin hospital gown, her nails digging slightly into the fabric. A faint tremor ran through her as Sarah pressed their joined hands against the swollen curve below Leah's ribs. Jennifer inhaled sharply, whether from the cold or the sight of Leah's surgical scar peeking through the gown, I couldn't tell. "Jennifer, you're not a child. I won't tell you what you know will need to be done, but if you are not wet when the helicopter picks us up, there is no guarantee you won't pee in front of strangers, in your pants." Jennifer's hands froze mid-motion, her fingers clutching Leah's gown ties like a lifeline. The IV bag swayed as Leah shifted, her breath hitching in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Sarah's urine pooled around her sneakers, soaking into the porous limestone with a sound like distant rainfall. The cavern's acoustics made every droplet echo. "I'm going to dig mine out and pee on the wall over there. If you want, you can pee on the ground, but you are not to leave the clearing, Jenny. The bear has a territory, and without knowing what areas it avoids, you could run into it, so you girls pee in front me, sorry." Sarah's cheeks burned crimson as she shifted her weight, her wet panties clinging to her butt. Jennifer's fingers tightened around Leah's wrist, her knuckles whitening. The IV line trembled as Leah finally let go, a warm trickle darkening the pale fabric between her legs. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her eyes fixed on some invisible point beyond my shoulder. The smell of urine mingled with the cave's mineral dampness, an oddly comforting reminder of life in this stale underground air. Jennifer stood abruptly, her boots scraping against loose gravel. She hesitated for three seconds, I counted, before undoing her belt with jerky motions. The zipper's rasp echoed off the limestone as she turned her back to us, shoulders rigid. A steady stream pattered against the cavern wall, her posture betraying military training even in this humiliating moment. Sarah stared at her mother's shadow stretching across the bear claw etchings, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Sarah," I called her attention. "Help Leah. She needs to be positioned right to encourage herself to pee since her brain can't process her doing it, yet." Sarah nodded, her fingers still trembling, but she moved with purpose. She guided Leah's free hand to the small of her own back, pressing gently against the pressure points Dr. Rosario had shown her earlier. Leah's breath hitched again, but this time, a slow trickle darkened the gown further, pooling around her bare thighs where the fabric had ridden up. Jennifer finished with a sharp exhale, refastening her belt with practiced efficiency, though her fingers lingered on the buckle longer than necessary. "Everyone comfortable?" I asked. "Good, copter will be in about two or three hours, so everyone rest. I'll take watch. Sarah, go ahead and wet the bed tonight, understand?" Sarah made a small noise, pressing her face into Jennifer's shoulder as her fingers twisted in Leah's gown. The IV line swayed slightly when Leah shifted, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Jennifer exhaled sharply through her nose but didn't argue, she knew as well as I did that Sarah's intermittent accidents weren't truly accidents anymore, just conditioned responses to stress, like Leah's deliberate withholding. The cavern's damp air clung to our skin, making the girls shiver in their damp clothes. "Baby?" I whispered to Sarah. "This isn't to embarrass you or hurt you. It's to give you permission so you don't hurt yourself. There's no point in waking up in less than three hours when there is no natural toilet for you anyway. Is that okay? And if you don't pee before the copter lands, you will pee your pants in it, because once it's up, we don't land until we get where we are going. We don't want to be tracked by the Military." Sarah nodded jerkily, her fingers worrying at the hem of her shirt. Jennifer reached over, brushing Sarah's damp bangs from her forehead with uncharacteristic gentleness. Leah's head lolled against my shoulder, her breathing shallow but steady now that her bladder had emptied. The IV bag was nearly half gone, the steady drip echoing faintly in the stillness. The helicopter arrived not with a roar but with a staggered series of mechanical coughs, its civilian registration numbers barely visible under layers of grime. The pilot didn't cut the engines as two figures in paramedic vests jumped out, their faces obscured by surgical masks. One grabbed Leah from my arms with practiced efficiency while the other motioned urgently for us to board. Jennifer hesitated just long enough to see Sarah's wide-eyed terror before pushing her forward. Water dripped from the rotor wash onto my neck as I climbed in, the metallic taste of adrenaline sharp on my tongue. Someone shoved headphones over my ears, the sudden burst of static drowning out Jennifer's muffled question about our destination. Through the headset's crackle, the pilot's voice was clipped: "Coast Guard got a distress call, injured hikers near Devil's Gulch. That's your cover." His gloved hand pointed at the blood pressure cuff hastily wrapped around Leah's thin arm, the medical theater almost convincing if not for the way her hospital gown flapped open to reveal fresh surgical dressings. "If we take off her medical gown, do you have a blanket? We could say a bear ripped up her clothes? Sarah, you take off your shirt, too. With two injured teenagers, it seems more convincing." The medic nodded sharply, already pulling a thermal blanket from his kit. The copter lurched as he tossed it toward Sarah, who flinched when the metallic fabric brushed her bare arms. Jennifer moved before I could, stripping Leah's soiled gown with quick, clinical motions that left her shivering in just the surgical dressing and adult diaper. The medic didn't blink at the purple trim peeking from the waistband, he'd seen worse, but Sarah's breath hitched when she noticed Leah's fresh stitches gleaming under the cabin lights. Wind howled through the open door as we descended toward the hospital's rooftop. The building loomed like a forgotten relic, its cracked helipad streaked with decades-old paint markings. Two figures waited under flickering floodlights, one in scrubs gripping a wheelchair, the other in a tailored suit holding a briefcase. Even from this distance, I recognized Elena Vasquez's rigid posture, how she checked her watch like we were late for a deposition instead of fleeing for our lives. Her sister Linda stood half a step behind, gloved hands tight on the wheelchair handles. The helicopter touched down with a shudder that rattled Leah's IV line. Sarah whimpered when the medics pulled her upright, her bare arms prickling with goosebumps under the thermal blanket. Jennifer moved first, shouldering past the masked attendants to scoop Leah into her arms, surgical dressing be damned. Elena barely flinched at the sight of Leah's exposed stitches, just jerked her chin toward a rusted service door where two men in janitor uniforms waited with stacked file boxes. "How long do we have here?" I asked the Vasquez sisters. Elena didn't look up from the file she was scanning. "Hospital wasn't on military radar at the moment. Believe we've got a week at least, possibly three if needed." She snapped the folder shut and finally met my eyes. "Depends how fast Craigger's team scrubs the cave." "There are at least three bears in that mountain that will chase anyone away that doesn't know what they are doing. One of the reasons a story of a bear attack worked for the helicopter not being questioned. The only safe passage is well hidden and blocked by a crashed Jeep, and even if they get past that, the cave goes deeper into mines that are old and abandoned, and the side passage, they would have to not believe the military report that that area is unsafe." The janitors wheeled the stacked file boxes toward us, their uniforms hanging loose enough to conceal sidearms. One lifted the lid just enough to reveal fresh clothes folded atop what looked like military issue body armor. Sarah reached for a sweatshirt with shaking hands, her fingers catching on the fabric as she pulled it over her head. Jennifer didn't bother dressing Leah, just wrapped the thermal blanket tighter around her before settling her into the waiting wheelchair. "Sarah, body armor, too," I told her. "We don't know what to expect even if we think we have a week. Better safe than sorry, okay?" She hesitated before reaching into the box, fingers brushing the Kevlar lining with visible discomfort. Jennifer helped Leah into hers with practiced efficiency, adjusting the straps around her slight frame without jarring the IV. The armor smelled faintly of gunpowder and sweat, an unsettling reminder of whose hands it had passed through before ours. Elena watched us dress with the detached focus of a prosecutor reviewing evidence, her pen tapping against the briefcase in a rhythm that matched the distant hum of hospital machinery. The janitors led us through a maze of service corridors, their boots squeaking on freshly mopped floors that did little to mask the underlying scent of antiseptic and stale urine. Sarah kept one hand on Leah's wheelchair, her other clutching the sweatshirt hem like a lifeline. I counted the exits, three before the stairwell, each marked with outdated evacuation route signs curling at the edges. The flickering fluorescents cast long shadows that made Jennifer flinch at every movement, her shoulders tense beneath the borrowed scrubs. Elena pushed open an unmarked door to reveal a makeshift exam room stocked with military-grade monitors and civilian hospital supplies. A woman in a white coat, Dr. Rosario’s replacement, I assumed, barely glanced up from Leah’s chart before motioning us forward. "Surgery site looks clean," she murmured, peeling back the thermal blanket with gloved hands. Her fingers hovered over Leah’s stitches, not touching, just assessing. "No signs of infection, but her bladder tone is still compromised. She’ll need catheterization until sensation returns." Across the room, another doctor guided Sarah onto a paper-lined table with surprising gentleness. Sarah flinched when he lifted her sweatshirt to examine the chafed skin beneath her borrowed body armor, her breath hitching at the clinical scrutiny. "Stress-induced encopresis," he muttered to Elena, jotting notes on a tablet. "Existing diaper rash suggests prolonged incidents. Any history of forced retention?" "She wets at school, sometimes," I offered to help Sarah get started. "Tell them, honey. They need to know everything you know, and then your mom can tell them about what daddy did to you, okay?" Sarah nodded jerkily, her fingers twisting in the paper gown as she perched on the exam table. The pediatrician, Dr. Rosario’s replacement, Dr. Whittaker, glanced up from her notes with a neutral expression, waiting. Sarah swallowed hard before speaking, her voice barely audible over the hum of the overhead lights. "At Daddy’s house... he’d lock the bathroom doors. Said I had to learn control." Her gaze flicked to Jennifer, who stood rigid by the door, jaw clenched. "Mom didn’t know until the custody hearing." Dr. Whittaker’s pen paused mid-sentence. "Forced retention," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. His fingers traced the faint bruising along Sarah’s hipbones, old marks, faded but unmistakable. "These pressure points suggest manual compression. Was there a specific... technique he used?" Sarah’s throat worked silently before she managed, "Hands. Knees. Once a, a belt." Jennifer’s breath hitched audibly from the corner, her knuckles white around the doorframe. Across the room, the other pediatrician finished adjusting Leah’s IV drip, her surgical dressing pristine under the harsh exam lights. I broke in. "There's a chance the two girls' condition are related to military research. Maybe ask some questions related to that because even I'm not sure of what kinds of things they might do if that's their aim?" Elena's pen stopped scratching against her legal pad. She exchanged a glance with Dr. Whittaker that lasted just a second too long. The doctor cleared his throat and turned back to Sarah, his tone deliberately lighter now. "Let's focus on current symptoms, Sarah. Any abdominal pain when you void?" Sarah shook her head, fingers still gripping the paper gown. Behind her, Jennifer exhaled through her nose, her posture softening slightly as the questioning shifted. Across the room, Leah stirred in her wheelchair, her eyelids fluttering open for the first time since the cave. The second doctor, Dr. Vance, according to his nametag, knelt beside her, blocking my view as he checked her pupils with a penlight. "Pupillary response normal," Vance murmured. He peeled back the surgical dressing with meticulous care, revealing the fresh, puckered stitches beneath. "No signs of infection or dehiscence. Her vitals are stable, but she's severely dehydrated." He glanced at the IV bag hanging from the wheelchair's makeshift pole. "She'll need fluids for another twelve hours at least. After that, " he hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Elena, "rest is the best medicine, as long as we can give it." "Oh, I had to empty about a tenth or so of her waters bag to throw the military off when we entered the cave. That might have a little to do with her dehydration. The hospital we were at took good care of her. I just... had to throw the military off our trail. They were tracking the jeep, but I knew they would be." Elena's pen froze mid-sentence. She stared at me, her dark eyes narrowing behind her glasses. "You diluted her IV fluids?" Her voice was dangerously calm. "Not by choice. It was either we did nothing and they found us before the helicopter did, or I led them to believe we went to the ghost town a few miles down the road from the cave. Her chemicals were the only thing that would have stayed traceable that far to lead them away." Elena exhaled sharply through her nose, the way she did in court when a witness contradicted their own testimony. Dr. Whittaker was already palpating Leah's abdomen with careful fingers, checking for rebound tenderness. Sarah watched from her exam table, her legs swinging nervously above the floor. The pediatrician's hands stilled over Leah's bladder region. "Distended, but not dangerously so," he murmured. "We'll run another electrolyte panel and adjust her fluids accordingly." "I'm doing everything I know to keep her out of bad hands. I'm not perfect, but I know how tracking works. I was a scout for the Marines. You track what will give you the best trail." Elena exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the clipboard. The Vasquez sisters had always moved in sync, Linda adjusting Leah’s IV drip while Elena marked something on the chart. Dr. Whittaker stepped back from Leah’s wheelchair, nodding to Linda. "Surgery was successful," he confirmed, his voice low. "But her body’s been through hell. She needs rest, real rest, for as long as we can give it." Sarah swung her legs nervously on the exam table, her fingers twisting in the paper gown. The pediatrician, Dr. Vance, had moved to her side, palpating her abdomen with clinical precision. "No rebound tenderness," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "But these old bruises... they line up with pressure points. Whoever did this knew exactly where to press." Jennifer's breath hitched from the doorway, her fingers flexing against the frame like she wanted to hit something. Or someone. Sarah glanced at her mother, then back to Dr. Vance. "Daddy used to pin me down," she whispered. "Said I had to learn to hold it like a soldier." Her fingers traced the faint bruises along her ribs, old marks, but not old enough. "When was the last time he held you down and made you wet your pants, baby?" I asked her. Sarah froze, her fingers stilling against her ribs. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across her face. Her lips parted, then pressed tight again. Jennifer stepped forward, her hand outstretched, but Sarah shook her head once, sharp. "Two nights before... before we left." Sarah's voice cracked like thin ice. She stared at the floor, at the scuff marks near the baseboard. "He made me drink three glasses of water first. Said, " Her breath hitched. "Said he'd teach me control if it took all night." Jennifer's face went white. Her hands trembled, not with fear, but with the kind of rage that turns bones to powder. Elena's pen hovered over her legal pad, ink pooling where she'd stopped writing mid-sentence. "That was important information, right?" I asked the lawyer and the doctor. Sarah’s breathing had gone shallow, her fingers clutching the paper gown so tightly it tore at the edges. The pediatrician, Vance, exchanged a glance with Elena before nodding once. "Critical," he confirmed. His hands moved to Sarah’s shoulders, not restraining, just grounding. "We needed to know the timeline. To build the case." "Remember, she's a child," I told Dr. Vance. "I know it's important to get the details, but treat her like a little kid right now. Praise, be slow, and let her relax between questions. Please." Vance blinked at me, then nodded, adjusting his tone to something softer, warmer. "You're doing great, Sarah," he murmured, pressing a warm blanket around her shoulders. "Just breathe for a minute, okay? We can pause whenever you need." "Call her baby," I suggested. "Not A BABY, but just baby, like you're calming a little kid that's scared. It's not that hard, it helps a lot when talking to traumatized kids." Dr. Vance hesitated, then nodded again, his fingers loosening their clinical grip on Sarah's chart. He crouched slightly to meet her eye level, his voice dropping into something warmer, slower. "Okay, baby, let's take a little break," he murmured. "Want some juice? Apple or grape?" "Um... I think... let her tell you when she's thirsty. She associates drinks with punishment. I realized that earlier when I offered my cocoa to her. Maybe a snack is better. If she gets dry, she'll want a drink." Dr. Vance's eyes flicked to mine, sharp with understanding. He straightened slowly, setting the juice box aside without comment. "Got it," he murmured. From the supply cart, he pulled a small packet of animal crackers, the kind with the dull, waxy frosting kids pretend is edible. He held them out to Sarah like an offering. "Hungry, sweetheart?" Sarah stared at the packet, her fingers twitching against her torn gown. A muscle in Jennifer's jaw pulsed as she watched her daughter hesitate over something as simple as a snack. The silence stretched long enough that Vance started to lower his hand, but then Sarah's fingers darted out, snatching the crackers with jerky urgency. She clutched them to her chest like contraband, her breath coming too fast. I mentally took note. "Sarah? You're safe," I told her. "Everyone in this room, is on your side, baby." The doctor nodded, his hands resting loosely at his sides, no sudden movements. Jennifer shifted from her rigid stance near the door, her fingers flexing once before she stepped forward and sank onto the edge of the exam table beside her daughter. Sarah flinched at the movement, but didn't pull away when Jennifer's hand settled lightly on her knee. "Leah?" I whispered. "Did anyone ever make you drink too much drink and then not use the toilet, not at school, but in a scary place, like a prison or a Military place?" Leah's fingers curled around the arms of her wheelchair, her knuckles whitening against the padded rests. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment before she managed a hoarse whisper: "The cold room." "Describe the cold room, but take your time. Don't remember the scary all at once, okay, baby?" Leah's breathing hitched, her fingers twitching against the wheelchair grips. The IV line trembled where it connected to her arm. Dr. Vance moved subtly closer, his stethoscope dangling unused from his neck. Elena's pen hovered over her legal pad, but she didn't write. The room smelled like antiseptic and animal crackers gone stale in Sarah's clenched hands. I went over and picked her out of the chair and sat in it so I could hold her. "Remember, Grandpa's right here, if you get scared, baby." Leah’s body went rigid at first, her breath catching in that panicked way that meant her mind was still trapped somewhere else, somewhere with cold walls and voices that didn’t care if she screamed. But then, slowly, her fingers unclenched from the wheelchair arms and twisted into my shirt instead. Her forehead pressed against my collarbone, damp with sweat. Sarah leaned forward from the exam table, her animal crackers forgotten in her lap, watching Leah like she was memorizing how to do this, how to let someone hold you when your whole body still expected pain. "One thing at a time, honey. Not all at once. Just maybe what you saw, first, the things that were least scary first?" I encouraged as I rubbed her back. The vinyl of the wheelchair creaked beneath us as Leah's breathing steadied. "White tiles," she whispered finally. Her fingers tapped my forearm in uneven patterns, like counting. "Up high, little windows with wire." Her voice fractured on the last word, but she kept going, her face still pressed against my shoulder. "They'd...make us drink first. So it'd hurt more when, " Her fingers spasmed against my sleeve. "They purposely made you drink knowing it cause more pain when they did something else to you?" I encouraged her to continue. "What did they make you drink, baby?" Leah's breath hitched again, her fingers tightening in my shirt. "Clear," she whispered. "Cold. Tasted like... like metal." Her shoulders hunched inward, her body curling tighter against mine. Sarah, still perched on the exam table, had gone very still, the unopened animal crackers forgotten in her lap. Dr. Vance exchanged a glance with Elena, his expression unreadable. "Not water?" I asked. "Nothing you understood?" Leah shook her head against my chest. Her fingers had gone still now, curled loosely in the fabric of my shirt. Across the room, Sarah let out a shaky breath and tore open the cracker packet with her teeth. The sound made Leah flinch, but she didn't pull away. "What did they do when your body rejected it maybe you peed or you threw up, what happened, baby?" I rubbed her back. "Only tell us as long as you can. Don't relive the whole nightmare, baby." Leah's breath hitched again, her fingers twisting into my shirt. Sarah had stopped chewing, her hands frozen midair holding the cracker. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across Leah's face where she hid against my shoulder. "Okay, Leah. Breaktime. You tell us more in a bit. For now, you close your eyes and rest. If you are hungry, ask, and if you are thirsty, ask for exactly what you want. No one brings you anything you didn't ask for. If we don't have it, we tell you up front, okay?" Leah nodded against my shoulder, her fingers slowly loosening their grip. Sarah, still clutching her crackers, scooted closer on the exam table until her knee brushed against the wheelchair armrest. "Both of you sleep for a bit," I whispered to them. "We will continue the questions after you are rested, babies. Jennifer, hold your baby until she falls asleep. She needs you, and Jenny? Give her permission to piss the bed. Let her know there is no punishment." Jennifer hesitated, her hands hovering over Sarah's shoulders before settling in with the quiet determination of a mother who'd finally found her footing. She pressed her lips to Sarah's temple, murmuring something too low for the rest of us to catch. Sarah stiffened at first, then sagged against her mother, her fingers clutching Jennifer's sleeve like a lifeline. Across the room, Elena set her legal pad aside with deliberate care, the pen rolling across the polished surface. I picked Leah up and carried her to the bedding they had for her, and put her down and crawled near, but not so close as to disturb her comfort. She had stitches that still hurt. "Baby, Grandpa loves you. You realize I love you by now, don't you?" Leah's fingers curled into the hospital-grade sheets, her breath hitching. But then, slowly, she nodded, just once, before pressing her face into the pillow. Sarah, still wrapped in Jennifer's arms on the exam table, watched with red-rimmed eyes. "If you wake up leaking, try to force the rest out, baby. Try to pee when you feel it. We'll get you cleaned up as soon as we notice you're wet, so you don't have to say anything until you are ready." Leah blinked up at me, her green eyes glassy under the fluorescent lights. Her fingers twitched toward the catheter line taped to her thigh before dropping back to the sheets. I smoothed her hair back from her forehead, careful not to touch the still-angry scars along her scalp. "That's right, you have a bag right now, so you won't even pee in the bed. Still try to pee though, when you feel it leaking, okay?" Leah nodded, her eyelids already growing heavy with exhaustion. The morphine drip clicked softly beside her, its rhythmic sound almost soothing in the otherwise sterile room. Sarah had curled into Jennifer's side on the exam table, her legs tucked beneath her, the animal crackers abandoned in a crinkling heap. The scent of antiseptic and stale crackers mixed with the underlying hospital smell, bleach and something faintly metallic. "I know you hoped to get further, but remember, these are children... traumatized children. Sarah had been put through this since she was six, I think her mom said, and I have no idea how long Leah has been suffering." I turned to Elena, who had remained silent throughout Leah's fragmented confession. Her pen lay abandoned on the legal pad, the ink bleeding into the paper where she'd pressed too hard. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows under her eyes. She looked older suddenly, the weight of what we were uncovering pressing down on her shoulders. "They're not just disciplinary techniques," I murmured, keeping my voice low so the girls wouldn't hear. "This is systematic conditioning. Sarah's father was priming her for something, or someone." Elena's fingers twitched toward her pen, but didn't lift it. Across the room, Jennifer rocked Sarah gently, humming under her breath in a rhythm that matched Leah's slowing morphine drip. "You don't do this to your own kid unless you're a monster and you have been promised something that, at the moment, seems more important than a child's trust." Elena exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers finally closing around the pen. The click of her ballpoint against paper was too loud in the quiet room. Jennifer's humming faltered for a second before resuming, steadier now, her arms tightening around Sarah's sleeping form. "I don't know what happened, to be honest, but it feels like secret stuff, a research for some kind of weapon or advantage in a war." Leah's whisper startled me. Her eyes were still closed, her face half-buried in the pillow, but her fingers had crept back to clutching the sheets. Sarah shifted on the exam table, her breathing uneven like she was pretending to sleep but listening hard. "Damn. I thought the kids were asleep. They are listening. Look. Watch. They were trained to be that way, probably the only way to stop something worse happening to them. They learned to pretend, but as a soldier, we sometimes get trained the same way. I wonder if the military were trying to make super kid soldiers or something... you know, like terror groups do." Leah's fingers tightened on the sheets, but she kept her eyes closed. Sarah, still curled against Jennifer, let out the tiniest whimper, the sound of a child who'd been caught eavesdropping but couldn't help it. Elena's pen scratched across the paper, slower now, as if she was weighing each word before committing it to ink. "Leah, open your eyes, baby. You're not in trouble. You too, Sarah. If I don't want you to hear something, I should have said it out of the room. I knew something wasn't right. Leah hinted at having heard us before when it didn't seem possible." Leah's eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes that were too bright, too alert for someone supposedly half-asleep. Sarah unfurled from Jennifer's arms with the slow hesitation of a creature expecting punishment. The crinkling of cracker wrappers filled the silence as she picked at the remaining crumbs. "You babies are not in trouble," I whispered to them. "You can't help your instincts. Once someone trains you to pay attention to your environment before you sleep, you can't really unlearn that." Sarah's fingers trembled against the cracker wrapper. Jennifer smoothed her hair, murmuring reassurances, but Sarah's gaze stayed locked on my face. Behind her, Dr. Vance shifted uncomfortably near the door, his stethoscope catching the light as he turned his head. "Dr. Vance? Don't sneak out of the room. You know something. Give." Dr. Vance froze mid-step, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. The stethoscope around his neck swung slightly, catching the overhead light. Sarah shrank back against Jennifer, her fingers digging into her mother's sleeve. Leah's breathing had gone shallow and quick, her fingers twisting the hospital gown fabric at her chest. "The kids noticed, too, doctor. You have two minutes to tell us what you know before I treat you as a hostile spy." Dr. Vance's throat worked as he swallowed. His grip on the doorframe tightened, then loosened. Sarah had stopped breathing entirely, her small frame rigid against Jennifer. Leah's fingers had gone white-knuckled around her IV line, her gaze flicking between Dr. Vance and me with something too sharp for a thirteen-year-old. "Do you know this man?" I asked Leah. Her pupils dilated slightly, not fear, but recognition. A muscle twitched near her temple where the worst scars branched outward like shattered glass. Dr. Vance exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against the doorframe before stilling. "Was he the scariest man in the room, a scary man, a scared man, or someone at the wrong place at the wrong time, baby? That's all you have to say. If he knows what's good for him, he'll explain what you feel." Leah's lips parted slightly, her tongue darting out to wet them before she answered in a voice so quiet I had to lean closer. "Scared man." "At least she thinks you were controlled by the ones in charge of this stuff. Now, you have two minutes to decide if you are their spy, or you are helping us before I choose what I decide you are." Dr. Vance's hand twitched toward his stethoscope before dropping to his side. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting uneven shadows across his face as he swallowed again. Leah's fingers had migrated to the thin plastic tubing of her IV line, twisting it methodically. Sarah exhaled sharply through her nose, her breath fogging the cracker wrapper clenched in her fist. "Ninety seconds, doctor. If you think I don't know anything at all about torture, you have another thing coming. I just normally choose to not turn it on children or civilians, however, I can easily forget you are a casualty of this, if you don't open up." Dr. Vance's fingers flexed at his sides, the sterile gloves creaking. Sarah flinched at the sound, her fingers tightening around Jennifer's sleeve. Leah's breathing hitched, too fast, too shallow, her fingers now tangled in the IV line threatening to pull it loose. The heart monitor beeped erratically, protesting the strain. "Need help, Dr. Vance? Sarah, honey? Do you remember him as most scary, scary, scared, or by stander when you saw him last?" Sarah's lips parted slightly, her breath uneven against the cracker wrapper still pressed to her chest. Her fingers twitched against Jennifer's sleeve before she managed a single jerky nod. "Scared," she whispered, her voice cracking. "But he... held the cup." "You gave them the drink in the cup, and you knew it wasn't water, didn't you?" The words left my mouth before I could soften them. Dr. Vance's shoulders hunched slightly, his stethoscope swinging as he shook his head. Not denial, shame. Sarah let out a tiny sound, pressing her face into Jennifer's shoulder. Leah's fingers jerked on the IV line, sending saline dripping onto the sheets. "Dr. Vasquez? Who did Leah's IV this time? If Vance did, I want it changed immediately." Leah's IV bag shivered as Elena moved, her polished boots clicking against tile. Dr. Vance didn't lift his head, his shoulders curling inward like he wanted to disappear into his lab coat. Sarah made a sound into Jennifer's shoulder, half sob, half gasp, her fingers clawing at her own sleeves. "I actually want both of the girls' clothes, food, and anything else given recently changed as fast as possible. No chances here. Right now, I only trust the Vasquez sisters because Mrs. Jenny trusts the lawyer." Leah whimpered, her fingers tightening on the IV line until her knuckles whitened. Sarah finally lifted her head from Jennifer's shoulder, her eyes red-rimmed but alert. Jennifer's arms tightened around her daughter, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled sharply. Dr. Vance took half a step back, his stethoscope swinging limply against his chest. Elena's pen paused mid-word on her legal pad. "Once more step towards escape, and I will tackle you, sir. Don't think I can't! They don't build men the way they used to. I'm old school Marine!" Dr. Vance froze mid-step, his shoe squeaking against the linoleum. Sarah flinched at the sound, her fingers digging into Jennifer's arms. Leah's breath hitched in her chest, her IV line twisting dangerously between her fingers. The heart monitor's steady beeping accelerated, the rhythm jagged and uneven. "Leah, let the nurse, Vasquez, take the line out of your arm, baby. She can do it safely. I want that bag changed, too." I decided. "Nothing that holds or gives liquid is going to trusted that has been done. Get rid of it. Nurse, Vasquez, you do it. I don't trust anyone else unless they earn that trust." Leah's fingers unclenched slowly, her knuckles pale from the strain. Linda moved with practiced efficiency, her hands steady as she disconnected the IV line while Dr. Vance stood frozen against the wall. Sarah watched, her breath shallow, as Jennifer's grip tightened around her shoulders protectively. "Vance, you are under watch. That means unless you give me reason, you won't be restrained, but you ask permission to do anything, even pissing your pants. No movement anyway that suspiciously looks like you are going to test the kids or your going to call your other people." Dr. Vance's throat bobbed as he swallowed, the tendons in his neck standing out sharply. His fingers flexed once at his sides before curling inward, the sterile gloves wrinkling like dead skin. Linda worked swiftly beside Leah's bed, her movements precise as she discarded the IV bag with exaggerated care. The plastic made a wet sound hitting the biohazard bin, louder than it should have been in the quiet room. "Lawyer Vasquez, you have one of your moles that helped the military and CPS find kids for this stuff. I hope that helps your case whatever you are trying to prove." Elena's pen hovered over her legal pad, the ink bleeding into a tiny black star where she'd paused too long. Leah had gone very still, her fingers now limp on the mattress where Linda had secured the new IV line. Sarah made a small sound against Jennifer's shoulder, something between a cough and a whimper. Dr. Vance cleared his throat. "Protocol Alpha-9," he said hoarsely. "They called it hydration conditioning. The... the cup was part of the baseline testing." His hands shook as he pulled off his gloves, revealing raw, nail-bitten fingertips. "I didn't know, not at first, what they were really measuring." "But now?" I asked. "Why did you stay in the illegal activity after you found out?" Sarah jerked in Jennifer's arms at the word "illegal." Leah's fingers curled inward, pressing against her stomach where the surgical dressing peeked through her gown. Dr. Vance's breathing hitched, his gaze flicking toward the door before returning to mine. His fingers twitched toward his stethoscope again, then stilled. "They are here, aren't they? You keep looking at the door. The people are in this very hospital?" Sarah made a small choked sound, pressing her face deeper into Jennifer's shoulder. Leah's fingers dug into her own gown, the fabric tearing slightly at the neckline. Dr. Vance's lips moved silently before words finally came out. "Neurology ward. Third floor. They, " His voice cracked. "They have my daughter." "Doing the same things to her, or threatening that they will?" I asked. "How old is she?" I was testing not only for a lie about the daughter, but how much duress he was actually under. Dr. Vance's fingers twitched toward his stethoscope again, stopping halfway as if remembering himself. "Sixteen," he whispered. "They... they haven't started the protocols yet. They're holding her as insurance." His eyes flicked to Leah's thin frame, her ribs visible beneath the hospital gown. "They told me if I didn't cooperate, they'd use her for phase two testing." "What phase is Leah and Sarah been exposed to?" Dr. Vance's jaw worked silently before he answered. "Phase one, forced hydration protocols. Phase two involves dehydration stress testing." His fingers twitched toward his stethoscope again, the movement aborted halfway. Sarah whimpered against Jennifer's shoulder, her small frame trembling violently. Leah's breathing had gone shallow and uneven, her fingers clawing at the surgical dressing on her abdomen. "Draw me a map of the facility, the entrances and exits where your daughter is, and possible guards," I told him. "You tell the doctor everything you know, and I'll get your daughter out of there." I looked to Nurse Vasquez. "Do you have any direct line to someone legal on base that wouldn't be involved with any of this? I have my one buddy, but if he had to take precautions such as fake tracking traps, then he's not as clear to help without the head of the program knowing." Nurse Vasquez hesitated, her fingers pausing over Leah's IV line. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sharp shadows across her face. "My cousin," she said finally. "Military police. She's clean, hates the research division." Her voice dropped lower. "She's been trying to get evidence on them for years." "You tell her to contact company C Foxtrot 19. They are run by my old Iraq team. You tell her where we are and get that information to my boys. If she wants to come along for the bust, tell her to bring back up. My team is only here to rescue this swine's kid so he has no reason to help them anymore. But to shut them down, we'll need MP authority to do any arrests or investigations on the people and things we find here." Leah's fingers twitched against my sleeve, her nails digging into my wrist. Her breathing hitched, her lips forming silent words. I leaned closer. "Say again, baby?" "Third floor," she rasped, her voice raw. "West wing. The... the cold room." Her pupils dilated at the words, her fingers spasming against my skin. Sarah made a small noise against Jennifer's shoulder, her own hands clutching at her stomach. "You've seen the other girl, then?" I asked. Leah's nails dug deeper into my wrist, her eyes flicking to Dr. Vance before she gave a jerky nod. A bead of sweat slid down her temple despite the chill in the room. Linda's fingers tightened around the new IV bag, her knuckles whitening as she glanced toward the doorway. "Vance? You want your daughter to see you as a hero?" I asked. "We have backup, but if they get wind, they could try to run taking her to shield their escape. We have to move now if we are going to take your daughter back before the shit hits the ceiling." Dr. Vance's hands trembled visibly now, his fingers clutching at his stethoscope like a lifeline. His breathing came fast and shallow, matching Leah's panicked rhythm. Sarah lifted her head from Jennifer's shoulder, her face blotchy and damp, but her eyes sharpened with something like determination. Jennifer's grip loosened slightly, her own breathing steadying as she met my gaze over Sarah's head. "Jenny? You keep the babies safe and the Vasquez sisters focus on their jobs, to contact help, help our kids, and put together this case." Vance, where are your weapons. I know you are a doctor, but that's your child. You going to stand by and let them inject your child with this stuff?" Dr. Vance's hands twitched toward his lab coat pockets before stilling. His throat worked silently as his gaze darted to the crash cart in the corner, the locked drawer where emergency medications were kept. Sarah shifted in Jennifer's arms, her small fingers twisting in the sheets. Leah's breathing had gone shallow and rapid, her pupils dilated wide enough to swallow the green of her irises. "My scalpel," Vance whispered hoarsely. "Left pocket. They... they took my access card when they brought me here." His fingers flexed as if remembering the weight of the instrument. Leah made a thin sound, her fingers spasming against my wrist. The monitors beeped faster, erratic. "Okay, first objective, use the scapel to surprise a guard and get his weapon so we have something that will actually force surrender. Remember, they get one chance to surrender, and only one. You give them two, and your daughter is as good as dead. They don't make mistakes twice." Sarah whimpered, pressing her face into Jennifer's shoulder again, but Leah's grip on my wrist tightened, not in fear, but agreement. Her nails left crescent marks in my skin, the pain sharp and grounding. Across the room, Linda Vasquez moved silently to the supply cabinet, retrieving a pair of trauma shears and sliding them into her scrub pocket with practiced nonchalance. Her cousin Elena hadn't stopped writing, her pen scratching methodically across the legal pad despite the tension in her shoulders. "No, Linda. I need you here to monitor the kids. I only trust you as the doctor for now. No one here has proven they can be trusted. Vance got into your sister's safehouse, and it turns out the whole lab is in your sister's safehouse, so you've been compromised. Your sister is the only one that can be trusted because she's been helping Jenny since the start, and you, because you helped us get our babies out of danger earlier today." Linda's fingers froze on the IV tubing, her dark eyes flicking to Elena's tense form by the door. Elena's pen had stopped moving, the legal pad balanced precariously on her knee. Across the room, Jennifer exhaled sharply through her nose, her arms tightening around Sarah's trembling shoulders. Leah's breathing hitched, that wet, uneven sound she made when panic clawed up her throat. "Leah, what else do I need to know, baby. You're not panicking for no reason. What is it, baby?" Her breath hitched, the monitors screaming protest. The words came out in fractured gasps. "Two guards... outside... now." Her fingers spasmed against my wrist, slick with sweat. I nodded. "Keep panicking," I mouthed hoping she understood it was supposed to be fake now. If I were to surprise them, they can't know we are paying attention to them. Leah's ragged breathing turned theatrical, her fingers clawing at the sheets with exaggerated distress. Sarah picked up the cue instantly, letting out a high-pitched whimper that sounded genuine enough to make Jennifer flinch. The heart monitor's erratic beeping filled the room, either Leah had terrifying control over her own vitals, or fear was doing half the acting for her. I pointed Vance to one side of the door while I took the other, waiting for the guards to come in to arrest us. I pointed behind the knee to Vance as a single where to stab the man that came in on his side. The door creaked open, and two uniformed men stepped inside, their hands already resting on their sidearms. The first guard's eyes darted to Leah's thrashing form, his lips curling in disgust. "Jesus, can't you shut that thing up?" I sprung out landing the scissors in the knee crevice behind the kneecap of that guard, and swept kick him to the ground, already assessing if Vance needed help as I started to grab the first man's side arm. The guard screamed and fell, clutching his leg. Vance hesitated, just a fraction, before driving his scalpel deep into the second guard’s thigh. The man staggered, but didn’t go down. His fist swung out, catching Vance square in the jaw. I heard the crack of bone before Vance crumpled. I shot him in the head. "One chance to surrender," I told the second man that was still screaming. "He resisted, and now he has no head. Get it?" The guard's scream choked off, his face paling as blood pooled around his fallen comrade. His hands shot up, fingers splayed wide. Linda Vasquez moved first, snatching the guard's sidearm from its holster with clinical efficiency. Elena was already on her feet, the legal pad forgotten as she dragged Vance's unconscious form away from the spreading blood. "Now, you keep her mouth shut and you do exactly what these people in this room say, and maybe you don't go to prison for life, or end up like your buddy did. If you don't play nice, you will end up like your buddy. Only once chance, no more." The guard nodded furiously, his hands shaking as they hovered near his bleeding leg. I kept the gun trained on him while Linda moved swiftly, tearing a strip from the bedsheet to tourniquet his wound. Leah's performance had stopped abruptly, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she watched with wide, calculating eyes. Sarah had gone still in Jennifer's arms, her fingers clutching at Jennifer's shirt like she was afraid to blink. "Sarah," I called to her. "Breathe. Pee, baby. Breathe." The guard looked confused at my words, but Sarah gasped like I had stabbed her, her body shuddering as she let go, the wet warmth spreading down Jennifer's lap where she held her. Jennifer didn't flinch, didn't react at all except to stroke Sarah's hair gently, murmuring soft reassurances. "Your experiments did that to her," I told the second guard. "She holds it when she's stressed and needs someone to let her know to go. You could see the fear in her face. She was frozen! Did you know you were doing this to little kids?" The guard swallowed hard, his eyes flicking between Sarah's trembling form and the gun in my hand. "I just... followed orders," he stammered. Linda tightened the tourniquet with a sharp jerk, making him hiss. "We'll let the courts decide that fact, as long as you don't become anymore a problem now you know what you are dealing with. You are the one that yelled out about keeping her quiet. You obviously knew Vance was supposed to incapacitate the kids and then control us, right?" The guard's throat worked silently, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks under the fluorescent lights. Behind me, Jennifer shifted Sarah's weight with a grunt, her pants soaked through but her hands steady. Leah's fingers twitched against the mattress, her breathing deliberately loud and ragged again, still playing her role. "Leah, the panic is over. We got the guards, honey. Thank you. You did great, baby." Leah's breathing slowed, but her fingers remained curled into claws against the sheets. The guard's eyes darted to her, then back to the gun in my hand, understanding dawning too late. Sarah sniffled against Jennifer's shoulder, her fingers trembling as she clutched at her wet jeans. "MPs are on their way," I told the guard. "Not not just the general MPs. We don't know which of them we can trust. We have an inside friend that's going to such this illegal stuff down." The guard's breath hitched, his fingers twitching against his thigh where Linda had bound the wound. Blood seeped through the makeshift tourniquet, darkening the white sheet. Behind me, Jennifer shifted Sarah's weight again, murmuring something too low to catch. Leah's fingers unclenched slowly, her nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in the mattress. The heart monitor had settled into a steadier rhythm, though her pulse still showed elevated. "See that attorney?" I pointed out Elena. "I'm leaving a side arm with her. If you move, you get to find out how trained she is from the Army, with a side arm. Get it?" The guard nodded rapidly, sweat beading along his hairline. Elena took the offered pistol with practiced ease, her grip adjusting subtly to account for the weight. Her gaze never left the guard’s face, her expression coldly professional. Leah’s fingers twitched again, her eyes darting to the door, anticipating more trouble, or maybe just escape. "Leah? This room is the safest place right now. Grandpa's going hunting. Third floor, cold room, right?" Leah's breath stuttered, but she nodded sharply, her fingers twisting in the sheets again. Sarah whimpered against Jennifer's shoulder, her face buried too deep to see the blood on the floor. The guard's eyes flicked to Elena's gun hand, calculating odds, then back to my face when I shifted my stance. "First mistake," I frowned and shot his other knee. "Projecting your chances, in front of a trained scout? Dumb!" The guard howled, crumpling forward against the bloody linoleum. Linda cursed under her breath, reaching for another strip of sheet. Sarah flinched violently at the gunshot, her breath hitching wetly against Jennifer's collarbone. Leah's fingers dug into my sleeve, her nails biting through the fabric as she tugged sharply, a silent warning. "He should be no trouble to finish off if he decides to try something now. Both knees are out of commission," I told the lawyer. "Hunting time." I slipped out of the room without a goodbye. It would have been hard to get away from Leah otherwise, and every second is more time for guards to converge on the safe point for our children. I would rescue Vance's child if it was the last thing I did. He gave his life to protect my kid, I will do the same for his. The hallway was eerily quiet, the fluorescent lights flickering as I moved down the corridor. My boots made no sound against the tile, years of military training kicking in. The scent of antiseptic burned my nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood still clinging to my hands. Third floor. Cold room. I wondered how trained or experienced their guards were. I decided to find out. I set a noise trap, one that would slowly untie causing a clattering of medical tools two turns away from me when I was in position, and then I listened for any response. Silence stretched for three heartbeats, then the rapid thud of boots against linoleum. Two sets, moving in synchronized formation. Professionals. Not rent-a-cops. The first guard rounded the corner, weapon drawn, scanning high. His partner covered the lower angles, their movements precise. Marines, maybe. Or private contractors with spec ops backgrounds. Either way, they were disciplined enough to make this messy. They responded though. The next trap was not going to be so nice. I looked for something like high pressure air or something else that would send six scaples into the legs of anyone that tripped on the next line.... and then I waited. The first guard's boot snagged the nearly invisible filament stretched across the corridor. The hiss of pressurized gas releasing was my only warning before the scalpel barrage. Three embedded themselves in the lead man’s thigh, his scream choked off as his knee buckled. His partner reacted faster, too fast, rolling away with only a single blade grazing his forearm. He came up firing. I knew to keep the traps two corners or three away from my position. It was the only way. If nothing else, it was slowing them now that they were looking for traps. I skipped five bends before setting the next trap, one where a loose ceiling tile would fall as he used the corner as cover, causing the side of the wall to fall off weakening that ceiling tile. The next guard made the mistake of leaning against the wall as he cleared the corner, and the ceiling tile gave way above him. He stumbled forward instinctively, right into the scalpel I'd wedged into the gap between floor tiles at a forty-five-degree angle. It sank deep into his calf as he crashed down, his weapon clattering across the linoleum. His partner cursed, stepping back to reassess. I was out of traps, but they were now taking it easy on bends giving me time to get to the cold room. I glanced through the slivered door and saw a mirror. There were three inside. I needed to draw two out. "Damn it!" I yelled and threw an empty ammo clip down one side as if someone moved that way and hide down the other side until I saw them come out, in their pairs, looking. When they did, I fired. Not at them, that would’ve been too easy, but at the emergency sprinkler system’s main valve down the hall. Water erupted from the ceiling in a sudden deluge, and the guards instinctively flinched, their weapons dipping as cold water hit their faces. That was all I needed. I lunged from cover, driving my shoulder into the first man’s ribs hard enough to feel something crack. He gasped, folding like a broken umbrella, but his partner was faster, swinging his rifle toward my head. I caught the barrel with my left hand, twisting it aside as his shot went wide, the bullet pinging off a metal supply cart. The struggle was ugly, close-quarters, wet hands slipping on gunmetal. His knee came up toward my stomach, predictable, but I shifted just enough to take it on the hip instead. My free hand found the scalpel still lodged in his partner’s calf. I yanked it free in one brutal motion and drove it into the back of his thigh. He screamed, buckling forward, and I used his momentum to slam his face into the wall. Once. Twice. On the third impact, he stopped moving. I slid around the opening, and shot the man that was about to force something on a young girl, the bullet finding the arm that held it out, causing him to drop it. "You mother-fucking creep," I spat him. "You Son of a fuck ton of shit." I lowered the barrel of my gun so it was level with his balls. "Give me one fucking reason to pull this trigger. I beg you." The man scrambled backward, clutching his bleeding arm, his face twisted in pain and terror. Behind him, the girl, Vance’s daughter, was strapped to a gurney, her wrists bound with thick leather restraints. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, her lips cracked and dry. An IV drip hung beside her, the bag half-empty, the liquid inside murky. She flinched when I moved closer, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Seeing he had already been experimenting on her was the only reason I needed, for my self. I shot the fucker in the balls! Then I went over and started to help the child out of that contraption. "Baby! BAby! Baby!" I cooed at her. "It's okay. Your dad sent me to help you. He loves you very much." I knew her dad was dead and that he was coerced into helping, but I didn't tell her any of that, not yet. Her pupils were dilated, her pulse erratic under my fingers as I worked the restraints loose. The IV tube tore free when she jerked away from me, a thin trail of blood welling up from the puncture site. She didn't seem to notice. Her breathing hitched, her body trembling violently as she tried to curl into herself. I picked the baby up and ran with her out of the room and around to the other side. I knew the halls weren't clear yet. But if we were careful, they were spaced enough, and now careful of traps, that i knew if I took my time, we'd get back to the safe room I'd created with the others. The girl was so light in my arms. Too light. Her skin was cold, clammy, like someone who'd been left in a freezer too long, and I wondered just how literal the "cold room" name had been. She didn't struggle, didn't speak, just shook in my arms like a leaf in a storm, her breath shallow and uneven against my neck. "Pee," I whispered when I remembered that Leah said they'd make her try to hold it. Sarah said the same. "Pee, honey. No more holding it, okay?" The girl's breath hitched, her fingers clutching weakly at my shirt. A shudder ran through her, and then warmth spread against my chest as her bladder finally released. She whimpered, her face pressing harder into my shoulder as if she expected punishment. I tightened my hold just enough to be felt, rocking her slightly as I moved. "Good girl. That's it. Let it all out." Water dripped from the ceiling tiles ahead where I'd sabotaged the sprinklers, creating shallow puddles that reflected the flickering emergency lights. I adjusted my grip, stepping carefully to avoid slipping. The girl's breath was too fast, too shallow, hyperventilation or something worse. I could feel her ribs pressing against my arm with each gasping inhale. Soon, we heard noises outside. chopper thumping blades, bullhorns, and other noises. The MPs were there. I also found some handy work of some of my team. More guards were taken out. Finally, I was back at the safe room. "Check her, Vasquez," I told the nurse. "She's ripped an IV from her arm that they were putting stuff into her from, and she's cold. I think they lied to Vance. They had already started long before I went hunting." Sarah froze at the sight of the girl, her hands hovering mid-air before she jerked them back to her chest, fingers twisting in her soaked shirt. Jennifer moved first, peeling Sarah away with murmured reassurances while Linda took the girl from my arms with clinical efficiency. Leah was already dragging spare blankets from the supply closet, her movements jerky with adrenaline. The girl's skin was mottled, not just pale, but blotchy with the telltale patches of early hypothermia. Linda swore under her breath when she lifted the girl's wrist, revealing a row of needle marks trailing up to her inner elbow. "They weren't just hydrating her," she said, pressing two fingers to the girl's carotid. "This is track lines. They've been dosing her with something." "Well, hopefully, her nightmare is over, but it's going to be a long road to recovery, just like with the other two babies, but now, she can do so in peace. I believe I heard the police outside, and my old unit are moping up anyone that doesn't want to come peacefully. Linda placed the girl on a gurney, her fingers quick and practiced as she checked vitals. The girl's breathing remained shallow, her eyelids fluttering like she was fighting unconsciousness. Leah hovered nearby, clutching a thermal blanket, her knuckles white around the fabric.

Chapter 5 I had PE first period at school, as usual, and since Darren was called last week because I forgot my gym clothes last week, he had made sure I had them when I go on the bus this morning. He always insisted on hugging me at home before I left for school or anywhere, really, and he told me to raise my hand and get permission to go right away or to go in my pants, but to stop holding it at school because some days, I held it for two or three classes. This morning, I got the gym doors, but before walking in, Michelle stopped me and pulled me to a corner. “You caused Scott to get kicked out of the youth group both during Sunday School and during any youth activities,” she breathed in my ear as I looked down at my feet. “Who kept other kids from laughing at you during classes when you wet in your seat?” I felt my jaw tremble. My knees felt weak. I shivered. “All I asked of you, to help you out around school this year, was you don’t cause me any trouble. I suppose you think that your new boyfriend, Shane, is going to protect you?” My jaw trembled again. “You know as well as I do that he couldn’t defend you. He is more helpless than you are. He can’t even read or do confidently do multiplication.” “He can…” “Shut up. I’m talking. Now, you think you can just get my boyfriend kicked out of youth groups without being punished? Do you think no one at school wants to pick on you? You go ahead and try to hand the next week on your own. Let’s see if you really need me or not.” I felt tears start to seep down my face. “You have no reason to cry. You did this to yourself. I’m not saying I’m not your friend, but you have to learn that you can’t just betray your friends without any consequences. You will not be able ask my help this week, and I will not interfere when people ask you if you are wearing diapers or whatever you might be doing. You will learn by the end of the week if you really think I was helping you or not.” “I… I’m sorry.” “Too late. If I don’t teach you a lesson right now, you will continue to think you can just go around me. It’s time you learned how many people were leaving you alone because of me.” She took me by the arm and pushed me through PE where people could see her treating me rough. “Now, go get changed, crybaby.” And she pushed towards the girls’ changing room and then walked off to her own first period class. I shook as I walked through the locker room looking at the floor, scared to look up and see who was seeing ‘fresh meat’ since maybe Michelle was really keeping people off me like she said. I got to my locker, and I saw a note on the door, that was folded and taped with my name on it. Pearl, You are no longer untouchable. I suggest you get rid of any diapers you might have on before anyone sees it, because now, you are fair game. If you so much as make yourself known to have to pee in class, and people will be pointing other people’s attention at you, and if you suddenly stop moving around… you better hope they don’t think you have a disgusting diaper on. If you even ask the teacher and you aren’t squirming, people are going to call you diaper girl or worse. You will not know who wrote this note because it’s not a girl, and it’s not Scott. So, good luck not getting made fun of today. Your new bullies. I crumpled the note into a ball. Shaking, and staring at the closed locker door, and with the implications in the note, I wasn’t sure if anyone should see me changing right now or not. Some of the girls had seen me in a pull up when I changed at PE before, but Michelle was probably keeping the quiet. She wasn’t going to help me today. This note was proof of that. I shook my head and stuffed my other stuff in the locker and then after locking it, went to the gym squad that was my class, and sat clothed in my street clothes until the gym teacher came over to talk to us to start class. I knew the moment she came, and stood in front of us, that I was going to have to go see the principal for not dressing out. “Ms. Hunt? Why are you not dressed out for PE, again?” “I… forgot my clothes at home?” I lied. “Sure you did. Angela, start leading the class in warm ups while I have a word with your classmate.” I was pulled over to the side of the gym near the doors to the hallway. “I told you that next time you did this, you were getting not only another zero for the day, but you’ll get detention, didn’t I?” I looked down not saying anything. She did say that, but I didn’t dare tell on whoever wrote the note. Besides, the note wouldn’t make the fact that this was the fifth time since just January, and it was only February the sixteenth, the third Monday of February, any better. The note would probably make it seem like I wasn’t being bullied until now. “I’ll meet you in the principal’s office at the end of the period. This defiance has to stop. You are not the only girl that doesn’t like PE, but you are the only one not dressing out like you are supposed to. Now go see the principal before I decide that detention isn’t enough.” I walked through the empty hallways, tears running down my face. The pull up under my jeans seemed to make me feel too hot. I didn’t have a pair of panties to change into though, only more pull ups, and only if I saw the nurse. I didn’t know what I was going to do. The walk to the principal’s office seemed as though I was in one of those dreams, you know the kind, where you seem further from your goal each step you took. I could try to bolt and not go to school today, but that would probably cause trouble for Darren. He was really nice to me, and I really didn’t want to cause him any trouble. Suddenly, before I realized it, the door to the main office stood closed, barricading me from the stares and judgment that I would subject myself to once I opened the door and showed the office worker the note from the PE teacher. I peeked through the window into the office, and I was a little surprised to see Shane there. What was he doing in there, and how much influence did Michelle really have? I mean, okay, she was pretty popular and seemed to have a lot of people at school that followed her. But what kind of thing could she have on Shane to get him taken to the office before school even started? I sucked it in, and opened the door. The office lady, having seen me many times this year, just sighed. “Bathroom troubles, or teacher troubles?” she asked. “Teacher.” “Go sit next to the young man, then.” I walked over and sat next to Shane with my head down. “What are you doing here?” Shane whispered. “Didn’t dress out for PE. You?” “The teacher didn’t see my homework I put in the tray when we turned papers in.” “Your teacher knows you don’t do good in school. I didn’t know not doing homework gets you detention or something.” “Well, it’s not just that they didn’t see my paper. It looked like someone’s name got erased, but also wasn’t on the paper, and when the teacher called out the names of who it might belong to, I told her how you and I spent Saturday and Sunday working on it, but another kid said that the paper was theirs. The paper did turn out to be theirs, and then I was accused to erasing her name, and then trying to claim her work.” “That’s… ridiculous. Just because you were trying to tell the teacher that your paper had to be there, doesn’t mean you were claiming someone else’s work.” “Yeah, but that’s what the teacher thinks. So I am here for lying and cheating.” I gulped. Maybe Michelle had something to do with either the paper being done like that, or maybe she had stopped anyone else from doing it before. “Why didn’t you dress out for PE?” Shane asked me. “The teacher probably told you that you’d go to detention or something if you kept not dressing out.” “Yeah, but I couldn’t. Michelle said that she wasn’t going to help me today or the rest of the week.” “Michelle? Help you? Pearl, why would you need her help? She’s been bullying you since the start of the year.” “Well, she has…, but she also doesn’t let other kids do things to me. And she pulled me aside before first period, and she told me that I was on my own because Scott got kicked out of Church Youth Activities and Classes.” “I’m sorry. It’s just one of her tricks or something, though. I don’t think she was actually protecting you or anyone else.” “Shane,” the principal opened his door and stared right at us talking. “Whatever you have to stay to her can wait. You need to come and tell me why you were sent here.” The door closed behind them, and I sat with a heavy sigh. Even if Michelle was the bully that did both things, it proved she could influence teachers, if Shane was in trouble for cheating when he had no reason to. I helped him with his homework the last couple of days and while his Reading, History, and Science howework wasn’t fully done, his math was. The door opened again, but Shane didn’t come out. Instead, the principal waved me in, but I didn’t think I was supposed to get yelled at in front of another student. I didn’t want Shane to hear me getting in trouble for not obeying the teacher even though he know that’s what happened because I told him. “Have a seat, Pearl,” Mr. Keansley frowned at me. “I need to get something straight.” I sat down. “Um… Shane’s still in here.” My words so so faint, that I was surprised Shane could hear me, let alone Mr. Keansley. “Yes. Shane is telling me something that doesn’t make sense given what he was sent to me for.” “That I tutored him on Saturday and Sunday, and we finished his math, and we worked on his other subjects, but only really finished the math?” I asked. “Did you think that telling me something you both rehearsed before I asked would make it more believeable?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s the truth. You can call both our parents. Shane finished his math, and actually of his Science since I insisted we work on his favorite class, and then he got most of his History and about half of his Reading done.” “Or did you do the work for him?” the principal crossed his arms. “I didn’t. But…,” I felt scared and my voice came out whiny and more soft. “Even if you think I did, that’s not why he got called in here? He told me in the seats outside, that his math homework disappeared and when he tried to explain that we did do it, the teacher thought he was trying to claim someone else’s work.” “Didn’t you, though, Shane? You tried to say the paper was yours, and the name was even erased. Maybe you forgot the homework at home, decided to use someone else’s paper so your parents wouldn’t get mad at you for leaving your paper at home?” “I didn’t,” Shane frowned. “All of my homework is in my homework folder that I keep especially for it since I started tutoring this weekend. That way, I can show my tutor the work and she can help me, and I have my folder in my locker right now.” “So, if we go and find your math in your folder…?” “It’s not there because I turned it in at the beginning of Math. I don’t know why the other person’s name was erased from their work, and why my paper is missing, but I know I turned it in.” “That’s all I needed you for, Pearl. I just wanted to have him confront you since he was using you as a part of his story.” “But we are telling the truth. I did help him on both Saturday and Sunday, and you can even call our parents and the Youth Group at our church.” “Go sit outside and wait for me.” I sighed and looked at Shane. I mouthed. “Sorry.” He nodded, and I walked out and sat in the chair waiting for my own doom. Maybe Michelle was right. Maybe she was able to keep both of us out of trouble, and I ruined it by getting Scott in trouble at church. Maybe if I told the Sunday School Teacher that I had started it, next Sunday, then he’ll let Scott come back, and Michelle might forgive us. Chapter Six Shane eventually left the principal’s office and with a sorrowful glance my way, he walked to the main office worker and they whispered. I sat there, not knowing how else I could help. About ten minutes before the end of class, Mrs. Jensen came into the office and waved me to come with her as she knocked at the principal’s door. “Mrs. Jensen?” “I am here to talk about Pearl’s behavior in class. I figured she should be present because frankly, the only reason she didn’t fail PE last semester is your current policy that Gym, Art, and Music should not have meaning for grades.” “Have a seat. Shall I call for Mr. Hunt?” “I mean, it really depends on what you are going to do about Pearl’s behavior. If you are just going to dismiss it, then calling her parent in is not going to fix anything. However, I will not have her disrupting other students and have them think there is no consequences at all, so if you don’t plan to hold her accountable for PE, then I suggest she spends PE in the office for the rest of the year, or you figure out something else because her sitting on the bleachers would certainly elicit the same response by other girls that don’t want to run.” “I mean, it is a class. I am trying to go by district policies.” “District policies surely don’t allow for students be disruptive even if they are trying not to focus on the importance of grades in ‘elective classes?” “That is also true. We could just have her go to ISS for being disruptive, and that would affect her grades in all of her classes, but it would only be fair if we talk to her parent and we start that consequence from now so she knows, if she misses PE, she misses classes for the rest of the day and earns a zero… no make ups for that day at all.” “I can agree with that.” “I’ll send her to her second class today, but look at me Pearl. If you pull the no PE clothes thing tomorrow, you will get a zero in every single class, and any homework that you have completed for that day and any assigned that day will both earn zeroes whether you do them or not.” I nodded, tears running down my face. “This goes for all of your other classes, no matter what. If you are disruptive, you go to ISS. If you decide to be Absent on an ISS day, then you will get 3 days OSS and 2 more days of ISS, do you understand?” “Ye… yes sir.” “Good. Now get yourself to the bathroom so you don’t disrupt your next class.” I ran out of the principal’s office, and made my way to the bathrooms, only to see it full of girls who stared at me like I was in the wrong place. The bell rang overhead, and I knew other girls would be going to the bathroom soon, but as luck had it, I was able to get into a stall before anyone caught that I was there. The note said that they were going to watch me. Would they know if I was holding it? If I suddenly stopped squirming… they would tell the whole school I was in diapers. I could try to deny it. Maybe. But what if I really had to go, and the teacher said no? I’d wet myself, and if nothing leaked out, then they would know I was wearing diapers, wouldn’t they? I sat on the toilet, with my pants down and stared into my pull up. I tried to push my body to go, but nothing came out. I didn’t usually have to go this early. It wasn’t usually until either near the end of Science or the middle of math when I had to go most days. I didn’t have any panties with me. But if everything went wrong, and there wasn’t a puddle under me, would the other kids find a way to get me exposed that I had on diapers? Could they? It’s not like they can pull my pants down in front of everyone, could they? I sighed and pulled up my pants, and while I was washing my hands, Michelle came out of one of the stalls. “Trying not to pee your pants for once in class?” she asked with a coldness that I felt from the space between her exited cubical and the sink where I was washing my hands. “I hope you don’t have a diaper on. I’m not going to protect you if you… do anything wrong. You have to earn that back by learning your lesson that you need me, and then asking me to help you again, and agreeing to obey my rules again.” I frowned. Several other girls heard her. “You are really going to let other kids call her names and draw attention to her babyish stuff?” one of Michelle’s friends asked. “She got another friend of mine in trouble. What have I always told you all about being my friend?” “You told us not to betray you or people you cared about.” “For the week, I don’t care about Michelle, so do whatever you want to her. Anyone that doesn’t at least mention her peeing her pants, if she does it, will not be showing loyalty to me.” The girls gathered around the sink she went to wash her hands at, and I slipped out of there and to Science. Mrs. Carnsley’s class went pretty fast, and I didn’t have much trouble there. But then I was in Mr. Bronson’s Math class. It was around ten minutes in, about 9:35, when I felt like I needed to pee, and class lasted until around 10:10, so I knew I had about 35 minutes to wait, and a lot of times, I knew I couldn’t wait much longer than twenty minutes. “We are watching you,” echoed in my mind. “As soon as you stop dancing around in your seat, we will accuse you of wearing diapers even if you aren’t, there will be no one to stop the rumors or to protect you this time. Everyone is watching.” I felt nervous and my face heated up. If I didn’t wiggle, they would know I was wearing a diaper. I closed my legs a little bit more, and looked around at who might be watching. I didn’t see anyone looking at me, but I felt the hairs on the back of my neck pick up, and it caused me to rub my knees, in anticipation of someone just waiting to jump up and tell the whole class that I had to pee. I kept my hand pointedly down so as not to draw attention. Maybe no one knew I had to go yet. I wasn’t squirming yet, I didn’t think. But I could feel my knees discreetly rubbing against each other. There was a giggle somewhere near, and I looked over, but it looked like three girls, who were always giggling about something in class, had just seen something funny about a boy near them. They didn’t seem to be watching me. “Imagine my embarrassment,” I remembered one of the homes I was at when I was eleven years old. “Being called at work to come and pick up a kid I was taking care of because she needed clean clothes… because she did THAT on herself. I had to explain to my friends why I needed to take off work, and trust me, telling people that a kid in my house that I was taking care of, just pooped her pants for no reason at school….” I shivered. I paid for that embarrassment. I tried even harder not to pee my pants for a week, even though it hurt really bad sometimes. And as I did, I guess it did help me stop doing it, but it still hurt when I held it… and later, started to hurt when I peed or when I held it. I didn’t want to embarrass Darren. He was nice. If the whole school knew I was peeing my pants, it probably would embarrass Darren because some parents would start talking. Shane’s parents might even tell him that I’m just a troublemaker, and they weren’t even sure Shane should be getting tutored by a Miss Pee Pants. I started to feel my legs shaking, and it had less to do with the pee in my bladder at the moment than the nervousness that Shane’s parents and other parents would judge Darren and make him hate me. I couldn’t let them know I peed my pants, and maybe I shouldn’t tell Darren about the note, or why I didn’t want to go to PE, or especially that I was trying to hold it right now, when he always told me not to…. I couldn’t help thinking about Darren and embarrassing him, and the more I thought about him, the faster my legs shook, and the more I started squirming in my seat. I looked around, but I couldn’t see anyone looking directly at me, to see if I was moving around. But they were watching. The note said they were, and Michelle said she wasn’t going to protect me now, and apparently she was the only reason no one talked about whether I wore diapers at school or if I peed my pants. I had a diaper on. If people weren’t looking for it, I should be able to just pee like Darren tells me to, but people were looking for it. The note said so. I stuttered as Mr. Bronson called on me at 9:52. “Would you mind showing the class how you would do the example on the board?” He often called on students to do examples, but not only to check our understanding, but sometimes, asking us to explain and I figured that was so others would get it, too. “I… I didn’t do the homework today,” I lied. “See me after class,” Mr. Bronson nodded and let me sit down to squirm in my seat. I could see it in his face, that he didn’t believe for a second that I didn’t do the homework. He probably knew I was about pee my pants… or maybe he thought I had already done it, and was scared to go to the board. “Michelle, why don’t you show us how it is done.” I looked back over at Michelle, but she didn’t seem to be watching me, directly. I sat shaking and trying to wiggle my legs more exaggerated and on purpose so she didn’t think I had already peed my pants. I didn’t know if she would tell everyone or not if she thought I peed, but I knew she wasn’t going to protect me if I stopped moving around. I was scooting back and forth in my seat now, trying not to pee, and holding my knees together, squeezing, and nervously looking for whoever was checking to see if I was stopping moving. I still couldn’t see who was actually trying to catch me. But I was scared to chance it, besides, I had to pee and didn’t want anyone to know if any went in my pants. So I had to keep moving around because they would assume I did it, if I stopped moving. That’s what the note said. The minutes on the clock seemed to tick slowly. “Go sit down,” Mr. Bronson told Michelle sounding disappointed. “And everyone pay attention.” Michelle dropped a piece of paper on my desk, but before I could look at it, Mr. Bronson looked over at me. “Pearl. Come up and do this problem. I understand that you might be a little uncomfortable, but you’re the only one that seems to get this. Now, please.” I stood up. I never disobeyed when someone told me to do something, not directly. That was a good way to really get in trouble, and it would make Darren even more embarrassed if I misbehaved for the teacher on top of not doing the assignment and then peeing my pants, too. “Just take your time, Pearl. No one is looking at the seat of your pants, and if they are, they are going to fail the upcoming test, because this problem or one like it will definitely be on the test in more than one form or another.” I gulped. The teacher believed I was already wet and seemed to have already told the class as much, though he chose his words as if he was trying to be discreet. He failed miserably. Shaking, and trying harder to wiggle as I went to the board so everyone knew I was still holding it, I walked up and took the chalk from him. “Just take your time,” he said to me quietly. “The slower you explain it, the better because a lot of your peers are acting like apes trying to read.” I snorted a little as I started to work on the problem, exaggerating every movement I made to control it not coming out. I explained the best I could, but I was frustrated because I was so embarrassed that I had to wiggle like this so no one would say I peed myself. I felt tears in my eyes as I tried to keep it up. It was tiring and caused my legs to tire because of how exaggerated I was trying to do it so no one would think I was losing… but then…, it happened. I leaked a little bit. I looked around at everyone as I quickly tightened my legs together and put a hand in my crotch. “Mr. Bronson?” I whispered. He frowned at me. “You need to leave the room?” he asked me. I felt my face get hot as a little more leaked in my pull up. I felt tears starting to stream down my face even though I kept trying to wiggle and try to make it seem that I wasn’t losing, yet. “Just go. If you get caught in the halls, I’ll clear it up with the office later. Just go before you have an accident.” I raced out of the room, holding myself, but it was too late. I was peeing before I got out the door, and I finished peeing my pants in the hallway not more than five feet from the classroom door. Chapter Seven I looked back at the classroom door and down the hall to the nurse office. If I went to the office, would I get in trouble for leaving class? Mr. Bronson might have tried to let me use the bathroom, and might have said he’d talk to the principal, but everyone knows the principal has more power than a teacher, and I left class. My face red. My heart knowing Darren was going to hear of me peeing my pants in class again, on purpose or something, but also realizing that staying out of classes would cause him more trouble, I walked back to the door with all the resisting rebellion I could muster, and I slipped in and back to my seat just as the bell rang. I sighed and started to gather my stuff, and I shoved the unread note deep in my bag, not wanting it to be found lingering by just anyone. It was bad enough if someone didn’t already expect me to be watched, but it would be worse if a teacher saw it, or if… Shane realized I caused trouble at school. I walked into Mr. Wallace’s Life Skills class with my head down. My pull up was heavy and wet, and I knew the whole math class was aware I couldn’t have gotten to the bathroom in the short time I was out of the room, meaning that those watching for a sign knew I peed my pull up, and probably thought I actually did it fully in the classroom, and probably thought I just walked out of the room so the teacher wouldn’t know it. Mr. Wallace stood at the front of the classroom area of the class room, that was so big that there were four kitchens off to the side of the room for us to work in teams. “Now, I want to go over some safety rules in the kitchen before I turn you loose, so let’s talk about carrying knives and handling kitchen tools….” I sighed. These rules seemed pointless by now, not that they were in place, but that the teacher thought he had to repeat them over and over. People that were still playing with stuff they weren’t supposed to were not going to stop just because he said it was dangerous. “And…,” Mr. Wallace looked my way for a moment, but when he started talking turned to look at others. “…Let’s talk about appropriate and clean things your hands should be doing when you are cooking.” That was a new rule, but it only caused me to blush more. I knew he was probably referring to me trying to hold it from peeing my pants, or maybe other people scratching their bodies because, well, we kids get distracted or something and we just touch whatever without thinking. I thought it was more about he was trying to tell me not to hold it from peeing with my hands without actually telling the class that he was trying to tell me not to. I felt my face get more crimson than ever. The rules took maybe ten minutes to go over, but then he surprised us all by rearranging our cooking groups last minute, and I noticed he left me out of any groups. I watched everyone else go to the kitchen he assigned them before shaking, I stood up and walked over to his desk. “You are wondering why I didn’t assign you to a group?” he looked up at me with a frown. “Have you used the bathroom today yet?” he asked me. “What… what do you mean?” “I mean did you go the toilet, or did you wet in your pants yet?” he looked at me with a look that said he thought I knew exactly what he meant, and I was trying to do something sneaky. I shrugged. “Pearl. You either tell me, or you go to the office.” “Oh,” I blushed hard. “I sat on the toilet after PE, and I… I did an accident during last period.” My voice was shaky and low as I nervously looked around at the others who seemed too busy with their kitchen activities to notice that the teacher was pulling the ‘bad kid’ away. “So, you’re wearing clean clothes then?” he looked into my eyes and it seemed like he could look right into my mind where I was worried he’d know I had on a wet pull up. I tried to turn around to show him that I was not wet anywhere. “Did I ask you to turn for me?” He whispered to me. “Look, by now your guardian would know better than to send you to school without at least a pull up on. You’ve pottied your pants, what, ten times already this semester alone? So turning and showing me dry pants is not going to convince me you are not sitting in soiled underthings.” I blushed even more. “Take this note, and go see the nurse. I will know if you decided to hide out because the nurse will have to send you back with a pass, which I will take from you.” I frowned. “Okay,” the whine from my throat sounded so loud in my ears, that I looked up over at the kitchens, but still, there were no eyes on me. “Hurry, and you might have time to join group three and still get credit for today’s work.” I walked out of the class, but I didn’t care about credit. There was no way I wanted to join group three after being sent to the nurse. They would know for sure I was wearing wet, and since my pants didn’t show, then the sleepers that Michelle had around watching me would know I was in a diaper. I took my time getting to the office, not exactly disobeying about going, just not in a hurry to join the group and then get asked if it was because I had another accident, or maybe overhear them talking about me having had an accident and sent out of the room for it. “Go wait by one of the sick beds,” Nurse Phillips said quite unsurprised to see me in her office—again. “You know the routine, and I’ll be back to help you when I have a moment.” I smiled and nodded at her trying to be polite. She had helped me out so many times this year, especially because Darren insisted on it, that it was routine that I was sent directly to the sick bed, so no one really knew I was sick or if what happened, happened. I sat on the bed and started to unbutton my pants. I sat on the bed naked waist down and my wet pull up inside my jeans on the floor while I waited for the nurse to come back where I was with a clean diaper and a towel and some water to clean up with. “Honey,” Nurse Phillips peeked her brown rusty head of hair through the curtain to hand me the wet towels first. “Things are going alright with Mr. Darren Hunt, aren’t they?” “Yes, ma’am. He’s really nice.” “Well, you’ve had more than four months to stop with these problems, and you are supposed to be healthy according to the doctors.” “Yes ma’am.” I was starting to wipe at my thighs and between to get the stink off. “So, I know it can be really hard to adjust especially when you are in a difficult placement, but you say you like Darren….” “I do.” “Then, why do you still pee your pants at school, young lady?” “I…” I looked down. “It’s hard to go at school.” “Don’t you feel safe at school with Darren taking care of you?” I knew better than to say no until I heard the whole question. They were tricky, especially when they tried to control your answers. So, when I heard the whole question, I answered. “I… I am safe. But at school, Darren isn’t here.” “Darren has set up for you to get clean with the nurse, has made it so teachers are supposed to let you go, and because of him, I allow you to wear diapers and give you a safe place to clean up to put on clean ones.” “Yeah? But he’s still not here,” I dug in. “Just because he told you to do stuff, doesn’t mean you will do it.” Nurse Phillips frowned. “When have I denied you the chance to clean yourself up or give you a pass if you need on?” “Not talking about you,” I frowned. “But Darren doesn’t control everyone at school.” “What teachers are not doing what they are supposed to?” I sighed. “The teachers are doing what the principal says.” “So, you know you are safe, and the teachers are doing what they are supposed to, so the thing is, you can’t just keep peeing on purpose for attention. Eventually, that’s going to cause you other problems.” “I know,” I said wanting to end this conversation. Nurse Phillips sounded concerned, but truth be told, I didn’t really know why she kept bringing up that I control going to the bathroom when I knew I still couldn’t. Yeah, it was partly wrestling if the teacher will let me, but now, worse than ever, it had to do with the other kids and what they were thinking and planning to do if they got me alone. By now, the whole school knew I wore a diaper today. I knew Michelle would have made sure of that. I did successfully waste enough time, that when I was dressed and ready to go, the nurse shook her head. “There’s no point in going to class right now. Just stay with me until the period is over and you can go to lunch.” “Yes, Ma’am,” I tried to keep my face neutral in case she might see me smile about having gotten out of not being in class at the moment. “I may have to take more charge of your changes if you insist on acting like you are a little kid rather than a teenager.” I looked up at her, but she didn’t look like she meant it. If anything, if what she said about me doing it for attention was really something she thought, then wouldn’t it just be handing me what I supposedly wanted by taking more charge? Besides, wasn’t she too busy to be actually taking care of it like Darren sometimes does? “Look, you and I both know I think it would be wrong for me to take it that far, but honestly, the principal has talked to me about whether or not my leaving the class was fair to other students and if it was disruptive. And if it was, maybe I should be embarrassed the next time, from maybe being changed instead of letting me do it myself. I frowned at her. “You can do what you think you have to, but if you hit me, Darren will get involved. He promised me, that I have to tell him what you do to me at school, and if he doesn’t like it, or if I feel scared from it, and I have to tell him, then he will make sure someone loses their job over it.” “If you are trying to threaten me, little miss….” “It not a threat,” I whispered. “It the truth. If I don’t tell him if I feel upset, he going to make me tell him. He won’t take no for an answer.” “Well, as I’m not doing any hitting, what are you going to tell him? My nurse changed me and I didn’t like being put in a clean diaper after I chose to shit my pants?” “I didn’t,” I whimpered. “I just peed.” “Last week? Just as you were getting on the bus for home, you didn’t?” “That wasn’t last week,” I frowned. “It’s been a while.” “Whatever, you were still too old to be doing that on purpose.” I nodded. “Yeah, I know. But I didn’t do it on purpose.” The nurse shook her head. “Well, go have lunch. The bell is about to ring. -- I walked into the lunchroom and looked around a little bit scared of getting in line. Michelle could be anywhere, and I had to see where she was and if anyone was watching me before I did anything. Suddenly, Ryan slipped up next to me and he took my hand. “Pearl? Shane is waiting for you. Do you need to buy a lunch first.” “Um, yeah, but….” “Come on. I want to get you out of here. There are rumors going around, and I think it’s just best to get you somewhere that no one wants to be.” “Where would that be?” Ryan smiled. “Oh, trust me, no one is going to follow us where I’m taking you. Shane is waiting for you.” We walked through the line and Ryan stayed right at my side despite not having money for his own lunch because he had a paper sack lunch. “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to be in line if you’re not getting a lunch.” Ryan frowned at the kids that called him out. “There aren’t any rules that say I can’t walk my little sister through the line. So I suggest you find someone who cares to complain to.” “What do you think the principal would say to you cutting in line?” “Cutting?” he got up in the kid’s face and laughed. “Since I didn’t buy anything and didn’t take any extra time, I’m not cutting. Nice try.” I shook a little bit. “Hey, it’s okay, little sister. We’ll help you get cleaned up if we need after lunch, so don’t be scared.” “I didn’t…,” I whimpered. “Then there’s nothing to be scared of. The principal can’t do anything about me protecting you. There is no rule about staying out of the lunch line, and we aren’t fighting, are we?” I frowned. “But, Michelle….” “Michelle and Scott are the reasons that I have told Shane we are doing this. You do as I say, and no one will bother you, and if you get scared and pee, then we make sure you get clean after lunch. No problem.” I sighed and let him lead me to the pay clerk where I punched in my student number, and then Ryan led me right up to Scott. “I suggest you let us pass. There are enough facility adults in the lunch room, that they will see you blocking us, especially if I have Pearl just pee herself right here, in front of you blocking her. Think about how that will look.” Scott stepped aside with a scoff. “Everyone knows she pissed herself earlier.” “Do they? Because I rumors I heard was that she was dancing around, but she was dry when she came back to class.” “She’s dry because she’s wearing a diaper.” “How much to do you want to bet on that? And when you make her cry and find out she’s not in a diaper, but also that you are about to be suspended…. For bullying….” “Yeah? Well, after school it’s on.” “Oh, you mean you and me? Sure. After I put my sister on the bus, we can fight all day. I’m not scared of you.” They glared at each other for seconds before Ryan took my arm and started to lead me away. “So, where are you taking me, then, Ryan? Where wouldn’t anyone want to follow us?” “Mr. Hailings’s English class,” Ryan smiled. “He’s the worst teacher here,” I frowned. “Exactly. None of Michelle’s thugs are going to want to go in there during lunchtime.” “I mean, I don’t want to go in there. He’s kind of … well, he’s not fun to be around.” “Exactly,” Ryan smiled. We walked in, and I saw Shane at the back of the room with a game out and his lunch ready but not eating. “Are you sure about this Ryan?” Shane asked him. “Mr. Hailings could come in at any time and demand what we are doing here.” “And when he sees Pearl tutoring you, what’s he going to say. Pearl, you’re not allowed to tutor?” “What about you?” “Oh, if he wants, I’ll leave. But I’m not doing anything wrong, so I don’t think he’ll care if I’m not bugging you and Pearl.” “Pearl’s dad didn’t say she could tutor me at school. School is too stressful for her.” Ryan shrugged. “So? Just because we tell old Mr. Hailings that’s what you are doing doesn’t mean it has to be true. You can both talk about classes without actually doing any work, and he wouldn’t care if he heard a teacher’s name thrown here or there while you are talking, would he?” I narrowed my eyes at Ryan. “You are….” “Clever?” Ryan asked. “Shrewd and very cunning,” I corrected him. He shrugged. “But you don’t have to worry about Michelle or Scott trying to watch you to see if you pee your pants, though.” Shane nodded. “He’s right. I don’t think Mr. Haillings is going to care if we are early to class.” I shook my head. His main problem with a lot of students, is them being late wanting an extra few minutes for lunch. I whispered. “What if I have to…?” “We’ll check on you about ten minutes before the end of lunch,” Ryan told me. “If you need, I have somewhere that you can change and no one will see.” “I… I don’t know about that.” “I do,” Ryan frowned. “Look, Shane and I don’t mind if you have a little difficulty, but we do care if people are going to be mean to you. You obviously can’t go see the nurse about it because the other kids will find out and be mean about it. So, if you let Shane take care of it for you, and you trust us, we can keep other kids from finding out you had to change your pants.” “I am wearing a diaper,” I whispered. “The rumors were….” “…Not proven,” Ryan cut me off. “I don’t care if you are wearing one right now or not. After lunch, you will definitely go with Shane to our private place. He will get you changed into something more… our age, and if anyone tries to prove anything, they will find that they are in the wrong.” “Um… Darren knows I was sent to school in….” “So? Your dad wants you to feel safe,” Ryan cut me off again. “He’s not going to get mad if you wore panties after kids started claiming you were in a diaper, and making you feel bad, is he?” “I’m not sure.” “Then I’ll talk to him and find out for you. I saw the way he took care of you last night. He doesn’t want you made fun of, trust me.” I sighed. “Okay.” Mr. Hailings did come to the classroom about twenty minutes early and started setting up. When I looked over at him, he rose an eyebrow at us, but other than that, left us alone to talk while he was working on getting things ready. “Come on,” Ryan prodded Shane up with the toe of his shoe. “You don’t want Pearl to have a hard afternoon, do you?’ “No.” “I happen to know how to slip into one place where students cannot easily bother her.” “Are you students supposed to be in there?” Shane asked. “Maybe… not…,” Ryan smirked. “But look at this way. There is no hard rule that says it’s off limits to students, and because no one else wants to be near a teacher when they don’t have to be, then it just seems off limits because no one wants to be there. But it’s not in the handbook. I looked it up last night.” “So, what do I say if the principal says it was implied?” Shane asked Ryan. “Simple. Who is the adult. If you don’t want students somewhere, you place signs and you write it in the handbook. Since you never did either, then Pearl getting changed away from prying eyes is not wrong, or is it?” She frowned. “I don’t think mom and dad would agree with your logic.” “Oh, mom, will. Especially after I tell her all the rumors going around about both you and Pearl.” “Don’t tell Pearl about my rumors. She has enough problems.” “Then do as I say so you can both stay out of fights.” “I think Ryan plans to fight this afternoon,” I told Shane. “Pearl! You weren’t supposed to tell him that Scott confronted us in the lunch room.” “Did I say who or where?” I asked Ryan. “You still told him the main thing I didn’t want you to tell him.” “And why wouldn’t you want him to know you are thinking about fighting Scott?” Shane cut us both off staring at Ryan. “Maybe because I don’t want to A… see you get kicked out of school for Scott’s BS, and B… I don’t want you getting ambushed because not everyone fights with the same kind of honor you always seem to say you do.” “Are you saying you don’t believe I fight honorably?” Ryan looked Shane in the eye. “I’m not saying that you do or you don’t. I’m saying Scott definitely doesn’t, and if you do, then you’ll likely get ambushed.” “Fine. Fair. But he’s not going to get away with picking on my sister or my brother. Besides I owe him for threatening Rachelle a few months back when he told her that if she left Michelle standing, he could do things to her.” “Well, you know I want a piece of that. But let’s do it when we aren’t supposed to be at school, that way, the school can’t come back down on us… unless you want Pearl to get in trouble for something has nothing to do with her.” “Fine. But you know Scott’s going to try to call me a coward.” “His big mistake.” We were walking through the halls, and a few kids were looking towards me, but Ryan and Shane quickly put me between them as we walked and slipped into a side hall passage behind a door that I hadn’t really noticed before. Of course, this area didn’t lead to any classrooms or where students normally went, so maybe that’s why I missed it. “There you are,” Ryan pointed at three door that said restroom on them. “Where are the boys’ or girls’ signs on them?” Shane asked. “You don’t think the authorities ever put up with what they make the kids go through, do you?” Ryan quipped. “Shane. These are just toilets for anyone that wants to use them. When someone is in, they lock the door, and the person in there has complete privacy.” “You haven’t been going in here….” Ryan smirked. “Maybe… when I knew the area was empty.” Shane brought me to a door and stood next to it. “Um… here,” and he handed me a pair of girl’s panties. I blushed and so did he. “Just do it as quick as you can, and don’t worry if your… um… whatever. Just throw it away and pretend it never existed.” “Exactly,” Ryan smiled. “Shane and I will stay outside, so if you hear us talking to a teacher, you’ll know you might need to hurry.” “It’s not even wet,” I shook. “So?” Ryan pushed at my back. “I heard a rumor that the other kids are planning to do something. I’m not sure what, yet, but if they do anything that exposes your panties, that’s what you’ll have on… panties and not what the bullies are telling everyone.” “Where did you two get… these?” “Does it matter?” Ryan asked. “Do you want everyone to find you wearing the things the bullies are saying… or worse, nothing at all?” I sighed and walked into the bathroom and changed myself in the panties. They were a little small for me, but if someone did somehow find out or get my pants down like it sounded that Ryan thought they were planning…. It was better to be wearing panties, even if they were a little small. I still don’t know how we didn’t get caught! We somehow got back to English in plenty of time, so we were not late, and Mr. Hailings didn’t say a word about us spending time in the classroom… like at all. Chapter Eight I still don’t believe we got away with using the faculty facilities without anyone knowing or caring. I had some small panties on my butt that weren’t mine, but still, Ryan seemed to think I needed them even though no one pantsed me at school. I guess he had reason to think they were going to try though. Shane and Ryan ran over to my bus before I got on, and they both brought to the back of the bus to have a word. “Tomorrow, wear what you need,” Ryan said while Shane just said ‘yeah’ or nodded because he was as embarrassed as I was, evident by the tomoto-color face he had. “But meet us at the back of the school before you go in. I’ll have a replacement for the pair you need to wash out.” “Um… I’ll just bring some of mine,” I frowned. “Well, I’m bring a pair of my sister’s anyway in case you forget,” Ryan told me with a hard stare that meant he was the boss. “If you show me you have two or three of your own, then we won’t have to use Rachelle’s, but I’ll have them in case you really need them. The kids are going to pants you. I don’t know when yet, but I’ve been hearing them talk about the best time or place to really embarrass you.” “What if I actually… um… pee though?” Ryan shrugged. “They can’t say you have a diaper on though if you don’t have one on. Just meet with us as soon as class is over if you are wet. You meet with us. Don’t try to go to the faculty toilets alone because since not too many students go there, it would be an easy place to get you alone and then what good would Shane and me be?” “You really care about this?” I asked. Shane spoke up. “Of course, we do. You… I like you, and when Ryan calls someone his sister… he’s not like Michelle where he would turn on someone for something so little as having a little conflict with another friend. When he calls you his sister, he means it.” I felt a tear run down my face. “Get on the bus before you miss it and cause trouble at home, okay?” And Shane gave me a hug. I sat by myself, somehow, and looked out the window thinking about everything those boys were doing. I wondered how many things they were doing that could get them in trouble. Sneaking their sister’s panties? Sneaking into parts of the school that may not be black and white out of bounds, but common kids know that we aren’t supposed to be there, fighting with bullies and with people that would even be unfair, and just all of it, just to stop people from finding out the truth, that I wore diapers today and I actually wet myself… and they didn’t care if I wet or not. They told me to change the panties, not accusing me of being wet, but Ryan scared I was going to be pantsed. If finding empathetic adults in foster care was a challenge, or even adults that cared if my pants were wet or not, unless it was a reason to punish me, that was nothing to finding other kids that cared if I was picked on either by foster parents that didn’t really love or if I was picked on by other school kids, was even more impossible. Tears welled in my eyes and I heard the voices of Ryan and Shane’s concern echoing in my ears. “If you don’t bring your own panties to school tomorrow, then we’ll have back up panties from our sister’s room. We don’t care what condition the panties are in, we just don’t want anyone to see you in a diaper and hurt your feelings, and I think someone is planning to pants you. You can go to the faculty bathrooms to change, but don’t go alone. It will be out of the way, and easier to get you alone, you take Shane or me with you if you peed your pants and need to change….” I started really crying. I couldn’t help myself. No one ever cared before… well, except maybe Darren. When I got to the bus stop, and started to walk home, my eyes still tearing up though I was trying to control my breathing and trying to hide I had been crying, it was just not happening. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone cared enough about me to try to help this much. I let myself in, and that’s when I saw Darren in the kitchen, where he could normally be found when I got back from school. He worked until 3:30, but somehow, he always beat me home, by just minutes, normally. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did someone hurt you today?” “Um… no,” I was still whiny though, and couldn’t help the tears. “It’s actually the opposite. Those two boys from last night, Shane and his brother?” “The boy I’m letting you tutor for extra money and his brother?” “Yeah. Today? They like… I don’t know how to say it,” and I started bawling again. “What did they do to you?” “Nothing!” I stomped my foot still crying. “That… that’s what I’m tr… tr… trying to tell you….” I sniffed. “They kept trying to keep other kids off of me. Michelle was going to… to… let her friends pants me or something. They helped me!” He had me in his arms by this time. “I don’t understand why you’re crying, if they helped you,” Darren asked. “Well. No… no… one has ever… you know… Just you.” Darren rocked me. “You’re pants are wet, honey.” I cuddled into him not caring and he picked me up and carried me to his favorite chair, and he cuddled with me for a bit. -- On Tuesday, I woke up and saw that Darren was already working in the kitchen getting breakfast ready. I was wearing soaking wet pajamas even after Darren had made me take a shower the night before. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? You’re up a little earlier than usual.” “I peed.” “You know that’s okay, don’t you honey?” “I know. It’s just the peeing in my pants kind of woke me up.” “Don’t you want to go get a shower, baby?” “By… by myself?” I shivered. “No, no, it’s okay. I’ll take you to help you in a minute. I was just offering to let you if you were ready, but I can see you aren’t.” “I… I’m going to wear panties to school today, okay?” “Do you think that’s best given you wet yourself a couple of times yesterday?” “I… I might get pantsed. Ryan thinks Michelle is going to get me pantsed, and I’d rather them catch me peeing my pants than being see in a diaper. Besides, if I don’t wear my own panties, Ryan is going to make me wear his sister’s panties.” “You know, you could just stay home from school today.” “No, I don’t want to. I… I need to go to PE class today. Oh, they probably going to tell you to come and talk to the school. I didn’t dress out in PE again because… stuff happened.” “I know we packed your PE clothes.” “I told them I forgot them though.” “Why did you do that, little one?” “Um… people were watching me too much and I didn’t want them to see me in a diaper.” “Ah. And that’s why you actually want to wear panties? Honey, you don’t have to lie and tell me that someone is going to pants you if you are just afraid of dressing for PE, we could make sure the nurse remembers the arrangement I tried to set up before where you go there before school to put on panties and then go there after PE to put your diaper on again.” “I… I’m sorry,” I decided not to tell Darren that he was wrong. He was trying, and it was kind of strange to think I’d be pantsed. No one else had ever been pantsed that I was aware of. “I still rather wear panties. Please?” “Sweetheart, what if you wet your pants in class?” “Are… are you going to get mad?” “No, baby. It’s up to you. I just don’t want you to feel humiliated.” “I… want to wear panties.” “Then we’ll talk no more of it. But I will pack you a couple of pull ups just in case you change your mind later, okay?” “Okay. But I want to bring two extra pair of panties and extra clothes… just in case.” “That’s a good idea.” After I ate breakfast, Darren took me to the bathroom to let me get ready while he kept guard inside the bathroom like always. I knew I was safe when he was in there with me. -- Before school started, I went behind the school like we planned and handed them back their sister’s panties, which Darren did wash for me so I could give them back. I blushed as I handed them over. “Tell your sister I’m sorry,” I told Ryan. “Why?” Ryan asked. “You didn’t take them, I did.” “I… I kind of peed in them.” “I already knew that would happened though, right Shane?” “Yeah. It’s okay, Pearl. It’s not your fault.” “We should take you to the bathroom so you can put on some panties if you have a diaper on, and if you have panties on, then try to pee so you don’t wet in PE.” Shane blushed looking at the floor. “Um… okay.” “Don’t worry. We’ll use the faculty bathrooms,” Ryan told us. “And make sure, whether you want to pee or you’ve done it in your pants, you come and get Shane and me after class to take you. No one can bully you or pants you if we are with you.” “Yeah, okay.” They walked with me into a different entrance than most students used that put us right near that secret hallway, and this time, Ryan pushed Shane into the bathroom with me. “Make sure she wears panties, Shane. Don’t let her wear a diaper. I don’t want her to get pantsed in PE and them see a diaper on her, and anyway, she has to take her pants off in PE, so people will see anyway if they look.” “She’s fourteen, Ryan. She can….” “Remember what happened to Rachelle at Michelle’s swim party?” “Rachelle wasn’t wearing a diaper.” “But she was checked, and you know Michelle is going to check her. And do you really think Pearl is able to face people yet, and make them back off?” “No,” he sighed. “I guess not.” “You know she’s scared. That’s why I’m not going in there. You make sure she gets changed into panties and that she pees in the toilet, for real.” “She… she’ll pee without being watched.” “Shane!” I felt my mouth hang open while the discussion took place. It could see the fierceness in Ryan’s eyes as he pushed Shane into ‘taking care of me,’ and while he seemed more than willing to take care of me, he seemed to think it wasn’t his place to make sure I followed their rules, but Ryan seemed to think it was their place to ‘help me.’ “Ryan. I can…,” I felt my voice scratch against my throat, and it sounded so quiet, he definitely couldn’t hear me over his directive over Shane to help me. “Look. She trusts you because you are nice to her, but if you don’t do it, I’ll go in there and do it, and I don’t think she’ll feel as safe if I help her.” “I’ll take her to the bathroom,” Shane nodded and grabbed my hand. “We don’t need her to be scared of the people trying to help her.” “That’s what I thought,” Ryan had his hands on his hips. “Here’s the bag with Rachelle’s extras in case she didn’t bring her own.” Shane took it, but he had a sour look on his face. He walked me inside and with a sigh, shut the door and locked it behind us. “I’m sorry, Pearl. I’m not trying to scare you and neither is Ryan. Maybe we should explain what Michelle did to Rachelle or something so you’ll understand why we are worried.” He walked over and gently pushed my shoulders until I was next to the toilet. “Do you have panties or a diaper on?” he whispered. “Panties,” I looked down shaking with my face on fire. “Then use the bathroom. I’ll turn away so I’m not watching.” I waited for him to turn and then pulled down my pants and sat, but pulled them back up nearly to my lap so he couldn’t see just in case he was tempted to look at me. He was a boy after all. He might be curious. “Michelle took Rachelle to her pool party one day. This was before dad told Rachelle couldn’t go to her birthday party, and it was one of the reasons he said no… I think.” I sat and started to pee. “Michelle warned Rachelle that he had pictures of her wet bed at that party, and she told her that she didn’t have to worry about the pictures though, but if she told anyone she had them, or if she tried to get Michelle in trouble, well, Michelle had evidence against her that could hurt her status at school.” I shivered a little bit. “Now, before this, Michelle hadn’t done anything mean to her, so Rachelle was listening to her. Michelle was a fun person for her to hang out with, and an older girl that kind of seemed to be teaching her how to be a teenager, but only, Rachelle is still only fifth grade right now, and when this happened, it was last year, so Rachelle was only in fourth.” “Well?” I shivered at everything. I was peeing in front of the boy, and honestly, I started to like him… a little more. He was almost watching me pee, only his back was turned, and he did make me undo my pants in front of him and show I had panties on before he turned away from me. Now, he was telling why he and Ryan were so worried about Michelle, and it seemed the girl had picked on someone a lot younger than herself. “Rachelle came home after the pool party and went directly to her room. She wouldn’t talk to mom or dad, but Ryan got in there, somehow, and he talked to her.” “Okay…?” I shivered. “But what would she tell Ryan that she didn’t want to tell your parents?” “Michelle told Rachelle to pee herself. She said she had a swimsuit on, so it’s okay. Just do it. All the girls do.” I frowned. “And Rachelle listened to her?” “Eventually. Michelle had changed her swimsuit and had other panties on or something. All the other friends had clean panties to change into, but I don’t even know how she got my sister to be in that situation at all, but she had my sister just put her clothes on over her swimsuit because somehow, Rachelle didn’t have panties with her. She was told to wear her swimsuit under her clothes so no one would watch her dress.” I frowned. “That sounds like a Michelle trick.” “Well, the girls all decided to go down the road to get ice cream, and of course they took Rachelle alone. Eventually, after eating their ice cream at the park and I’m not sure how much Michelle set it up, and how much it was just mother nature that got it so Rachelle eventually had to go, but Michelle told her that her butt was already wet from swimming. The other girls agreed with Michelle, but I think… it’s because she scared them into agreeing. Anyway, Michelle eventually convinced Rachelle to pee her pants fully at the park.” I frowned. “That was mean.” “What’s worse, is Michelle and the others convinced Rachelle that it still looked like she was just wearing a wet swimming suit and made her walk all the way back to her house and when mom and dad picked her up, All us brothers were with them because we were getting ready to eat dinner out, but as soon as I saw her, I could tell she peed.” I felt tears in my eyes. “She peed her pants.” That’s what Rachelled told dad. “She just sat there, the bathroom not more than a few feet a way, and she just peed. Maybe she was scared.” “Dad and mom had to take us home, and mom wanted to talk to her about why she’d do that, but I’m pretty sure Michelle threatened her if she told her Michelle had anything to do with it… well, Rachelle wouldn’t tell anyone until Ryan eventually got her to talk.” I sniffled. “Ryan thinks Michelle told you something yesterday, and that’s why he’s convinced you are scared enough to try to lie to us and why he made me take you into the bathroom. He told me he was going to make me take you.” I sniffled as I stood up and pulled my pants up. “I understand.” “So, I’m sorry,” he turned to look at me as I was fixing my pants and shirt. “I have to check you to see if you started to pee so we can make sure you don’t go to class even a little wet, and we need to take you to the toilet, but not only that, but to all your classes today so Michelle’s goons don’t get a chance to hurt you.” “I… and you have to take me inside the toilet?” “I don’t want you to be wet when you go to your next classes, Pearl. I know you’re scared, and I’m worried so I do have to make sure your panties aren’t wet.” He hugged me. “Is it okay if we protect you?” “I guess so.” It was more than alright though. Most of the time, when I was at school, honestly, even when I had diapers on, I was always scared of going into the bathroom. It was part of the reasons I peed my pants in class. I would try to go if I didn’t think Michelle or other people that scared me were in there, but if I wasn’t sure, or if I knew they were, especially, then I would just go to class and try to hold it. The three of us walked right by Michelle who was waiting outside the PE class door for me. They took me directly into the gym and right up to the girls’ changing room door. As I was started to dress out in the locker room and it didn’t look like anyone was watching me, I wondered about this pantsing thing. Of course, I trusted Shane and if Shane trusted his brother, then I expected they had good intentions, especially if Michelle did all that to their sister. But I wondered…. Why would Ryan know if they were planning to pants me? -- After we were all done with our warmups, we started to leave the gym and move the lesson outside onto a football field. The teachers had a frisbee out there and we all stood in a circle while the rules were explained. This was like football, but with a frisbee. Once you catch the frisbee, you can’t move more than three steps and have to throw it. As we started towards our own ends of the field, a couple of boys came up along side me. “You better not touch the frisbee. If you do, you will be taken out. That’s a promise.” They were supposed to be on my team. I did what I could to say out of the advantage of being passed to by putting myself near the other team, or being too far back to make any real gain by being passed to. It seemed to go pretty well for most of the game. “Michelle!” Mrs. Jensen was yelling at me because I was out of position. I looked over at her and shrugged as she pointed me to a better place, but I tried to run as slow as I could so I wouldn’t be in the way of getting the ball. Even if Mrs. Jensen didn’t like that I was running too slow, she couldn’t say I didn’t dress for PE, soI found myself in the locker room again. “She’s wearing a diaper,” I heard another kid say. “Who?” “That girl that was running funny. That’s why she was so slow.” I just minded my own business and started to dress out. Anyone that snuck a peek at me could see I was clearly in panties and not a diaper. I didn’t wait for Shane and Ryan after PE though because I didn’t want to be late, and even if we went to the secret hall, the PE and Science were on opposite ends of the school, and Science was on the second floor. So I settled in Science before I saw Shane sit at his table. I looked over at him and gave him a thumbs up so he know I was okay. He smiled. Science was more of the same from the day before. The stages of the rock cycle seemed pretty stupid to me. Sure, maybe they went through these cycles, but why was it important? Since the rocks didn’t breath or respond to their environment, they weren’t alive. I suppose if you were going to be a geologist or something that looked closely at rocks to try to figure out if something abnormal was happening in nature, maybe it would be important, but that’s not what I was going to do. I was going to do something that actually helped living beings that were alive right now. A boy put a note on my table on his way going to the front to identify three rocks for her. I looked back at the boy to see if he was going to give me a look or any other clues about the note, but when he didn’t, I opened it with a sigh. I hope you’re not wearing a diaper. There are rumors going around that you are. If you aren’t…, well, everyone knows what you do when you need to pee… so I really hope you are not wearing a diaper. I crumpled the note up and shoved it in the desk, my face hot and tears stinging my eyes. I wasn’t wearing one! I looked up at the clock. Nine o’clock. I still had almost twenty minutes of class. I internally tried to push at my bladder, but there was no response back. I didn’t have to go. I wasn’t sure what the note meant, exactly, but I knew that Michelle was hoping to make me get embarrassed. When Shane went up to the front to identify the rocks as pointed out, he also dropped a note on my desk. After class, secret bathrooms, okay? I looked down not wanting to look him in the eye. I wasn’t so sure it was a good idea for two reasons that I needed more time to explain than just a note exchange. At nine-ten, between five and ten minutes left of science, I tried to push at my bladder again, but still, it have no sign that it would respond. I sighed. I hoped Michelle wouldn’t expect it to happen in Science. It rarely did. Before Shane could catch me, I grabbed my bag and left the room going right to Math and disappearing behind the door before he could catchup with me. I had peed as slowly as I could during math class, not drawing attention, not wiggling, not making any sudden movements. I kept my thighs as close together was was comfortable, and watched as each trickle of pee filled the area in the seat between my barely open thighs and the chair before the trickle died again and the pee seemed to disappear as it got absorbed by my jeans. Somehow, I made it through math without anyone calling me out that I was noticed, and right outside the math door, Shane and Ryan flanked me on each side. “Bathroom, now,” Ryan ordered in a harsh whisper. “You didn’t do what we planned. I hope you didn’t get noticed if you are wet. Shane will check you in the bathroom.” I was glad for once that Shane was shy and Ryan was protective as he stood guard outside the bathroom door while Shane inspected me inside the bathroom. “Pearl,” Shane sighed, his cheeks pink as he looked down at my crotch. “You didn’t go before math like we planned, did you?” I shook my head. “And you didn’t go during math.” I shook my head again. Shane groaned. “You leaked, didn’t you?” I nodded. Shane sighed again. “Ryan’s gonna kill me for not making sure you went before math. He’s gonna say it’s my fault.” “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Shane shook his head. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s just…I know Ryan’s gonna be mad, but I don’t want you to feel bad. I just…I just wish you would trust us to help you.” “I do trust you,” I said. Shane looked at me skeptically. “Then why didn’t you let us take you before math?” I bit my lip. “I was scared of being late to class, and then Michelle noticing.” Shane’s expression softened. “Pearl, we’re trying to help you. You have to trust us.” “I do,” I repeated. Shane sighed. “Okay. Well, let’s get you cleaned up. Ryan’s gonna be pissed, but we’ll deal with it. For now, just go sit on the toilet and finish so you don’t fully wet your pants.” I sat down while Shane looked through my stuff I brought and he sighed. “Pull ups, Pearl?” “Darren made me. He said just in case I wanted to wear them if it got too hard today.” “At least you have panties in here, too, and a clean a pair of jeans….” After I was cleaned up, and Shane actually pulled my panties and pants on me as if I was a toddler or something, he hugged me. “I’m sorry things have to be so hard for you, but you’ll see. Ryan and I will take care of you. You just need to be really careful about leaking or others will start calling you worse than they already do.” “Michelle says that if I don’t squirm some in classes, everyone is going to think I’m wearing diapers.” Shane frowned. “That witch…,” he narrowed his eyes at me. “Well, she’s trying to make this harder for you than she ever could do for Rachelle. I’m so glad Rachelle is still in fifth grade. But that seems like another issue Ryan and I are going to have to address.” “You don’t want me to squirm in class?” I asked. “No. Some teachers can think you are playing around, and it’s embarrassing. If you squirm too much, then other kids are going to expect that you are leaking and might start looking in your chair to see if you peed.” I felt my face get hot. “So what do I do now?” “Were you squirming in math?” “I actually just tried really had not to show I had to go.” “But you leaked…. I definitely need to tell Ryan and figure out some kind of damage control.” “I’m not stupid?” “No. You’re just scared and confused. It’s not a good place to be in. I promise, I understand. Last year, I peed my pants twice in class. It was really hard, so I know exactly how you feel about leaking especially afraid of being watched for it.” They took me to Life skills in clean pants the three of us whispering everything so Ryan knew how much Michelle had been doing, with the notes, the intimidation in gym classes, and everything. When they took me to the bathroom after lunch, before the period was over, and before English, Shane sat me on the toilet, and then he started to talk to me about an idea Ryan had. “So, I guess Michelle is trying really hard to make it hard for you to hide wetting unless you wear diapers, but if you wear diapers, then she’s going to expose you….” I frowned and softly whispered, “Yeah.” “Squirming around like she wants you to do will eventually annoy some of the stricter teachers.” “I know….” I started to pee in the toilet. “Well, Ryan says he and I are going to have to come up with an idea for tomorrow so that anyone that checks your chair after math and after sixth period, will think… you are not wearing diapers. But we don’t want you to pee your pants either, unless it’s really an accident.” “Okay.” “For today… Ryan says to just pee your pants in sixth period… if you feel it really strong.” “On purpose?” I asked. “Not exactly. Just if it feels really strong, don’t wiggle too much. The less you wiggle when you leak, the easier we can do damage control on the expected wiggles.” “Aren’t you and Ryan going to take me to the bathroom after fifth period?” Shane gulped. “Well, we just took you now. Honestly, if you wet your pants sixth period after just doing now, you’re physical problem might be worse than you think it is.” “Well, it IS kind of bad, I guess.” “Just don’t pee unless it’s strong, and then if it is, try to quietly do it as little as you can, but let it come out a little bit at a time, kind of like it looks like you did in math.” “Okay.” Chapter Nine Somehow, I made it home without going to the bathroom in my pants the rest of that day, but as I came through the door around four, I felt it pushing so hard, that I suddenly started peeing right in front of Darren as he watched my jeans darken and face start to grow hot and sweaty. “It’s okay, Pearl,” his voice was soft and kind. “Come here, honey.” I walked over, and he hugged me. “Did you wet at school, sweetie?” I nodded. “A little bit, but not fully.” “You changed your pants, didn’t you?” “Yeah. The wet pants and panties are in my bag.” “Good girl. I’m not concerned about an accident, only that you stay as clean as possible when it happens, okay?” I smiled. “I know.” My face still felt really hot though, and I bit my lip out of embarrassment and a little bit scared of making Darren upset that I kept doing it. “Is Michelle still bothering you at school?” he asked. “Not really,” I lied. “I mean, Shane and Ryan are running interference for me, and helping me get to the bathroom without her noticing or being able to judge.” He picked me up and kissed the top of my head. “Good. I’m glad we didn’t put our trust in a bully to tutor you.” “Yeah,” I agreed feeling my face get even more hot and sweaty. “I kind of like him. I wished I didn’t feel like a baby around him, though.” “Does he treat you like one?” “I… I’m not sure, but I don’t think he is trying to.” “Why do you say you aren’t sure?” “Well…. It’s just that especially his brother has rules for me, now. They are trying to help me not wet my pants at school, and when it happens, to not get noticed.” “Are they asking you to wear diapers?” “No…, actually they are trying to keep me from wearing them at school. There are people talking about whether I wear them or not, and Ryan said he heard someone trying to prove it, so he thinks it better I pee in my panties than get caught with a diaper on if the bullies find a way to do it.” “Does he really expect them to do it?” “I don’t know, but Shane said he was glad that Rachelle was still in elementary school this year and away from Michelle.” The warmth of Darren’s hand on my shoulder lingered even after I went to the back room to find some clothes to change into. There was a faint scent of laundry detergent clinging to my sweater where he’d held my shoulders in a concerned supportive stare. The clock in the kitchen seemed to tick too loudly I came back to the living room and sat down in front of the television, this time wearing just a pull up and an undershirt. I felt too overwhelmed by the day than trust myself to get to the toilet right then. Wednesday morning, we met at the school before first period again, only this time, it seemed they had a more intensive plan than just a change of clothes. “Did you bring panties and changes of clothes?” Ryan asked me as soon as we were alone. “Yeah, just like yesterday.” “Well, not exactly like yesterday,” Ryan told me. “You get free breakfast at school?” “Yeah?” “Good you and Shane go get some orange juice, and then meet me in the secret hall.” I looked at Shane who took my hand. “It’s Ryan’s plan. I’ll let him explain it.” When we got to the little secret hallway, this time, we saw Mr. Keansley coming out of one of the faculty rooms. “Kids? Any reason you are back here than where students normally go?” “There’s no rule in there that says we can’t come back here,” Ryan looked up at him. “We’ll leave though if we can’t be back here.” “No, it’s fine,” he nodded approval. “It’s just not usually used by students because it’s so far from your path of travel, no one would risk being late to class by going this way.” “We still have time, don’t we sir?” Shane asked. “You have plenty of time.” He walked away from us and a tight knot in my chest loosened. So, at least Ryan wasn’t wrong that it wasn’t mentioned in the student book, and the principal even seemed to think it was okay for us to be there, though we did get questioned. “Take her in the bathroom,” Ryan told Shane. “Then explain this.” Ryan took out a plastic syringe thing, only it didn’t have a needle in it. Shane frowned. “I thought you were going to tell her that part. I’m not so sure I can really tell her right.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Well, I’m not sure it’s the best way to protect her from the bullying.” “So, you want her pantsed or worse?” “No, but I told you last night, this was a terrible idea.” Ryan frowned. “I’m going to have to go in there with you two if I explain it.” Shane shrugged. I held my hand out. “Um… Shane?” His face was red and he looked into my shiny wet amber eyes. “Yeah?” “I want to trust you, but you don’t really expect me to let your little brother to… um see… um be in there with me, do you?” He frowned. “I… I can just pee my pants today.” “No,” Ryan and Shane said together. “No,” Shane said again more softly looking at Ryan and then me. “I’ll… I’ll explain Ryan’s plan, but I’m against it.” Shane pushed me into the bathroom, and he squatted down next to me. The plastic syringe held out to me. “Drink the orange juice, but just down so there is that much left,” he marked the line with his finger. “Why?” “You’ll see. After you drink the orange juice down, go sit on the toilet while I get the container ready. It was one of those small bottles of juice with a plastic cap that kept it from spilling. I walked over and dropping my pants, sat on the toilet while he busied himself at the sink after I had drank down most of the orange juice. He was running water at the sink and I think he put the container in the water, but it still had a little orange juice in it, I thought. “Michelle is going to do try to embarrass you as much as she can, but Ryan thinks we can outsmart her. She thinks she can make you fully pee your pants in front of everyone, or make them think you are wearing diapers even if you aren’t. But there is a middle ground she may not have thought about.” I felt pee push into the toilet. “So, what Ryan is thinking, if you are okay with it, is to make it look like you are a little damp off and on all day, but no real pee going in your pants, and we take you to the bathroom after every class.” “How would you keep me wet all day if you are not having me pee my pants?” “That’s where the syringe comes in and the orange juice….” I looked up at him. “Now, this isn’t my idea, and I don’t really think it’s really a solution, but if we keep Michelle happy by keeping your pants just damp enough that anyone that checks your seat in class thinks you leaked, but we don’t actually let you pee your pants, then no one will really know that isn’t already being manipulated by Michelle.” “Michelle will still think I’m peeing?” I asked. Shane sighed. “Yeah. She’ll think you are wetting, and anyone she has checking your seat for it that reports to her that it looks like you peed in your chair, but no one else will really see anything.” “I’d still have to wear wet clothes?” “That’s the trick,” Shane whispered. “You’d just put enough liquid in your chair near the end of class that it looks like you wet, but since you aren’t really peeing, there is no chance of you actually wetting so bad that anyone not looking for it will think you are wet.” “How am I going to hide that I have this thing with me? I don’t want anyone to think I’m doing drugs or something.” “You just leave it in your front pocket. Part of our bathroom routine, is we refill the syringe in the bathroom while you try to pee with the orange-juice-water, but near the end of classes, you just push the water out in your pocket so it wets your pants a little bit and gets your chair wet, inside your pocket.” “I don’t know….” “Ryan actually convinced me and even Rachelle to test it out last night.” “Ew! You two watched your sister?” “No,” Shane’s face got red hot. “We just had her put the thing in her pocket and then while she was sitting, she pushed the water out under her. It was not that easy to see on her pants, but the seat was just wet enough someone could think she was leaking.” “You said he made you do it, too?” “Well, actually, I insisted I try it before he asked Rachelle to try, and so I could see how you’d feel.” “I’m not doing it during PE.” “I don’t see a point in doing it during PE anyway. It’s your first class and you never have to pee then, and there isn’t really a chair to sit in PE unless you act like you peed a little on the floor while sitting, but since you only sit the first part of class to do warm ups, that’s not the point. The point is for Michelle’s friends to find wet seats at the end of classes so they think you are peeing without thinking you have diapers on.” “If I do it all the time though, won’t it seem like it’s better if I wear diapers to school?” “That’s why it’s important it only looks like enough like you leaking not fully peeing. So people will think you are just holding it and getting to the bathroom before you actually wet yourself.” I pushed a little more and the rest of the pee went into the toilet. “Ryan suggested we have you sit on the toilet and pull your pants up so you can see what it feels like right now, so you know if you are okay doing it.” “Won’t it look like I leaked before school?” “Only if someone is so disgusting as to try to check your pants by directly putting their hands between your legs. I don’t think even Michelle can get anyone to do that.” “She’s got Ryan paranoid enough to ask me to do this though?” She shrugged. “Yeah. But no one is touching you to see if it’s pee.” “It’s going to be wet enough to leak in the chair?” I frowned. “That’s the idea, otherwise the trick won’t work, so she’ll leave you alone.” “I don’t like it. Darren has started to checking my pants. If he thinks I’m wearing wet in pants or panties at school, he might want me to wear diapers again. And he tells me not to hold it or to wear wet pants too long, so what if he sees yellow-orange in my panties and gets worried I’m peeing by holding it too long?” “We can dilute it a little more if you want with water.” “Might be better,” I agreed. “But isn’t there a way to not have to be wet at all?” “Are you able to not pee your pants for the rest of the year?” Shane asked me. “Probably not.” “Then it’s better is they think you are leaking. At least that way, they won’t think you are fully peeing your pants, and when we change you, since you’ll have a little wetness on your pants shortly after, no one will even think you are changing your pants, so they will assume you are just leaking.” “I thought you didn’t like this plan.” “I mean, I’d rather you stayed dry and we watch you closer so no one causes you problems and so you don’t wet your pants at all, but I don’t think that’s going to happen, is it?” “No…,” I pouted. “I just… do it sometimes.” “So, maybe Ryan’s plan is best. No one will see you in a diaper this way as long as we don’t let you wear one, and you can leak a little bit, but try not to squirm when you do, which is why spilling water in your pocket seems a good idea, so no one sees you squirm when you leak… and that way, they are not looking to see if you are squirming all the time.” I stood up from the toilet and Shane started to fix my pants and he put the full syringe in my pocket. “Sit down, Pearl. Please. Let me show you. It won’t be that bad.” I sat down and then he started to direct…. “First, aim the opening down at where your pee pee is.” I looked up at him. “And this will look like they want, and no one else will see?” “No one that doesn’t know what they are looking for will see, but yes, those that are trying to catch you peeing, should see what should make Michelled happy. Did you aim it?” “Yeah, but I don’t know about this.” “It’s not my favorite plan either, but right now, it’s all we have. I mean, you can just decide to pee in class, or you can try to hold it every time until you get to the toilet, but if you do that, what is Michelle going to do to make things harder?” “Do you know?” I asked Shane. “No. I don’t know. I wish there was a way to get them to just leave you alone.” “Yeah….” The syringe felt heavy in my pocket, its weight pressing against my thigh with every step down the hallway. Shane walked slightly ahead, his shoulders hunched in that way they always were when he was anxious. The scent of antiseptic from the newly cleaned floors mixed with the faint citrus smell leaking from my pocket, orange juice and plastic, a combination that made my stomach twist. Shane had insisted on walking me all the way to my first period, PE, even though his class was on the other side of school, and upstairs, Math. “Michelle was waiting outside of PE yesterday when I came to class.” “Does she have PE with you?” “No. She just came to tell me something. I was just letting you know, she might be outside the doors today, too.” “You have the syringe tucked inside your pants, right?” “Yeah.” The gym doors loomed ahead, their dull gray frames scuffed from years of sneakers and backpacks. My fingers twitched toward the syringe again, checking it was still there, still hidden. The fabric of my jeans was already too tight against my skin, making every movement feel stiff, like I was walking in borrowed clothes. Shane slowed his pace as we neared the doors, his eyes darting ahead, scanning for Michelle’s familiar smirk, her sharp elbows, the way she always seemed to materialize right when you didn’t want her to. Michelle wasn’t there, and I got into the locker room and saw another note on my locker. I knew it was just something mean, so I just pocketed it, and started to open the locker door to change. The syringe was still full, and without anyone around to watch, there was no reason to push the liquid out. “You just push the liquid out if you feel like they think you should be squirming, but you don’t squirm. This will get them used to the fact you don’t squirm when you pee your pants, so they don’t expect it.” That’s what Ryan had insisted just before he left Shane to take me to PE class. We got out into the gym, and I had an okay period. No one bothered me, and soon, I was on my way to meet the brothers in the secret faculty bathroom for my hourly pants checks. Shane was waiting outside the gym doors when I came out, which meant he either left class early, something he really shouldn't do given his poor math skills, or he had to have run all the way there. Eitherway, he was breathing a little heavy as he grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the faculty bathroom, moving quickly, head down. I let him pull me along, both of us weaving past students who didn’t notice us, or didn’t care enough to stop us. The syringe shifted in my pocket, still uncomfortably full. We slipped into the faculty bathroom, Ryan already inside, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed. The air smelled of bleach and the faint metallic tang of old pipes. Ryan nodded at me, then at Shane. "Did you use it?" “No one bothered me, except to leave a note on my locker before I even got in the locker room.” “Let’s see the note, Ryan said as they closed the door. Both brothers were in the bathroom. “You’re not going to make me try to pee in the toilet with Ryan in here?” I looked at both of them. “Right now,” Ryan put a tender hand on my shoulder. “We are just looking at your note. Shane can take care of the pants checking and changing once I know what the note says.” Shane reached out his hand and took the note from me, unfolding it carefully. His fingers trembled slightly, casting shadows under the flickering fluorescent lights. The paper was thin, almost translucent, with jagged edges where it had been torn from a notebook. Ryan leaned in, his breath warm against my temple as he read over Shane’s shoulder. The scent of his shampoo, something minty and sharp, mixed with the lingering citrus from my pocket, making my throat tighten. The note was scrawled in messy blue ink: We know what you're hiding. No one wears pull-ups at 14 unless they're broken. Tick tock, Pearl. Shane’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening around the paper. Ryan let out a low noise, something between a scoff and a growl. "Michelle didn’t write this," he muttered. "Too dumb to spell 'toilet' right last week, but suddenly she’s using 'tick tock' like some villain in a bad movie?" Shane crumpled the note, shoving it into his backpack with more force than necessary. His fingers brushed mine as he handed me a fresh pair of panties from his pocket, cotton, plain, the kind Darren bought in bulk. "Change before science," Shane said, voice tight. "Michelle’s in that class. If she’s got someone else writing notes now, they’ll be watching for leaks." “No, don’t change your panties yet,” Ryan corrected Shane. “But do use the toilet. Don’t let them catching you pee for real. You should sit comfortable, and when the time is right, make it look like you are leaking so they get used to you not squirming when you have to go.” Shane sighed. “Ryan, she doesn’t have to go now.” "She still needs to sit on the toilet and make sure. When she pushes the liquid in her pants, we don't want the bullies to see any movement at all, like it just comes out, so they aren't looking for her to be wiggling." Shane hesitated, his blue eyes darting between me and his brother, the fluorescent lights overhead casting shadows under his cheekbones. The bathroom tiles felt cold through my socks as I shifted uncomfortably. Ryan’s insistence hung in the air between us, mingling with the sharp tang of bleach and the faint metallic drip of a faucet. My fingers tightened around the syringe in my pocket, the plastic creaking softly. “Alright, but you promised her that only I will be watching, so leave the bathroom so she can go, then.” Ryan nodded. “Of course. I’ll be waiting outside to take you both up to your class.” Shane walked me to the toilet and helped me pull down my shorts, with a hand on my shoulder as he did. Ryan had left, and Shane whispered to me. “Just sit and relax for a moment. Don’t worry about forcing anything. I know you usually pee in math, right?” “Yeah.” I felt my face get hot. My knees pressed together as I perched on the edge of the toilet seat. The chill of the porcelain chilled my thighs. I didn’t need to go, not yet, but my bladder still throbbed with the phantom pressure of anxiety. Shane hovered near the sink, his arms crossed and eyes fixed on the basin. His shoes squeaked against the damp floor. Chewing on his bottom lip, I knew he was biting back something. I could only sit quietly waiting permission to get up, like a naughty toddler that didn’t know any better than not to wet on the floor, and someone trying to potty train her. “It’s stupid,” Shane muttered as he turned to look at me still perched on the toilet, my tongue licking my lips and my eyes staring through my hair, my face lowered so he couldn’t see my eyes. “All of it.” “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to make trouble for you.” “Not you,” Shane shook his head and in a few giant strides reached the toilet where I was. “Never you, Pearl. I mean the games that Michelle and her friends play.” “You probably would like a different tutor, huh?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, barely audible over the drip of the faucet. Shane turned sharply, his sneakers squeaking again on the tile. His fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for something, maybe me, maybe the crumpled note still in his backpack. "You think that?" His voice cracked, just once, before he swallowed hard. "I don't want another tutor. I want, " The overhead light buzzed, cutting him off. Shadows pooled under his eyes, darker than usual. My fingers curled around the syringe still hidden in my pocket, the plastic warm from my body heat. The silence stretched between us, thick with everything unsaid, Michelle's notes, Ryan's plans, the way Shane's shoulders hunched like he was carrying something too heavy. Shane exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. "You know Rachelle wet her pants at a pool party last summer?" His voice was low, rougher than usual. "Michelle made her drink three sodas, then locked her out of the bathroom. Told everyone Rachelle did it on purpose because she was scared that they'd leave her alone." He scuffed his shoe against the tile, leaving a faint mark. "Ryan found her crying behind the lifeguard stand. Her swimsuit was still dripping." I didn’t move. The porcelain under me felt like ice now, seeping through my skin. Shane’s words hung between us, heavy with the kind of truth that makes your stomach twist. “I’m sorry that happened to your sister. Honest.” “I know,” Shane said. “But I’m just trying to tell you, that’s what Michelle does. She hopes to turn you against your friends, and your friends against you, so you’ll be all alone.” “But if you had a different tutor….” “I wouldn’t get quadratic equations, and I would still be struggling to read without really learning because other people would just tell me the word, not actually teach me to read like you do. You are good at what you do. Your problems, whether caused by Michelle or not, don’t make you a bad tutor. Got it?” He gave me a look like teacher would silence a student. I stared down at my knees, the syringe pressing uncomfortably against my thigh through the fabric of my shorts. The bathroom smelled faintly of bleach and something sour, maybe old mop water. Shane’s sneakers shifted again, the rubber soles squeaking against the damp tile. “Come on, Pearl. Let’s get your pants up so we can get to class. You use the syringe when I tell you to, and don’t move as much as you can before that, so Michelle doesn’t think you are moving, okay?” I smiled up at him. “I trust you.” Shane’s cheeks flushed pink as he helped me stand, his fingers trembling slightly as he tugged my shorts back into place. The elastic waistband snapped softly against my skin. He hesitated before letting go, like he was checking for dampness I knew wasn’t there yet. His breath hitched when his knuckles brushed my hipbone through the fabric. As we got into it, in Science class, I noticed Shane watched Michelle carefully, and he looked at this student and that. We didn’t sit at the same table, but he told me that when he tore a sheet from his notebook, that was the cue to push some of the water from the syringe. “Don’t push it all at once,” both Ryan and Shane had warned on our walk up to Science class. “Try to make it last for three pushes. The more gradual the water comes out, the more it looks like you really peed.” I blushed as I watched the teacher enough not to get in trouble for not paying attention, but also kept an eye on Shane for our secret code. Once I pushed the juice out the first time, I was supposed to watch the clock and try to push it out two more times but within about five minutes of the first time, so it looks like it slowly but without control, comes out.

図 1 Chapter 1-4 We start to see the establishment of the scene, the characters, and the situation. Because I've been so stuck with stories to a point, I decided to see if breaking it up into three chunks will help me finish a second story. So Here is the beginning. The story ends when the group bests Michelle and Scott, makes both Shane and Pearl more assertive in life, and when Shane and Pearl accept that they are more than just friends. Chapter One It was not a normal way to meet someone for sure. I was putting on my nice skirt and checking my hair to make sure I was presentable before I left my room. “Pearl? Do you need a ride?” Darren asked me. Darren was a man that I was put with last year because yeah, foster kid. He was decent though, and he didn’t make me feel bad about too many things that happened in life. “I mean, if you are offering I won’t say no,” I shrugged in my soft appreciative voice I always had used for him when I wanted something since we met. “You are meeting at the public library, right?” “Yes sir.” “Don’t let the boy take you anywhere that isn’t public, and if you go somewhere else, you call me, understand?” “Yes sir.” He insisted we hug a moment before we left the house, like he always did. “I know you’re a big kid and don’t want your friends seeing you hug someone that takes care of you, so we do this at the house before I take you somewhere so you don’t have to be embarrassed.” I nodded. Then we were at the library about ten minutes later. “Three hours, right?” he asked me. “Yes sir. I have to tutor the boy in four subjects, so about forty minutes in each plus twenty minutes break halfway through so we can relax a moment.” “Sounds fair. Now, you know you don’t have to work, right? You don’t need this job.” “I know. But I want to do it.” Sweet Darren had always been a little funny about me doing anything that seemed a little bit like work, but I wanted spending money that I didn’t feel guilty spending. This was my first job at fourteen years old, and it was arranged through the youths and parents at his church for young teens to help other young teens with studies they were having difficulty with. I was soon in front of the library, Darren still waiting, leaning against the building with his arms folded as a boy from my math class walked up with brown hair and blue eyes. He was sort of skinny, and always seemed so quiet both in youth classes at church and at school. “Hey, Shane,” I smiled shyly and gave a small wave. His mother smiled at Darren. “Thank you for letting your daughter tutor him. He’s been having a hard time since starting middle school, so this seems like a really good thing for him, and he says your daughter is the smartest kid in class.” “That’s nice of him to say. She’s had her own struggles, but school thankfully for her, isn’t one of them.” I looked down blushing hoping no one would bring up the struggles he was talking about, but they didn’t. As I adjusted my skirt and sat down at the round table, Shane started to get his things out of his bag. “It’s kind of hard thinking of you struggling with anything,” he said in a very shy soft whisper too quiet for a boy. “You have like straight As in everything, don’t you?” “Not exactly,” I whispered. “PE, sometimes doesn’t go well, and in lifeskills, people kind of make fun of things I don’t know.” Shane shook his head. “I can’t imagine that, but since you are here to tutor me, let’s look at the things you are good at. Can we start with math?” “Sure.” His hand brushed mine, his pale skin quite white compared to my golden arm. “Your dad is… well…, white. And you are…,” he seemed stuck on how to finish that sentence. “I’m not?” I asked helping him out. “Yeah, I’m a foster kid. But Darren is really nice. I like it at that place.” “Do you have a foster mother, too?” “Well, that’s how it usually works, but this time, I just have Darren. That’s kind of what he meant that I’ve had my struggles. He doesn’t care about if I get in a little trouble at PE or if I need extra help in lifeskills. He said it’s his job to teach me lifeskills anyway, not the school’s.” “I’m glad you have a decent person taking care of you. I heard people can be mean when you aren’t their real kid.” I sighed. “Yeah. They can be.” We looked at a math problem for a moment which I thought had closed the discussion. “So you know how to find the factors of the square and factor a quadratic equation, right?” He frowned. “I understand the concept.” “Show me. Try this one.” And I wrote out Xsquared + 3X +2. As he worked on figuring out what the answer was, I watched how fast the answer came to him, and how he went about looking at it. Then I had him try Xsquared +11X +30. “So, is there a point to doing these problems not on the homework?” he asked. “I’m trying to figure out where you are, and how easy it is for you to come to the answer because the ones we are doing for class right now are really the same thing, but you have to think with an extra dimension.” “okay.” He seemed to bite his lip, but came to the right factors (X+5)(X+6). “Okay, last testing problem before I help you understand how what we are doing is the same was what you already know. Xsquared -X -30.” “Okay…,” Shane put his pencil on his chin and started tapping. “Well, there will be something like this….” And he wrote (X+ )(X- ). “That’s right…,” I encouraged. “Excuse me, can I go to the bathroom?” Shane asked. “I know it’s hard,” I encouraged. “But you can do this. It’s not that hard. Just work through this one with me, and then you can go, okay?” He had a tight lipped smile, but he nodded. “Alright. Fine.” I probably should have let him go right away, because my own expectations were going to bite me in a way I didn’t expect. I asked him, “what ways can you make thirty by multiplying two numbers?” “I know that part,” he scratched his head embarrassed and frustrated. “Well, you still need to pair them for me. I can’t see your thoughts unless you show me.” “Fine,” he started to bounce a leg. I figured he was a boy and he just said something, so he could probably wait a little longer. We were the same age, weren’t we?” “Okay, now look at the pairs, and think, if I subtract them, how can I get 1? (X+6)(X-5) he wrote. “Well, yes, but if you add +6 and Subtract 5, you get exactly one. You want to get minus one. So…?” He quickly corrected the order. “Look, I need to go,” he said his face red. “I mean… unless you are trying to make me….” I felt my own face blush and I looked away. “No, of course not. Go.” He hurried off. While he was gone, I looked over at his first problem of his homework, 4X+4X+1. Sat down and I was glad to see his tan pants were completely dry. I really didn’t want to make him do something like that, I just thought he was a boy and people always said boys are stronger, plus we are the same age, and I can a few minutes, anyway. “Okay, so this problem isn’t too much harder than what you already know how to do,” I explained. “Since the last number is a one, you still only have to worry about the factor of one total, or in this case, we only have to think four, and how to get it.” “Okay, so 4 and 1 and then 2 and 2.” “Right…,” I saw his hand to the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, you’ve got this. This one is just like you did with the other one. But let’s think… of the last number is just one. Actually, let’s try something here.” “What’s that?” “What if we had 4 + 4X + Xsquared? What would you do?” “Rewrite it so the Xsquared is first?” “Fair, but let’s work it as it is. Just do the same steps, but reverse where the Xsquared goes and the single whole number.” “Sure.” I wrote donw ( +X)( +X). “Do you see?” I showed him. “What numbers make 4 when you multiply and you add as well?” He wrote (2+X)(2+X) “Good. That’s all there is to it. Now, when we have an X by itself, it doesn’t mean 2X, right?” “No,” he breathed. “Just one.” “So let’s move the X in front of the two and because there is only 1 of something, just write one, where X was.” (2X+1)(2X+1), he wrote. “And multiply it out and see if it’s the same?” He did. “So, that’s trick number one. If you have 1Xsquared, or you have some numberXsquared plus one, It can be looked at the same, except the number goes in front of the X if the Xsquared has a number in front of it. Now the tricky part….” We ended up working on math more than I expected, and still wasn’t sure he got it yet, but at least he did understand the principle that if either side only has a one, then at least he only had to worry about factoring one number. When I looked at the clock, we had spent nearly half our time already. “We spent way too long on math,” I warned him. “If we are going to get through the other three subects, we are going to have to just do 30 minutes on each, and not take a break.” He shrugged. “I’m good.” “Okay, what is next, then?” “Reading,” he sighed. “Honestly, Reading and Math are the main reasons anything else is too hard. If I could just read, I sort of understand the science and the history. I actually like history.” “If Reading is your hardest one, let’s do History, then, first. If we spend time on the reading the history, then you can easily answer the questions at home, but if we spend it all on reading, you’ll get your reading done, but you won’t get your best subject done. That doesn’t make any sense to me.” He smiled. “Okay. But I’ll need you for every part for this. I don’t write too good because I don’t read too good.” “I get it,” I smiled. “So, do you now what happened December 7, 1941?” I asked Shane. “That was Pearl Harbor,” He nodded. “Yes, so what happened around Pearl Harbor?” “Well, the Japanese had surprised America with a bunch of ships and planes that dropped bombs on Pearl Harbor and sank a bunch of our own ships.” “Well, can you start reading at the top of page 41?” “Okay. But I don’t read too good.” “I know. That’s why I’m here. So…. Just start. No judgment here. Trust me, there are a lot of foster kids that don’t read at all.” “You do….” “Yeah, well, I’ve been kind of lucky. But those kids in the foster system that don’t do well at school don’t get as much help as they need. We are here for you, though, so enough about the system. Please start.” He wasn’t wrong. He read most of the four letter words fine, but when he came to words longer than five words, I had to nearly tell him what the words said. “You’re kind of shaking,” Shane told me. “I know you have to pee, but if you are going to make all that noise, maybe we should just call it for now.” I sighed. “We are barely into doing your history homework, and you still have your Science and your Reading, right? Are you going to interrupt the whole time? You told me to wait, so I’m waiting.” He sighed and shook his head. “Whatever.” There was a blush in his cheeks. He wasn’t wrong though. There was a constant pressure, there, but I couldn’t just go when I told him to wait for one thing. To him, since we were just starting to read, this reading section would be just one thing. I’d just have to fight through it, then I argue that I held it as long as I asked him to. “Infamy?” he looked at me when we read that part. “You know what famous means, right?” I asked. “Kind of. It’s like when everyone knows you and thinks, I wish I was with that person or I want to be that person?” “Yeah…,” I wasn’t quite sure he got how it was different from other close meanings, but for the reading, it was probably good enough. “So… Infamy,” I frowned and looked up at him. “It’s like everyone will know it, but it means not famous. That means that no one wants to remember it, but they will. It’s really bad.” “So, December the seventh will be the worst day of American History?” Shane asked. “Well, yeah, because it was the day that America was actually reached and attacked by an outside enemy.” “What about the Twin Towers in 2001?” “Yeah. That was a bad day for sure, but at the time, America had not been hit by another country before on our own land. So it made sense at the time. But you know, there are lots of famous singers, right?” “Sure.” “Well, because one is famous doesn’t mean another isn’t.” “True.” “That’s like infamy. Both September the eleventh and December the seventh could be days of infamy for America.” “Oh, okay….” I had to squeeze my legs really tight and hold my hand down at my skirt hoping he wasn’t thinking I was being strange or something. My face heated up a bit, but I just had to go so bad. And we still had a good bit to read before we finished the section. “So, um… read from here,” I showed him his place. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like part of his problem might have been he needed glasses. But I was sure he wasn’t in the foster program. I wasn’t sure why his parents didn’t take him for glasses or something. As he read about America’s response, my legs bounced a bit more, and my stomach cramped a little. I rubbed my stomach while I looked over his shoulder from the side, trying to help him with a few words here and there. We were almost at the bottom of the section when he stopped me. “I don’t understand. This says battleships, but then it says destroyer. Did they have two kinds of ships in World War II?” “They had several kinds of ships in World War II,” I sighed. “Look. They talked about submarines, ships that can duck under the water to surprise attack battleships, they had battleships which were the largest ships with guns, they had carriers that were the largest ships even larger than the gunships, and then they had destroyers that were smaller but faster ships.” “Oh, right. So it’s not the samething at all then?” “No.” I started to feel it moments before a little went in my panty causing my legs to tense up, my face to contort into a grimace, and my ears to burn. I somehow cut it off, and I hoped nothing was noticed. “No, I believe destroyers were actually used to seek out enemy subs,” I explained to him. “Look, I didn’t know this was going to get into ships at all. That’s not the history lesson,” I felt my breath come a little short as I held back another try at the liquid trying to push through again. “I… I think I really need to go to the bathroom.” “Oh, okay. But I can’t really do anything with you gone, so break time?” I looked at the clock. We only had an hour left, and we still had science and reading to tackle. I really had to pee, but if I gave him a break, I didn’t see how we were going to even get into those things. “Um… no, we can’t take a break right now.” “But you were going to go to the bathroom,” Shane frowned at me. “It’s not like I can do anything if you are in there. You saw how bad my reading is.” “I know,” I sighed. “Come on, we need to finish this part up and answer the questions. We are already behind, and I’m not sure we’ll even finish the homework in time.” I looked up at him with my mouth tight, my eyes nearly closed in concentration, my ears burning, my body shaking, and my thoughts scattering and screaming at me that I was being stupid and I was going to piss myself if I didn’t go now. I looked into Shane’s eyes, though, he wasn’t even looking down at my squirming hands trying to pull at my skirt for decency or rather, to hide the little bit of pee that I knew was already on the chair. No, he was looking into my eyes. “You’re not going to get in trouble if you don’t make it, are you?” he asked me. “Look. I know you don’t like reading, but we are not going to use me as an excuse not to study.” “I… I didn’t mean to do that,” His eyes looked down and to the side. “I just don’t want your dad to hit you if you… you know?” “I… he won’t hit me.” He nodded. “Okay. Well, I guess let’s look at the questions then, if you are sure you won’t get hit if… if it happens.” “I won’t get hit, I promise,” and I smiled up at him but it still felt like a grimace even to me because I was trying so hard not to wet my pants. Darren didn’t worry me. What everyone in the library thought at the moment it could happen worried me a lot more than what Darren would even say to me. “If it’s really that uncomfortable, I won’t tell anyone at school… you know, if you just want to do it so you are more comfortable. We’re going to be here another hour, and I doubt you can wait that long.” I felt my face get really hot. “I… I could just go to the toilet?” “Yeah,” he sighed. “But then I’d have to tell mom and dad that you knew we weren’t going to finish, but you took a break anyway.” His parents were the ones paying me. I looked down. “But if I just pee my pants?” He shrugged. “You were working. There wouldn’t be anything to tell them other than you helped me understand the math today, at least a little better.” I sighed, pushing myself to look up into his eyes, which did look kind of soft, not like they were telling me what to do. “Let’s just see if we can answer these questions, then. So….” We spent another ten minutes talking back and fourth about what the section was about, and me reading the questions to him, but still making him write the answers. He wrote so slowly. I felt another little bit drizzle into my panty. I stiffened again, like before. My hand held my skirt tail tight. I glanced around but the library seemed to not really notice me. I shook. “Pearl?” Shane called me a couple of times until I focused on him. “We can stop if you need.” “No. Go on, I’m watching. Just try to write your best.” A little more drizzled again as I stiffened more. “Are you sure? You’re definitely not going to make it, so either go to the toilet now, or pee your pants. Your moving around isn’t helping me.” “But…. If I can’t get to everything? Is your mom going to ask?” “Probably,” Shane sighed. “I mean, but if you can’t help it, and I mean, you really are not taking a break. But moving around is just making me too nervous to remember what I’m writing.” “Come on, please? You were writing about the famous ships that were sunk in Pearl Harbor.” I felt a little more come out, and I saw him look at me. At the same time, I felt the pee leak into the chair enough to make a puddle, and my panties felt soggy. “Will you try to concentrate if I promise to just pee?” I asked. “I can’t if you aren’t here,” Shane shook his head. “I know. I meant, if I just pee my pants, can you try to concentrate?” “Yeah. As long as you can keep talking and help me.” I nodded and tried to push a little, but it didn’t want to be forced. So it stayed in tight. “Shane,” I frowned. “Think about it. How do you spell Arizona? Come on, erase, and think about the word with me. It’s not that hard.” He gave me a look like ‘oh boy,’ but he obeyed me and erased the word. Some warmth spread into my seat and wet my panties under my butt. I was starting to really do it. Pee went into the chair, and then it stopped just before it pushed over the edge. I couldn’t tell if he noticed yet or not. “Ar e?” he asked. “It from Spanish, Shane. In Spanish, the letter I is often pronounced ee.” “Oh,” he looked down. “I was taking French this year.” “Well, some sounds in Spanish is the same as in French, right?” I aksed. “Doesn’t the letter I in French make an ee sound?” “Yeah,” he blushed. I felt it push again, a big gush, and pee spilled over the edge of the front of my seat as I lifted a bit to point out the word in the reading for him. “See? Arizona has the letter I in it.” “Yeah, I see.” I slumped back into my seat as pee gushed and kept gushing until I finally finished in my pants. “You peed?” he whispered. I felt the red in my cheeks deepen as the heat felt more intense and somehow deeper within. “I couldn’t hold it anymore.” “Your dad isn’t going to hit?” “No,” I said looking around at the library, the nearest person at least twenty paces away. “Don’t worry about everyone else,” Shane promised me. “I’ll let you tie my jacket around you if your skirt shows any when you stand up.” “I have a jacket to tie around my waist,” I said in a low whisper that I was sure carried my embarrassing shyness. “Hey, what’s the third question?” Shane asked pointing at the book as though trying to stop me thinking about it. “Come on, no point in not doing what we can now. You are wet, so let’s at least get you paid right for working so hard.” “Okay,” I felt my scratchy throat scrape the worlds as they passed into the air. We got to the Reading and halfway in, when Shane’s mother and Darren walked up on us. “How far did we get?” Shane’s mom asked. “Well, she did her best, actually. It’s just really hard for me to read.” “No excuses. How far did you kids get?” I looked up at Darren. “I… I couldn’t finish.” “Hey, sweetie,” he pulled me into his side as I sat, and he noticed the water in the chair when he did. “Did we have a little problem while studying?” “Um… yeah,” I blushed hard because of Shane’s mom being right there, probably judging me. “We can go, honey,” he started. “Excuse me, I still have to pay her…,” Shane’s mom said. “And I’d like to set up the next time.” I looked up. “You don’t need to pay me.” “What? Why not?” Shane’s mom asked. “Mom, she worked really hard,” Shane said. “You know how slow I am at reading. We couldn’t finish everything because I couldn’t read that fast, but she did help me start to understand how the quadratic thing works in math. We just didn’t really get past one side or the other being one.” “I’m not sure what that means,” the woman frowned. “But you’re sure she helped you?” “Yeah. It’s just that we only really had time to finish two of the subjects and half of the third one. I told you, math needs like an hour and a half on its own, and well, reading needs its own hour, thus we only finished two and a half subjects.” The lady with really dark hair, but brown, pulled out her pocketbook from her purse. “Well, I suppose we could maybe let her tutor Shane again tomorrow?” she asked. I looked down. “Well, we didn’t finish reading, and he still needed to work on his science, but…. It was kind of hard.” “Are you saying you don’t want a job?” she asked. “No. I’m not saying that….” “She’s scared, mom. She wouldn’t admit it, but you know how we read that foster parents sometimes hit their kids?” His mom narrowed her eyes at Darren. “He doesn’t hit me, okay? He knows I peed just now,” I felt my face heat up with both anger and embarrassment. “And he doesn’t really mind.” “Excuse me,” Darren put a hand on my shoulder. “I need to get my kid to the car. I told you earlier that she has her own issues. And Shane is right, a lot of foster parents do hit their foster charges. It makes me sick, and their treatment of her has… well, caused a lot of problems we’ve been working on for a little while.” I hadn’t realized, but Darren had picked me up and was carrying me out of the library while he was still talking. Shane’s mom was still walking along side us. “I mean, if I realized she pees herself, we could have set it up to do at your place or something….” “Mr. Darren tried with me, remember? You didn’t like me being at someone’s house you didn’t know.” She sighed as she pulled money out of her pocketbook. “Well, here is what I owe her for today. Call me if we can set up for him to come to your house tomorrow. It should only be another hour and a half at most, right? Thirty minutes for reading and an hour for Science?” “Yeah, I think that would work, Mom, though I could really use some more math help to finish my homework for Monday.” Shane patted my back. “I really would love for you to teach me some more, if you wouldn’t mind?” I just kept my head in Darren’s chest, not wanting to look at anyone else. He was my safe place. Darren's heartbeat thudded steady against my ear as he carried me through the automatic doors, the sharp afternoon sunlight hitting my damp skirt in a way that made me squirm. Shane's mom hesitated near the curb, clutching her purse with white-knuckled fingers. "Are you sure, " she started, but Darren just shook his head and adjusted his grip on me. "Pearl needs dry clothes and a quiet minute. We'll talk about it, later." His voice left no room for argument. Chapter Two Minutes later, we were at home with Darren carrying me into the house, not even caring, I noticed from when he picked me up earlier and was now leaning over me to pick me up from the car, that he didn’t even care I had wet on his shirt when he helped me earlier. I wasn’t that surprised though. “Why don’t we let you go take a bath, sweetie and then we’ll talk about whether this is a good job for you.” “But Darren, please,” I whispered in his ear. “I liked trying to teach Shane. It’s just kind of hard because he reads really slow.” “Honey, you worked three hours earlier,” he carried me to the bathroom and put down by the toilet. He started running the bath for me. “And now, it seems you need another hour and a half? That’s like another near full day at school, honey. I don’t think that’s an effect way to spend your weekends, plus I really want you going to church on Sunday and that’s another two hours.” “I know.” “Well, let’s get you a bath. I’m not talking about this until you are cleaned up, honey. You know we’ve talked about you holding it like this before.” “I… I know. But I couldn’t take a break. If I took a break, we wouldn’t have even started on the reading, Darren?” “Well, that’s why I’m worried about you working there. Look, if you insist on talking about this right now, then we can, but I have to get you cleaned up, so if you want privacy to clean up, I suggest we put this off until….” “I don’t mind if you help me, Darren. You’re really nice.” “Sweetheart, I know how you feel, but you are fourteen years old. I don’t think it’s very good for me to be cleaning you up like you’re a baby, and I’m pretty sure CPS would agree with that.” “Not even if I feel more comfortable you being in here?” “Sweetheart, I can read a book by the door with the bathroom door closed for you. You know I have no issue with being here for you. I just don’t want you to get it in your head that this is what is natural even in a regular family.” “But…. What if…?” “You know no one can get in the trailer without me knowing it, don’t you? And with me right outside the bathroom door, you do know no one can get in here, don’t you?” “I… I know, but….” Darren sighed. “You’re still scared that I might find something more important to do?” I gulped and nodded. No matter how many times I told the family before, when I came out of the bathroom, the hall was empty, and even if they didn’t do anything that should have scared me, I… I just didn’t like being in any room by myself. “I’ll leave the door open, baby. But you are fourteen. You need to get used to cleaning up on your own, at the very least.” “We could talk about me still tutoring Shane while I’m cleaning up?” “Then I can shut the bathroom door for you?” he asked. I looked down and my lip started to quiver. I felt a heavy pain in my heart. My legs shook. “No, no, it’s okay,” he stopped and put a hand on my back. “I’ll just sit on the toilet, will that be better?” “Please?” I whispered still scared. “Of course, baby. Take as long as you need.” I got in the tub, and I sighed deeply before I turned back to Darren as I started to wipe my arms with the wash rag. “Please? I really need this. I can use the money for things I really need, that I don’t want to tell you about.” “You know, Pearl, I understand that you might have certain girl needs, and you know that the state pays for your care. That’s what the money from foster care is for… is you?” “But, it’s for stuff like food and you know, essentials. Not for other things I don’t want to tell you about.” “I’m pretty sure what you are talking about are exactly what the money is for. Those things are as important as food and clothes to a young woman.” I knitted my brows towards each other. “What are you talking about?” “Well, what are you talking about?” “I can’t tell you,” I told Darren. “Trust me, it’s something you wouldn’t want to talk to someone about giving you money either.” He sighed. “Look. The state money is yours, little lady. If you don’t think I’m giving you enough to take care of your personal needs, then we can definitely adjust how much I’m letting you have each month.” “I… I get plenty of spending money from you, Darren. It’s just prices keep getting higher and there’s things that are not… exactly needed, but I want to get, and I really want to buy it.” “Well, how is that embarrassing to tell me about, sweetie?” I lowered my head, my hair covering the side of my face and the curtain of hair also kept his face partially obscured from my vision for a moment. “I… I wanted to get you something. I mean, not from the state, and not from the money that you give me, but I mean… you know, from me!” “Honey? Why? Don’t you understand that just talking to me and letting me be in your life is all I’d ever ask of you.” I nodded. In a very low whisper. “That’s why, though.” Darren frowned. “Well, I do appreciate the trouble you are going through, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself especially if it’s just for a gift for me, honey.” “But… what if I want to buy other gifts, you know, for friends at school? Gifts and stuff is so expensive recently.” “They are, that is true,” Darren put a hand on my back. “But your true friends don’t need gifts from you, especially if they cause you to be unhealthy and to hurt yourself.” “Well, it was just an accident this time. I… it was sort of my fault.” “I’ve talked to you about peeing your pants before,” Darren looked right over and I could see through the curtain of hair that he was searching for my eyes. “You are fourteen years old, little lady. I will never believe a kid your age does that on purpose for attention.” “That’s… that’s not what I meant by my fault this time.” “Then tell me why you think it’s your fault, sweetheart.” “Well, I started to help Shane with the math. He understood the very basics of what we were doing, and he was happy to work with me, but then, when we started something a little harder, to catch him up where the class is…, he looked scared and he said that can I let him use the toilet.” Darren nodded. “Okay….” “Well, I thought he was just being avoiding, you know, because it’s so hard? So I told him he had to wait for us to finish one little part, so I could make sure he was ready to learn where we were.” “You’re not wrong. Kids do sometimes put off things that are frustrating if they can. The bathroom is often an excuse.” “Well, he really did have to go, so after we finished that part, I let him go. Then he came back and we started working. It took a long time to get him just so he understood part A, but she still doesn’t get it completely. That’s why we need more time for math and we need to finish his reading and his Science.” Darren frowned. “So, you’d basically be working with him for another three hours, if I let you have your way, tomorrow?” “Yeah.” “Well, how was wetting your pants, your fault, child?” “Well, when we saw how much time math took, I said we couldn’t take any breaks. And then we started working on History. While I was working on history with him, maybe halfway in, I kind of had to pee.” Darren frowned as I recalled how it went down. “How long do you think you had Darren wait, maybe ten minutes?” “Oh, he was kind of slow in math, too. Honestly, probably closer to thirty minutes.” “Well, that was not a good idea to make him wait that long. He could have ended up peeing himself, too, and then you’d have his mom mad at you and trying to sue you. Where did you learn it was okay to force someone to wait that long?” “Well, not my last home…,” but Darren cut me off. “I’m sorry. I forgot for a minute who I was asking, baby. Of course you didn’t know any better. That’s what people did to you. It’s wrong though. I don’t ever want to hear of you asking him to wait more than ten minutes again, okay?” I nodded. “Yes sir. But since I told him to wait, and then he told me that it wasn’t really fair I said no breaks, and anyway he can’t read without my help, how was he supposed to work while I was in the bathroom?” “I see his point, but he should have let you go when he realized you were in trouble.” “Well, I didn’t want his mom to get mad that I wasn’t already going to finish, but then I’d be stalling doing the rest, so I… just tutored him so I wouldn’t make her as mad.” “I’m sure Mrs. Bennet wouldn’t have been that mad, honey. She knows he has a hard time with reading and math, and as you found out when she went to take him home, she was more than willing to pay you for more time.” “But I don’t think we would have had time to start his Reading if we had taken the break.” “You said his reading is really bad. Maybe you can let him find a different tutor for the other subjects and just focus on math. Then if she let you, you could break it into two sessions a week, for an hour and a half. Honestly, two or more three hour sessions… you just aren’t ready for that, sweetheart.” “But, I promised the church youth group, Darren. I’d be going back on my word.” “I thought we told the church youth group that you would try, and that we would do a three hours session once a week, on Saturdays. You didn’t let them down. You tried, and you didn’t even cover everything.” “Please. I can do it. It’s just the first time. I promise, it’ll just take some adjusting. I can get it down to three hours for all four subjects, I promise.” Darren frowned at me as I started washing my legs. “Honey, you know I don’t want you holding you pee in like you were doing before you came to stay with me. You had a lot of problems from that and other things your abusive homes did to you.” “I know.” “I’ll tell you what….” He seemed to think as he spoke, so he spoke rather slowly. “I will let you have an hour and a half with Shane tomorrow….” The pause was long. It was eternally long. Then he continued. “…But, you will have to wear a pull up. You are to promise me not to hold it. If holding it so much as comes up, you are to piss in the pull up. Otherwise, you both go to the toilet as soon as you have to go.” “I… um… I can pee my pull up?” I asked. “As long as you don’t hold it, at all. You either immediately head to the toilet or you go in your pants. No trying.” “What if Shane catches me peeing my pants, but it’s not making a puddle?” “Do you honestly think he’ll care if you are getting the floor wet? You saw him today. He didn’t seem to mind that you peed your pants, did he?” “No…,” I hung my head. “But it was still embarrassing for him to watch me pee my pants.” “I should hope it was, Pearl. I’m not telling you not to hold it to get you to wet your pants. You do understand, my real goal is for you to go take care of yourself, and not hold it or let it go in your pants, don’t you?” “Oh. I wasn’t sure because you told me I should wear a pull up.” “Pearl…,” Darren shook his head and frowned. “The purpose of the pull up isn’t for you to wet your pants on purpose. It’s to keep people from staring at you because I don’t want you holding it, and so if you decide you are not going to the toilet because we disagree on what is more important, at least no one else will notice you peeing your pants. It’s a just in case thing, not a wet your pants thing as something I’m telling you to do.” I looked down. “Sorry.” “Sweetheart. You are so confused, still. That’s the real reason I don’t like you working yet. You don’t even understand how to take care of yourself so you know how to take care of your own rights and health.” “You said I was allowed to pee my pants,” I whispered. “And you are allowed, honey. But I would think a kid your age would take that as permission so you aren’t scared when you wake up from wetting the bed, or if something actually prevents you getting to the toilet in time, so you aren’t scared. I had hoped it wasn’t something you’d think to use keep some bad ideas that have been drilled into you.” “So…, I’m not allowed to see Shane and help him?” Darren shook his head and walked over and started to wash my back. “No, I’m not going to prevent you seeing Shane. You can help him if you want, but I don’t want you working with him more than an hour and a half at a time and maybe twice a week.” “Do you think his mom will agree?” “If they want your help, they will have to agree because I’m not budging from that. Shane’s mom’s priorities are different from my own. We are prioritizing what our own child needs. I don’t want you holding it for three hours, and I don’t want you wearing pissy pants for over two hours.” “Okay.” Chapter Three Darren helped me out of the tub and gave me a towel to dry off with, and before long, he had me in the living room relaxing on the floor. I was now doing my own homework while I watched television, and Darren was on the phone with Mrs. Bennett. I was sort of worried she would be mad that I peed my pants in public, but they were talking and it didn’t seem like she was put off by the boundaries that Darren placed on it, though I could hear Darren. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bennett, but I’m not going to have my daughter sitting in a soaked pull up for over two hours, and she’s not to hold it. If anything makes her scared to use the bathroom, she will pee her pants.” On TV, Jerry, the little brown mouse was lighting a match under Tom, the blue cat’s toe. “We saw how that went, Mrs. Bennett. Four subjects cannot be explained to your son in an hour and a half.” I saw that for Life Skills, we were going to be making cookies the next day at school. Reading the directions wasn’t hard, really, but there were other reasons that I didn’t do well in that class. I hated Life Skills more than I hated any other class, and PE was a close second. “I know your son needs as much help as he can get, but honestly, what it boils down to, is he needs help in math and reading. I don’t think Pearl should be helping him with his Reading homework, but rather spending the time trying show him how to read. Don’t you qualify for any special classes at all for him?” I put the Life Skills homework to the side. It wasn’t hard, at all. It was just reading, but I was hungry, so I went over and stood next to Darren who was still negotiating with Mrs. Bennett. “I’ll permit Pearl to spend no more than an hour on math and then thirty minutes alternatively on Science and History if that’s what you want. But you must outline only one subsection in his book that she will go over. After that, she’s done with that subject, and then… if you really need… I’ll discuss her having another half an hour for helping him with reading in her own way, not with the school Reading.” I looked up at him. Did Darren just give me permission to have two hours instead of an hour and a half? I hugged him but he was still talking. “If we are doing two hour sessions, we do the session at your house or my house from now on. My daughter may or may not pee her pants, on occasion, and if it happens, I want her to be somewhere where there are less people staring at her, and she’ll pack some extra clothes when she goes to your place. If you see she’s wet or if you check on them, and your son has mentioned he knows she’s peed, you make sure she changes. Don’t leave for two hours, even if she pees her pants just in your door.” I smiled. Darren really was making this a very big deal. Of course, I could remember one other woman that would have made it a big deal… only, it would not be for my benefit. “Yes, please have Shane come over tomorrow, then? Say around four? But here is Pearl. If you want her to work two hours, you need to talk about expectations and to adjust your payment schedule.” “Hello? Mrs. Bennet?” “Pearl. I’ll pay you double since you are going to work two days.” “But…, Mrs. Bennett, that’s only really one hour extra, not three extra hours.” “That’s fine. If you can help Shane with even just math and reading, and will be worth it, and you’d still be working with him a little bit with Science or History, too.” “I’ll see you tomorrow, and I’ll pay you for what you did today, and then I’ll pay for tomorrow’s work. I was supposed to pay you today, but a lot of things happened so fast, I didn’t get a chance to.” “Yeah. I guess so.” On Sunday morning, I first felt a bright light piercing through my eyelids and flooding my mind with a bright red glow from behind my closed eyes. “Pearl, honey, time to wake up for church. I’ll be in the kitchen waiting for you, honey.” I opened my eyes and saw Darren standing at my doorway, smiling in at me. I couldn’t help but smile at him. The days of when my blankets would be yanked away, of when I’d get a belt to the back, or when I’d have to go to church smelling like I did when I woke up was long behind me. “What time is it?” “It’s seven, just live every other Sunday morning I wake you, sweetie.” “It happened again.” “It’s okay. The doctor said it could take a bit, Pearl. You just got rid of the worst of the infection a few days ago, so we can’t expect you to suddenly have control. More than that, the psychologist says that given the years you’d been hurt emotionally, we can expect you to still have difficulties even after the sickness, remember?” “Yeah. I know. I just… It’s that everyone always expected me to grow up, and I couldn’t fast enough. And I really don’t want to disappoint you.” “I’m not disappointed at all, Pearl. There are a lot of different ways to show you are mature, and you finished all your homework yesterday, didn’t you?” “Yes sir?” “And you are even tutoring a classmate, right? For a few extra dollars of spending money?” “Yeah. Oh, also, Mrs. Bennett said last night she could pay me double, I won’t only be working one hour more than before what she offered.” “And you are feeling guilty?” “Kind of…. What if I need to take a break and use the toilet, and then I’ll be getting paid too much.” Darren sighed. “I’m sure she knows what she’s paying for, but before any real agreements are made for payment, we can talk about your concerns and make sure of your expectations. Maybe after you tutor the boy.” “Okay.” “Go ahead and clean up for church. The bathroom is yours, and if you need, just come and get me. I can take you to clean up if you really need, but you should try on your own.” I reached my arms up, stretching as I sat up, and Darren walked off away from my door. “I’m making breakfast. Don’t take too long.” Darren’s voice carried quietly and peacefully through the little trailer we lived in. It was small, and my bed was simple, but I was really happy here. I didn’t care about a big bed or anything fancy. Pushing the blankets back, I saw the puddle in the bed was still wet enough to have some liquid on the top. My panties were soaked and my sleeping shirt was sticky and wet. I walked into the hall and at the end, peaked around the corner to the kitchen, not really ready to take a bath completely by myself yet. I knew I was supposed to be able to do it, but so many times, either not being allowed, being punished for doing it, being told I did it wrong, being watched by people I didn’t feel comfortable watching, and just everything… flooded me as I walked in front of the bathroom. It was still too soon. What if I messed up and didn’t get clean enough? I needed Darren. “Come around the corner, Pearl. I know you’re there.” “How?” “I don’t hear the shower running, sweetheart.” I blushed as turned and faced him. “It’s still… just… too scary to do on my own,” I frowned. “Your doctors and counselor said it might take a while, honey.” “Aren’t you disappointed that I’ve already been here six months, and I still can’t do everything you tell me to do?” He smiled and waved me over to him. Of course I ran right over into his arms. “You do everything I tell you do,” he whispered. “Even when I don’t use my mouth. You are still finding the responsibility of taking a bath on your overwhelming is all.” I looked down. “Yeah. What’s wrong wrong with me?” “Nothing,” Darren rubbed my back between my shoulders. “You’re still just adjusting, sweetheart. Some kinds of hurt takes longer to heal from, and they say emotional and psychic hurt is a lot harder to pick up from than physical abuse, sometimes.” “But you don’t really believe that, do you?” “Of course I do. Just like I argued with CPS about a then thirteen year old kid wanting to piss her pants for attention. You know, when I first got you? I know it’s hard. That’s why I’m here. I don’t have all the answers, but I am someone willing to listen to what you are feeling, and I have been listening. That’s why I know you are still overwhelmed. When you are ready, you’ll let me know.” I hugged him tighter. “Go sit at the table. The oatmeal is almost done, and then we’ll get you a bath.” I stayed with the car until Darren walked me in to church, holding my hand, almost like I was three years old, but it was safer to stay with Darren. If any of the church teens saw me, well, some of them were nice, but some of them were from school, and they… well, they didn’t understand a fourteen year old girl needing to wear a pull up at church to keep the church seats respectable and a fourteen year old girl being unable to be too far from her… well fosterdad unless it was youth time. Even then, I got really nervous. As Darren paused at the church doors while other people were greeting the pastor and people were visiting, I could see some of the teens starting to talk, and I looked down at the floor. I was supposed to help Shane, but he still didn’t understand yesterday’s math completely, and we barely did much of his other homework, so I was sure they all could see it somehow, that I had failed at something else. “Mom! It’s Pearl!” Michelle, a girl with dark straight hair and blue eyes pointed at me. “I’m going to go say hi.” I looked at the ground, but Darren placed a hand on my shoulder. “All you have to say, is ‘hi.’ Anything else, you can be as natural and slow as you want.” I nodded. “Hey, so um… you drew the short straw, you know.” I blinked up at Michelle. “Hi,” I whispered barely loud enough for anyone to hear. “What was that?” Michelle frowned. “Hey, don’t be scared if you can’t get him to read or do math right. He’s had trouble reading since third grade, and his math… I swear, he only first started to get subtraction in like fifth grade.” “I’m sorry, but we are at church. Do we have to talk about that?” I asked. “What? I’m not being mean,” Michelle frowned and crossed her arms. “Um… you kind of are,” I whispered even softer than I said hi. Michelle shrugged. “Well, anyway, good luck getting him to pass eighth grade. I heard the teachers said that if he fails this time, they really have to hold him back because of the way high school works.” “Well, he might surprise everyone and start getting math a little better this year, and maybe even read a little more, even if it’s still a struggle.” “Are you saying you know how to do what no one else could?” I pulled at Darren’s arm. “Let’s go in,” he whispered to me. I wasn’t sure if he heard Michelle or not, but I didn’t like talking about Shane like he was a failure. I didn’t think he was a failure at all. He just… sort of needed a little help. After the main lesson where we read in the book of Ephesians, and a couple of people were invited to talk about the ways they uplifted brothers in the week, I saw that some of the youth started to stand, to get ready to go to class. “Can I stay with you?” I asked Darren. “I’m sorry, but you do need to get used to being with people your age,” he whispered to me. “Just try. If it gets too hard, you can always slip out and come down. I’m not changing seats, so it will be easy to find me.” “Okay,” I said through a heavy breath. “Hey, you’ve got this, sweetheart. Just stay near the people that are most helpful, okay? And I’m sure Shane will be very happy to see you there because he knows you don’t mind sharing your Bible with him and helping him out when he needs it.” “Yeah. I guess so.” I got up and with a sigh looked around so I could avoid Michelle and her friends because they weren’t exactly the nicest. Somehow, Shane and his mother had snuck up in that time and were right there, and I came eye to eye with Shane. “Hey, would you sit with Shane today?” Mrs. Bennett asked me. “He says you’re the only one that won’t make fun of him because the Sunday school teacher can’t call on him to read.” “Actually, Pearl was sort of worried about who to sit next to, weren’t you, sweetheart?” Darren spoke up for me. “Don’t worry about Scott and his lackeys,” Shane reached out and put a hand on my arm. “They’re just jealous of you because the tutoring presidency wouldn’t let them join as tutors because either they don’t know what they are doing, or because they are too mean to tutor.” I looked down. “Michelle and her group are meaner.” “I thought Michelle was nice to you.” “She’s… sneaky about it. At first, I thought she was nice, and I chose to hang out with her at school. Now, I hang out with her at school because if I don’t, I’m afraid of what she’ll do.” “Well, I know a couple of other kids that need tutoring and feel awkward being in there. If we all sit around you, then neither Scott nor Michelle can sit next to you, right?” “Do the others… really… you know, know about me?” “What?” Shane frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” I looked down my face getting red. “Yes, Shane, there is. I’m not even that uncultured, that I can’t tell that I don’t belong.” He put an arm around me. “At church, everyone belongs. People that act like you don’t, are going to find it harder to talk to God, I mean for real.” I shook my head. “I don’t expect that God likes me getting his house seats wet all the time.” “God’s a spirit,” Shane told me. “Well, he’s more than a spirit, but the point is, he isn’t bothered by physical things because he doesn’t need them. He’s more concerned about your heart. You know…. Even if someone else would have touched my reading problems with a ten foot pole, I consider myself lucky to be tutored by you.” “You do? Didn’t I embarrass you yesterday at the library?” “No. What was embarrassing was how bad I am at math and reading. I mean, the whole reason we spent all that time on math is because I’m the worst at math, and I know my reading is like ten times worse. You… you are kind about it.” “Darren says everyone has their own struggles. He tells me all the time that we only see our own and think we are the worst, but he told me that a lot of people are embarrassed by their weaknesses, so if they can hide them, they do. That’s why we don’t see them.” “Your foster dad seems pretty smart,” Darren frowned. “I used to act up at school and find any excuse not to answer when called on or even try to get in trouble so I didn’t have to be in class. I’d rather be known as a troublemaker than stupid.” “But…, only, you’re not stupid,” I told him. “Sure, you have struggles in reading and math, and in today’s culture, you need those things to make it easy, but you are smart in other ways.” I didn’t realize it, but we were walking as we talked, and more than that, what really surprised me, was that we were holding hands when we went into the youth room. “Well, look what we have here,” A red head boy with too many freckles and green eyes called out. I suppose with the large head he physically had, it may have been hard for him to keep his enormous mouth shut. “Tarzan meets…,” it seemed he had to think a moment before he just said “…dirty wolf girl!” “Scott,” the youth leader, Mr. Kendall said in a tone that sounded like the kind of near shout-whisper you’d use to chastise someone for breaking a taboo. “Go find your parents. We are not going to invite that kind of spirit into the lesson today.” “Whatever,” the thick boy lumbered off with a frown pushing past us, hitting Shane hard in the shoulder, I think as he passed. “Take a seat ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Kendall smiled at us all. “It’d like to direct your attention to one of the classic stories within Jesus’s life. It was a parable that has probably been told so many times that each of you are probably groaning on the inside as if I just said you were getting homework today.” Eyes were all trained on him for the moment. He always started the lesson with building it up somehow, but this one, it seemed like he wanted us to think we knew the story well, and that it was so well known, it’d be like being assigned to read a book we had read maybe in kindergarten. “There was a man that we you recognized from church, lying on the road outside the mall. Now, this man was bruised, and sitting broken on the curb. His head seemed to be bleeding. What role would you take?” I listened intently as Mr. Kendall taught this story. One of the things he was good at, was bringing the stories to life for us in a way we could connect to them before he referenced the story he got our life story from. He made us connect our life to the lives of those stories in the Bible, and yes, some of them are stories, called parables. That’s what Jesus taught in. “So, imagine you were the youth tutor group leader, not specifically Kate Parks, a kind young woman that sees a struggle and doesn’t let it go unanswered, but actually maybe you, only, you know that man. He is always slowing things down at church, and you were not really his friend. So whatever is in his life, it wasn’t your concern, so you went on into the store with your gaggle of friends to do what you came for….” I closed my legs together and scooted uncomfortably in my seat. I felt more like the beat up man. “Second, an atheist walked by, only he went to our high school. The thing is, he didn’t see any reason to help the man. The man was walking, after all. The man could call someone if he wanted.” I felt my left eyebrow disappear into my hair as I looked up a little stunned at the choice of the second person he chose to pass by this poor beat up person. I shifted even more, and tightened my legs even further, almost straining so that the muscles under my thighs and on the backs of my calves ached in their labors. “And then third, a bearded man from one of those Islamic tribes in the Middle East happened upon him, and he sat by him and gave him water. He asked him how he came to be in this place in his life. And eventually, he helped the man up to take him into the mall to find someone that could call for help for him.” I frowned. I thought all the adults on television were saying that we shouldn’t trust them because they were killers, but other college kids were saying that they were people, too, and they were getting in trouble for defending them. “Now, let me read to you the parable that Jesus told his disciple when Jesus was asked, ‘who is my neighbor?’” We took turns reading from the passage in the Bible, and then Mr. Kendall didn’t tell us anything. He only said “Now, I want you, you, and you to talk about this in a group.” He broke us into groups, not among our friends, but took a person from one side of the room, from the other side of the room, and one from the middle of the room. I sat looking down at the floor, my legs tense, my arms stiff, my heart felt as though it froze on one last beat before something bad was about to happen. The other people he chose for me to sit with were Amanda from high school, and Linda, who was still in fifth grade. Did they hear yet, that I was the kid that messes up the seats in church? “Why do you look so scared?” Amanda asked me. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” “She’s the one my brother says that he goes to school with,” Linda frowned. “The one that pees her pants during lessons.” Amanda gave Linda a small frown. “Well, let’s discuss that, then. Think about it. Do you think Jesus would want you to ignore her, make fun of her, or help her if you saw her in trouble? What if you saw her sitting on the street in soaked pants and crying. Would you leave her like that?” Linda frowned and looked down. “I can’t… I can’t say anything because I… I have no right to judge when I feel like the one that would need help.” Amanda frowned at me, too. “You think you have nothing to offer? Do you know the parable about the grape vineyard owner?” I shrugged, pushing my hands down into my lap. “I know you know it,” Amanda whispered. “You have your own talents, and you are entrusted to use what you have to make it mean something.” Amanda retold the story about how a vineyard master gave one person ten talents, one five talents, and one, only one talent. The one with only one talent had been the only one to come back with more than he was given. “What’s the point of that, and how is it related?” Linda asked as she eyed me cautiously. I shrugged. “The parables are connected,” Amanda smiled at us. “…because they are both talking about Jesus’s ministry and what he would have us do. He doesn’t expect us to get everything perfect a hundred percent of the time. In fact, he asks that we pray to him for help because on our own, we are clueless. We know in our hearts what is true, but explaining that truth isn’t always easy. We need God’s help. However, he gives us all something that we can use.” Linda frowned. “Well, it seems like he gave some of us less to work with than others.” “If you examine the story I just told you though, and knowing he is the divine all knowing father, I’d say he gave the man one talent because he believed in him more, as where he gave the man ten, the one that he figured would need more help.” I narrowed my eyes. “I never heard anyone say anything like that.” “Well, before this year, when was the last time someone you heard try to bring the parables in the Bible to a meaningful story we can connect with today? Doesn’t Mr. Kendall have a talent for helping us see the relevance of the Bible in today’s modern world?” I nodded. That was certainly true, and as I looked at Linda, she looked down and mumbled. “Yeah.” “I don’t feel stronger,” I told Amanda. “I mean, if that’s what you are trying to say. No one would really take a person like me serious.” “Why not?” she put her hands on her hips. “Because what Linda has heard is right. I peed my pants at school… like all the time.” “So? Did you know that being scared and having a harder time is not always a bad thing?” “I have to use the restroom,” I stood up to walk out not wanting to hear anymore. I didn’t know why, but I felt like crying. And as I took a few steps towards the door, I felt the warm sticky flood pouring into my diaper, and I froze breathing heavy and tears running down my face. “Excuse me,” I heard someone behind me before I noticed my arm was taken, and I was guided, not roughly, but with gentle hands back where Darren was sitting. “I think she just peed her pants,” Shane’s voice was soft and concerned. “I didn’t take her here because of that though, but because she seemed like she was panicking and I thought if anyone knew how to calm her, it would be her dad.” “Thank you,” Darren whispered. “You are free to sit with us, if you like. I don’t think you’ll get up to the youth lesson before it ends.” Chapter Four Darren held me in his lap and rocked me until the end of the current lesson. He kept rocking me as some people came over to talk to him. “Still struggling?” a woman asked. “Yeah, she’s still struggling a little bit. I guess she’s had some people say things in youth group, and it got too overwhelming for her. She’ll be okay once she’s had a chance to relax and process it all.” “I’ll pray for you and for her,” the woman said shaking his hand. Shane had a hand on my knee, and he whispered in to me. “It’s not the end of the world. People are just… you know, people. There is always going to be a Scott around looking for faults in you even if you beat one. People like that are just jealous.” I peeked over at him, my face mostly hidden in Darren’s chest. Eventually, the pastor made his way over to us, and he sat down just after Shane’s mom took him promising to take him by our place this afternoon. “Mr. Kendall told me that Pearl had a more stressful day today than in the last month in youth services. Is there anything going on at home?” “No, I don’t think it has to do with that. I think she’s just overwhelmed today.” “You know, my offer still stands. She’s not the only youth in with the primary kids to protect them from the judgment of those that don’t understand them.” “I know you mean well, but I think it’s best for her to learn to work with her peers. Besides, she’s starting to make some friends, aren’t you Pearl?” Darren turned me so I could look at the pastor more directly. Tears still shined in my eyes and my face felt wet. “Shane’s nice.” “One of your other peers told me that you peed on the floor in the youth room?” he asked. “Are you sure you are okay?” “I… I didn’t think it went on the floor,” I looked back at Darren. “I think her classmate might have exaggerated or something. Her skirt doesn’t feel wet at all.” “Alright. Well, if you decide that Primary is a better fit at any time, just come and let the leadership know. We have two high school students in there, actually.” “Pastor? Isn’t Linda a Primary age?” I whispered. “Well, she doesn’t get along well in there, but she’s shown enough maturity to handle being in the youth group, so we moved her there.” “Oh. I was just wondering because she’s younger than everyone.” “Well, I should go talk to some other people. Scott might need to be pulled out of the youth and primary program altogether, though that’s not because of… well, never mind. Just know that next week, he won’t be bothering people in the youth group.” “Can we just go?” I asked Darren. “Honey, I’m staying right here because right now, the door is crowded, and I don’t want to add more pressure for you to be seen or maybe feel the need to talk. We’ll go when the door is less crowded.” “Okay.” Later… We were home by two, and Darren put me in his lap and we watched television after he had changed me into regular panties for a while. By the time Shane came over at four, I was feeling better…. “It’s time to go put a pull up on, honey. He’ll be knocking at any minute.” “Darren?” “Yes, sweetheart?” “I… kind of peed my pants.” “It’s okay. You’ve had a stressful morning, sweetheart. Can you go to the bathroom and clean up?” I looked up at him like, ‘really?’ “Oh, sweetheart. Okay, well, let’s…,” but that’s when there was a knock at the door. “Of course the knock comes now,” Darren frowned. “Why can’t anything be easy for you?” he patted my wet butt. “Sweetheart, just go stand in the hall for a minute. I’ll take care of you after I let Shane in.” As we settled down and Shane opened his math book, I smiled and took out a couple of practice problems I made to make sure he understood that 1xsquared with the end number being some value was the same idea of some valueXsquared and there being a +1 at the end. He did remember, once we did the first problem together. So it went pretty quickly when we built on that, and we were able to stop math ten minutes early to go into reading for forty minutes, and the we continued where we left off for History the night before so he could turn that homework in. While we were working on History, nearly an hour and fifty minutes into the tutoring, Shane looked at me and towards my legs. “What?” “Don’t you want to… you know?” I shrugged. “It’s just ten more minutes. I’m fine.” “Okay, but I thought your stepdad didn’t want you… you know…?” He seemed shy about calling it out. “It’s alright. I’m already ahead of you. Just, look at the next question, please.” Just before we finished the last question, there was a knock at the door and Shane’s mother, father, and a younger brother came in. “That’s Phil,” Darren told me Shane’s dad’s name. “But call him Mr. Bennett when you talk to him.” “Yes sir,” I nodded. Phil stepped forward and shook Darren’s hand. “So it seems that Shane thinks he’s found someone that can teach him how quadratic formulas work.” “Yeah, I’ve been listening to her explain it to him,” Darren told this guy. “She’s actually pretty clever. I don’t remember any teachers explaining it the way she does.” “So, my wife said that we can pay you double for it taking two days. I don’t mind that at all, but do you think she could help a couple of younger kids, with reading?” “That one of the brothers she’d need to help?” “Nah. I always bring him with us when both of us go out because he’s the wild one. We have a girl and a boy at home that could use a little help in reading.” “I don’t know. Surely your wife has already told you the struggles she’s seen, and two days a week working with Shane might be hard enough for her.” “I understand. How has she been adapting at your house?” “Not bad,” Darren frowned. “She still has some issues that come up and we have to work through them, but she’s been happier here lately than I’ve seen her in a long time.” I walked over and sat in Darren’s lap. “Darren? Can I sit here? I….” “Feeling a little nervous?” I nodded. He put a hand around my shoulders. “People still make her nervous. So can I get you all some milk, juice, water, coffee, or tea?” Darren asked. I more sat on Darren’s lap so he’d know my diaper was wet without having to tell everyone I had one on and that I… hadn’t used the toilet, so I wasn’t that upset when he had to move to get drinks for everyone. “Pearl, honey, don’t you want to change out of those stiff clothes? You’re done tutoring for now, so you don’t have to look profession,” Darren gave me a knowing look. “Some of the other people are talking about yours foster kid,” Phil told Darren. “Well, I’m pretty sure sharing gossip about something that’s none of their business isn’t the best way to spend a Sunday,” Darren frowned. “So, are you here to tell me something?” He sighed. “I just wanted you to know that some of the other young people are not exactly playing nice with her. I figured you’d want to know so you don’t send her in among the wolves.” “So…, you’re not here trying to tell me to send her back? I’ve already told the last three people that talked to me about her being a problem at school that it’s not their business who I invite into my home, and that she’s my child now, whether they like it or not.” “God, no, I’m not asking you to send her back. Wherever she had come from, that would be a terrible place to put anyone. I just don’t want you to be blindsided by the teenage drama coming your way because people are… less than supportive of her problems.” Darren sighed. “I’m kind of used to having to explain things to the school when she has trouble there. Apparently, just last month, they got a hold of an old school record that says she fights, and I had to remind them that since she started school there, she hasn’t been in any fights at all.” “Well, I noticed that she hangs out with Michelle Quaile,” this phil said. “Rather, my son, Shane noticed, and he asked me to talk to you about it because he didn’t know how to talk to tell Pearl that she shouldn’t.” “What’s wrong with Michelle?” “Well, my daughter, who is four years younger than these teens to start with, had been invited to Michelle’s house. It took about two months for me to figure out that my own daughter was doing things just so Michelle would like her, but the things she was doing wasn’t nice at all.” “Dad!” Shane moaned. “I told you, Rachelle wasn’t just doing it because she wanted Michelle to like her. Michelle told her that if she didn’t, Michelle would tell the whole school….” My face blushed. “…tell the whole school… what? If she’s four years younger, she’s not even in middle school. Michelle couldn’t affect her, could she?” Shane looked down with tears in his eyes. “Yes, she can. She’s done it ever since Rachelle had declined a birthday sleep over because dad said she couldn’t do it on a school night.” “What did Michelle tell the school that Rachelle does?” “She didn’t just tell, she had pictures of the sheets on her bed. There were pictures of Rachelle’s bed everywhere at school, and I know it was Michelle because she’s the only one that threatened Rachelle.” I didn’t know that Michelle actually did that. Why didn’t you tell me?” “Michelle threatened Rachelle that she’d make it seem worse if her if it got back to her parents that she had anything to do with Rachelle’s school finding out about any of her secrets.” “You realize, Rachelle is in a trap right now because she thinks there is nothing that can be done?” Phil didn’t look too happy. “You should of told us. You know your mother wouldn’t stand for that.” I looked down. “Pearl? Did Michelle tell you that anything bad might happen if I stopped you hanging out with her, and maybe you neglected to tell me she’s doing the same thing to you?” “I… I mean… she doesn’t have me stealing or doing anything that bad,” I whispered. “Does she make you do things at school that you don’t want to do, and is she using any of your personal problems or embarrassing difficulties to control you?” I looked down and felt tears on my face. “Honey, you need to learn to trust me. I know it’s hard, but I can’t help you if you keep things like this to yourself. I understand. You are afraid if she gets in any trouble at all, that it’s going to come back to you. But I’m worried about the kinds of things she’s making you do to yourself in exchange for not making it worse.” “Anyway, just thought you should know. You might want to keep tabs on who her friends are for a while. She’s a little vulnerable to things that kids like Michelle does.” “Yeah, you are right.” “I’m sorry, Pearl, I had to tell. I saw you raise your hand yesterday, and then Michelle whispered something to you, and you put your hand down in class on Thursday. After that, you weren’t looking happy all day.” I shuddered. He was right, I didn’t have a good day on Thursday at all. First, Michelle had been sitting on something since a month ago, and I was even more scared of everyone knowing than that I pee my pants sometimes when I get scared to ask or when I wait too long and can’t hold it. I pooped my pants last month, and I don’t know how I got away with it, but not even Darren knew. I knew I didn’t want him to know about that. “Oh, um… about that. Michelle just said that she found out I stole something at my last school, and she was going to report me to the whole church if I… didn’t do her homework for her.” Shane looked at me for a minute, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was shaking when I told him, or if it was because Michelle didn’t normally have trouble turning in her homework, or what it was, but I was sure he didn’t believe me. I just looked down. If I wasn’t going to tell Darren I pooped my pants last month, I certainly wasn’t going to tell Shane, even if I did like him, kind of. “Well, this is my brother, Ryan. You’ve probably seen him around at school. He’s a year behind us.” I smiled at this boy that looked a little more blond, but there were definitely things about his face that suggested they were brothers. “Hey, Pearl. I don’t know who this Michelle person is, but if you have any trouble with her again, just point me in the right direction. She’s gotta have a brother or a cousin that I can lay on, that might control her.” “Ryan…,” Shane seemed like he thought Ryan was talking nonsense. “Look, Pearl has enough trouble without you making more. So why don’t you start by just getting to know my friend, first.” “Your friend’s butt is kind of wet,” he pointed between my legs and I felt the back of my butt. He was right. “Ryan! Does that really matter?” “Sure, it does. She probably doesn’t want to play while she feels dirty. We could, you know, wait out in the living room while she cleans up, and then we can all maybe play a game or something.” I started to feel tears in my eyes at first, when he pointed out I peed, only he wasn’t laughing at me. He was telling Shane that I needed to be cleaned up so we could play. “Um…, I… it’s okay. I… I do it all the time. Darren knows I’m wet. He… he’s letting me not change because…. Um… I don’t want to.” Shane whispered something to Ryan and Ryan held up the okay symbol. “Well, do you know how to play pitch?” Ryan asked. “Pitch?” blinked at him not having ever heard of that before. Unless…. “Um… do you mean catch?” “No. It’s not a ball game, but a card game,” Ryan smiled. “I love card games.” “I haven’t heard of it.” “Shane, since she’s teaching you math, why don’t you teach her the card game. We’ll have a dummy hand this time around so you can sit with her and teach her how to bid and stuff. She IS your girlfriend.” “I mean… I don’t think either of us have said anything like that,” Shane told his brother. “Well, whether you two know it or not, you have eyes for each other, and besides, the rumors are already everywhere at school. Some rude people call you Tarzan and the Smelly Wolf.” I looked down. “Maybe we shouldn’t hang out at school.” “What are you talking about?” I asked Michelle. “Well, they are making fun of you because you are talking to me. I’ve never had a friend at school before because….” Shane stared right into my eyes, looking angry, and the way he looked, made me stop. “Pearl. Kids like Scott have been calling me names since at least the third grade. I can care less what apes like him say. You didn’t do anything to get kids to pick on me, and I like hanging out with you. You can’t let people control who you hang out with. When you do, you give them permission to hurt you.” I frowned. “I know, by the way, you know….” “Know what?” I demanded of Shane. “That you pooped your pants two weeks ago,” Ryan was too blunt. “How do you know about…?” Shane gave Ryan a dirty look. “You don’t have to say it like that. I told you, she has trouble in class. It’s like she expects someone to hit her all the time. She didn’t just do it.” “I didn’t say that, did I?” Ryan demanded. “But she should know that you knew because we watched it happen. You may have been right about not going up at that moment because she might have taken it wrong, but she should know that you are not bothered by it.” I felt my face burn and I saw Shane’s face rise a few degrees, too. “Why was it important to tell her at this exact moment?” Shane demanded. “Because she’s scared. Scared you found out she just peed herself and scared you’ll think she’s… not… well, something’s wrong with her. Something you don’t want anything to do with.” “Well, you know darned well, that I told you that it didn’t matter when we saw and slapped you for watching her do it.” “That’s what she needs to know, though, Shane. She needs to know that you care about her feelings!” I… I felt something in my chest pull tight. This guy totally yelled at and slapped his brother, and it wasn’t his brother’s fault. I mean, I thought… no one at school was even around when it happened, but I must have missed them. “You… you really don’t… don’t think I’m a freak for not… um… controlling… that?” I whispered, my face even hotter, and my throat barely working. “Oh, Shane doesn’t not only think you are not a freak,” Ryan was too quick to say things for him. “You’ll forgive him, but Shane doesn’t exactly now how to talk to a girl. He’s… socially awkward. Honestly, Tarzan does fit him.” “Shut up,” Shane said kind of low but not exactly denying that his brother was right. “Don’t call him Tarzan,” I frowned. “ “It’s okay,” Shane put a hand on my back. “Ryan isn’t exactly like Scott. He knows me, and in some ways, he’s not exactly wrong. But he knows how far to go, too. He’s not exactly mean.” “S…,” Ryan started as a joke and got a glare from me before he said the full thing. “Sweet Pearl! You are perfect for my brother, and not because of what the school says. You are the first one in year not to make him feel stupid just because he doesn’t like math or reading.” “Oh, um…,” I blushed and kicked at the floor with my foot. “I mean. We all have trouble with something.” “Except me,” Ryan laughed. “No one can even touch this… oh-oh! You can’t touch this!” Shane laughed, and then I laughed. It was kind of a funny thing to do. “Seriously, though, Pearl,” Ryan whispered. “I know it hurts your feelings, but you should change your pants. Our sister’s doctor told mom and dad not to be harsh with her, and that if she gets scared of peeing, she could get an infection that could kill her. You shouldn’t hold it, and you shouldn’t wear wet pants for too long, right Shane?” “Um… Ryan’s not wrong about that. We honestly don’t mind waiting for you. Neither of us will say anything, even if you need your stepdad to help.” I looked at Ryan trying to carefully gage him, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he went right into the room where the adults were talking. “Mr. Hunt? Pearl’s peed her pants and needs help.” “Um… she’s…,” he seemed flustered. I walked over to Darren, and I looked up at him after taking a deep sigh. “I accidentally peed. Can… can you help?” Phil looked at Darren like he was crazy, but Mrs. Bennet, Karen, smiled. “Your dad will help you, honey. It’s okay. We don’t have to go just because you need help.” “Oh, um… of course we don’t,” Phil frowned and waved at us. “Shane, Ryan, sit in here. The last thing the girl needs is an audience while someone helps her.”

Chapter Nineteen Greinne's Epiphany; Only It's Cait Telling Her Later, after the hospital closed, I think, Greinne and me were eating dinner. Greinne and I talked about earlier. Greinne didn’t say nothing about it, so I don’t think she knew. I saw it, though. Greinne and Erinne had the same problem. They were both peeing more in their pants than before. Erinne was sent home, though. I wasn’t sure what happened to Greinne, but the doctor told her not to move at all. Did the doctor not notice that Erinne peed her pants three times earlier? “What?” Greinne noticed me looking at her. “I see that look, Cait. You are thinking about something, and either you think I weird, or you think I have a thought about something weird.” “Well, um... I noticed something strange this afternoon.” I looked down. I was sort of scared of saying it out loud, but what if something was wrong? “I... I think Erinne peed her pants three times today.” “She did,” Greinne nodded. “So?” “They sent her home, didn’t they?” “Yeah,” Greinne looked a little irritated. “Do... do you think Sorsche had a diaper on? And what about Aoife?” “What are you talking about?” “Well, Sorsche didn’t say nothing about peeing her pants....” I blushed and frowned. “She never does,” Greinne looked at me as though I forgot how quiet Sorsche was. “No. She doesn’t. But no one changed her, and after three times, she should have leaked all over the floor. She wasn’t wet all afternoon, Greinne.” Greinne’s eyebrows got closer together, and she stared at me for a bit. “Were you watching her to see when she’d pee her pants or something?” “Not exactly. I was more watching Erinne after the first time she did, and Sean and Susan had to change her. I accidentally compared her to Sorsche, and that’s why I found it. Sorsche didn’t pee her pants at all today. And then I thought about Aoife, and she didn’t either.” Greinne’s jaw dropped. “So? What are you thinking?” “Just that Erinne wet her pants three times, and she went home, so I don’t understand. She could go if she wanted, and she chose to wet her pants, but Sorsche and Aoife must have had Susan take them?” “...Or, maybe Susan took them out of the room because they accidentally told her, or they did something that Susan knew meant they peed. You know how Sorsche is. She gets nervous and squirms a little bit and put her hands in her lap when she wets her pants.” “I know, and she didn’t do that. I sort of noticed that she seemed, well, happy the whole time, and she wasn’t scared at all.” Greinne shrugged. “Maybe Sean took them to the bathroom all the time, but didn’t ask Erinne because he didn’t want her to think he was treating her like a baby?” I shrugged. “But Sean was here in the room the whole time the doctors let him be. He didn’t have a chance to take Sorsche and Aoife, and Susan did leave with Aoife twice, but not with Sorsche?” “Maybe Sorsche was just scared to pee, and held it until they went home?” Greinne whispered. “Daddy taught her and you to be careful where you pee and not get caught.” I shook my head. “Yeah, I know. But I could never hold it long enough for Daddy, and I don’t think Sorsche did either. Sorsche peed her pants at school sometimes, be member?” Greinne shrugged. “I don’t know, Cait. Why does it matter so much, anyway?” “Well, I was thinking about how you always peeing the bed,” I whispered. “What if... what if you pee the bed because Daddy somehow caused it?” Greinne looked away, and I could see her cheeks get a little red when she turned back. “How do you think Daddy made me wet the bed?” “Well, you stronger than me,” I whispered. “You know Daddy hated me for peeing my pants, and he hated Sorsche. He let Aoife do it, but it was because she was the baby.” Greinne couldn’t argue, so she just looked down. “Okay. But how does that mean Daddy made me?” “Well, if I can’t hold it long enough, and I always give up and pee my pants all the time, but you said yourself, at school, you held it for important classes, right?” “Yeah. I held it. It wasn’t that hard, Cait.” “But what if you wet the bed because you trained your body to not use the bathroom during the day, but it has to do it sometime?” I asked. “That sounds....” But Greinne bit her lip. I saw her half start to roll her eyes though, and I knew that meant the words were stupid to her, but she bit her tongue. She didn’t want to say that to me. “Okay, it does sound stupid,” I agreed with her. “But when did you pee? You didn’t go at school, at least not like natural. You didn’t pee that much at home during the day. So, when did you pee?” Greinne looked at me like she was thinking about it. She looked down at her lap while her eyes seemed to narrow and maybe focus. “Thanks a lot,” she suddenly said to the dark, quiet air. “Now you made me have to pee, and I’m not allowed to go by myself right now.” “The doctor told you to just go, Greinne,” I whispered. “Sean and Susan says it’s allowed to wet your pants, you know.” “It doesn’t mean I want to,” Greinne frowned at me. “Do you think I wanted to when Daddy made me stay in bed all those times, or I’d get in trouble for a puddle that didn’t even exist?” Greinne didn’t have any of the spaghetti in her mouth from dinner, but she was chewing. Maybe she was trying to figure out what I meant. I wasn’t very smart about telling what I wanted to say. Teachers at school said I didn’t say things right sometimes, and people got confused when I talked a lot. I knew I was pretty stupid about saying stuff. “I just mean, it’s okay to wet your pants.” A few moments passed, but to me, it felt like an hour. I could see Greinne still looking at the sheets, her legs stiff, her shoulders shaking, but only so I noticed. You had to really look to see it. “Just do it, Greinne,” I whispered. “The doctor says if you don’t pee when you need to go, you can hurt your body. That’s why I think Daddy caused you to pee the bed. I think he hurt your body without knowing it.” Greinne frowned. “So what about Erinne?” “Well, I think maybe Erinne has been peeing her pants at school and hiding it, and she knew she’d get caught when she peed, so she told Sean and Susan. You saw. She wasn’t happy about peeing her pants.” “Well, how was Sorsche dry, Miss Smarty Pants?” Greinne seemed to be trying to find fault with what I was thinking. I know it seemed weird she dry when she peed her pants always, but I did think on that, too. “What if because Sorsche just peed because it made her babyish to Daddy, and so he didn’t hit her as much, and she peed her pants more at school than she said, so her pee always came out, so she didn’t hurt herself, and now she is safe, she is going to the bathroom like she wants? What if Erinne was scared to go to the bathroom like you and me, so she kept holding it when it was bad, and she can’t help it now?” Greinne frowned. “Do you think Daddy told her not to pee at school?” “Did Daddy tell you not to pee at school?” I asked. “Um... not exactly. He just said to be careful not to miss class, and he always yelled at Sorsche if he thought she missed Math or something because he found out she wasn’t wet when she came home.” “Exactly,” I said, looking down. “You were a big girl and not supposed to wet your pants, so you didn’t, but you followed the same rules. Sorsche was considered too babyish to be able to do it right, so she peed her pants sometimes. I peed my pants sometimes. Aoife was a baby; she peed her pants, but Erinne was never wet when she came home from school.” “So you think Erinne actually didn’t use it at school?” “I am not sure, but you didn’t use it at school. And now, you started peeing on accident more. You can say you are just wetting the bed to yourself if you want, but you know that’s not true. You are peeing without meaning it when you awake. Right?” Greinne breathed heavily through her mouth because she knows she can’t win that argument. She got caught, and she didn’t have an answer for what I said about her. “You always have your eyes open, you know,” Greinne told me. “Even when you should mind your own business.” “You don’t think my sisters is my business?” I asked. “I love you all, and I think we all got hurt by Daddy, even Erinne. We just all got hurt a different way.” Greinne sniffed. “Okay. But you don’t have to be staring at us when we pee.” "I'm not staring," I mumbled. I did notice it maybe more than I should. "I just. I couldn't help it. I knew when Sorsche did it and Aoife, and Erinne told us all three times she peed when she was here earlier, and you... you have to pee sometime, and I kind of started to see you do things when you were holding it." Greinne's fingers tightened around her fork. "Like what?" "You get quiet, like you are right now. I think you peeing and you scared because you peeing. Then you start, your legs are not moving like a pee pee dance, but instead, they stop moving for a long time until you relax. That means you already peed so much you gave up?" Greinne dropped her fork. It clattered against the plastic tray, and her face twisted like she wanted to cry or scream. "That's not—" She stopped, blinking fast. Her hands curled into fists on her blanket. "You're... you're wrong." "You forgot when a boy in my class told the teacher I peed my pants, or was going to that last time Daddy said I disturb class because the teacher sent me to the bathroom? That's why I know everyone gets scared when they think they going to pee. And you do get quiet, and you do relax after you know you can't stop it. You do." I felt my face getting hot, and I felt tears in my eyes. "And that's because I love you, and I see it, and now I know how to keep others seeing it, if I think they going to be mean because when you get stiff, I will be bad so they look at me instead." Grainne's fists loosened, and she stared at me as if she'd never seen me before. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. The hospital room smelled like hard soaps and the faintest hint of peed pants from earlier. "I won't tell anyone that not safe, that you peed, Greinne. I promise. But the doctor and nurses safe. You know they safe? You know?" Greinne didn't answer. She just stared at her lap where the blanket was bunched up between her legs. The IV in her arm trembled when she moved her hand to press against her stomach. "If you gotta poop, it's okay. I promise. I won't tell no one except the nurse that has to clean it up. You can't wear poop all night, and you don't touch your stomach like that when you pee, so...." I let her figure out that she can't deny it. I told her I knew, and that's all that mattered. Greinne's fingers dug into her blanket, her knuckles whitening. "Shut up," she whispered, but it wasn't mean—it was desperate. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it angrily with the back of her hand. "Just... shut up." "I will, if you promise to stop trying and just poop your pants. I will shut up." I saw her eyebrows get closer and her mouth form an embarrassed frown, the same way she looked two years ago, when her friends caught me in the first grade, peeing my pants in the hallway on the way to the bathroom. “That’s my little sister,” Greinne told her friends. “She can’t help it. Daddy says she’s stupid.” That’s what she said at that time. Now, she just looked at me like I was crazy. I was telling her to poop her pants on purpose, but the doctor told her to do it, first. Didn’t she understand that’s what the doctor said? She sighed and pushed herself forward a tiny bit, her face getting red. The smell started to ooze its way into the room before the little grunt, and then the pit spat of a wet slush sound finally pushed into her diaper beneath her. I pushed the button on the call thing for the nurse, knowing she was ashamed. I wouldn't have to tell. The nurse would check me. I would just be wet, so she'd check Greinne. I would let the nurse clean me up first, though. I was wet, that way, Greinne wouldn't feel all alone in it. Greinne didn't cry, but she stared at the wall, shaking slightly. The nurse came in, smiling warmly. "How are my girls?" she asked, her eyes flicking between us. I smiled at her and looked down at my waist. "We okay for being in a sick place. But. I think I went potty again." I said nothing about Greinne. The nurse would figure it out. The nurse nodded, pulling fresh linens from the cabinet. "That’s perfectly fine, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up first." Her hands were warm as she helped me out of the damp gown, wiping my legs with a cloth that smelled like oranges. Greinne stayed silent, rigid, watching from the corner of her eye. I watched as the nurse cleaned me up, and then when she finished, I drew a breath, ready to tell on Greinne if I had to, but I didn't want to. I hoped the nurse realized the room smelled like one of us pooped, and since I didn't, she'd just know. The nurse hesitated, sniffing slightly, her expression shifting. Her gaze flicked to Greinne—who had gone stiff again—then back to me. "Alright, Cait," she murmured, patting my shoulder. "You're all set." She moved to Greinne's bed, pulling back the blanket carefully, like she didn't want to scare her. "It not your job to tell on her if she has an accident?" I asked when the nurse started to undo Greinne's diaper. The nurse's hands paused, her eyes softening as she glanced at me. "No, sweetheart. It's never anyone's job to tell on someone for something their body needs to do." She turned back to Greinne, speaking quieter now. "You don't have to be embarrassed, honey. This happens to lots of kids—more than you think." I breathed in real slow, knowing Greinne was going to feel the sting of being caught like that. At least it was only one. It wasn’t the nurse’s job to tell. No one else would know, at least about that night, that Greinne had to poop her pants. It was most important that Daddy never found out. If he knew, Greinne wouldn’t be his favorite no more, and he’d hit her harder. I’d be scared of Daddy finding out. And Greinne didn’t know Sean yet, so I knew she was scared because she couldn’t be Sean’s favorite yet, if Sean didn’t really know her yet. The nurse was gentle and careful. She pulled the diaper back slowly as Greinne’s face crumple inward like she wanted to pop out of the room, without any explanation. She wanted to just... disappear. The smell was stronger as the nurse got her diaper pulled back, but she didn’t ask Greinne to explain herself. She didn’t tell her how disgusting it was, like Daddy did. She just wiped her clean. The orange scent from the cloth she used had to be better than the smell of what the nurse started to wrap up to get rid of. Still, Greinne’s hand clenched and unclenched against the mattress and plastic sheets on the mattress. Her breath was fast, and it didn’t come in far enough. It was the same way when she tried not to cry. "It's okay, sweetheart," Nurse Burke smiled at her. "It's not the end of the world. Once the doctor clears it, you can get out of bed again like a big girl. It's not your fault, sweetheart." The nurse wiped Greinne's face after she changed her, and she whispered. "You've had it hard for a while, sweetheart. Just relax. No one around her is going to think anything about you obeying the doctor, okay?" Greinne’s face barely moved, but I could tell she was nodding. It was like she was hiding it, though there was no one to hide her nod from, except me. The nurse turned and threw the diaper out, and took the dirty sheets, humming. The room smelled of hard soap and a faint scent of orange masking completely all of Greinne’s shame. It was like she never did it, but convincing Greinne to not look so scared and worried was another problem. I watched Greinne’s shoulders rise and fall. Her jaw was tight. She wouldn’t look at me. I knew why. She probably thought I had a chance to be mean to her, to tease her, for something that she couldn’t stop. But I knew why she did it, and she only ever did it when Daddy was right there, staring at her, pushing her to do it. So, I had no heart, nor did I have the pressure to tell her something so hurtful. Instead, I just grabbed her hand, and I squeezed. “I love you.” "Now, you understand how much I appreciated you, when you didn't hurt my feelings when I was the one that peed on the bed, even on purpose," I said after I felt she wouldn't hear me wrong. "You were always there for me, and I... I still see you as the older one, the one that knows what to do, and the one to protect me, but just this once, can I help you and it be okay?" Greinne’s fingers pulled a little in mine, but they didn’t escape my hand. They curled around my fingers, eventually. The hospital lights buzzed faintly overhead. Long shadows appeared across Greinne’s face where she still refused to look directly at me. “You’re not supposed to be smart,” Greinne muttered, though the words were softer and seemed to lack that bite that Daddy expected from her when she called me out. "I'm not. You know that, and I know that. Susan and Sean pretend that I’m smart, like it will change the real world if they think it. But we know I not smart. I just care, Greinne. I love you, you know." Greinne exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers still gripping mine. "You're gonna make me cry, dummy," she whispered. "Then cry," I whispered. "I'm not gonna judge, and no one else is here, so cry. I just telling the truth." Greinne’s grip tightened a little harder than I liked around my fingers. She had a ragged breath that sort of sounded a little like the start of a cry. She pressed her free hand against her mouth, her shoulders shaking up and down. The nurse, just about to step out of the door, glanced back, but she didn’t interrupt. "You always my big sister," I felt a tear of something that wasn't real inside me. It was like my soul was touchable, for just a minute, and it hurt, but I knew what I said was true. And I started to feel myself sob a little bit. Greinne put up with so much because of my being stupid. She protected me so much at school. I had the most important person in the world in the same room in the scariest place in the world, and I couldn't help crying knowing that sometimes, she needed help, too. Greinne’s sob stopped mid-high pitch when she heard me. She turned her head sharply, her wet eyes widened. I think she forgot that I cried, too. As if my tears surprised her more than her own, she couldn’t close her mouth. Her fingers tightened into mine. It almost hurt, but I couldn’t pull away. I had no desire to. "Sisters ... for... forever," I got out between crying hiccups as I squeezed her hand tight. And I wasn't sure if she ever relaxed, but I know I fell asleep like that, nearly crying and holding my big sister's hand. When I woke up, the room smelled like pancakes—real ones, not the hospital kind—and Sean's aftershave. He stood between our beds, holding two paper plates stacked high. Greinne was already sitting up, her fingers picking at the edge of her blanket.

Chapter 18 Erinne’s Trials The hard part was done. The doctor knew. Me and Greinne had to stay in our room. Erinne and Sorsche could go home, but they didn't. They stayed with us until Sean and Susan were ready to leave with Aoife. “Greinne has a bad infection,” The doctor told Sean. “And I don’t like her posture, especially when she walks.” I shuddered. Greinne said that Daddy hit her because of posture. “She not bad,” I whispered. “She trying to be good.” The doctor frowned at me, then at Greinne. He sat on my bed and put his hand on my leg. My leg was moving again, like before. "I didn't say I didn't like her posture because she did something wrong, honey. I mean, it shows she has hurts we can't see so easy." “Huh?” “Like your hurt hips that your parents couldn’t see because you were walking around them. Remember?” I nodded. “Your sister has some injuries that we still cannot see. She’s holding herself the way she is because something is still wrong. She’s not bad, child. She just needs help.” “Okay.” I felt sad inside. I wondered if Greinne was hurt more. I hoped she wasn’t going to die. I wondered if I should have told a teacher, but with Daddy, telling anyone meant you got hit. But I should have told. Greinne is really hurt. I get hit anyway. I should have told. I felt a ghost-like hand grasping through my clothes, through my body, and into my heart, and it squeezed. I coughed and held my chest. I squirmed in the cold chill of guilt. I should have told. Tears flooded my eyes, but I couldn’t make a sound. It was all my fault. “Breathe,” I heard the familiar bear-like sound of Sean. “Just breathe, baby. Your sister is going to be okay. She’s here, and the doctor is looking into what is causing her problems, honey. It’s okay.” “I should have told,” I felt the words come out weaker and more whispery than I meant to. “It’s my fault she hurt. Daddy couldn’t have hurt her if I told.” Greinne’s voice was weak from the other bed, but she responded. “You couldn’t tell, Cait! He would have hurt you badly. It wasn’t your responsibility to tell.” “You got hurt because me. I too stupid to tell.” “Cait, you are not stupid. You were smart not to tell. Who knows what Daddy would have done. No one was there to protect you if you told.” I felt myself peeing. At first, it was a slow little bit, but then it got hard on my stomach and started to push faster and faster. I was a flooding icky warm peed in my diaper baby before I knew it. My legs moved naturally, as though they knew better than my mind, that I had done wrong. The sheets covered my diaper, but still, my legs scrambled to try to rub and push the wetness of the diaper down between my legs to hide it from view. I shivered a little, but I wasn’t scared of Sean, or Susan, or even the doctor. I was allowed to do it, but my body knew it was wrong. Dr. Henderson smiled at me as he let me lay back. His eyes were kind, and he positioned me on my back in a more comfortable position. He then touched my fingers, and he nodded. “You know you can’t get out of bed yet, sweetheart. You have no choice right now. It’s okay. We can always change you, little one. Healing is more important than getting to the toilet right now. That’s when I knew he knew I was peeing my pants. "I'll get her," Sean walked forward. "Unless you're not done with her." "I'm finished for now," Doctor Henderson said. "Go ahead and clean your baby up and check the other one over there. She's not to get out of bed either until I clear it, so she's going to start wearing diapers fulltime, too, until we get her sorted. I need to go check on some other patients and then plan my next steps with Cait and Greinne." Sean reached under the television table into a door that closed off our diapers from anyone just slipping in, and he pulled one out for me. He smiled. "It's okay, baby. We'll get you all fresh." Susan continued to hold Aoife, and she looked at Erinne. "I'm watching. Go check your other sister, and tell me if she's wet." "Yes, ma'am," Erinne answered, and she walked over to Greinne's bed. I felt as Sean picked me up from the wet sheets and Sorsche pulled them off my bed. Sean’s thick, strong fingers were careful as they braced my back and the backs of my upper legs. The diaper sagged, and he laid me on a fresh towel Sorsche put down, the sagging diaper for a moment not directly on my butt, and then I felt the heaviness of my body on top of the wet material. “There we go,” Sean’s bear-growl ever soothing me when he mumbled something. He undid the tapes, and the diaper fell from around my waist. Chill air covered my wet skin. I skirmed without meaning to, but Sean just smiled and sort of laughed a bit. “Easy, sweetie,” he breathed. “We just need to wipe off the pee pee, and then we can start getting you in a clean diapee.” His hands were warm when he wiped me, and he sprinkled baby powder that had that scent that filled the air with safety. It went over my hips like a light snowfall, sort of like Susan does when she puts flour on baking pans. He picked me up again, and Sorsche took the wet towel off of the bed. She put a clean one down then Sean laid me down before he pulled the scratchy hospital sheet over me. I didn’t smile though until he draped the wood scented shirt over my chest. I blushed, but I knew I was safe. All of my sisters knew me as the sister that peed all the time, so I didn't even care that Aoife saw me needing to be changed. Still, somehow, I felt weird. Sean was different about how he changed me. That’s what was weird. Daddy would pull me by the arm and yank me up to get to my wet nickers and yank them down my legs, touching as little of them as possible and calling me disgusting. Daddy wiped me roughly with a towel just enough that he said the smell was gone, but I don’t think it was. I was nothing but a rag doll in his hands. Sean, when I peed my pants, he held me like I was a precious lamb from his farm. He called me a good girl. He said that I was allowed to be a little girl. He said I was allowed, I was loved, and he.... He held me a lot more. He picked me up like I mattered, and he talked to me like I mattered. As Sean pulled my fresh diaper up, Greinne spoke, her voice stronger now, but still strained. "Erinne? Did you tell them about my leg?" Erinne hesitated, glancing at Susan before nodding. "Greinne?" She sounded like she was being careful, like what she said might start a fight. "I... I had to. It will keep Daddy from ever making me hit you like that again, and Daddy? And Mommy? They can't kick you like that ever again. So. I had to tell. I just figured if he found out, I'd just blame Cait because Sean and Susan are trying to adopt her. Even if he gets us back, he can't hurt Cait anymore. So I'd just tell Daddy the doctors told me Cait already told, so I had no choice." I stopped. I was not afraid of her blaming me. I was always blamed. But Erinne had planned this all from the beginning. That why she told me to keep peeing my pants in front of the McKinneys. She knew they were going to check. She hoped they would grow to like me. I could see it somehow, but I don’t know why. She planned on just telling Daddy I caused it all, and then no one would be in trouble, and I’d get to go somewhere safe, and the rest of them would live like usual. I still felt hurt that she would blame me, but I knew why. Sean's hands stilled against my hips, the diaper half-fastened. His jaw tightened. "No one," he said, low and rough, "is blaming Cait for anything. Ever." He turned his head toward Erinne, and for the first time, I saw something dark flicker in his eyes. "And no one is ever hitting Greinne again. You don’t have to lie for her. Not here." "Daddy might turn on Erinne, though, if he finds out she betrayed him," Greinne whispered. "She has to... say something." Sean exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers finishing the diaper tapes with deliberate gentleness. "Then we'll say I told." He cupped my hipbone—where the worst of the bruises had faded to sickly yellow—before tucking the blanket around me. "I'm an adult. Let him try." I looked up at Sean with adoration. "You only would know, though, if I told." Sean nodded. "And I did know." Sorsche whispered. "So, Cait, actually told. She told you. So, Cait will still be blamed even if Erinne doesn't use those words." Sean's hands clenched briefly into fists before relaxing. "No," he said firmly. "We'll say the hospital called me—that they had concerns when Greinne was admitted and demanded answers. That way, Cait isn't involved." He smoothed a hand over my hair, his touch lingering. "And if your father comes near any of you again, he'll answer to me." "Is Daddy going to get Erinne back?" Sorsche asked, shivering suddenly. Sean stopped for a moment, just a moment, but Greinne caught it. Her fingers twisted the sheet over her between them. “He won’t,” she blurted out. “He wouldn’t.” But her voice sounded like it was about to cry. "I meant, is Erinne going back to Daddy, Greinne?" Sorsche said more clearly. "If she's the only one he gets back, and he has no one else to hit, why wouldn't he hit her? He's mad!" Erinne’s fingers grasped the railing of the bed, Greinne was lying in, causing her fingers to seem to turn white. “I... I’ll be okay. I can take it.” Her voice was shaking, but it also sounded like she believed this was right. She seemed to tense as though she was ready for Daddy to hit her right then. Susan shifted Aoife in her arms and stepped forward, her voice steady but edged with something sharp. "No one is taking anything. Not anymore." She glanced at Sean, her gaze locking with his in silent understanding before she turned back to Erinne. "You think we'd let him lay a hand on you? After everything?" "I'd deserve it. Look what I did to Sorsche and Greinne, and even Cait didn't get off easy from me hitting her for Daddy." “Honey, you were a kid holding a belt because you thought it was the only way. That’s not you, baby. That’s that monster.” Sean’s fingers were twitching against my blanket, and his fingers seemed stressed as he finished his thought. The air smelled a bit like cleaner, and there was the tang of hospital sterileness in the sheets, but under it all, there was still the faint scent of safety. There was the scent of cedar wood that came from Sean’s shirt that lay on my chest. Erinne sighed, and she pushed Greinne over gently to check her butt. "Sissy peed her pants," she told the room. "Who's going to change her?" "I will," Susan said in a whisper. "Erinne, come and hold Aoife for a bit." Susan gently pushed Aoife off her lap for Erinne to come and take. Aoife squirmed to get down and then looked up as Erinne sat. Erinne just held Aoife, with Aoife standing between her legs as she held her around her stomach, protectively. Greinne stiffened a little as Susan moved towards her bed, having gotten a fresh diaper from the same place Sean got one from. When Susan pulled the sheet gently back, I saw the fully soaked bed under her. The diaper she had on was useless. I think she must have peed at least three times to get that much pee to come out of the diaper like that. Susan didn’t even flinch, though. She just cooed at her. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. You aren’t allowed out of bed right now. You have a bad owie inside your body. No one minds you being wet.” Greinne’s face was crimson red, though, and she shivered. She never peed her pants, just when she was sleeping. She didn’t even do that on purpose. She just couldn’t wake up in time. Greinne's fists curled into the sheets as Susan gently wiped her down, her breath hitching with every touch. "I didn't mean to," she mumbled, her voice thick with shame. "We know, baby," Susan shushed at her and touched her nose. "You're a big girl, but you have big owies, and before you are allowed to go to the bathroom on your own again, those owies need to be fixed, so you wear diapers... just until then, okay?" Greinne nodded, but her lips trembled. Susan pulled her fresh diaper up and taped it carefully, then kissed Greinne's forehead. "You're so brave." "The doctors told Sorsche and me that we can go home today," Erinne told us. "That's good news, right? If he has fewer of us to check on, then he can heal Greinne and Cait twice as fast." Sean sighed deeply. "That's not exactly how hospitals work, honey." Erinne frowned at him. "I was trying to give them some hope," and she stomped over to a corner and sat pouting. Susan tucked Greinne back in, smoothing the blanket over her hips where the diaper's bulk made a slight lump under the covers. "Hope's good," she said quietly, "but so is honesty." She glanced at Sean, who was adjusting my IV line with more focus than necessary. "We'll figure this out. All of us." "And..." Erinne frowned as she sat still in a temper. "I fucking pissed myself again, too." The room went silent except for the faint hum of the hospital's fluorescent lights. Aoife, still nestled in Erinne's lap, patted her sister's cheek with a sticky hand, oblivious to the tension. Erinne's face burned crimson as she shifted awkwardly in the plastic chair, the unmistakable sound of damp fabric sticking to vinyl cutting through the quiet. Susan didn't hesitate—she crossed the room in three strides and crouched beside Erinne, her hands already reaching for the diaper bag. "Let's get you fixed up, love," she murmured, unfastening Erinne's jeans with the same matter-of-fact care she'd shown Greinne. "I feel like I'm a stupid fucking baby, and worse, you just said I was stupid when I tried to cheer Greinne and Cait up. I am so useless! I hit them. I don't say stuff right, and now, I've pissed my pants again like... like I don't know what the hell I am doing!" Susan's hands stilled on Erinne's waistband, her thumbs brushing the sharp jut of the older girl's hipbones through the fabric. "You're thirteen," she said evenly. "And you've spent years thinking you had to be an adult. Let someone else carry it for once." The diaper crinkled as she pulled it up Erinne's thighs—too big, meant for younger kids, but it would do for now. "I'm not an adult," Erinne cried as Susan fixed the diaper on her and then helped her adjust herself, her wet jeans still on the floor. "I think we have an extra pair of pants in the car for you, honey. Remember the other day when we were out with our friends, and we talked about bringing extra clothes for all of you?" Erinne sniffled and nodded, her fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt. The diaper beneath her crinkled loudly as she shifted, and Aoife giggled, patting the bulky padding curiously. "Sissy's diaper," Aoife announced proudly, as if this were perfectly normal. Sean knelt beside Susan, pulling a flannel shirt from the hospital bag—one of his, the fabric worn soft from years of wear. He draped it over Erinne’s shoulders, letting the sleeves swallow her trembling hands. "Here," he murmured. "Smells like cedar and safety, right?" "Those are Cait's words, sir. I still don't really know you." She sniffled. "I'm sorry. It's just...." “Like cedar,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I watched from my bed. Erinne’s shoulders stiffened. The diaper crinkled under her as she twisted to look at me, Sean’s flannel swallowing her frame like a cloak. Her eyes were red-rimmed, raw. I knew that look. Sometimes, when Daddy made her punish us, she’d lock herself in the bathroom for a while, so we couldn’t hear her, but then she’d come back out with her eyes looking exactly like that. "I know it's hard to trust after the person you should have trusted had been so... not worth it," Sean said with sympathy. "But we'll take it slow. Even if you don't feel safe with it on, you can still wear it to hide the diaper from view, okay?" Erinne pulled the flannel tighter around herself, her fingers gripping the fabric tightly. The smell of cedar was there, and she must have smelled it. It was better than Daddy’s tobacco and alcohol. It wasn’t angry stuff. It was nature stuff. I don’t know what she felt if not safe, but she didn’t drop the shirt. Susan finished taping the diaper snug around Erinne’s hips, then gently tugged a spare pair of sweatpants from the hospital bag—Sean’s, by the look of them, the hem rolled up twice to fit. "Arms up," she murmured, and Erinne obeyed mechanically as Susan guided the sweats over the bulky diaper, her movements precise. No one spoke. The only sound was the rustle of fabric and the distant beep of monitors down the hall. Aoife, still perched on Erinne’s knee, reached up to pat her sister’s damp cheek. "Sissy sad?" she asked, her tiny voice cutting through the tension like a knife through gauze. Erinne’s breath shuddered, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she pulled Aoife’s wrist closer to her as she hugged—not tight, just enough to feel the pulse there, steady and alive. Susan smoothed the sweats over Erinne’s diaper, her touch lingering on the younger girl’s knee. "You’re okay," she murmured, though it wasn’t really a reassurance—more like a fact, solid as the floor beneath them. Aoife wriggled closer, pressing her face into Erinne’s collarbone. "I stay wif you," she announced, sticky fingers clutching the flannel. Erinne froze, then exhaled sharply through her nose, her arms tightening around Aoife like she was the only thing anchoring her to the earth. Sorsche walked over and stood next to Erinne and put a hand gently on her shoulder. "You know Daddy hurt you, too." "I didn't get hit all the time," Erinne looked up at her. "But you cried when you hit Cait, and you weren't always happy to hit me or Greinne. I know, sometimes you were, but sometimes.... You weren't." Erinne nodded. "I didn't want to," she whispered, her voice cracking. The diaper beneath her rustled as she shifted, pulling Aoife closer. "But he’d look at me—that way he does—and I’d just... do it. Because if I didn’t..." Her fingers traced the edge of Sean’s flannel sleeve, frayed from wear. "He’d do worse." "You thought you were protecting us by hitting us... so Daddy wouldn't?" Erinne flinched at Sorsche's quiet words, her fingers tightening in Aoife's curls. The scent of baby shampoo mixed with the cedar of Sean's flannel as she buried her face against the top of Aoife's head. "Yes," she whispered, the word muffled against her sister's hair. "But you hated me?" She whispered. "Just cause I hated you for being a cause I couldn't see my own mom didn't mean I wanted this to happen to you." The IV line tugged at my wrist as I strained to hear them. Sorsche's fingers flexed against Erinne's shoulder—not pushing, just holding on. "You think I didn't notice?" Sorsche's voice dropped to a whisper only we could catch. "Every time Daddy made you use the belt, you'd pick the spot where he'd already hit me. Same bruise. Same place. You were..." She swallowed hard. "You were trying to make it hurt less." "I... Um... I didn't do it on purpose?" but her words were a give away. The way she hesitated when she said it like a question. She knew exactly what she was doing, like she missed me with every third swing of the belt. Sorsche pulled Erinne into her arms, ignoring the way the diaper crinkled between them. "You're a shitty liar," she said—but there was no heat in it. Just exhaustion, and something softer beneath. "Always have been." Erinne's breath hitched against Sorsche's shoulder, her hands clutching at her sister's back like she might disappear. Aoife squirmed between them, wedged in the embrace, her tiny fingers tangling in Erinne's borrowed flannel. "Sissy," she chirped, oblivious, "you squishin' me."

I'm working on a new chapter. Just had a lot of stuff going on, sorry about the absence. I know some of you are used to it, but I am still working on this one.

Chapter 17 How Bad That night, as I lie in bed reflecting after Sean and Susan finally went to get some rest. I don’t think either of them had slept at all since they put me in the hospital nearly a week ago, but I could see things slowly changing. I was slowly changing, too. Just to prove to myself that things were different, I pushed the blankets back and looked down at my broken hips, that were slowly gluing back together. I pulled at the gown until I saw the puffy white diaper spread out before my eyes. I was allowed to wear one, and Daddy had no say. I wasn’t supposed to go potty. I probably better listen to the doctor though. The doctor not being me or telling me he think I too stupid for bathroom. He says my hip still healing, and my side, where Daddy kicked me and caused something inside to hurt was cut open, fixed, and the stitches still healing on that, too. I smiled. I pushed the button for the nurse, just to tell them I wanted to go to the bathroom, but I knew they would tell me I couldn’t go yet. I knew they were worried about me getting up, but I could pee in front of them, and they wouldn’t be mad. They wouldn’t call me stupid. Then, I went to sleep.... “Honey, the kids need to eat,” Mama had said one day when we were driving around looking for something. “We really should look for a place to get them something.” Daddy frowned looking at Mama. “They had breakfast, hadn’t they?” “Well, yeah, I think so.” “Well, they can wait a couple more hours. It’s not going to hurt them. We need to take care of business first, and then maybe we can get them something.” “Of course.” We were all quiet in the back. Even Erinne didn’t have anything to eat right now, and Aoife did have some cookies, but she didn’t touch them. If she shared them, Erinne always told on us, but in a way that it was our fault that we were taking her cookies from her. A vision of being in a pizza place, all of us kids sitting at the table with Mama while Daddy went to the front to order. Arcade games were noisy in like a room just around the corner from the main eating place. Other kids ran in and out of the area, to go ask their parents, probably for more quarters. I sighed. We never got to leave our seats, no matter what. “I peed,” Aoife told Mama. “Well, I’m sorry, baby. You’ll just have to wait until we get to the car, and then I can change you.” Darkness loomed before me just as I started to realize I was lying down, still in the hospital. The Earlier memories had haunted my dreams, a stark contrast between what was allowed when we went out with Mama and Daddy and what Sean and Susan allowed us to do the night before. I hadn’t really heard what they planned to do with my sisters. It was still dark, and I needed to go to the bathroom, so I guessed it was morning, but so early that no sunlight showed through the hospital blinds. I sighed and moved my left leg to check if it still worked. I still had hope, but I felt a heavy, strange fear pressing into my life again. I didn’t know where it would come from, but I knew something was wrong. Under the window, I saw who could have only been one of my sisters, judging from the bumps in the blanket pulled over her. I knew it wasn’t Erinne or Aoife, so it was either Greinne or Sorsche. The sun wasn’t even up. I didn’t want to be a troublemaker. “You’re always causing trouble,” I could still hear Daddy’s voice echoing in my skull, telling me that I always made everyone’s job harder. I sniffled. I had to pee kind of bad. Sean said I could decide when I didn’t want to do it anymore in my pants... but if I pressed the call button, I’d get a tired nurse who had been working all night, and I’d be causing her trouble. I felt my arm shaking as I pulled it back away from the button over my head. I didn’t want to bother her. I was in a diaper because I... I just pee my pants all the time anyway. “What’s wrong?” I heard a low voice from the other bed. Greinne was definitely the one in that bed, and she seemed to have noticed that I lowered my hand from the call button. “Nothing,” I whispered in the same low tone I’d answer when just before Daddy checked on me, and I felt the same of having to wait there until he checked on me, and having to have a wet bottom or he’d demand I show him a puddle that might not even exist, and if I couldn’t, I’d get it. “You didn’t pee yet?” Greinne asked, knowing how scared I got when I hadn’t peed yet and thought Daddy would be coming anytime. “I haven’t, but.... that’s not I... It’s nothing. I promise, I not worried Daddy. He can’t come here.” Greinne sighed. “I know. That doesn’t take the scarey away, though, Cait. Just push the button, or I will. You can pee your pants or not, I don’t care, but you sitting there, trying to decide if it’s worth getting hit... You said Sean doesn’t hit. There’s no reason to sit there scared no more. You can ask someone for help. And if you’ve wet, you can tell them. They... don’t hit, do they?” “No. Sean doesn’t hit. Susan doesn’t hit. The doctor and the nurses said I not supposed to get out of bed, so no one gets in trouble for wetting the bed, even if they do it on purpose.” “So? Push the button.” “I don’t want to cause trouble, though. The nurses are always checking on me and work all night, and they need a break.” Greinne sighed. “I think they get breaks whether you call or not. It’s still a job, and I think just like we get recess at school, they must get time to rest for a minute or two at work, at least to eat lunch or dinner.” “I don’t know...,” I whispered. “The last time I saw a night nurse come in to check on me, not last night, but the night before, she looked really tired. She checked on me and didn’t say nothing mean, but she looked really tired.” “I mean, they are working all night,” Greinne said reasonably. “They have to stay awake all night, I suppose.” “Maybe they have beds though, and maybe a loud thing by their beds, and when we push the button, they get an alarm, only it goes off every ten minutes because someone needs them?” Greinne frowned and seemed to consider what I said for a moment. Her hair lay splayed out around the pillow, and her tongue seemed to press on her upper teeth just out by its tip enough that I could see, and knew that was her tell that she was in thought about something. “I don’t know,” Greinne finally looked back at me. “There are people who can’t move their hands. They must have to check on people all the time anyway.” “Maybe they set an alarm every four hours for those people?” I asked. Greinne sighed. “Maybe. The point is, you shouldn’t have to sit there and pee if you don’t want to, or wear a soaked diaper for more than an hour. It’s their job to change you.” “I hate it, though,” I whispered. “I want to do it myself and not make them.” “Can you fix a diaper on yourself?” Greinne asked me. “Why? Because I stupid?” I asked. “No. You're not stupid, Cait. I just don’t think I can get a diaper on myself so easily, either. I doubt even Sorsche could.” “I can take it off, though.” “And what if you have to go again before they come back, only you need to poop? You’d poop in the bed.” I frowned. “I wouldn’t do that.” “Then you’d have to hold it until they came, and I don’t think you should have to.” “I guess.” Greinne reached up and pushed her call button. “No guessing about it, Cait. You need help whether you peed or not, and if you're scared, then just pee your pants. I’m calling, though. Anyway, I wet the bed, and I don’t want to wear the wet diaper.” “Okay,” I whispered to Greinne. She never had to wear wet pants, but then at home, before Sean and Susan, she had always been allowed to clean up immediately when she woke up because bedwetting was blamed on Sorsche, who shared her bed. “You can press it for me, if you want. But I don’t want to cause trouble.” Greinne shook her head and looked at me with shiny eyes. “I wish Daddy knew how hard you tried to stay out of trouble and how hard you tried to not bother others.” I sighed. “But I did cause trouble. You had to all come here, and I don’t know if Erinne will get to see Daddy again, and I don’t know... I think she loves him?” “She does,” Greinne agreed. “But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t hit or hurt. She said sorry to me yesterday, and that was kind of surprising. And now I think about it, she washed out your clothes, chased Sorsche and me away when she realized what we were doing so she could do it better.” “I know. She didn’t always hit me when she supposed to. Sometimes, Daddy told her to hit me, but I sometimes felt the belt miss me every so often, and it was so close, and practiced, that after a while, I knew she was doing it on purpose. Missing me.” “Wait. She missed you on purpose? Daddy always threatened her to do it right when she hit me.” “I just saying. She got good at hitting really close, and it didn’t touch me, but then the next one did, so Daddy probably didn’t know when she hit and when she didn’t.” “I... I did notice that,” Greinne’s eyes rose in question as she thought about what I said. “I mean, I always thought it was just caused by her being nervous and trying to do it as fast as she could so Daddy didn’t think she was going easy on me.” “So, she missed you sometimes?” “Yeah.” “But yesterday..., she said she hit you and Sorsche on purpose because she was jealous of you having a Mommy but not her and me.” “I know. I heard the same thing. But there were a lot of things that didn’t make sense yesterday. Why was she too ashamed to look at me after she was told she didn’t have to hit us anymore? Why was she scared to sit by me? It’s not like I’m big enough to do anything to her, even if I was mad about what she did.” “I don’t know. I just know she misses sometimes.” The room got quiet for several minutes, as if someone had taken my ears away, or plunged me deep in water where we couldn’t hear sounds in the air. I felt a tightening in my heart, one that pressed so hard I wanted to cry. Erinne had taken it easy, even when she said she hated Greinne and Sorsche, but Daddy broke my hips. He said he loved me, but he hurt me, and Erinne said she hated Greinne and Sorsche, but Greinne just said she missed her sometimes, too. I felt a breath catch in my chest thinking about it. A nurse came in as Greinne was about to answer, her eyes flickering away from me toward the door where a blonde woman in blue scrubs walked forward without any tiredness or annoyance. She smiled first at Greinne and then at me, and her voice was soft as she leaned down to check the monitors still attached to me first. "You girls need anything?" she asked, her fingers adjusting something above me before she lifted the blanket to check the diaper underneath, not hesitating or making any face when she saw I'd wet while waiting. "I wet it again," I whispered. "The doctor says I can't get up on my own, and I couldn't wait anymore. Sorry." The nurse's fingers paused just a second—not in hesitation, but as if she were deciding how to answer. Her nails were short and clean, no rings catching on the sheets when she tugged loose the tapes. "Do you like the foam soap or the pink kind better, Cait?" she asked, like it was the most important question in the world. "I don't really know. I just glad I get to not wear a wet diaper a long time and get to change when it get on the gown on accident." I looked up at the nurse. "I thought soap just make you clean, not have importance of what kind." The nurse laughed softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she pulled fresh wipes from the drawer. "Oh, honey, everything smells better when it's pink," she said, squirting a dollop of strawberry-scented foam onto her palm. The scent curled through the air, sweet and artificial, masking the sharper hospital smells underneath. Greinne wrinkled her nose but didn't say anything—just watched as the nurse's hands moved efficiently, warm against my skin where Daddy's had always been cold. “How long before visiting time?” Greinne asked while Nurse Burke was still talking and changing me. Nurse Burke looked at Greinne with narrowed eyes—not angry, but thinking. “Two hours yet,” she replied, snapping the fresh diaper tapes in place with a practiced twist of her wrists. “Why? Someone special coming?” "I don't know. I was just wanting to see my other sisters and of course maybe Mama. You don't have to tell Mama I peed the bed, do you?" Greinne wet her lips with her tongue, her face sort of red and probably hot. Nurse Burke glanced at Greinne first, then at me, while she pulled the fresh gown down over my legs. "I don't tell parents things unless they ask. And even then, I say as little as I can." "Mama not supposed to know that Greinne wets the bed. She thinks Sorsche does it, and especially Daddy blames Sorsche. Greinne told Mama once, but Mama thought Greinne was just covering for Sorsche, so she gave up telling her. Besides, Daddy says it dirty, and that probably why he hates me. I too stupid to use the bathroom." I blinked up at the nurse. She had to have heard some of what we talked about yesterday, but I wasn't really sure how much she listened. The nurse's fingers stilled on my blanket, her knuckles whitening just a fraction before she smoothed it over my legs. "That's not true," she said, too quiet, like she was talking more to herself than to us. Then she cleared her throat and stood straighter, adjusting the IV line with a sharp click of the roller clamp. "You know what we're having for breakfast today? Pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse. And guess what—they come with strawberry syrup that smells just like this soap." "Really? Sean and Susan took me for pancakes once. They had chocolate in them. And they didn't even get mad when...," but I felt my face heat up, and I got quiet. She didn't need to know that, right? Greinne's fingers curled into her blanket like claws. "Daddy would've smacked your hands if you'd spilled syrup," she muttered, more to herself than to me. The words hung there, sharp as the antiseptic smell clinging to the sheets. I watched the nurse's face—the way her jaw tightened just for a second before she forced another smile. "Yeah, but he would have been really mad. I didn't spill syrup exactly. I... I did what I always do, and you know how he is about embarrassing him in front of public. But Sean said it okay, and new rules, and I allowed to... do it." The nurse's eyes flickered between us, her lips pressed thin before she exhaled through her nose. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small plastic-wrapped package—the kind they put silverware in. "Here," she said, tearing it open to reveal a tiny pink comb. "Let's fix your hair while we wait for breakfast. Your sisters like braids or ponytails?" I shrugged. "Susan started to braid my hair sometimes before I came to the hospital. At home, Mama doesn't have time to fix anyone's hair but Aoife, so Sorsche help Greinne. Erinne doesn't fix my hair because she not allowed. No one allowed because I always... dirty." Nurse Burke let out a slow breath, fingers working through my tangled curls with more patience than I'd ever felt from anyone. The comb caught on a knot and she paused, pressing the pad of her thumb against my scalp to dull the sting before gently working it loose. "You're not dirty," she said. "And neither is your hair." "I always wet the bed when I wake up, so Daddy said I made my hair dirty and stink. Mama let Greinne take a bath because she thought Sorsche peed on her, but I don't have time to, so I go school after I just change my panties." The nurse’s fingers trembled slightly against my scalp. The pink comb glinted under the fluorescent lights as she sectioned my hair with exaggerated care, her voice deliberately light. "I had a patient last year—older than you—who couldn’t hold his pee either. You know what he did? Became an astronaut. Said zero gravity fixed everything." "Daddy told Cait she had to sit in bed in the mornings until someone get her because he said she'd pee on the floor," Greinne told the nurse. "Daddy thought Cait is too stupid to do anything right, even use the toilet right." She sighed. "But Cait usually woke up and had to pee, and had to sit in bed, and do it on purpose and wait until Erinne or Daddy came to get her up and check on her." Nurse Burke's hands froze mid-braid, the strands of my hair slipping loose between her fingers. The strawberry-scented soap lingered in the air, suddenly cloying. "That's not how bodies work," she said, too softly, like she was trying to convince herself more than us. The IV pump beeped a quiet alarm beside me, unnoticed. "Daddy yelled at Sorsche for peeing her pants though in her sleep, even though she didn't. She had to sleep with me, so I accidentally always peed on her because I don't know why I pee the bed." I looked over at Greinne. "It because you need to see doctor, like Sean said. Be member? It not your fault that Daddy hit Sorsche and me for everything, you know." Grinne clutched the edge of her blanket. "Yeah, but—" The door swung open before she could finish, and a different nurse—older, with her dark hair pulled tight into a bun—walked in holding a plastic tray laden with pancakes. Steam curled from Mickey Mouse's ears, and the syrup shimmered in little plastic cups. She didn't smile, but her voice was warm. "Breakfast. You two eat up—doctor wants both of you strong enough for some more tests by noon." Greinne stiffened at the word doctor, her fingers digging into the mattress. I watched the syrup drip onto my pancake, pooling in Mickey's left eye like tears. Nurse Burke finished braiding my hair with a twist of a rubber band, her hands lingering just a second longer than necessary. "You're not dirty," she whispered again, so low I almost missed it. "Okay," I sighed. Sean said it. Susan said it, and Greinne didn't mind me, and now, Nurse Burke said I wasn't. Maybe I wasn't. I wasn't used to so many people saying I wasn't. I don't think anyone had ever told me I wasn't before Sean and Susan took me in. "But I'll try to be better now." "You're already better," Nurse Burke said, smoothing down the wispy hairs that escaped the braid. "You just need to believe it." "Okay," I said though I wasn't sure what believing it had to do with anything. You could believe in Santa Claus with all your heart, but you still didn't get toys unless your Daddy wanted you to have them, and he had money for them. "I... I'll try to believe." My heart wasn't in it though. Nothing ever came from belief. The pancake tasted better than at home when Erinne tried, but ended up making stuff that tasted like cardboard, but not as good as Susan's cooking. I tried to mouth it around a bit, but it was just not something I wanted to eat. Greinne wasn't eating either—just pushing hers around the plate with her fork tines, making little rivers in the melted butter. The older nurse hovered by the door, arms crossed, watching us with eyes that missed nothing. "You need to eat," she said finally, voice firm but not unkind. "Doctor's orders." "Doctor orders or not," I looked at the nurse, my voice barely a whisper because I was talking back, against authority, and that used to get you a good strapping by Erinne unless Daddy got real mad, then well... my hip! "I mean.... I just don't want pancakes." Greinne shoved her plate away with more force than necessary, syrup sloshing over the edge. "Me neither." Her jaw was tight—the way it got right before she'd start yelling at Sorsche for something stupid, like hogging the crayons. But her eyes kept flicking to the door, like she expected Daddy to walk through any second, Erinne at his side, forced to be obedient with the belt already unbuckled. The older nurse sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose where her glasses had left little red marks. "What *would* you eat, then?" Her tone wasn't mad—just tired in a way that made my chest ache. Like she'd asked this same question to too many kids who couldn't answer. "D... do you have something like cold cereal, milk, and something like that?" I asked trying to be as quiet as possible so she wouldn't think I was being sassy on top of being picky. The nurse’s shoulders relaxed slightly. "We’ve got Cheerios. And bananas." She glanced at Greinne. "You?" "That's perfect. It's what we're used to," Greinne smiled. "Don't tell Daddy we got picky?" The nurse paused at Greinne's words, her fingers tightening around the tray handles. "There's no Daddy here to tell," she said slowly, like she was tasting each word before letting it out. "Just you girls and what you need." "...And... I peed, I think," Greinne sighed. "I'm sorry." The older nurse glanced down at Greinne's blankets. "Alright, let's get you cleaned up before breakfast." She didn't scowl, didn't sigh—just pulled fresh wipes from the drawer with the same efficiency as Nurse Burke. Greinne's fingers twisted in her gown, waiting for the reprimand that never came. I looked over at Greinne. "Sean won't let them be mean to you for wetting the bed," I said with a little smile. "He says it just salt water, and besides, nurses and doctor just try to make healthy. They don't care wet, that why they put on us diapers. Right?" I looked to the nurses. Nurse Burke nodded with a small chuckle. "Our job is keeping you comfortable while you heal—that includes clean diapers when needed." Her fingers gently tugged at Greinne’s blankets. "Don't be scared," I whispered softly to my elder sister. "It okay. I still think you smarter and I still think you important for me. Wetting the bed, you told me before I went to Sean's house, be member? My feeling for you actually got stronger because you can admit it and then Sorsche said you tried to tell Mama, even, but she didn't listen. You are best sister in the world." Greinne's fingers loosened their grip on her gown, slowly, like she was testing the truth of my words. The older nurse peeled back the blankets with clinical detachment, but her hands were warmer than Daddy's ever were. The scent of antiseptic wipes mixed with leftover pancake syrup—sharp and sweet at once—as Greinne lifted her hips obediently, her face turned toward the window where morning light painted pale gold across the sheets. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, this time to me, not the nurses. "I'm supposed to be the one telling you it's okay." "No...," I whispered back. "I... I have Sean. I know I'm safer now than I've been since a long time, and I know you tried. But you a kid, Greinne. And... and I know you hate needles and doctors. I do, too, but Sean makes me feel safer. That why I have his shirt. See? He gave me his shirt again before they left last night." Grinne’s fingers twitched toward mine across the gap between our beds—just for a second—before the older nurse lifted her hips to slide a fresh diaper under her. Greinne inhaled sharply at the cold touch of the wipes, her face twisting. She hated being handled like this almost as much as she hated wetting the bed. Her eyes flicked to the nurse’s hands, then away, jaw clenched like she was counting seconds until it was over. "I promise, it's okay to get changed, Greinne," I whispered to her. "It doesn't make you... you know... helpless. It just mean you hurt." The older nurse's hands paused, mid-wipe. Her gaze flicked between us—Grinne's pinched face, the way I clutched Sean's flannel shirt tight against my chest. Something in her expression shifted. She didn’t say "it's okay" like grown-ups always did. Instead, she reached for the strawberry-scented foam soap and squirted it onto her palm with deliberate slowness. "Cold wipes are the worst," she muttered, rubbing her hands together until they warmed the foam. "Better?" I looked into Greinne's face, trying to read if she was going to tell the truth or not. I knew she hated to sound weak. It allows bullies to take advantage of you. That's what she told me once last year. She never acted weak, even when she was hurting. She swallowed, staring at the nurse's hands—pink fingers hovering just above her skin. "Y-yeah," she admitted, voice cracking. "Better." The nurse nodded curtly, smoothing fresh tapes over Greinne's hips. Her nails—unpainted, practical—caught the light briefly. "You're allowed to say when something hurts," she murmured, tucking the blanket back in place. "Nobody gets medals for suffering quietly." "And sometimes, if you cry, they make you sleep so it doesn't hurt as much," I told Greinne. "They did that after when they had to do something to inside me to get my legs right. I hurt really bad and started crying, so they made me sleep with medicine." Grinne’s fingers crept over the gap between our beds again, this time catching mine with a grip so tight it hurt. "Did Sean stay?" she whispered, her eyes darting to the nurses like they might report her weakness. "No. He said he was sorry, but he had work that had to be done this morning on the farm," Nurse Burke told us. "But Susan is supposed to visit this morning with your Mother and Aoife." "What... what about Sorsche and Erinne?" I whimpered. "Aren't they going to visit?" "Sweetie, the doctor put them in their own rooms. They are in the hospital." "But Daddy never hit Erinne," I whispered. I mean, he did, but not like he did us. I didn't understand how she could be hurt. "Sweetie, your sister has a mental condition caused by stress, depression, and the violent things that went on at your house. She's been cutting herself. I know you don't understand how serious that is, but she hurt herself pretty bad the last time she did. She could have died." I looked down. "Really?" Grinne's fingers tightened around mine—warm and a little sticky from syrup. "The night before you came to Sean's house," she said softly, staring at her untouched Cheerios. "Remember how Erinne had those long sleeves, even though it was hot?" I nodded and gulped. I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but I had to know. I knew that something was not quite right with her, but I could never really place it before. "Erinne cried when she thought I was asleep," Greinne continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "She said she was going to be just like him—just like Daddy—if she wasn't careful. She said she wanted to die before she ever hit Aoife the way Daddy hits us." "How did you hear her? She sleeps in another room. Were you up when you were supposed to be sleeping?" I asked sort of wondering how Greinne would have heard. Grinne gnawed her lip, eyes darting toward Nurse Burke who was pretending not to listen while adjusting my IV. "I snuck out to pee—didn't wanna wake Daddy—and I heard her crying in the bathroom." Her fingers twisted in the blanket. "She had scissors and... and her arms were all red. Like the time Sorsche spilled nail polish on the carpet." "That why you forgave her yesterday so easily? I mean, I thought I helped by telling you how she misses on purpose sometimes, but... you still forgave her. She hit you more than anyone." Grinne exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers picking at a loose thread on her blanket. The older nurse set down her clipboard with deliberate quietness, exchanging a glance with Nurse Burke that lingered just a second too long. "Yeah," Greinne finally admitted, her voice cracking like thin ice. "Because when she saw me standing there, she dropped the scissors and hugged me so hard I couldn't breathe." Her thumb rubbed over the faded bruise on her wrist—the one Erinne had given her last punishment. "She smelled like rubbing alcohol and that weird mint gum Daddy hates." "She took you back to bed, then," I whispered. "You wet the bed that night because next morning, Sorsche got yelled at again for peeing the bed." Grinne nodded, her fingers tightening around mine. "Erinne tucked me in and whispered, 'Don't tell.'" Her voice cracked on the last word, and she pressed her forehead against our joined hands. The older nurse's footsteps were deliberately loud as she walked to the sink, giving us a semblance of privacy. Greinne and I continued talking for a while, and we ate our cereal and the nurses went about their other chores. I was glad to have Greinne in the room with me. Even if Sean's shirt gave me some comfort, I still really loved having Greinne there. Eventually, Nurse Burke came back in. "Alright, girls. Doctor Henderson is going to be here soon to check on Cait's legs, and Greinne, you're due for another IV treatment. You remember how that works, right?" I looked up at the nurse. "Maybe he will let me stand up this time?" Nurse Burke smiled, adjusting the clipboard under her arm. "We'll see what the doctor says." "How am I hurt, exactly?" Greinne asked the nurse. "Well, I don't know the specifics, but the doctor says that you need the fluids we are giving you before he can do anything about your pain or condition. I know you have a suspicious bruise in the same place Cait had, and it turned out he bruised her bladder and kidney pretty bad." Grinne recoiled slightly, fingers instinctively pressing against her lower abdomen. "That's why it burns," she muttered, more to herself than to us. The sunlight through the window caught the IV tubing, casting watery reflections across her drawn face. "Even if it's not bruised as bad, there is also an infection that hasn't been taken care of and has gotten pretty strong. The doctor thinks that maybe part of the reason for wet nights." My fingers twisted in Sean's shirt—the one he'd left last night smelling like hay and woodsmoke. Greinne's IV pump beeped as the older nurse adjusted the flow rate, her movements brisk but careful. Behind her, the door creaked open just wide enough for Doctor Henderson to peer in, his white coat sleeve catching on the handle. "Doctor Henderson?" I whispered. "I was hoping Susan would be here before you checked, so she could see if I can walk yet at the same time." Doctor Henderson stepped fully into the room, adjusting his stethoscope with a practiced flick of fingers. "Susan's in the waiting room with your mother and..." His eyes flicked to Greinne's chart. "Aoife. Hospital policy says only two visitors at a time." "We don't have no visitors right now, and... and I want Susan and Aoife. Mama... well, Mama can talk to us later." I teared up. "It Susan and Sean that took me to hospital and care that I cried because my stomach hurted." Doctor Henderson hesitated—just long enough for Greinne to seize my wrist under the blankets, her nails biting my skin. The older nurse cleared her throat. "Perhaps an exception could—" "Please?" I asked. "No one visiting right now, and I don't care if Mama comes in or not." Doctor Henderson exhaled sharply through his nose—the way Daddy did before deciding if a punishment was worth his time. But then his shoulders dropped half an inch. "Alright. Nurse Burke, fetch them." His stethoscope swung forward as he crouched beside my bed, pressing the cold metal against my ribs. "Deep breath." I tried to breath deep, but I still felt something cold and stopped midway, the same as it caught so I couldn't fully laugh or even cough. It just hurt too much when my stomach pushed out too far or went in too far. "It hurt," I whispered unable to disguise the whine in my voice. Doctor Henderson's stethoscope lifted from my skin, his fingers pressing gently along my ribs instead. "I know," he murmured, his voice low enough that the nurses wouldn't hear. "But I need to check." His hands moved down—past my stomach, past my hips—and stopped just above my thighs. "Can you lift your legs?" "I can," I said trying to will them to lift. The left leg responded faster than the right leg, but they both went up maybe a little slower than I wanted. "I hope I can walk soon. I want to use the toilet again.... I mean, not right now, but just... again. To know I am a normal girl and not a strange thing or a broken toy." Doctor Henderson's fingers lingered just above my knees, pressing in spots that made me squirm. "You're healing," he said, but his eyes flicked to Greinne's bed—to where her hands were clenched white-knuckled around the rails. His throat worked silently before he added, "Neither of you are broken." The door creaked open before I could ask why his voice sounded like Sean's after he'd found Daddy's belt in my suitcase. Susan rushed in smelling of lavender soap and sunshine, her work boots leaving faint dirt smudges on the linoleum. Aoife darted past her straight to Greinne's bedside, clutching a crumpled drawing of stick-figure sisters holding hands under a lopsided rainbow. "Can... can I see?" I asked both Aoife and Greinne as I breathed out and looked up at the doctor. "So how long before I walking again and going to toilet again?" Susan stood next to Doctor Henderson with her hands clasped tightly in front of her—her knuckles whitening like Greinne’s around the bed rails. She smelled like laundry detergent and the faint tang of motor oil from Sean’s workshop, familiar as the flannel I was clutching. The doctor’s stethoscope swung as he straightened, casting a thin shadow across my knees. "Another day or two of IV fluids, then we’ll try standing with support," he said, but his eyes kept darting to Greinne’s chart. "You worried Greinne," I frowned. "You keep looking her. She hurt more than you telling!" I frowned and pouted. I wanted my sister to be okay, but if she wasn't, then I wanted to know how I could help her. "It not nice to make twins not know how we can help the other when the other is hurt. Greinne protected me all the time, and now it my turn! How can I help her?" Susan knelt beside my bed, her rough fingers smoothing my hair—gentler than Mama ever was. "Sweetheart, the doctors are helping her. Just like they're helping you." Her thumb brushed the corner of my eye where tears threatened to spill. "Being here with her is helping." "She scared to cry or be weak," I whispered. "I think she hurting so much, if it me, I be crying, but she not cry so easy. She said bullies see you cry, and they hurt you more. She so strong, but I think she hurting more." Grinne's breath hitched—quiet, but I heard it. She was staring at Aoife's drawing like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away. Doctor Henderson moved to her bedside, his stethoscope swinging like a pendulum. "Grinne," he said quietly, "does it hurt worse when you breathe?" "Cause that mean you...," But Susan held my hand and put her finger to her lips saying shush. I could tell she was just trying to let the doctor find out what he needed, but I wanted to help her understand why she had to tell him. She might lie. Grinne's fingers twitched toward her ribs, then clenched the blanket instead. "Only... only when it's deep," she admitted, voice thin as hospital gauze. The doctor's stethoscope pressed against her back, and she flinched—just slightly—when the cold metal touched skin. Aoife climbed onto the foot of her bed, wrinkling the drawing in her small fists. I felt my heart hitch a little and tears came to my eyes. It sounded to me like she got hurt like I did, but she was okay before I left with Sean and Susan, so that means it happened in just this week. “What Daddy do to you?” I asked Greinne. “Did he make Erinne step on you? Kick you? Push you downstairs?” Grinne curled her fingers around Aoife’s ankle—just holding on, like she was afraid our little sister would disappear. “Not Daddy,” she whispered. "Not Daddy?" felt myself about to cry. "But who else would do that?" Grinne's fingers tightened around Aoife's ankle. The little girl didn't seem to notice, her bare feet swinging as she pointed to her drawing. "That's you," Aoife announced, tapping the tallest stick figure with crayon-smudged fingers. "And that's Greinne." Her voice was so light, so oblivious to the tension in the room. Susan's hand clamped over mine—gentle but firm—as Greinne whispered one word: "Mama." My eyes narrowed. "You supposed to be Mama's!" I screamed and then started crying. "Why," but I felt myself whining but running out of sound because my stomach wouldn't let it out. It hurt too much to cry that much because I hurt. I screamed though, and though it wasn't as loud as others could get, you might think the doctor was giving me a shot or something. Sean came in and ran right to my bed. "Cait, Cait," he said rubbing my hair. "It okay, Cait." He smelled like apples and hay and soap. He hugged me, and I smelled his flannel shirt, and I noticed it wasn't wet. He smelled clean and safe. "You okay?" “M...ma... Mama hurt Greinne,” tears still in my eyes and I shuddered like I was crying, but I couldn’t make the sounds as constant. My stomach didn’t let me. Even the doctor thought that was a bit weird. I could tell by the way he eyed me because I wasn’t crying right. “I... I hate Mama! And... and... I hate, hate, Daddy.” Sean’s large farmer’s hands—calloused from years of labor—cupped my face, thumbs brushing away tears. His flannel sleeve brushed my cheek, smelling faintly of animal feed and antiseptic from the hospital. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you here,” he murmured, but his eyes flicked to Greinne’s bed, where Doctor Henderson was quietly palpating her ribs. Greinne’s face was white as the sheets, her teeth gritted so hard her jaw trembled. Sean turned to where Mama was peeking in at the door. "You." He glared at her for moments, his mouth opening and closing. "Get your fucking ass out of here," to told Mama, not loudly, but in that dangerous tone that teachers sometimes use when you know you are about to lose recess. "You... you lost contact with your kids until... well, I don't know when. I'm pressing charges for assault on your minor children." Mama stared blankly at him, her lipstick slightly smeared—the way it got when she'd been chain-smoking in the car. "They're my daughters," she said flatly, like she was reciting a grocery list. "And you should have been protecting them," Sean frowned in a whisper. "Cait... she found out about you. You hurt your own daughter so bad, she needs to be in the hospital, possibly for damaged insides? You... are no fucking mommy. Now get out, before I call the police." Mama's fingers twitched—her nails digging into her own palms—but she stepped back into the hallway. The fluorescent lights flickered over her face, revealing dark circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup could hide. "Greinne?" Sean whispered. "Did your Daddy tell her to hit you, or did she just do it. You are safe. You can tell the truth. I want the truth so I know what to tell the courts about any chance of her seeing you again, baby." Grinne squeezed Aoife's foot so tight our little sister finally winced. "She—" Greinne swallowed hard, her throat working like she was trying not to vomit. "She said I was disgusting for wetting the bed. Said I was doing it on purpose to spite her." The IV line trembled as she clenched her fists. "She kicked me. Right... right where it already hurt from Daddy." "Your Daddy kicked you, too? I knew he kicked Cait. I thought he was hands off except for making Erinne do his dirty work with you, baby. Or did you just say that afraid he'd get mad if he found out you told on him?" Grinne's breathing hitched—shallow and fast—as if she were trying not to whimper. The IV line swayed with her trembling. "Daddy... he made me stand in the corner after breakfast. Said I was... was slouching like a whore." Her fingers scraped against the hospital sheet, nails catching threads. "He kicked me from behind. I fell into the wall." "It's okay. The police called last night. Daddy is in jail waiting trial. We might have to go back to Idaho to put him away for a few years and to get you and Cait out of his grasp.... But we are asking them to put that on hold until you girls are out of the hospital." Grinne's breath caught—sharp and sudden—her fingers digging into the mattress seams. Sean reached across the space between our beds, his rough palm engulfing her smaller hand. "Idaho?" she whispered, her voice cracking around the word like thin ice. "Only long enough to for the trial, baby. Unfortunately, he has the right to face you when he faces prison time, but Susan and I will be there. You'll have a lawyer representing you, too, and now, your Mama is going to be charged with one account of assault unless you have other examples of her hurting you or your sisters." Grinne's fingers knotted in the sheets. Her breathing was steadier now—less panicked—but her voice was small. "She hit Erinne once. With a frying pan." "And she... makes me pee my pants on purpose at the table because I have to finish my homework, and then spanks me for peeing my pants and not holding it long enough," I reminded Greinne. "And she even punished you once for peeing your pants at the table, not hitting that time, but still, she yelled at you, and she caused it." Grinne nodded, her fingers tightening around Aoife's ankle again. The little girl leaned against her leg, oblivious to the tension, coloring another shaky rainbow on the corner of her paper. Greinne's throat moved as she swallowed, her voice barely audible. "She used to lock Sorsche in the closet when I peed the bed. For hours. She thought it was Sorsche." Sean exhaled through his nose—slow, controlled—his farmer’s hands braced against my bedrail like he was holding back a storm. The doctor’s stethoscope slipped from his grip, clattering against the linoleum. Nobody moved to pick it up. "So, you understand now, how important it is that these kids don't go back with those people?" he asked the doctor. "I mean.... I knew something was off when I caught Cait wetting her pants on purpose twice. Nine-year-old children don't do that unless they are scared or someone has conditioned them to do it, right?" Doctor Henderson retrieved his stethoscope with deliberate slowness, his fingers lingering on the cool metal. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting sharp shadows under Greinne’s eyes. "Legally," he said carefully, "I'm obligated to report suspected abuse. But medically?" His jaw tightened. "I can ensure these records detail every fracture, every contusion—in terms that leave no room for interpretation." "I am very grateful for your help in documenting. How are we going to prove that Erinne's self-inflicted wounds are caused by that house? Is there a clinical or medical thing that can be looked into for that?" Doctor Henderson’s pen hesitated over Greinne’s chart. The fluorescent light buzzed like an angry hornet above us, flickering once—casting shadows that made Greinne’s bruises look darker. "Pattern recognition," he said finally. "Erinne’s injuries form a narrative. Ligature marks from restraints. Scar tissue layered over older scars." His voice dropped. "Children don’t systematically torture themselves unless they’ve been taught how." "They don't," Sean asked. "I mean, there are suicide cases and other cases that make that seem easy for the defense to pick apart, unless it can be asserted beyond a reasonable doubt, right?" Doctor Henderson exhaled sharply through his nose—almost a laugh, but not with humor. "Psychological evaluation," he murmured, flipping a page in Greinne's chart. "Erinne's case shows textbook signs of prolonged coercive control. The self-harm patterns—parallel cuts, precise depth replication—that's mimicry of perpetrator behavior. Forensics can confirm tool marks from household objects." "Thank you. And the mother, can we pin the other things the kids said about her, or just the recent attack on Greinne on her?" The doctor’s stethoscope swung as he turned to face Sean fully. "Bedwetting punishment logs from school nurses. Timestamped ER visits correlating with CPS reports that went nowhere. And now—" His gaze flicked to Greinne’s ribs, where purple bloomed beneath the hospital gown. "Forensic mapping shows the boot tread matches Mrs. Weimer's shoes." Sean’s hand crushed the flannel draped over my IV stand. The fabric smelled like hay and safety. "So we bury them."

Sean and Susan's character. They want to believe that the mother was forced somehow into it because they give you the benefit of the doubt until you show your real colors. You saw, how Sean didn't immediately attack Dan when he kept calling Cait stupid in the beginning and acting like Cait would pee on Sean on purpose or something. He gave him the benefit of the doubt until they started to see what kind of person Cait was from his abuse, and then really turned on him when they found out at the hospital, that he had to have hurt her... on purpose. Maire is sounding right now, like she was controlled. So, they are being cautious with her around the kids, but they are willing to give her the benefit of the doubt until she does something to lose their trust.

Chapter 16 Inquisitive Kids and Challenges to Rules Eight-year-old Michael was Erica and Jim's son. He sat just on the outside of the last seat in the back of the van. Michael had a partial view of Greinne, who was sitting on the outside of the second seat in the back part of the van, closer to the side doors. He whispered up at her, his voice high-pitched, cute, and innocent. 'Gee, you kind of pretty.' Greinne looked back around the seat at him, and there was silence for a moment or two before she smiled at him. I didn’t hear what she said to him, but there seemed to be a small peace for a moment. “But...,” the little boy seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking down. “How come you peed the bed last night?” Greinne was probably really red in the face, and she didn’t say anything for a bit. Erica whispered harshly. “Michael. That’s not nice. Apologize.” “It’s okay,” Greinne said quietly, her voice sort of sniffling. “I knew I was going to get caught when Sorsche didn’t sleep with me... eventually. I’m sorry. I just....” Sorsche turned around in her seat on the otherside of Susan in the same row as Greinne. “She’s wet the bed since she can remember, or at least I can remember. She doesn’t do it on purpose, but no one really knows why. Usually, I just get in trouble for it.” “Why would you get in trouble for something your sister does, little lady?” Sorsche got quiet. “Like I told you,” Susan responded, looking over at them, too. “The old man was a piece of work. I don’t know everything yet, but I have learned that he normally blamed Sorsche and Cait for most of the problems at home, and he did things like force the elder girl sitting on the other side of me to hit her sisters with the belt.” Erica seemed to get a lump in her throat. “Michael, you know how hard it is for you to cook by yourself?” Susan whispered kindly towards him. “Yeah? Well, I actually don’t know anything about doing that, except making cereal and toast.” “Well,that’s how hard it is for these girls to act normally. They don’t do what they do on purpose. They are actually pretty scared to do things that you and even your little sister do naturally. Aoife might be a little different story. She seemed to not really get in trouble as much, but like Cait, I guess he would actually hit her for getting out of bed in the early morning, so Cait had to sit there in her bed... and it just happened when she couldn’t wait long enough.” I turned towards the back, not very easily, and not so I could see them all the way, because my stomach hurt and my hip was still giving me trouble when I wanted to turn, but enough to let them see I was listening. “Actually, I had to wet the bedding. If I didn’t, Daddy thought I peed somewhere else in the house and made puddles, so to prove I didn’t, I’d just wet the bedding on purpose so he wouldn’t think I disobeyed and made a puddle.” Jim’s hands seemed to tighten on the wheel. Erica looked back at us from the very front. Actually, I was in the row close to the front, so I could see her the best. “Daddy thought it was Sorche because Greinne and Sorsche slept together. I think Greinne tried to tell Daddy at least once, maybe a year or so ago, that she was the one peeing the bed, but then Sorsche got in worse trouble because Daddy said she put Greinne up to taking the blame just to avoid punishment.” Jim frowned and narrowed his eyes at Erinne. “Did you know? That it was Greinne and not Sorsche?” “Yeah, I did. Sorsche and I shared a room until last year, but then Greinne slept with Cait and Aoife slept with Sorsche sometimes, so Daddy said Aoife was getting bigger, and he said it must have been Sorsche doing it, even though Aoife still had accidents sometimes. And he said Cait was the one that peed on Greinne.” Jim sighed. “Did you ever tell your dad what you knew?” Erinne shook her head. “Daddy wouldn’t listen to her,” I spoke up. “Sometimes, Greinne got in trouble for trying to protect me, and Erinne was his favorite, and then Aoife, so why would she make him not have her be his favorite? She just didn’t say stuff around Daddy because that how you stay his favorite. He was nice to me if I didn’t argue and just agreed I stupid at school, and I just pee how he tells me, so I don’t make a mess everywhere in the house, so just do it sitting where I am. That’s why I pee my pants on purpose... and sometimes....” I stopped myself. It was hard to admit I did that, too, on purpose all the time. Not all the time, all the time, but enough that it felt like I was always dirty—that I pooped my pants. Jim let out some air from his lungs as he drove, getting a bit quiet. Erinne was quiet. The whole car had this invisible cloud in it that made breathing in it very visible and a deliberate act. Sean put a hand around me, and he whispered. “You’re safe, now, Cait. You are never going to go through that kind of Abuse again. None of you are. If you need time to catch up with where you are, you ARE allowed to keep wetting or pooping your pants until you are ready to stop, or until your body is normal again, whatever is later, sweetie. Susan and I don’t mind.” Susan patted Greinne’s leg. “And we’ll get you to see a specialist later, after we are done with all of this stuff. We need to first make sure you were not injured by that man’s actions, and make sure he can’t interfere with you girls again. Then, we need to make sure that your wetting the bed isn’t some symptom of something worse physically. Once we are sure you are going to be okay, that way, then it won’t matter how long it takes for you to stop wetting the bed to Sean and me, sweetie. Different kids grow at different rates. The most important thing is that we make sure you are not wetting because of damage or infection, because we can probably do something to stop that, okay?” Greinne was quiet, but I think she nodded. “I was sure it was Sorsche that wet the bed,” I heard Mama say from the back of the car, furthest from the little aisle we used to get up and down the back. “Mama,” Greinne whispered. “I tried to tell you that it was me just a couple of months ago.” “Sweetheart, I know you were trying to keep Sorsche out of trouble, though. Did you really think I’d believe that when I knew you knew Daddy was really upset with her already because she pooped her pants at school the day before?” Erica shook her head and frowned. Jim’s grip on the wheel loosened and tightened a few times. I couldn’t tell if he was mad at someone. Maybe he was struggling to understand us. Maybe he was going to throw us out, afraid we were all going to pee in his car right now. I shivered. “It’s okay,” Sean's low growl of something primal like a bear responded, placing a hand over mine, holding my hands in my lap. “You’re okay, baby.” “Well,” there seemed to be a final note in Jim’s voice that was clear he didn’t want to hear anymore about this right now. “Where were we going to get the pizza, then?” “Shakey’s Pizza?” Sean called up to him. “I like their pizza, and they have a reasonable price for larger groups.” “Is it my turn to get the beer?” Jim was clearly steering the conversation away from the drama of being a Weimer girl. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll be drinking in front of the children.” Sean’s voice was a little quieter and a little more, like he had been in church or something. “The children have been exposed to bad things that came from a man around the drink.” Jim nodded. “No beer, understood.” “I didn’t mean to say you couldn’t,” Sean seemed to apologize as he tried to back out of making Jim observe the same rules. “No, I get it,” Jim said, not seeming mad or anything at all. “I don’t think you are wrong at all, and I want to support you any way I can. You and Susan..., well, I don’t think I’d ever have let Erica talk me into taking on the kind of baggage you are dealing with.” Michael’s voice was tiny and confused. “We don’t have any bags, Daddy.” "No, honey, not the kind you are thinking, we don't," Erica patted his shoulder lightly. "What Daddy means is that the girls have had a lot of trouble growing up, and that trouble has caused them to be scared and act in different ways." "They aren't broken," Sean interjected, his voice firm, protective. "Just...rusty on how to live without fear." "No one said that they were broken," Jim sighed. "It's just... it's going to take a lot... to teach them right from wrong." He looked to the left before putting on his left click-clicker for the light to say we were going to go that way. "He's right, though," Susan sighed. "I mean, I don't know much about that man, but he didn't teach them right. He didn't teach them anything right." "I know, Suze," Sean whispered back to her. "I know. I mean, there was a reason that he didn't let Maire visit us in the last couple of years, and now we know. It was all about control." The car bumped over a rough spot in the road, making me flinch slightly against Sean's shoulder. My hips vibrated a little, and my tummy hurt a tiny bit. I held my stomach, hoping that the pain wasn't anything bad happening. Just then, Greinne's soft gasp made me glance back towards her. She had gone stiff and wide-eyed, her hands clutching at the seat fabric. A slow, dark stain spread beneath her on the vinyl seat, soaking into her sweatpants. She didn't make a sound, but her breathing hitched unevenly, her shoulders trembling slightly. Susan noticed immediately and reached over without hesitation, squeezing Greinne's knee gently. "It's okay, baby," she whispered. "You went right through that, though, honey. Didn't you have a diaper on?" Greinne's face was crimson. She neither said she did nor that she didn't. But I remembered that Daddy said that Diapers were for dirty kids or babies, and he wasn't raising dirty kids, so even though Sorsche wet the bed, he thought, and at school, and I made puddles, we were not allowed to wear them. "No," I answered for her in almost a whisper. "Daddy said they were for babies and dirty kids, and he wasn't raising dirty kids." "Honey," Sean whispered to me. "I'm pretty sure the nurse put it on her." "...And... I think she took it off when they took her out of the room to talk to her privately. I don't think she left it on." A tear rolled down Greinne's cheek, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white. The van smelled sharply of urine now, the scent mixing with the stale air conditioning. Erica cracked a window open slightly without comment, her fingers lingering on the button as if deciding whether to roll it down further. "What's done is done, sweetheart," Susan said, kissing the side of her head. "It's not that big of a deal." "Are we turning around?" Jim asked. "I don't think so," Sean sighed. "I'm sure she'll be okay for a little bit, if we just try to act like it wasn't an issue." Greinne's breath shuddered unevenly, her shoulders hunched forward as if trying to disappear. The wet spot beneath her gleamed faintly under passing streetlights, the vinyl seat making quiet sticking sounds whenever she shifted slightly. Susan rummaged in her purse with one hand while keeping the other resting on Greinne's knee—not gripping, just present. "Got it," Susan murmured, pulling out a crumpled fast-food napkin. She dabbed at Greinne's thighs with methodical gentleness, the paper soaking up what it could. "See? Not so bad." Her tone was matter-of-fact, the same way she might remark on spilled juice. "You... you touched my pee." Greinne looked up at Susan with curiosity as much as with embarrassment. "Don't you feel gross?" Susan snorted softly, shaking her head. "Honey, this is nothing." She crumpled the napkin and tucked it into a plastic bag from her purse, sealing it with a twist. "We live on a farm, and I've cleaned up far worse, trust me." Greinne blinked rapidly, her breath hitching again—not from shame now, but something closer to wonder. The streetlights flickered across her tear-streaked face as she whispered, "But Daddy said—" "I know what he said," Susan cut in gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Greinne’s ear. "And every word of it was wrong." The van hit another pothole, sloshing the puddle beneath Greinne slightly. Susan didn’t even flinch. From the corner of my eye, I saw Michael watching, his nose wrinkled. Erica caught his expression and leaned over, murmuring something too low to hear. His face cleared slightly, though he still eyed Greinne’s wet seat with childish fascination. Sean’s thumb rubbed slow circles over my knuckles as the tension in the van shifted—less suffocating now, edged instead with exhaustion and the quiet relief that came when storm clouds finally broke. Greinne slumped against Susan, her damp sweatpants pressing into the older woman’s jeans. Susan didn’t pull away. I sighed in the comfort that I knew that Susan wouldn't hit her or even yell at her, and when Sean saw how bad it was, he wouldn't make her feel small for it. He says, accidents just are... well... like weather? Anyway, I knew he wouldn't be mad. I just hoped Jim wasn't too mad. The smell was still strong and deep in the van, and I wrinkled my nose a little as it mixed with the pizza smell we picked up. Greinne sat stiffly, her wet sweatpants sticking to the vinyl seat beneath her, her face still flushed with embarrassment. Susan had given her a sweater to tie around her waist, but it did little to hide the dampness. Sean got up from his seat, and he started to help everyone out the back.... "Go ahead, Aoife, you first," he whispered to her. Aoife hesitated at the van's edge, her bare toes curling against the curb. The neon lights of Shakey's Pizza flickered across her face, painting her freckles orange and green in turns. She glanced back at Greinne, still frozen in her wet seat, then at me—her eyes asking a silent question I couldn't answer. "Don't worry about your sisters," Sean whispered down to her. I have a plan to help Greinne, and neither of them will get in trouble for what they can't help, okay?" Aoife nodded slowly, then took a deep breath and stepped out onto the pavement. The rest of us watched her go—tiny and unsure—toward the bright lights and laughter spilling from the pizza parlor. Susan was already moving, taking the oversized flannel shirt from my shoulders, the one that Sean had put on me since last night, and wrapping it around Greinne's waist like a makeshift shield. "Sorry, Cait, but we want Greinne to be comfortable, don't we?" Susan whispered. "We'll pick up another shirt at the house when one of us goes home tonight." I nodded. The flannel shirt hung low on Greinne's hips, the hem brushing mid-thigh as she stood on trembling legs. A damp patch darkened the vinyl where she'd been sitting—the shape vaguely starburst-like under the overhead dome light. Sean grabbed a stack of napkins from the glove compartment and began blotting at it without comment, his movements efficient. Greinne watched, her fingers twisting in the too-long sleeves. "It's okay," Jim finally came around and noticed what had been done. "We have two little ones, honey. More than once, the seats have been wet on during family trips. It's not going to hurt the van that much." Erinne looked back at Greinne, and then suddenly came around the side door of the van towards her. Greinne flinched—just slightly—but Erinne didn’t raise her hand. Instead, she knelt down and started untying her own sweater from around her waist. "Here," Erinne murmured, draping it over Greinne’s shoulders. "It’ll cover better." The fabric smelled faintly of lavender— Sean noticed that the sweater actually came down just far enough that he decided to remove Greinne's sweats so she was just in wet panties for a moment, and then he pulled the sweater over. It was a little short, but it did cover her panties... at least. "Just don't jump around, and it will cover your panties, and will be more comfortable to wear than wet pants. We'll stop by Jim and Erica's again on the way to the hospital to get you some clean panties and some pants, okay, baby?" Greinne nodded stiffly, her fingers clutching Erinne's sweater like a lifeline. The humid night air raised goosebumps on her bare legs as she shuffled toward the pizza parlor, the neon glow making the damp streaks on her thighs glisten faintly. Michael trotted ahead, already forgetting the tension as he pressed his face against the glass door, fogging it with his breath. "In you go," Jim chuckled at his son, making breath-mark markings with his fingers on the window of the door. "Susan, take Greinne straight to find a table if you will?" Sean whispered. "She won't want to be where everyone can gawk at her shirt barely covering her where it needs to." Susan nodded, steering Greinne gently by the shoulders through the crowded dining area. The scent of yeast and melted cheese enveloped us as we passed the buffet line, mingling uneasily with the lingering smell of urine still clinging to Greinne’s skin. A toddler at a nearby table pointed wordlessly at the damp hem of Erinne's sweater swinging against Greinne’s thighs. His mother shushed him quickly, her eyes darting away. Erica pushed my wheelchair along with Greinne and Susan, and the two younger kids came with us. Sorsche and Erinne stayed with Sean and Jim. As we reached a corner table near the salad bar—strategically placed half in shadow—Greinne hesitated, her fingers digging into the sweater edges. The chatter of families around us rose and fell in waves, silverware clinking against plates. A group of teenage boys three tables over glanced our way, then quickly looked back at their pizza when Susan leveled a stare at them. Aoife climbed onto the bench seat first, patting the spot beside her. "Sit here," she whispered to Greinne. "No one'll see." Her voice held a quiet certainty that surprised me—like she'd done this before, mapping sightlines and escape routes in public spaces. Greinne inched onto the bench, her thighs sticking briefly to the plastic upholstery before she settled. The sweater rode up slightly, exposing the elastic waistband of her soaked panties. She didn't seem to notice, her attention fixed on the laminated menu, Susan slid toward her. The edges were sticky with syrup from some long-ago breakfast rush. "You like pineapple?" Susan asked casually, tracing a fingertip down the toppings list. Greinne blinked, her lips parting slightly—like the question was a foreign language. "I... don't know." Her voice was barely audible over the arcade games beeping nearby. "Daddy says pineapple on pizza is a hooligan of an idea," Aoife whispered. "We always just got Pepperoni or plain cheese." A laugh burst from Erica unexpectedly—sharp and sudden like a popped balloon. "Well, tonight we're ordering the works." She tapped the menu with a chipped nail. "Pepperoni, pineapple, sausage, mushrooms—you name it." "We're not allowed to eat the stranger pizza stuff," I whispered up at her. "Not even stupid me." Erica's smile faltered for half a heartbeat before firming again. "New house, new rules," she said lightly, flicking the menu toward me. The laminate caught the fluorescent lights, flashing white across Greinne's startled face. Susan frowned at me. "Honey, I thought we went over this already? You know the rules are different with Sean and me, don't you?" "Yeah. I just was telling why the others were looking worried." Greinne's fingers crept toward mine under the table, her nails digging into my palm like tiny anchors. Across from us, Michael licked pizza grease off his thumb with relish, oblivious to the tension. The scent of oregano and baking dough thickened the air, layering over the sour tang of dried urine still clinging to Greinne's skin. Cindy sat nearer to her daddy, Jim. "We should bring the girls some extra clothes with us this time," Erica told Susan. "That will help a little with this kind of situation." "Yeah. I don't know what I was thinking. We do it with Cait all the time." Susan sighed. "I guess with everything going on, I just wasn't thinking." "It's a lot to think about," Erica seemed to sympathize. "You have quite a challenge on your hands, and none of the children are even potty trained." "We potty trained," I protested. "Especially Erinne, Sorsche, and Aoife, and Greinne only wet the bed sometimes. She doesn't wet her pants. She just.... Things are weird today." I got a little teary-eyed and it made it hard to see people. "I pee my pants on purpose because if I don't, I make stupid and pee too many places to clean up." Sean, Jim, and Sorsche were arriving with pitchers of soda—Sean carried napkins tucked under his arm. He glanced at Greinne’s hunched posture, her thighs pressed together under the too-short sweater. Without a word, he draped his jacket over her lap, the worn denim smelling faintly of hay and motor oil. Greinne blinked up at him—and for the first time, didn’t flinch when a man’s hand came near her face. Sean just winked and nudged the soda toward her. "Sean? We potty trained," I whimpered up at him for understanding. "Greinne just having a bad day, and it weird today. My sisters don't pee in the daytime, and only Greinne at night, and me, and... and if Sorsche has to do the rule, then she has to at school, but she doesn't want to!" Sean crouched beside my wheelchair, his calloused fingers warm around mine. "Cait-love, nobody's saying you didn't try," he murmured, his breath smelling faintly of spearmint gum. "But trained don't mean much when your daddy wired panic straight to your bladder." His thumb brushed a tear off my cheek—slow, like he was handling a spooked foal. "But Erica said Greinne not potty trained, and she doesn't pee her pants, ascept at night, when she sleeping. Sorsche only do it when she told she not allowed, and I... I stupid." Sean exhaled through his nose, his grip on my hand tightening just enough to ground me. Across the table, Greinne had gone very still, her pizza slice untouched, grease congealing on the pepperoni. The arcade lights pulsed pink then blue across her face, catching the wet tracks down her cheeks. "Listen to me," Sean said, low and rough. "Your daddy took a thing as simple as peeing and turned it into landmines. That ain't training—that's torture." He jerked his chin toward Greinne, who was picking at her crust with trembling fingers. "Her body's still waiting for the next hit. So's yours." "Daddy didn't hit me, though," Greinne whimpered. "He told Erinne to do it, with a belt. But more, he made Erinne hit Sorsche, and both Erinne had to, and he hit Cait. I... I have no excuse. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have had to pee in that short time in the car. I was bad." Sean's jaw flexed. The soda pitcher clinked as Jim set it down too hard, his knuckles whitening around the handle. Susan made a small wounded noise in her throat, her fingers twitching toward Greinne's shoulder before hesitating—afraid to startle her. "You weren't bad," Sean ground out, his voice gravelly with restrained anger. "You were scared stiff in a moving vehicle with nowhere to go. That's not failure—that's biology." He reached slowly across the table, palm up. Greinne stared at his calluses like they might bite. "Besides, the doctor said you have bruises, a couple in the same places that Cait has, and the doctor said that the way Cait was hit, it caused her to recently have accidents. I wouldn't be surprised if there isn't some damage to your little body, too, little lady." Greinne turned her face up to Sean's hand, hesitating for a half-second before pressing her cheek into his palm. A shudder ran through her—part relief, part disbelief—as his thumb brushed the hollow under her eye where a fading yellow bruise peeked through her freckles. The arcade lights flickered green across her damp lashes. Mama frowned. I knew what she was thinking. All us girls were lucky didn't see our behavior at the hospital peeing all over the place, and now, Greinne in the car. I narrowed my eyes at Mama because... well, I was safe. Sean won't let her even yell at me. He'll get mad at her. "I know what you're thinking," Sean growled at Mama. "But don't you dare." "What?" Mama looked up at him kind of shocked. Sean leaned forward, his heavy boots scraping against the linoleum floor. The neon pizza sign overhead buzzed faintly, casting red streaks across his stubble. "You're sitting there judging these girls for pissing themselves when their insides are still knotted up from years of being told their bladders belonged to that bastard." His finger jabbed toward the window where the parking lot lights flickered like distant guard towers. "If you love your children, you tell them that everything is okay," Sean told Mama in no uncertain terms. "You know yourself, it's not their fault if they are scared to speak up. You know that man had to have made Greinne scared to speak up for herself, and that goes for even Erinne." "He just didn't want them running around talking like sailors," Mama whispered. "And telling someone you need the toilet is talking like a sailor?" Sean asked. "Well, there are proper ways to do it," Mama frowned. "These are children! No one pays attention to how children talk unless they are using words that kids these girls' ages shouldn't even know." Mama's lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers tightening around her napkin until the paper tore. Across the table, Greinne had begun quietly crying into Sean's jacket, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The arcade's cacophony of beeps and laughter seemed to swell around us, pressing in like a living thing. "Hey, Greinne. Sweetie?" Susan reached over and touched her leg again, not even caring if it was still wet or not. "You girls need to think about something else. What's happened is in the past, okay? Can we talk about something else, like what you like to do? I know Cait likes to draw and paint...." "I like to read," Greinne whispered. "But Daddy didn't like us to read books unless they were the Bible." "No more about Daddy, baby," Susan said to her with a look that said "I mean it." "But you like to read? What do you read at school that can't be controlled at home, honey?" Greinne sniffled, wiping her nose on the denim jacket sleeve. "Miss Lane lets us pick books from the library cart on Fridays," she whispered, her voice gaining strength. "Last week I read about a girl who lived in a lighthouse. The pictures had whales in them." Her fingers traced invisible arcs on the sticky tabletop—whale tails breaching imaginary waves. "That sounds like a really interesting story," Susan smiled. "If you remember the title, tell me, and I'll try to find the book, okay?" Greinne nodded hesitantly, her fingers still tracing patterns on the table. A bead of condensation from the soda pitcher dripped onto her wrist, making her flinch before she realized it was just water. "I like to draw and paint. It the only thing I good at," I told everyone. "Daddy says...," but I saw Susan's look. "I mean.... It something I good at, though." Aoife looked around at the others, and she looked at Michael, who was just about a year older than she was. "I... watch cartoons and play with my dolls." Michael grinned at her, and he picked up a mushroom from his pizza. "I like trucks and dinosaurs." "I like Science," Sorsche said. "Daddy says it's all rubbish though because Science has make believe things in it like man being from Monkeys and there being monsters like dinosaurs in the world a long time ago." Sean snorted into his beer. "Well, your daddy ain't in charge of truth anymore, kiddo. Museum of Natural History's got bones older than his opinions." "The church we went to before..., and daddy said they put the bones together the way they wanted to sell a lie," Erinne frowned. "The church said it was one of the devil's tricks to make us think there isn't a God." Sean wiped pizza grease off his chin with the back of his hand. "Funny how folks who claim to own truth get real twitchy about folks diggin’ up bones to look at it." He nodded toward Michael, who was carefully arranging pepperoni slices into a T-Rex shape on his napkin. "That kid's got more sense than half the preachers I've met." "I liked some church people," I whispered. "Some of them made Daddy nervous, and he didn't yell or hit when they were watching what was going on." Greinne's fingers paused mid-whale-trail. The arcade's prize counter erupted in a cascade of ticket-spewing noise, sending fractured light across her face. She blinked at me—really looked—for the first time since the accident. "Mr. Wilson gave us candy," she murmured. "After Sunday school. But only if we recited verses right." "I be member that. I won a piece of candy once, and he surprised because he knowed I can't read." Greinne shook her head slightly, her damp hair clinging to her cheeks. "No, you couldn't read the words—but you memorized the verses faster than any of us when Erinne whispered them to you." Her voice carried a quiet wonder, like she'd just unearthed a forgotten treasure from beneath layers of dirt. The admission seemed to startle her as much as it did me—our father had never allowed praise between us, treating kindness like contraband. "You read the verses to me, too, at night, be member? You always trying to help my homework by reading for me directions and telling me if my six is facing the wrong way." Greinne's lips trembled into something almost like a smile. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as she reached across the table, her fingertips brushing the raised scar on my wrist where our father's belt buckle had caught me two winters ago. Her touch was feather-light—hesitant, as if afraid the memory itself might burn her. "How come you kept taking blame for Greinne wetting the bed?" I asked Sorsche. "You the one that always get hit by Daddy. He never hit Greinne, and sometimes he made Erinne hit us." "Erinne would have to hit Greinne if Daddy ever believed me. I'm older than Greinne, so it hurts me less." Sorsche's voice was barely audible over the distant clatter of pizza pans in the kitchen. She traced a grease spot on the table with one finger, avoiding our eyes. The neon sign outside pulsed red across her face in slow waves, making her look like she was blushing—except I knew Sorsche never blushed. She was the one who stood stone-faced when Daddy hit her. "I like the Bible," Erinne said. "But... I think sometimes, people read it to say what they want it to say. I can't explain, exactly. But I think sometimes, they make up what it means so they can tell you what they think God is, and they don't really read it." Sean went still for half a second—just long enough for me to notice—before he leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight. His fingers tapped against his soda glass, the glass making a dull *tink* each time. "Funny you say that," he said, his voice slow, like he was picking his way over rocks. "My granddaddy used to say the same thing. Said folks twist scripture tighter than a rattler's coil when it suits 'em." "The Bible says spare the rod and spoil the child...," Greinne said to Erinne's point. "Daddy thinks that means the belt, but if you think that... then they must have had some tough kids back in the old days. Getting hit with a metal stick as thick as a ball bat? I mean, that's what a rod is, right?" Sean chuckled under his breath—a gravelly, approving sound—as he wiped pizza sauce from Michael’s chin. The boy had abandoned his pepperoni dinosaur to listen, his eyes wide. "Ever seen shepherd’s crooks, kiddo?" Sean tapped the curved handle of his soda mug. "Rod’s for guiding sheep, not breaking bones. Whole damn point was keeping ‘em safe from cliffs." "How come it says child, then?" I asked. "Do you hook kids with it?" Sean snorted into his drink. The pizza grease on his fingers glistened under the buzzing fluorescent lights as he reached over to ruffle my hair—a gesture so casual it made Greinne flinch beside me. "You ever seen border collies work? Nudge the lambs right where they need to go without so much as a pulled fleece." His thumb brushed the fading bruise on Greinne's wrist where the belt had bitten last month. "Difference between guiding and gutting." I nodded. "I never saw a thing like you talking, but I know what you mean. It like... you hook the kid so they don't go in a road with a car coming, but it doesn't hurt. Just surprise the kid, and they stopped from getting trouble or hurt?" Sean's eyes crinkled at the corners—the way they did when I surprised him by understanding things grown-ups thought were too complicated. His rough fingers tapped the laminated menu between us, where a cartoon pizza slice grinned up at us. "Exactly like that, Cait-love." "Cait's teacher said she smart one day," Aoife said. "Sorsche took me to her room to find out why she was late, and her teacher asked her to stay back to take a test, only she reading the test and Cait answer with words. That teacher says Cait remembers, but she doesn't read right. She doesn't know why Cait can't read, but it not because her brain is bad." Greinne's fingers stopped tracing whale tails. The arcade's neon glow caught the tears welling in her eyes before she wiped them away with Sean's denim sleeve. "Daddy said Cait was just lazy," she whispered. "He made Erinne hit her knuckles with a ruler when she mixed up letters." "I write b but mean d, and I write p but mean q, and sometimes, I heard t, but it said d, so I have hard time to read and to write." Sean's jaw worked silently, his fingers curling into fists against his thighs. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their sickly glow catching the silvery scars on Greinne's knees—old scabs from the belt buckle breaking her skin when she was hit. Michael, oblivious, crammed another slice into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open until Erica nudged him. Susan reached across the table—slow, telegraphing her movements—and pressed a paper napkin into Greinne's shaking hand. "You know what's funny?" she said, deliberately light. "My brother couldn't read until he was eleven. Turns out his eyes saw letters backward. Now he's an engineer." "He is?" Aoife sounded in awe. "I bet Cait becomes famous. Daddy didn't go to the art show because art is stupid, but Cait won a prize at a school art show. She took the picture home and second place, and daddy threw it all in the trash, right in front of us all, so we'd know to study what is important, and not waste our time on stuff that doesn't go no where." Sean reached for Cait's hand under the table, squeezing it tight. "Well now," he said gruffly, "that's goddamn impressive. Ain't no second place in my book—just means they were too chicken to admit yours was best." He jerked his chin toward Michael, who was carefully arranging pepperonis into a crown shape on his leftover crust. "Kid's got an artist's eye. Maybe we'll frame your next one right over the fireplace." "Michael is good at art," I smiled. "He made a dinosaur and a crown out of pepperoni. That hard to do." Greinne touched her tongue to her top lip—her tell when she was fighting a smile. The pizza grease had dried shiny on Michael's fingers, his makeshift pepperoni crown now sliding lopsided on his crust castle. "May I?" I asked Michael. "I mean, it gross I touch your food, so you can say no...." Michael pushed his plate toward me without hesitation, grinning as I carefully rearranged his pepperoni crown into a proper circle. The grease slicked my fingers, the scent of oregano and melted cheese mingling with the arcade's popcorn-machine smell. Greinne watched my hands moving—slow, deliberate—as I placed the last pepperoni just so. Then I used some Sauce from the slice to kind of 'paste' it into place. "See? Just a little sauce and melted cheese, and it stays better?" Michael's eyes widened. "Whoa! That's like glue!" He poked at it experimentally, his nose scrunching when the cheese stretched. Across the table, Sorsche exhaled sharply through her nose—almost a laugh. The sound made Sean's shoulders relax a fraction. "I like to color," Aoife admitted. "I can't color at home, but at school, sometimes when we finish early, the teacher gives us coloring sheets." Greinne blinked at her—like she’d forgotten Aoife could speak. The pizza grease on Michael’s fingers had transferred to his chin in a glistening smear, but no one corrected him. Instead, Susan tore a fresh napkin into careful strips, folding them into tiny origami whales. She slid one toward Greinne, who picked it up with trembling fingers, tracing the sharp creases with her pinky. "You people are going to get Dan mad at the girls," Mama uttered under her breath. "The girls are not safe until he's actually in jail, and I'm sure if he beats jail, the courts will make Erinne, Greinne, and Aoife, at the very least to live with him... and Sorsche will have to live with me. Cait... I'm not sure if he'd just let you people keep his broken toy or not." Sean's chair legs screeched against the floor as he stood abruptly, nearly toppling the soda pitcher. Greinne flinched so hard her knee hit the table underside, rattling silverware. "Broken?" Sean's voice was dangerously quiet. "Lady, you're standing in a damn pizza joint surrounded by kids who built lighthouses out of napkins and crowns from pepperonis after surviving a warzone—and you call them broken?" "Susan, that adult built the lighthouse and whales, and the boy, Michael is Erica and Jim's kids, not our kids. And what Cait did on the pizza, it's hard to even tell it's what she said it was." Susan's fingers froze mid-fold, the half-made origami whale crumpling in her grip. The neon "PIZZA!" sign outside pulsed red across Mama's face, highlighting the tight lines around her mouth. Greinne had gone very still beside me, her breath shallow—the way she breathed when Daddy was deciding who to punish. "Susan," Sean frowned as he spoke dangerously low. The rumble in his tummy was very bear-like. "Only inspired the kids to do what they wanted to do. I'm not talking about what Susan did. If you'd been watching, you would have seen Greinne putting it together in a scene in her lap over the jacket. Cait's demonstration was not to show what she could do, but to help Michael understand how to make his creation stick. You are so blind, woman. And I think you need to just shut your mouth." Greinne's origami whale trembled in her cupped palms, the paper edges sharp against her skin. The arcade's prize counter erupted in a cacophony of ringing bells and cascading tickets, the noise swallowing Mama's sharp intake of breath. Michael, oblivious, poked at his solidified pepperoni crown with a plastic fork, his tongue poking out in concentration. "Erinne? Take Aoife over to the arcades," Sean told her, giving her quarters. "And Sorsche, you and Greinne go. Erinne, please keep your distance from Sorsche and Greinne right now. Please." The girls got up, and Michael and Cindy were following Sorsche and Greinne. "Erica, do you want to take Cait? I think it's time this woman understands some new rules when talking to the girls, or she won't be seeing even Aoife for a while without me near." Erica hesitated, her fingers tightening around Cait’s wheelchair handles. The pizza parlor’s fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across Mama’s pinched face. Greinne paused halfway to the arcade, looking back over her shoulder—her borrowed sweater sleeves dangling past her fingertips. Sean didn’t move, but the weight in his voice pressed down like storm clouds. Because we were out of earshot now, and Sean talked low, I couldn't hear him, but I could tell from my Mama's nods and her watery eyes, that he was getting to her. "Come on, honey," Erica put a hand on my back to direct me to the games my wheelchair could reach. I held my breath, listening behind me. Sean’s growl was too low to make out words, but Mama’s shuddering inhale carried across the sticky floors. The smell of burnt crust from the kitchen mixed with the sharp citrus of arcade disinfectant. Greinne stood frozen by the skeeball lanes, Sorsche’s protective hand between her shoulder blades—both watching me instead of the flashing lights. After a bit, I found Pacman, and started to play it. It was kind of satisfying eating the white dots, especially the big ones that turned the ghosts blue. I lost kind of fast the first three times, but then I started to get it. My sisters were playing and looking around, I saw Michael and Aoife sharing a two player game, and Cindy, the five year old, was just watching her brother like she looked up to him kind of the way I looked up to all of my older sisters. I looked back at Sean and Mama and saw him lean close, his thumb brushing her wrist where the watch-face caught the light—same way he'd touched Greinne earlier, but without the gentleness. Mama's shoulders hunched inward like a startled turtle's. My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out the arcade's electronic chirps. A sudden shriek from the air hockey table jerked my attention away. Aoife was laughing as Michael dramatically collapsed over the scoring slot after her winning shot. His shirt rode up, revealing a stripe of pale belly—no bruises, no belt marks. Just smooth skin, flushed pink from running around. Greinne stood frozen beside them, staring at Michael's unscarred back like it was some kind of miracle. I was a little mesmerized by the soft pink smoothness, myself. It was like... he was an alien, and yet, it was like he was clean and without tarnishes. Aoife's skin was almost as pink. She didn't get hit even from Erinne, but she had fallen before causing a bruise here and there, and it was hard to tell if Daddy actually did something or if she really fell. I don't think Daddy did it though because... well, he never hit Aoife, and because he was never really mad at her. Cindy giggled as Michael pretended to die, and Aoife copied her, falling over onto Cindy, which made her laugh louder. Greinne flinched, but smiled, and Erinne looked nervous, but wasn't pulling Aoife off Cindy, so I guessed it was okay. I sighed as I started to feel the pittering and pattering of my urine running into the diaper I had on, but I knew I wasn't allowed to go potty right now. Not because Sean was mean, but because the doctor was worried for some reason, and told them to just let me change the diaper at the hospital when we went back. But I liked Sean. He was nice. He smelled like pizza sauce and farming hay and animals, but kind of like... wood, too. Like... fresh cut wood and dirt mixed with man smell. Not Daddy smell—Daddy smelled like stale cigarettes and angry beer. Sean smelled like... like he'd been working outside before he picked us up. I felt my diaper getting warmer against my legs, and I glanced down—careful not to draw attention. The plastic backing of the diaper crinkled faintly under my hospital gown when I shifted in my chair. Across the arcade, Greinne was helping Cindy balance on tiptoes to reach the skee-ball ramp, her borrowed sweater sleeves flopping over the small girl's hands. I couldn't remember having so much fun in quite some time. Sean and Susan were really nice and it was fun traveling to Wyoming with them, but other than shopping, we didn't actually do something like play video games at that time. Still, I don't think I ever played video games with Daddy. We sometimes ate pizza, and that was it. I glanced back toward the pizza table—Sean was sitting again, his broad shoulders blocking Mama from view. His fingers drummed slow circles on the laminate, like he was counting seconds. Mama's head was bowed, her fingers clutching a napkin so tight it split down the middle. The neon light caught the wet tracks on her cheeks. "Watch out!" Michael's yell snapped my attention back just as Aoife's skeeball ricocheted off the ramp, soaring straight for Greinne's head. She didn't duck—just froze, arms rigid at her sides like she was bracing for impact. Sean moved faster than I'd ever seen a grown-up move, his calloused palm intercepting the ball inches from Greinne's temple with a sharp smack. How'd he move that fast--one minute at the table and the next near enough Greinne to stop the ball hitting her head? Or maybe I hadn't seen him starting to come and get us again. I was glad he had stopped the ball from hitting Greinne, though. That would have really hurt. The ball clattered to the floor, rolling unevenly under a pinball machine. Greinne hadn't even blinked—her breath came in short, shallow bursts, fingers digging into Sorsche's shoulders. Sean knelt slowly, palm still outstretched like he'd caught a grenade. "You okay, little bird?" His voice was rougher than usual, the Wyoming drawl thickening around the edges. Greinne looked up at him for a moment before nodding. "It's okay. Um... thanks?" Sean nodded and ruffled her hair, which made her flinch badly, but she didn't pull away, even though she clearly wanted to. "Sorry," Sean murmured, dropping his hand away instantly. His fingers flexed as if they'd been burned. "Old habit." He sighed. "Unfortunately, if we want permission to take Cait out of the hospital again before she heals, we should all be getting ready to go back. I want to stop by Jim and Erica's so we can get you something decent to wear, too." he told Greinne. Grinne looked down at her borrowed clothes—Erinne's sweater that was swallowing her bony wrists, the hem brushing her thighs. The fabric smelled faintly of detergent and something herbal, nothing like Daddy’s sour-stale shirts. Her fingers plucked at a loose thread near the pocket. "I—I can give these back—" "Yes, but the point is that I want to cover your legs better when we go back to the hospital. You'd like that, too, right?" Greinne's knees instinctively pressed together under the table—not just from the cold, but from the phantom sting of belt buckles against bare skin. The memory tasted like copper in her mouth. She swallowed hard, her fingers twisting the loose thread tighter until it snapped. "Y-yeah. But—" Her voice cracked. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, their buzz drilling into her skull like Daddy’s sermons. "Dan—Daddy said—pretty things tempt the devil." "Honey, he's got that backwards. The Devil tempts us with pretty or shiny things, but just because we use shiny things, like money, it's not what makes it wrong. It's when we misuse it that it's wrong. You are allowed to be pretty, sweetie." Sean's voice was gruff, but his fingers were gentle as he tucked a loose strand of Greinne's hair behind her ear—just avoiding the fading bruise near her temple. The arcade's neon lights caught the silver scar on his own forearm when his sleeve rode up—a jagged line that looked suspiciously like a belt buckle's mark. Greinne's breath hitched at the sight. Before I knew it, we were back in the car, but overall, the experience had been a lot of fun. I got really far on Pacman, and I saw my sisters all having fun with different games, and we were playing with friends, or at least Sorsche and Greinne were. No one made fun of Greinne's accident, and no one knew I was wet yet. Sean had given Mama strict orders before she'd climbed into the front seat with Susan—something about keeping her opinions to herself unless she wanted supervised visitation. The way Mama had folded into herself like a paper doll told me he wasn't bluffing. Now, as Sean adjusted my wheelchair straps in the van's back row, his flannel sleeve brushed my knee—rough fabric over fresh bandages. The scent of hay and motor oil clung to him, earthy and solid. When Sean was sitting next to me, I looked up at him and tugged lightly at his hand. "What is it, baby?" he asked me. "I'm sorry. I peed." "Honey, that's what the doctor told you to do. Don't worry about it. I keep telling you, you are allowed to, sweetheart." But I shook my head. "I'm sorry because... I liked the pizza and the games, but now you have to leave and go to the hospital." He smiled and hugged me. "Baby, we went to the pizza place for you girls. I can go anytime I want... to tell the truth. I just thought you'd have fun there, and so would your sisters. There is nothing to be sorry about." The van's engine rumbled beneath us, vibrating through the wheelchair's metal frame. Outside, the fading sunset painted the parking lot in streaks of orange and purple—colors I'd once mixed for a school painting Daddy called "useless." Sean's work-roughened fingers lingered on my shoulder, his grip warm even through the hospital gown. Just as Sean promised, we went to his friends' house first and got Greinne changed, but not just her... they changed all my sisters into clean clothes and then took bags with extra clothes with us for all of them. Then... we were walking into the hospital room. I sighed. Now, we'd start the hard stuff again. The nurse approached with a fresh diaper and antiseptic wipes, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking against the linoleum. Greinne edged closer to the window, her fingers picking at the hem of her new jeans—real denim, not the scratchy homemade skirts Daddy insisted on. The scent of iodine burned my nose as the nurse peeled back the soaked diaper, the cold air hitting my damp skin. "I'm sorry," I whispered up at her. The nurse—her nametag said *Lorna*—didn't react at first. Her fingers were brisk but gentle as she wiped the antiseptic cloth along my inner thighs, the chill making me shiver. Then she paused, tilting her head. "For what, honey?" "You work really hard, and I make it harder by going potty my pants all the time." Lorna's hands stilled. The disinfectant smell sharpened as she exhaled through her nose—not a sigh, just a quiet breath. "Sweetheart," she said slowly, turning the wipe in her hands, "you think I chose pediatric nursing for the easy kids?" Her thumb brushed the edge of my knee bandage, avoiding the raw skin. "I signed up for bedwetters, screamers, and the ones who bite. You?" She snapped the fresh diaper open with a practiced flick. "You're just a kid who needs help." "I not broken though. Sean said I not broken." Lorna's hands paused mid-fold, the fresh diaper crinkling between her fingers. The overhead lights reflected off her badge—*RN Vargas*—as she exhaled sharply through her nose. "Course you're not," she muttered, more to herself than me. The antiseptic wipes smelled like lemons when she tore open a new packet, the sound making Greinne flinch by the window. "Do you have to change a bunch of kids my age?" I asked, curious. Lorna's latex gloves squeaked as she smoothed the diaper's adhesive tabs. "Had one yesterday who kicked me square in the ribs," she said matter-of-factly, nodding toward the bruises peeking under her scrubs collar. The disinfectant stung as she dabbed at the raw skin near my hip, but her fingers never pressed too hard—not like Daddy's grip when he'd dig his nails in to "teach stillness." "That must have hurt, but at least it not dirty like me." Lorna's eyebrow twitched. She ripped off her gloves with a sharp snap, the latex protesting like a rubber band. "Listen here, Cait." Her voice was low now, almost growling—the way Sean got when Mama called us broken. "There is *nothing* dirty about a body doing what bodies do." She jabbed a finger toward the IV bag dripping saline into my arm. "This? Clean. Pee? Cleaner than the crap I deal with most shifts." "Really?" I looked up at her, trying to see what she was lying about and why she would. Lorna snorted, tossing the used wipes into the hazardous waste bin with perfect aim. The clatter made Greinne jump by the windowsill, her fingers tightening around the curtain's edge. Outside, the hospital's parking lot lights flickered on—halos in the gathering dusk. "Kid, I once had a teenager projectile vomit spaghetti into my *hair*. You think a little urine phases me?" I had to cover my mouth to suppress the giggle. "I'm sorry. I know it not funny. It just... the way it must looked at that time.... I sorry." But I couldn't stop laughing. Lorna grinned as she snapped fresh gloves on, the sound sharp against the hum of the IV pump. "Oh, it was hilarious *after* I showered," she admitted, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners. The antiseptic scent clung to her scrubs as she leaned in to adjust my pillow. Behind her, Greinne's silhouette against the window was rigid—still braced for reprimand. I sighed. It had been a long day, and after a diaper change, I found myself starting to fall into the dream world where nothing in the real world could touch me.

Chapter Fifteen Lunch with My Sisters Erinne was in the bathroom with Susan, the door closed, and Susan was probably helping her out of her messy skirt and panties. Sorsche was out of the room with Doctor Henderson, being asked questions that were hard to answer, and probably being checked to see how hurt she was. Sean, the man who had been there teaching me what really being with someone who cares about you is like, was near my head pressing the nurse caller button. Greinne was holding Aoife, both of them sitting on the bed I was in, near my knees, and then there was Mama, across the room, just staring at us as if we were a television program or something. Watching, not really partaking at the moment. I sighed at the thought of Sorsche being asked all the same questions I was. I hoped Daddy didn't hurt her legs like he did mine. I wondered why Erinne didn't say anything, or at least just go to the bathroom. It was right there, the whole time. When did she get to the hospital? It was before I woke up.... Aoife's seven-year-old hand rubbed my leg, and she looked up towards my face. "Does your legs and your back still hurt?" she asked. "Not really," I felt some air catch in my throat. "I just... feel nothing, sometimes, when I should feel someone touch my leg, or when I want to move my leg, it won't move." Her hand was wet and left a little wetness on the blanket on my leg because she had been holding it between her legs before. I guess she felt really embarrassed and kind of scared, and besides itchy and other stuff from having an accident. I know how it feels. She's also got to be confused. She sometimes wet the bed, but I hadn't seen her wet her pants in the day before. Currently, she was sitting against Greinne, making Greinne's skirt a bit wet from being too close to her, but Greinne just held her tight and protectively. I frowned down at Greinne. "What do you think I should've done? Erinne told me not to act like I didn't have them... accidents. And then Susan saw my stained, pooped panties when she decided to wash all my stuff instead of just what I was wearing, so I... I thought... Did I have to poop my pants when she found out my panties were messy?" Greinne's chest rose and fell like she was breathing a little heavier. "Susan saw your panties? So, even if you didn't poop your pants at all in front of her, she would have probably been wondering why your panties were stained if you didn't do it.... I don't think you could have done anything that wouldn't expect an explaining," she said, her hands rubbing each other as though a bar of soap was trying to clean them. "What do you suppose they are going to do when Susan's friend, Erica, tells them that I peed the bed last night? Me and Sorsche slept in different beds." I shrugged. "Sean doesn't get mad, even when he wasn't sure if I was doing it on accident or on purpose. She told me I can pee my pants on purpose if I want. I don't think they'll do anything." "But.... I slept in a bed at their friend's house?" I sighed. "You can't even control it, Greinne. You actually pee in bed because you sleeping. I awake, and even I pooped my pants. They knew it on purpose, but they didn't yell. They didn't call me stupid, and they didn't do nothing mean at all. They just took me doctor, because they got scared that I hurted when they saw something wrong." Greinne sighed. "I'm glad they didn't hurt you. But what's going to happen to all of us? There is no way they can take us all, even if they did, I don't know if Erinne and Aoife would want to. Daddy didn't hurt Aoife, and Erinne.... Well, he was a half-decent Daddy to her?" "How do you feel?" I asked Greinne. I saw her jaw clench and unclench, and her temple throbbed. Her body shook, and her hold on Aoife tightened, causing Aoife to look back at her with a look on her face, confused, why Greinne held her so tight. "I... I don't know?" I heard a high-pitched squeak in there. "I... I love Mama, and Daddy.... I don't know. I mean.... I don't know?" She looked towards me, almost as if she was pleading for something. Was it forgiveness? Was it understanding? I didn't know, but I did know that this was Greinne, the only family member who really tried to stop Daddy hitting me with every trick she could think of. Sorsche gave me advice to try to temper his punishments, but she really couldn't do it like Greinne could. Even if she was eleven and Greinne only ten, Greinne wasn't constantly yelled at and hit like Sorsche was. Daddy wouldn't even listen to Sorsche, but he listened to Greinne. "Greinne?" I whispered. "It's not your fault that Daddy hits me. You know that, right?" Greinne nodded. "It's not your fault that he's the only Daddy we know, and that Mama loves Sorsche, Aoife, and you more because you hers, right?" Greinne sighed. "But why they gotta be like that? It hurts." I shook my head. "Mama made me meals. She washed...," but I felt my breath catch. Susan had really washed my clothes, and she didn't even hesitate, knowing I'd pooped some of those panties, and my stuff, it looked better. I wasn't so sure Mama did clean my clothes, now I thought about it. But they didn't smell as bad, and they didn't have solid poops in them when I got them back. I wasn't sure what to think. "Mama hugged me, sometimes." Greinne shook her head. "Mama didn't wash...," she felt her breath catch, and then she glanced at Mama. "I mean, she rinsed them out with a hose, and then she hung them. But I... when she wasn't looking or sometimes, I think she knew but didn't say anything.... I asked Sorsche to help me, and sometimes, even Erinne saw us and asked if it was yours, and when we said it was or when she saw something she knew was yours, she'd chase us away so she could do it, 'right." "You? You touched my poopy panties?" "Cait...." She looked down. "Someone had to. That's why they didn't get clean good though. I... I tried, but I... I'm still not that good at it." I felt a tear run down my face. "You did good, though. I didn't smell bad all the time except when I peed my pants by myself." We stared at each other for a moment, and then Aoife frowned up at Greinne. "Sometimes, Daddy got mad you took the laundry down. He said you playing and made Erinne spank you with the belt when you played laundry with Cait's stuff." "You... you weren't even there. How'd you...?" "I saw stuff," Aoife's breath hitched. "I was there. No one was looking, and I peeked around a corner. I hided under a table. I saw. I know Cait got hit more than everyone." I heard Sean's breath catch near my head as he pushed the nurse's call button again, but it was just then that the nurse came in. "I know this isn't protocol for visitors," Sean started. The nurse looked at him with a tired, weary face that seemed to just say... "I've heard it all. Just ask." "The eldest baby had an accident in her pants, and the little one there is wet. There isn't any way we can get something for them to change into, is there?" The nurse smiled sweetly, and she held up a finger as Sean seemed to start to think he had to explain a little more. "Just give me all the girls' sizes. I'll have to ask the doctor, but I do know at least that one," she pointed at Greinne, "is going to be checked by the doctor, too. I'll ask if we can spare some diapers and sweatpants for the other two girls. The ones that had accidents?" "I... I peed, too," I said in a low voice. "What was that, honey?" the nurse came closer. "She says she needs to be changed, too," Sean spoke for me. "You know how she is. That woman over there..., well, she didn't hit her, but she does make Cait nervous." The nurse nodded and, giving Mama a dirty look, she left the room. I sighed and looked up at Sean. "Papa? You not mad Erinne shit her pants, are you?" Sean frowned at me. "I'm not mad about the act, no baby. She had a reason, though, and I think the doctor should probably check into it. What I don't like, though, is that you said... well, I'd rather you said poop. Okay?" I nodded. "I sorry. I just.... I...." I couldn't explain why I said it exactly. "I know, baby," he put a tender hand on my head despite me saying something he didn't like. I almost flinched, even though it was Sean. Daddy wouldn't have cared if I said something by accident, or if didn't know something was bad. But Sean? He explained, and now, he's touching me like I was being a good girl? "Obviously, that monster would say words like that at you to make you feel worse about what you already couldn't help. Saying it like that would make it seem like Erinne didn't control it just to be disgusting. Neither you nor I know what was going on with her when she did it. So, just say poop, and let the adults figure her out, okay?" I nodded. "Okay." Greinne looked up at him. "Why the doctor gotta look at me? Daddy didn't exactly touch me...." "Nonetheless, honey, you were there. You saw what Cait was going through, and Cait made it sound like you, alone, were keeping her from getting it more than she already got it. I think the doctor just needs to confirm with you what you saw." "But Erinne hit you, Greinne," Aoife whimpered. "And Daddy told her, too." "Erinne hit me with the belt," Greinne nodded, agreeing. "But she didn't kick me, and she wasn't allowed to hit me if Daddy wasn't watching." Sean shook his head. "If she hit you with the belt the way that was described earlier, I'm sure the doctor will have to document the bruises." "But...." She seemed to not know what to say. Her breathing started to get a little heavy and fast. Sean raced around to the other side of the bed, helped Aoife off her lap so he could pick Greinne up, and then Aoife climbed back on the bed next to me, watching. "Honey, honey, look at me," Sean said softly, but urgently, his hands gripping Greinne's shoulders just tightly enough to ground her. "Breathe with me—in..." He inhaled deeply, "...and out." Greinne's panicked eyes locked onto his, her chest quivering as she tried to match his rhythm. After a few shaky attempts, her breathing slowed, though her fingers still twisted in the hem of her damp skirt. "Why you suddenly get scared about Greinne?" Aoife asked innocently curious. "What happened? She just got scared to tell on Daddy and Erinne?" Sean shook his head. "It's not that she got scared, honey. It's that her breathing, even if she was a little scared, didn't match what was going on. I don't know if it has a name or anything, but I do know that she was not breathing right." The nurse came in, and noticing that Greinne was in Sean's lap, Seans lap drenched now, even as Greinne's red, blushed face with tears seemed to still have that frozen scream about it. She seemed to survey everything in a moment, and then she put the sweats and diapers in Mama's lap and walked over to Sean. "May I?" the nurse asked even as she tried to coax Greinne up from his lap to guide her over to one side. Sean hesitated, but then he nodded, coaxing Greinne up gently. "She still might freeze up," he warned lowly. "Her breathing went wrong—fast, shallow—like she couldn't get air in." "I've seen this before. I'll go ahead and change her, here where she feels safe, and then I'll take her to see the doctor right away." I watched as Greinne's breath hitched again when the nurse touched her waistband, her fingers twitching toward Sean before curling into fists. The nurse worked quickly, peeling the wet skirt away with clinical detachment while murmuring, "Easy now, sweetheart. Just like Cait—we'll get you cleaned up." The disposable diaper rustled as it unfolded, its sterile smell mingling with the sharp tang of urine still clinging to Greinne's thighs. Aoife pressed closer to me, her small fingers digging into my hospital gown as we both stared at Greinne's trembling legs—the faint yellow bruises circling her knees like smudged fingerprints. "This child has been beaten, too," The nurse observed aloud. "The doctor will have to know about that." The observation seemed to have been a clinical self-note spoken aloud. But she turned to Greinne again. "Honey, it's okay. Have you experienced this kind of fear before?" Greinne looked down. "She did," Aoife spoke up. "Every time Erinne grabs the belt, when Daddy approaches Cait, and sometimes, for no reason at all." "You see a lot, don't you, little one?" The nurse asked Aoife. "I hided. No one knew I watched." The nurse nodded slowly, her fingers pausing at the tabs of Greinne's fresh diaper. Behind her, Mama stirred from her silent vigil by the window, the sweats and diapers sliding off her lap onto the floor with a soft thud. No one moved to pick them up. "I need to take her out of the excitement of the room for a bit. She'll be okay, and I'll let someone come and speak to her once she's calm again," the nurse told everyone. "But right now, she needs less stimulation." Sean nodded his agreement, but Aoife scrambled off the bed. "I'll go, too!" Her small voice was insistent, her fingers still clutching my gown. "I don't want Greinne to be alone." "I'm sorry, honey. Right now, she needs to be alone. Don't worry, she'll be watched. We have rooms that connect to the rooms of those we watch like this with dark glass so her mind can relax, but we can watch without her seeing eyes on her." Aoife hesitated. "But...but Greinne hates being alone." "Alright, sweetie. As soon as she's ready, we'll come and get someone to be with her, and you can come then, okay?" Aoife hesitated, then nodded reluctantly, her chin wobbling. The nurse helped Greinne out of the chair she used to change her in—her steps unsteady, legs stiff like she'd forgotten how to walk—and guided her toward the door. Greinne turned her head just once, eyes locking onto mine, wide and wordless, before the door clicked shut behind them. Sean took a diaper to the bathroom door and knocked. "They took Greinne to another room. She suddenly got scared pretty bad," he told Susan through the open door. "The nurse said she's just going to calm her, but she changed her and saw bruises on her legs, too." Susan said "That monster," before she took the diaper and then closed the door to help Greinne. "We at the hospital," I patted closer to me. "Sean wouldn't let them take Greinne if it wasn't okay. I promise." Aoife nodded and scooted closer to me. "Hold on, little one," Sean seemed to get to her before she got towards my head. "You need to get out of that wet dress first, sweetie." "I just peed my pants," Aoife looked up at him. "I didn't want to leave the room. It scary here." "I know, baby. No one is mad at you. I just don't want you to wear wet clothes all afternoon. That's not healthy." He took her over to a chair to start changing her. "Aoife's my baby," Mama started to speak up as Sean got her in his lap to help her. He glanced over at Mama. "I'm sorry, but until I feel it safe for the girls to be near you, and I mean all of them including Cait and Erinne, you've lost your rights as their mother. I will change the baby girl. You can watch." "But...," Mama's breath hitched. "Look, Maire. I understand that maybe Dan was the controlling monster that did the physical stuff, but you were their mother, and you obviously let this go on for years, long enough that it became normalized for the children. Cait, just sitting there at the table, pooping her pants on purpose like that? You know that's not normal. That's what she did at our house. You saw the welts on Greinne's legs just now. You saw Sorsche's hands, scratched all up from her own doing? And you know... Erinne was cutting herself as punishment. You had to have seen this, and yet you didn't reach out for any help until you wanted Cait out of your hair for the summer. You are not fully off the hook, and the only reason I even let you sit there, is because there is no evidence as yet, that you actually did anything physical. So. Sit and let me take care of the kids like they should be. Maybe you can learn what to do with them for a change rather than not to do." Mama's face crumpled, but she didn't argue further. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and watched silently as Sean peeled Aoife's wet dress away from her skin with practiced ease. The disposable diaper crinkled as he unfolded it—Aoife squirming slightly at the unfamiliar sensation—but she didn't protest when he secured the tabs snugly around her hips. "Baby?" Sean spoke gently to Aoife. "You are still a big girl. You can still go potty if you want. But if you have an accident, or you choose to stay where you know it's safe, causing you not to go potty in time, it will be okay. No yelling, okay?" Aoife frowned. "But... Daddy says I'm too old for accidents." "Baby..., Daddy hit your sisters for stupid reasons. No one should ever be hit like that for peeing in her sleep, and no one should be hit for not being able to get good grades at school. We all learn things at our own pace, and I think right now, you are only seven, going through a lot of stuff, and you are scared. Peeing your pants, if it happens, is only natural, baby." Aoife wiped her nose on her sleeve and leaned into Sean's chest. "But...but Daddy said--" "I know...," Sean tried to quiet her thinking about Daddy. "I know. It's not what you've heard. I want you to know, you are safe here. If you pee pee, just let me know, honey. No one is going to yell at you here, baby." Aoife buried her face in Sean's shoulder. "But Mama...," she started to speak. "Mama, is confused," Sean muttered under his breath "I hope." He rocked Aoife a bit and the nurse finally came in being free. "Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. I know you've been waiting for your diaper to get changed, but I had to settle your sister in the quiet room, and stuff." "It okay," I smiled up at her. "I wore wet panties all day sometimes. I had to. I didn't wait that long." The nurse frowned a little bit, but she decided not to comment on what I said. "Alright, sweetheart," she said instead, pulling fresh gloves on with a snap. "Let’s get you clean." She reached for the hem of my gown, lifting it slowly—I tensed, fingers gripping the sheets, then forced myself to relax. Sean was watching. He wouldn’t let her hurt me. The diaper rustled as she untaped it, the damp smell rising faintly. I stared at the ceiling, focusing on the cracks in the tiles while she wiped me down with warm wipes. Aoife peeked from Sean’s arms. "Cait’s bellybutton’s all scrunched," she whispered. The nurse paused, her gloved fingers hovering near the jagged scar above my hipbone—old, puckered skin, uneven where stitches had ripped out. "That’s not from today," she murmured, more to herself. Sean shifted Aoife in his arms, his voice deliberately light. "Baby, remember when we talked about asking before touching?" Aoife nodded solemnly and tucked her hands against her chest, but her wide eyes stayed fixed on the scar. The nurse's gloved fingers traced the edge of it—too clinical, too detached—and I flinched when she pressed just a little too hard. The pain was dull, distant, but the memory wasn't: Daddy's belt buckle catching there as I curled into myself, the way the skin tore when he yanked it free. "Cait," Sean said softly, a warning and a question both. He was watching my face now, not the nurse's hands. The nurse withdrew her fingers like she'd been burned. "I'm sorry," she said, genuine regret in her voice. "I should have asked first." She finished taping the fresh diaper quickly, her movements efficient but gentler now. The scent of powder mixed with antiseptic as she smoothed the edges down over my hips. Sean exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, like he was holding back something darker. Aoife squirmed in his lap, her small fingers clutching at his shirt. "Did Daddy do that?" she asked, her voice too loud in the quiet room. The nurse hesitated, glancing at Sean before answering. "We don't know yet, sweetheart. But we're going to find out." Her words were careful, but her hands trembled slightly as she balled up the soiled diaper. Sean's grip on Aoife tightened, not in anger but something deeper—a protective instinct tensing through his arms. Aoife didn't seem to notice, her small fingers now tracing invisible patterns on his forearm while her gaze remained locked on my scar. "Cait used to cry when Mama put the hose water on her cuts," she murmured. "But Cait didn't cry when Daddy—" "Baby," Sean interrupted gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Let's not talk about that right now." His voice was steady, but the muscle in his jaw pulsed once—a silent tell. A sound came over a speaker. "Doctor Matthews to pediatrics, please." That was Doctor Henderson's voice, and I knew he was supposed to be talking to Sorsche right then. I wondered if there was something really wrong with her. Or.... Greinne was just taken off, too. Did he pause asking Sorsche questions to check on Greinne? I shivered a little bit, scared that something else was wrong, something worse than with me. The nurse finished taping my diaper and smoothed my gown back down, her fingers lingering a moment too long at the hem like she wanted to say something but wasn't sure how. Then the door clicked open, and Erinne shuffled in—her hospital-issued sweatpants rustling faintly, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Susan followed close behind, gripping Erinne’s elbow like she was afraid the girl might bolt. Erinne's eyes darted to Mama first—just a flicker—before landing on me, then Aoife, then scanning the room again. Sean smiled over at Erinne. "Sit down, baby," he said, even to my thirteen-year-old eldest sister. "I think we need to understand something. I know you are scared and that this is all a lot, honey. But not only does the doctor need this, but you, too." Erinne sat down next to me on the bed, and I flinched, but Sean reached over and touched my hand to say I was safe. Erinne nodded at Sean's words. "I... I know," she whispered. "But I can't just... talk about it." "You don't have to, baby. You can just shake your head or nod. Is that okay?" Erinne hesitated, then nodded slightly, her cracked nails digging into the fabric of her sweatpants. I noticed the scabs along her wrists where the sleeves rode up—jagged lines, some fresh enough that the skin around them was still pink. Sean followed my gaze and inhaled sharply but said nothing, just squeezed my hand tighter. Sean sighed. He removed his undershirt, balled it up tight, and then he put it into Erinne's hands. "Squeeze on that, baby. It will hurt a lot less, and it won't open scratch any new sores into your legs." Erinne clutched the fabric like a lifeline, her knuckles whitening as she folded her arms back over her chest—hiding her wrists again, but the tension in her shoulders eased just slightly. The nurse moved to leave, but paused when Erinne’s breath hitched audibly. Sean reached out and touched the nurse's arm. "Can... can you get me some gloves or something for her? You saw the scratches earlier?" The nurse nodded, her eyes softening as she glanced at Erinne's wrists. "I'll be right back." Sean watched her leave, and then he whispered. "When you started to first scratch yourself, was it before you came to America?" He rubbed her leg to try to calm her while he adjusted the undershirt in her hands from time to time to make sure she had her nails in the shirt and not on her body. Erinne hesitated, her fingers curling tighter around the shirt. She gave the tiniest nod—almost imperceptible—but Sean caught it, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "And... did anyone hurt you back then?" His voice was feather-soft, like he was afraid the words might shatter her. She shook her head no, but there were tears in her eyes. There was a dreamy look in her eye as though she remembered something soft, and the tears started to spill down her face. "You were scared of something though?" Another tiny nod. Erinne's lips parted slightly, but no sound came out—just a shaky exhale that smelled faintly of antiseptic and the sour tang of old vomit. Her fingers twitched against Sean's shirt, nails scraping fabric instead of skin now, and that was progress. "Erinne said that Mama isn't her Mommy," Aoife thought that helped somehow. "Does your Mama live in America?" Sean asked Erinne, his arms around her a little tighter as he felt her sob a little. Erinne shook her head, her tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. She lifted her hand—the one not clutching his undershirt—and made a vague motion toward the window, the hallway, the world beyond. Somewhere far. "When Maire moved in, did you stop seeing your Mama at all?" Erinne's breath stuttered—half gasp, half sob—and she curled forward suddenly, pressing Sean's shirt against her face as her shoulders shook. Aoife whimpered beside me, scooting closer until her knee bumped mine under the sheets. The nurse returned with gauze and gloves just as Erinne's fingers spasmed, tearing at the shirt's collar seam. "I'm not sure," Sean looked up at the nurse. "But the doctor should probably look into not physical abuse with this one, but emotion and possibly mental abuse. I think she's hurt from not seeing her real mom, though I don't know why they separated." The nurse knelt beside Erinne, carefully peeling the shredded shirt from her trembling fingers. "Sweetheart," she murmured, wrapping gauze around Erinne's raw wrists with practiced precision, "did someone tell you not to see your mama?" Erinne's breath hitched—not a nod, not a shake, just the slightest tightening of her shoulders. The nurse's gloved hands stilled. "You don't have to answer," she said quietly. "But if someone kept her away from you..." Her voice trailed off as Erinne's head jerked up, eyes wild and wet. Sean sucked in a breath. "Oh, honey." He didn't ask. He didn't need to. The way Erinne's fingers clawed at the fresh gauze said everything—how her "Mama" had vanished overnight, replaced by Maire's sharp perfumed hugs and sharper words. How no one explained why. Maire spoke up, though. "Her mother... she was... Dan said she was a drunk, and that she wasn't much of a lady. I... I got on Erinne about some of the language that she came home with after being with her. It was before Cait or even Greinne were born. In the end, I had to cut it off, and Dan agreed that the woman wasn't good for her. She taught her bad stuff, and she.... She was in jail a lot." Erinne's head jerked toward Maire, her pupils dilating like a cornered animal’s. Her lips moved soundlessly for a second before she choked out, "Liar." The word was raw, more breath than voice, but it hung in the air like a struck match. Aoife gasped beside me, her tiny fingers digging into my arm. "Erinne, you were only four at the time. You remember what you felt with her, and every child loves their Mama. It's not your fault. But I'm not lying. Have you never asked Daddy what happened?" Erinne froze—her whole body tensing like a wire pulled too tight. The gauze around her wrists wrinkled as her fingers spasmed, her breathing turning shallow again. Sean's hands hovered near her shoulders, not touching but ready. "Easy," he murmured. "Just breathe, baby." "Dan did disagree with me not letting her mother see me at first, but then, something happened on one of the visits. Her mom was neglecting her, apparently, in a back room, and her mother was roughly handled. A fire started, and Erinne was almost killed in the fire. That's when Dan finally agreed not to let her near the house again." Erinne's skin turned grayish under the harsh hospital lights. Her mouth opened—silent—before snapping shut with an audible click of teeth. The nurse's gloved fingers tightened around the gauze roll, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That's... quite the story," she said carefully, eyes flicking to Sean for guidance. Sean shrugged not knowing anything about our past before we moved to Idaho nearly three years previous. "I'd have no way to check into that, myself, but it kind of makes sense. Even if Dan is a monster, no doubt he had probably used something like that as leverage or something to control the mother or something?" Erinne's jaw clenched so hard I heard her teeth grind. Her fingers curled into the mattress, gauze threads snapping under the pressure. The nurse reached out—to steady her, maybe—but Erinne flinched violently, her elbow catching the woman’s wrist with a dull thud. "No!" The word ripped from her throat, ragged. "She—she wouldn’t—" "Honey, no one at the age of four understands what is happening around them and what adults are doing. There is no way to know if it was true or not," Sean rocked her some more. "Aoife doesn't know why you hit Cait with the belt or Greinne, except that her parents tell her that they were bad, right? And she's seven, honey." Sean rubbed her back. Erinne sniffled too. "But...but that's not...when Mama...." She grabbed Sean's undershirt and rubbed her tears with it again. She hiccupped. "She...she never...." "Well, sweetie, how about I get someone to come in and take notes, and you tell your side, because even as diluted by time as it will be, your truth will probably be more accurate than most of the others in the room?" The nurse waited to see if she wanted that or not, not pushing it, just offering. Erinne hesitated, her fingers twisting in Sean's shirt, then gave the smallest nod. The nurse rose smoothly, squeezing Sean's shoulder on her way out—a silent acknowledgment of the bomb that had just been dropped between them all. Aoife wiggled free from Sean's lap and climbed onto the bed beside me, her small body warm against my side. She smelled faintly of hospital soap and the lingering salt of dried tears. "Baby, do you want to tell your story to the person they get with everyone in the room, with only one person in the room other than that person, or do you want to be completely alone?" Sean asked her coasting her to sit where Aoife had been in his lap. "No one will be mad whatever you choose. This is about your comfort, child. No one else's." Erinne's breath shuddered as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand—the gauze unraveling slightly from her wrist. "Alone," she whispered, so low I almost missed it. "But...but not really alone." Her fingers plucked nervously at Sean's undershirt still clutched in her lap. "What do you mean, not really alone?" he asked her. "It's okay. You don't have to be scared. The only person I can't let go with you, because he's not even in the state, and because he's probably in jail right now, is your Daddy. But anyone else, even Aoife, I would permit it, honey." "No." Erinne shook her head sharply, her matted hair sticking to her damp cheeks. "Not—not people." Her fingers spasmed around the shirt again, knuckles pressing white against the fabric. "The—the door. Just... open. A little." "Do you want me or someone else to be outside the door, maybe?" he asked her. "Or is it just so you have an escape if it gets too hard?" Erinne nodded slightly, her fingers loosening around the shirt just enough for it to wrinkle rather than tear. "Both," she breathed, barely audible. The nurse returned with a clipboard and a woman in a soft blue cardigan—her graying hair pulled into a loose bun, her hands free of gloves. No medical equipment, just a pen tucked behind her ear. "One minute, please, doctor. I am trying to find out what makes her most comfortable, and I think it better me ask than strangers." Then he turned back to Erinne. "You can choose. Mama, Susan, or me, who do you want outside the door in case things get too intense in the room?" Erinne's fingers twitched, her gaze flickering toward Mama—just for a second—before dropping again. "Susan," she whispered. "You got it, baby. I think this doctor is going to take you to the private room to talk to you, and Susan, if you will go with her and wait in the hall like we discussed so she has someone to run to if she gets scared?" Susan nodded, her expression softening as she reached for Erinne’s hand—careful not to touch the gauze-wrapped wrists. Erinne flinched at first, then allowed it, her fingers trembling in Susan’s steady grip. The woman in the cardigan smiled warmly and gestured toward the door. "Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. We’ll go at your pace." I held Aoife closer to me. "They keep taking everyone out of the room," I whispered to Aoife. "I mean, I know they have to get us to tell our own story so we don't get mixed up with each other, but I thought they would at least let us visit while they are talking to us." Aoife nodded. "I don't want to go alone," she muttered, wetting her lips nervously. "I want Sean." "He'll probably go with you unless the doctor says you can't," I smiled. "And I have this shirt, and it's his because... he IS safe." Aoife leaned into me suddenly, her small body rigid with tension. She smelled like hospital antiseptic and the faint tang of old urine beneath the fresh diaper—her fingers clutched at my gown with surprising strength. "What if they say I'm lying?" she whispered, her breath hot against my collarbone. "Just be honest," I sighed looking down. "Even if they call you lying, it's just because of what Daddy did, not because you are not truth telling. And if you tell Sean you think they called you lying, just tell him. He won't allow it." Aoife sniffled, her small fingers tightening in my gown. The fabric stretched uncomfortably against my shoulder where she'd gripped it—her nails pressing half-moon indents into my skin through the thin material. Outside, the murmur of voices drifted through the partially open door—Susan's low tone answering some unheard question, the psychologist's softer response punctuated by the click of a pen. Sean meandered closer to us from Mama, as though they had been whispering while I was distracted with Aoife. "Okay, girls?" His bear like gruff grounding me in the present. Aoife lifted her head—still pressed against my shoulder—and nodded, but I saw the way her lower lip trembled. Sean noticed too; his calloused thumb brushed the stray tear streaking her cheek before he crouched to our eye level. "Listen," he murmured, so low I had to lean in, "I won't let them bully you. But you gotta tell 'em everything—even the messy bits. Especially those." "You can go with her, right? If they just talking to her?" I asked Sean about staying with Aoife. "She just seven. She shouldn't have to go alone." Sean's hand paused mid-air, fingers curling slightly before he exhaled through his nose—that slow, controlled breath I'd come to recognize as him wrestling with something unspoken. "Depends on the doc," he said finally, rough palm smoothing down Aoife's tangled hair. "But I'll ask 'em. Loud, if I gotta." I told Aoife you safe, and you keep your word and you don't hit and... and... and... you don't yell." Sean's eyes darkened—not in anger, but something heavier. The nurse cleared her throat from the doorway, clipboard pressed to her chest. "They're ready for Aoife now," she said, her gaze flicking between Sean and Mama. "Standard protocol is—" "That children under ten are not supposed to be unaccompanied," Mama spoke up. "Sean said he'd go, so I can't coax her to say anything, and Sean wasn't there, so he can't coax either." I blinked. Mama was making sure Aoife didn't have to go alone, but why didn't she tell them that about Greinne? Was it because Greinne is ten?" The nurse hesitated, her pen tapping against the clipboard. "Actually, hospital policy recommends accompaniment for any child under twelve in abuse cases." Her voice dropped slightly. "Especially given the... nature of the injuries documented." "Then, you let Greinne have Susan in there, right?" Mama asked. "You took her off to ask her questions. She has... Wait, Susan is with Erinne. What about Greinne?" The nurse’s fingers tightened around her clipboard. A silence stretched—too long—before she spoke. "Grinne was… deemed mature enough to proceed without accompaniment. Given her age and… observed resilience." The words sounded rehearsed, clinical. Something cold slithered down my spine. "Greinne is ten," Mama told her. "She is under twelve, so it was not good even if she's mature. You said so yourself. The only child over twelve is Erinne." Sean stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the linoleum. His hands flexed at his sides—once, twice—before he spoke through clenched teeth. "Where is she now?" The question was low, dangerous. "She's in a room relaxing. The doctor looking at her decided she needed a break." Sean exhaled sharply through his nose. "Show me." His voice carried a weight that made the nurse take an involuntary step back. "And Aoife doesn't go anywhere until either Susan or I get back. She stays with her big sister, Cait for now." Maire opened her mouth—probably to protest—but Sean was already striding toward the door, his boots thudding against the floor with deliberate force. The nurse scrambled after him, clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield. Aoife whimpered against my shoulder, her fingers digging into my arm again. "Is Greinne okay?" she whispered, her breath warm and uneven against my skin. "I think she is," I whispered. "That's what Sean is probably checking, that they didn't stress her too much." Aoife nodded against my shoulder, her fingers relaxing slightly. The overhead lights buzzed faintly—a sound I'd barely noticed before, but now it seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat. The scent of antiseptic grew sharper, mixed with the stale coffee someone had left on the windowsill. Mama shifted in her chair, her hands twisting in her lap—her knuckles cracked and red from scrubbing. It was a few minutes before Sean came back, Greinne hanging on his shoulder, sniffling. "Are you okay?" I asked as Greinne came into the room, her breathing heavy, and her face pushed in against Sean's side. She nodded against him, but her fingers were clutching his jeans so tightly the fabric strained at the seams. Sean’s jaw was set, his free hand hovering protectively over her back. The nurse trailing behind them looked pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not saying you are wrong," Sean was telling the nurse. "Of course I wanted you to know those things, but there has to be a better way to get those kinds of things from a child." The nurse swallowed hard, her fingers twisting the hem of her scrubs. "Protocol—" "You broke protocol, your own words, because she's not even twelve. You can't question her at all on her own like that." The nurse flinched at Sean's tone—low and controlled but vibrating with fury. Greinne whimpered against his side, her fingers twitching against his jeans like she wanted to let go but couldn't. The scent of salt and hospital soap clung to her, mixed with something sharper—fear sweat. "The child has been abused, even if by another child, you know the parent, that monster that we are building a case against was the one that did this. You saw her leg and knew she had been hit. You had to know she'd start screaming or even hitting if she didn't have someone safe near her." The nurse's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water before she managed, "We—we needed uncontaminated testimony—" "Thus you don't ask her mom to go back with her. Susan and I were not there. She couldn't get coaxed answers from us because we have no idea what would have happened to help her answer. There was no excuse." Sean's fingers flexed against Greinne's back—not pulling her closer, just anchoring them both. The overhead lights flickered, casting shadows that made the bruises on Greinne's legs appear darker for a heartbeat. Aoife whimpered again from my lap, her small fingers twisting the hem of my gown into knots. "Just... just ask her with someone there for her, next time. That's all I'm asking," Sean sighed. "I know this is tricky and hard, but as the children's advocate, I have to insist that even Erinne is not treated like she can be alone in this stressful situation. None of them can be coaxed by Susan or myself. You know we weren't there." The nurse nodded quickly, her hands fidgeting with her stethoscope. "Of course. I'll—I'll make sure the others know." Her voice wavered slightly, eyes darting to Greinne's hunched shoulders before she hurried out, the door clicking shut behind her. Sean reached over and brought Greinne over and hugged her as they walked to the bed where he let her sit on it near my knees. "They ask you hard questions, or did they embarrass you?" I asked. Grinne's shoulders hitched—a silent sob trapped in her ribs. Her fingers, still twisted in around themselves, trembling like leaves in a storm. The scent of antiseptic couldn't mask the sour fear clinging to her skin. Sean stroked her back once, firmly, before stepping back just enough to see her face. "Breathe, kiddo," he murmured. "You're safe now." Doctor Henderson led Sorsche into the room, and he saw Sean getting Greinne settled, and could probably feel how peanut butter thick the feeling of the room had. "Er... is everything alright?" he whispered. "I had a talk with one of your nurses. They brought Greinne back by herself even though they told us the protocol is kids under twelve need to be accompanied by family for questioning." Doctor Henderson rubbed his temples for a second—the skin there was shiny with sweat, and when he exhaled, his breath smelled faintly of peppermint and exhaustion. Behind him, Sorsche shifted uncomfortably, her shoes squeaking against the linoleum. "Ah," the doctor said finally. "There appears to have been... some confusion regarding procedure." "Trainee nurses don't know everything, and unfortunately because we were a bit understaffed to hand five girls in this situation with so little warning, we had to have two of them work on this with us. Actually, in a case like this, it is common practice to question the children away from the parents because parents can be influencing the child." Sean's knuckles whitened where they rested against Greinne's shoulder. "She's ten." The words came out flat, final. "Ten-year-olds don't lie about belt marks unless they’ve been taught to." "That's the norm," he agreed. "However, they can lie about where they came from or why, especially if the one they protect through a lie scares them worse than the one they say did something." Sean exhaled sharply through his nose—that slow, controlled sound he made when he was trying not to yell. Greinne flinched against him, her fingers tightening in his hand. The scent of antiseptic grew sharper suddenly, mixed with the faint metallic tang of blood where her nails had dug too deep into her palms. "Make no mistake," Doctor Henderson told Sean. "I am not saying that their father didn't do this. I'm saying if we brought their mother back with them, with controlling looks, she could signal to them to lie about who did it or how it happened. That's why we have different procedures when we are getting to the bottom of trauma that comes with abuse." Sean's jaw clenched, but he gave a stiff nod—his fingers flexing against Greinne's shoulder in silent reassurance. Behind him, Sorsche fiddled with her shirt, her gaze darting between the doctor and Greinne’s hunched form. The fluorescent light flickered again, casting Greinne’s bruises in stark relief. "It's the truth that Erinne hit Greinne, me, and Cait, and that Daddy hit Cait. That's what I really know. But Erinne likes Cait, so I know Erinne didn't hit Cait because she wanted to." Sorsche frowned after explaining what she knew—her eleven year old hands twisting the hem of her hospital gown. Doctor Henderson sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Children often misremember events under duress—" "I'm not lying," Sorsche looked to Sean for support. "Daddy never touched Greinne himself, and he only hit me when Mama wasn't looking. Instead, I think... I'm not sure... But I think... Erinne did it for him." The silence that followed was thick enough to taste—like ozone before a storm. Sean's fingers twitched against Greinne's shoulder as the girl stiffened, her breath hitching in that telltale way that meant tears were coming. Doctor Henderson's pen froze mid-air above his clipboard. Sean nodded. "You have to admit that the kid isn't backing down from that, and it makes sense given what Aoife said she saw, and how Greinne and Erinne have acted since we brought them in." He looked at the doctor, his fists clenching as he tried to still himself. Greinne pressed her forehead against Sean’s ribs, her breathing uneven. The scent of antiseptic mixed with her sweat—sharp and sour. Aoife whimpered against my shoulder, her fingers tightening in my gown again. "Sorsche is right," Greinne whispered. "Daddy didn't touch me himself, and he only hit Sorsche when Mama wasn't watching." Doctor Henderson lowered his clipboard slightly, his pen hovering. A muscle in his jaw jumped. "So Erinne—" "Erinne is with a social worker right now from the hospital," Sean reminded the doctor. "Susan went with her, and is hanging outside the door to her room to make sure she feels safe." Doctor Henderson exhaled slowly, his breath stirring the papers on his clipboard. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed louder, casting harsh shadows under Greinne’s hollowed cheeks. Sorsche shifted closer to Sean, her fingers brushing Greinne’s arm—a tentative touch that made the younger girl flinch before leaning into it. "Do you have a case or not?" Sean asked the doctor. "I don't know how this wouldn't be enough." "It's definitely a case. We still have to talk to Aoife though, and we need to talk to Greinne again, but there is a strong case from what the kids have admitted." Sean exhaled, his broad shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of relief—or exhaustion. His calloused thumb brushed absently over Greinne's wrist where the gauze had loosened, revealing thin, fresh scratches. The air smelled faintly of iodine now, mixing with the stale coffee lingering near the windowsill. Aoife squirmed against me suddenly, her small fingers digging into the bedding. "Do I have to talk now?" she whispered, her breath sounding as though she was running. The words trembled—not quite a whine, but close. Sean turned, his gaze softening as he took in her wide, wet eyes. "I think the children need a break," Sean told the doctor. "You said yourself that you didn't get everything from Greinne and Sorsche yet. Erinne is still being talked to by the other doctor woman, and she's admitted to punishing Greinne, Sorsche, and Cait. Honestly, the girls haven't even had lunch yet. Why don't you let me take them for dinner, and then when I bring them back, maybe they'll be more in the mood to answer your questions?" Doctor Henderson hesitated, his fingers tapping against the clipboard. The fluorescent light buzzed again, casting flickering shadows over his tired face. Greinne sniffled against Sean’s side, her fingers still knotted in his shirt. Sorsche rocked slightly on her heels, her stomach growling loud enough to make Aoife giggle nervously. "I... I want to go with them," I said from the hospital bed I was stuck in. "Please?" Sean looked from the doctor to me, and he took in what I looked like, I guess, and then he glanced at the doctor. "Other than her inability to walk right now, what would be the reason she can't at least come to dinner?" The doctor considered. "You know, she's had surgery because of internal damage to her body. She has stitches that...." "Should be healing. She's been lying there for a few days." Sean seemed to be trying to argue for me. "Obviously, I'll do what you recommend, but she misses her sisters." Doctor Henderson adjusted his glasses, exhaling through his nose. The scent of stale coffee clung to his lab coat as he glanced at my chart. "I think maybe as long as she doesn't move on her own. No standing on her own. You put her in and out of the chair, and you don't do anything unnecessary. I'll have a nurse change her diaper once before you leave." Sean nodded, relief loosening the tension in his shoulders. Greinne sniffled against his side, her fingers unclenching slightly from his jeans. The fabric bore the imprint of her grip—small, desperate creases in the denim. A while later, after the nurse had changed me again, and Doctor Henderson went over his rules again to make sure Sean and Susan both understood that I wasn't to be moved more than needed to get me in and out of the car; that they couldn't change me while I was out, but to wait until I got back to the hospital, and that under no reasons at all, that I was not allowed to stand up or even lean against anything but had to be on the floor or in someone's arms if I wasn't in the chair. Then they finally brought in a wheelchair, and the doctor made sure to show Sean how he wanted me to be handled while he transferred me from bed to the chair. "Can't he even take her to the bathroom?" Erinne asked in a soft plea. "No, honey," Doctor Henderson lay a tender hand on her shoulder. "I need her to heal and I need to make sure her hips don't get pressure on them before they are ready. We've attempted to correct them, but if she puts pressure on them before the bones have had a chance to mend correctly, it could do more harm than good. She can use her diaper and we'll change her at the hospital." Erinne frowned. "Okay." Sean signed some papers, not only for me, but it seemed they were actually admitting everyone into the hospital except Aoife now. Apparently, Erinne had some emotional and possibly some mental things going on and also had some deeper cuts that she realized. Sorsche had some suspicious bruising and other problems that they wanted to check more carefully. Greinne was also a concern with some of the bruises caused by Erinne doing what Daddy told her to do. So Sean had to sign papers for all of us. Aoife, the doctors said, didn't seem physically harmed, so they could wait to check her over until the next day to decide if she needed to be in the hospital or not then. Finally, I was in the chair, and I was wheeled out by Erinne, Sean at my side, and Susan on the phone talking to her friend who had apparently been waiting in the lobby for her. My sisters around me, I felt the tension of being stuck in bed all that time slowly dissolving. Mama was still there, but somehow, I didn't feel her blazing, unapproving glares so much as I felt the warmth from Sean and the shirt he kept on me. I didn't understand at first why people were staring at us, until I realized I did have Sean's shirt in my hands and Erinne had Sean's undershirt in hers to keep her from wanting to punish herself with scratches. That came when Susan's friends walked over, and I saw Erica and Jim for the first time, each with a little kid in their arms. One of them was an eight year old boy and the other was a five year old girl. "So, the kids can go home?" the man with thinning yellow hair asked Sean his blue eyes twinkling at us. "No," Sean's bear gruff voice was low. "We just have permission to take Cait to get her something with her sisters. And they're actually admitting the other three elder girls when we get back. Turns out that monster did a number even on two of the girls that were supposed to be favorites of his." "I can't believe anyone would do that to children," Jim frowned. "Well, what is the plan?" "I was thinking of taking the kids to get some pizza or something." "You'll need a shirt," Jim chuckled. "It looks like your shirts you had on are being claimed by the girls." Sean smiled a genuine happy face, the lines in his eyes showing great approval. "Cait has been clinging to my shirts since we brought her to our house, and that poor baby, needed something to occupy her hands. She hurts herself." Jim shook his head. "Well, we have our van. We can all take that to our house. It's closer. You can borrow one of my shirts and then we can all get some pizza." "Sounds good," Sean nodded. The sliding hospital doors hissed open, releasing a gust of stale parking lot air thick with exhaust fumes and the faint metallic tang of rain on asphalt. Aoife pressed against my wheelchair, her small fingers gripping the armrest as the unfamiliar adults loomed closer. Sean's bare shoulders flexed when he reached back to steady Greinne—his fingertips brushing the fresh bandages on her wrist. Jim's van smelled like old fries and crayons. The five-year-old—Cindy, peered at us from her booster seat, pudgy fingers smearing the fogged window. "Why's that girl got tape on her arms?" Her whisper carried in the sudden silence as Erinne hunched deeper into Sean's undershirt. "Don't worry about it," Jim told her. "It's not for you to worry about, honey. Do you want some pizza?" The girl nodded enthusiastically, seemingly forgetting us for the moment. Jim flipped open the van door. "Hop in, let's get everyone settled," he said with practiced cheer that didn’t quite mask the grimace when he saw Greinne hesitate—her bruised knees trembling as she climbed up. Sean boosted her onto the middle bench, his palm lingering on her back until she stopped shaking. "Susan, why don't you sit with Greinne and Sorsche behind Aoife then Me and Cait? Maire, you sit in the front so I know you aren't near any children right now, and in the far back, if that's okay, Erica you can put your children next to you. If you need help, I can adjust the car seats for you." Erica nodded, adjusting Cindy's straps with quick, practiced motions. The van's upholstery creaked as Maire slid into the passenger seat—her posture rigid, her fingers drumming against her purse. Through the rearview mirror, I caught the way her eyes flickered toward Greinne, then away just as fast. Sean whispered to Jim who was helping him with adjusting the children. "Please don't ask about it in front of the children, but all the kids have permission to just wet their pants while we are out. The hospital put them all in diapers just a little earlier. They are having a hard time, and I just didn't want any surprises if someone leaked or did something a little smellier." Jim’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he only nodded and adjusted the passenger seat forward without comment. The engine rumbled to life, vibrating through the floorboards where Aoife’s sandals tapped nervously against the metal. Greinne curled into Susan’s side, her fingers tracing the edge of the gauze on her wrist—a habit she didn’t seem aware of. The scent of antiseptic clung to her, faint but unmistakable under the van’s lemon air freshener. The eight year old boy leaned up as far as he could and he touched Greinne's hair that came over the seatback ever so lightly. "She has kind of sticky and slippery hair." "Michael, we don't touch without permission," Erica told him. Susan turned to Greinne, a whisper and somewhat friendly tone that I could barely hear. "When did you wash your hair last, honey?" "Last night," Greinne murmured. "When Ms. Erica told us to take baths." "I may have to wash your hair for you tonight," she whispered. Erinne, was in the last row with Erica and her two children. She still had the T-shirt, playing with it, balling it around and squeezing it from time to time. "I didn't mean to," Erinne whispered into the fabric, so softly even Erica barely caught it. The van's tires hummed over asphalt, muffling her words further. Erica hesitated, then reached over—slow, telegraphing her movement—and gently squeezed Erinne's knee. The girl flinched, but didn't pull away. "No one blames you," Susan looked over the seat her. "You were hurt, too, even if not always in the same way as your sisters, baby." Erinne's breath hitched—a wet, ragged sound swallowed by the growl of the engine. Her fingers twisted deeper into Sean's undershirt, pulling threads loose at the hem. The van lurched over a pothole, jostling Greinne against Sorsche's shoulder. My youngest sister whimpered, her hands flying to her hips before Sean caught her wrists with a murmured warning. Jim's voice cut through the tension, falsely bright. "So, extra cheese or pepperoni?" Sean looked back at Erinne, then he whispered to Susan. "Find out the kind of pizza Erinne likes. She needs to know she's just as important to us as her sisters are." Susan nodded, turning back to Erinne with a gentleness that didn't quite hide the tremor in her hands. "Honey," she murmured, "what toppings make you happiest?" Erinne looked up at her with wide eyes. "You're not asking Cait?" Susan stroked her hair back gently. "Cait likes pepperoni—but I'm asking you, darling. Your favorites matter too." "I... I like Sausage or Canadian bacon.... But extras cost too much. Daddy just gets plain pepperoni or when it's really hard, just cheese pizza." Jim's hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going pale. Erica exhaled sharply through her nose—the same sound she’d made earlier when Cindy had dropped her juice box. The van’s AC hummed louder, suddenly too cold, prickling the fresh scratches on Erinne's arms. "I think," Sean said slowly, deliberately, like he was choosing each word with tweezers, "we'll get three large pies tonight. Sausage and Canadian bacon for Erinne. Pepperoni for Cait." His thumb brushed Greinne’s wrist where her pulse jumped. "And—what do you like, sweetheart?" The car came to a stop outside of a modest home, with two floors and a nice kept yard. "We're just stopping to get Sean a shirt," Jim told everyone. "And maybe the children can use the bathroom." Sean got out the back first as he was the closest adult to the sliding door, only having to get around me, and then he motioned everyone else out except Aoife who was on the other side of him and me. Then Aoife got out, and I guess Jim brought my chair around, and then finally Sean put me in my chair to go into the house. "Erinne, if you need to use the bathroom, Susan can take you." "But..., why?" "Because we don't want you cutting or something in there, honey. You are under stress, and it's our job right now to keep you safe." "I don't have to go," Erinne's lip wobbled a little like a two year old but she looked down not arguing. "Same with you, Sorsche, sweetie." "I'm okay," Sorsche smiled. "I already went just at the hospital... um... in my pants, remember?" Sean rubbed her back. "I know. It's okay. I was just making sure." And after they had confirmed that all us kids already did it, but the two littlest ones went in the bathroom, at which time Sean got a new shirt on from Jim, we were all taken back out to the car again. "Pizza time," both Sean and Jim said.

Fair enough, but Cindy didn't need to go at the time she tried to force her to go. The idea was to show how much in control Jennifer is, which is why I had the argument with Brenda and Jennifer, where it showed Brenda having to back down. It's not about Jennifer actually expecting them to make it all the time, but about Jennifer flaunting that she can control them. Maybe I've done a poor job of showing how much control she really has, even when everyone at school THINKS Brenda is the group leader. Well, I haven't really established yet, how Jennifer wants to use that against her, partially, because even I... as Jennifer, just haven't thought that far ahead yet. She might not really bring it up. There are some things that Daddy does have control over that even Jennifer has to get permission before she tries to break it.

"Brenda, you might think you are the leader, but I'm giving you all a chance now. Use the toilet. Lena goes in an hour, and if she's wet, you'll be helping me with her since you all insisted on this instead of what my dad wanted." This was in Chapter Nine... The point is... Yes, she is controlling them. No, Cindy doesn't need her permission exactly, but if you read a bit more about how the Greiveres are... you hopefully start to get the idea that yeah, it's not usually a good idea to go against them if they want you to do something. It's not the pretzel that pushed her too far. It's the whole thing that has been happening all day, it just felt like one more triumph especially after she used the idea that her being poor is the reason she can't help things, and because it seemed that Jennifer was targeting her mom... by saying that she wouldn't be able to wait until lunch like the rest of the group.

Chapter 10 The Real Power? As we kept walking through the mall, I caught the smell of the pretzel stand before I saw it. The scent of warm bread, cinnamon, and sugar drifted over to us. My eyes stung, and my stomach growled. I love pretzels. However, I didn’t want Jennifer to buy me more than she had to. Every time she did something for me, like getting new sheets or blankets for my sister, it felt like she was winning some kind of contest over my mom and me. "I think someone is hungry," Cindy said, looking at me and then at Jennifer. It wasn’t an unfair guess. “You think so?” Jennifer asked Cindy. “Who else thinks she might be hungry?” “Well, we all know she’s too skinny for a diet,” Barbara reminded us all. “And remember those pathetic lunches she would bring to school? I’d bet she’s just used to eating less because of how little her family could give her.” Jennifer looked from Barbara to me, as though she considered what Barbara said. It might have been the way she narrowed her eyes, the way she stared intently not at my eyes, but at my chest, as if trying to judge my weight, or maybe it was that everyone had gone silent with it. Something flickered in her gaze, a hint of something more than just judgment—an internal struggle she masked with her usual indifference. It was as though she weighed the responsibility thrust upon her and the facade she needed to maintain. Whatever it was, I could tell Jennifer was thinking about what Barbara had said, not just as idle gossip, but as something that scratched at the surface of her well-guarded emotions. “My parents fed me just fine,” I whispered, knowing that we didn’t have as much as they did, but I still felt like things were good when Dad was alive. “Whether you were fed just fine or not...,” Jennifer frowned. “Your health and your access to food is more my responsibility now than it is your mom’s. I am supposed to be your employer, and if one of my friends thinks you are hungry, then it would be neglect for me to not get you something to eat.” I sighed. “I am sure I can wait until lunch just like the rest of you.” “Just because you CAN wait doesn’t mean you HAVE to wait,” Jennifer shook here head. “There is a pretzel place right there. Barbara, why don’t you get us all one, that way little Lena doesn’t have to feel bad eating in front of us?” I shook with the indignation that they seemed to make it something I begged for... like I was a toddler or something. “Sure. What flavor does everyone want?” “Get Lena a cinnamon one,” Jennifer stood back her hand on her hips as if she was in charge, her head held high. “And I want a cheesy one.” “Plain for me,” Brenda shook her head. “So many calories, Jennifer,” she tsked with a finger wag. “Just because you need to improve your image doesn’t mean no one has a good image,” Jennifer quipped back, which caused Brenda to frown sourly at Jennifer. “Can I get a cinnamon-flavored one, too?” Cindy asked. “Of course,” Jennifer gave Barbara the money. Barbara returned with the pretzels, and Jennifer handed me mine with a flourish, as if bestowing some grand favor. The pretzel was warm, almost burning my fingertips through the thin paper. I hesitated, the cinnamon sugar scent suddenly cloying. Across from me, Jennifer watched, her lips curled in that faint, expectant smile—like she was waiting for me to thank her or beg for more. The difficult thing was, mom always told me to be polite when I was offered something, and whether I liked it or not, that's what Jennifer was doing, though thanking her tasted like sand mixed in urine- foul mud. Still. "Thank you," I mumbled. Jennifer's eyelids lowered halfway—that slow, deliberate blink she did when she knew she'd won something. Her fingers lingered near mine as I took the pretzel, her nails glossed in that pale pink she always wore. "You don't have to pretend you don't love these," she said, voice honeyed. "I remember Freshman year when you'd trade your entire lunch for half of Cindy's pretzel." I couldn't deny it. I had never traded anything to Cindy, though. She was a part of Jennifer's ugly squad that seemed to send the rest of us seeking cover in places that may even put those on Jennifer's radar more strongly in front and center, just to be ignored. I did trade with this other girl, though, Hannah. I shook my head. "Just because I like them doesn't mean that...." but I just faltered when she stared into my eyes for a moment, then down at my skirt where we all knew I wasn't wearing anything natural underneath it, and then at my hands. "Did you forget who you work for?" Jennifer asked me as though I had done something wrong. "The contract doesn't say...," I started. Jennifer's hand shot up between us, fingers spread like a stop sign. "The contract says what I say it says." Her thumb grazed the corner of my pretzel, smearing cinnamon sugar onto her nail. She rubbed it off with slow, deliberate strokes against her thumb pad. "And right now, it says you'll eat that while I explain exactly how things work while you are being employed and your mother is being employed by my father. You know we don't have to do any of this, don't you?" Cindy shifted beside me, her knee bumping mine under the table. Her pretzel was already half-eaten, flakes of sugar stuck to her lower lip. She didn't look at me. Brenda stared at Jennifer like she was watching a tennis match, her own untouched pretzel wilting in her grip. Brenda finally tore off a piece of her pretzel, chewing with exaggerated slowness as if to prove she wasn’t actually hungry. The silence stretched between us, brittle as sugar glaze. Jennifer leaned in, the scent of her vanilla perfume mixing with the cinnamon from my untouched pretzel. "You know," she murmured, tapping one polished nail against the table, "your mom cried when my dad offered her the job. Real tears. Down on her knees, grateful." "Anyone in my mom's place would," I frowned at her. "That doesn't give him or you the right to take advantage of her, does it?" Jennifer smirked, leaning back against the bench with her arms crossed. The pretzel grease had left a faint sheen on her fingers. "See, that’s where you’re wrong. It's not taking advantage—it's opportunity." Her tongue flicked out to catch a crumb at the corner of her mouth. "Your mom gets paid. You get fed. And all you have to do is remember your place." I sighed. I knew this was going somewhere. She had the contract, and I had already beaten her with her father agreeing to my terms two different times. I suppose she thought having me with her friends, alone, without the reasonable businessman father around, would allow her to bully me. I sighed again. Why wouldn't she? She'd bullied not only me, but our whole class all year before, at school. I looked at Cindy and Brenda, and neither one of them was looking at me. I frowned. Did she bring them along just to prove something to them? Was she trying to make some kind of point? Jennifer leaned forward again, her nails tapping against the table. "Unless you'd rather I tell Daddy you're refusing to cooperate? You did agree to the contract terms. Or would you rather Daddy not get involved, send your mom to jail, and your little sister into foster care, and you'd still be stuck at my house, being my little doll--to be played with at my whim, because believe me, he can arrange it." Brenda choked on her pretzel, coughing into her napkin. Cindy’s fingers tightened around her drink, condensation dripping onto her lap. Neither looked up. Jennifer’s gaze never left mine, her smile widening fractionally at the edges—like she was savoring the way my breath hitched. "Your little sister? How much do you want to protect her?" Jennifer's natural smile spread into a large, toothy one like a lion having found a gift-wrapped bull elephant completely crippled and unable to defend itself. Just think about that before you say your next thought." My fingers curled around the pretzel, crushing the soft dough. Cinnamon sugar stuck to my palms, gritty and too sweet. The paper wrapper rustled loudly in the sudden quiet. Across the table, Cindy’s knee jerked against mine again—quick, insistent. A warning or a plea, I wasn’t sure. Jennifer’s nail tapped once more against the tabletop, a metronome counting down to something. Brenda had stopped chewing entirely, her throat working like she was swallowing glass. The mall’s ambient noise—distant laughter, squeaking sneakers—felt muffled, as if someone had stuffed cotton in my ears. It was surreal the way Brenda seemed to have stopped chewing, and I couldn't tell if she had planned this with Brenda, or if Brenda was truly horrified by just how evil Jennifer was. I had always pegged Brenda as the ringleader, so I didn't think anything Jennifer did would surprise her. I swallowed, my throat dry despite the cloying sugar scent clinging to the air. Jennifer's fingers drummed again—one, two, three—before she plucked a piece of my crushed pretzel from the wrapper and popped it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, her tongue swiping at a stray fleck of cinnamon on her lip. "So?" she murmured, tilting her head. "What's it gonna be, Lena? Playtime... or consequences?" "Look, what is it you want?" I asked. "I've already agreed to a lot of terms, a lot of them very sick and quite humiliating in the contract. I don't understand what I even did wrong here? It's not like I told you no, even." "You were turning down an employer's generosity," Jennifer gave a slight pout at the table at large. "Didn't she just say that she might like pretzels, but was about to argue with me about getting her one?" Barbara nodded sagely. "That's right," she murmured, turning as if this were some kind of tribunal. "She was pretending to be too proud to take charity," she sniffed. "Which is bs--she's happy to take Jennifer's dad's money for her mom's bills." Brenda frowned at me. "You know, unless you have lunch money, I'd reconsider your attitude. If you can't even accept a pretzel from Jennifer as a snack, I doubt I'd waste my breath getting you any lunch later, and I doubt anyone else would either." Cindy nodded. "Jennifer's right, though. You DON'T have to wait if you don't HAVE to. No one wants you to go hungry, Lena. You don't have to be so stubborn about accepting help." "You are poor," Jennifer pointed out the elephant in the room. "Everyone knows it. That's why your mom needs Daddy's help, and why you and your sister can't help being dirty all the time. I bought you some nice things to help you, and I even got you some warm blankets because you know your mommy doesn't have money to do that. And yes, you are not going to get in trouble if you pee on the blankets. You are too poor to know better than to not wet the bed, baby." I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. The pretzel crumbs stuck to my skin like sandpaper. Across from me, Cindy’s knee pressed harder against mine—a silent pressure that felt more like a shackle than comfort. Brenda’s face had gone pale, her pretzel abandoned on the napkin as if it had turned to ash. I looked at Brenda for moments, trying to decipher her actions. Was she not the leader and the most evil of these elite rich hags, or wasn't she? I had seen her many times before at school, directing the hags towards their targets. She seemed to call out commands to have people hold others or to fetch their cell phones from them. So, why wasn’t she resisting Jennifer, if she was teh boss? "We'll work on bedwetting only after we get you used to not peeing in your pants in the daytime, sweetheart." Jennifer seemed to miss the subtle things that Brenda and Cindy were doing. Brenda's fingers twitched against her untouched pretzel, her knuckles whitening. She looked away from Jennifer—just for a fraction of a second—but it was enough. The corner of her mouth flexed, like she was biting back words. Jennifer looked around at the other girls. "Who here doesn't remember how my little servant smelled all day the last week of school before the summer break?" I knew it would be a lie if any of them said I didn't smell. Poor Nadia had peed on me by accident during the night a few times that week, and the third time it happened, we didn't even have running water. Barbara sat up straighter, her chin lifting. "I remember," she said, voice clinical. "It was ammonia and bleach. Like a bus station bathroom." Jennifer scoffed. "It was nothing like that, though, was it, Lena? I could go to your sister's school and tell them she peed the bed all last year, if you prefer? Imagine her class... calling her names, and talking about the ten-year-old that ...." the threat trailed off. "Fine! No! I peed the bed," I half lied. I sometimes did do it. We were too poor to find a doctor who would tell me why it was happening. I'd been struggling with it for about two years now. My sister did wet the bed recently, but only because daddy got sent away a lot, and she started to feel unsafe, especially just around February. That's when she started to do it. Cindy's knee jerked harder against mine—quick, sharp—like she was trying to break my leg under the table. Brenda’s nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply, her fingers twitching on the pretzel wrapper. Jennifer’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before it hardened again, her polished nail tapping a staccato rhythm against the tabletop. "Interesting," she murmured. "So it’s true. And here I thought you’d lie." "You promised to leave my sister alone in our contract. If you are going to bother her, even after all this, then I will not only quit, but I'll tell my mom everything, and that your dad can't be trusted, whatever he promised her. I wouldn't be surprised if your dad believed my mom because he had something to do with the bank troubles?" Jennifer's breath hitched—just once—before she folded her hands primly in her lap. The gloss on her nails caught the fluorescent mall light. "You think my father would let your mother believe anything you say?" She leaned in, her whisper honeyed with venom. "Who do you think approves her paycheck? Who do you think signs the eviction notice if she steps out of line?" "Both my mom and I are aware of that, Jennifer. But you'd better think about this! Your dad is technically breaking the law, forcing me to sign that contract. I am not eighteen. The working hours are well beyond what a minor should be working, and if the police find out he is forcing my mom to work, don't you think they'd check into him for other things, like say... human trafficking?" Jennifer's tapping nail froze mid-air. Brenda exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers tightening around her drink until the plastic cracked. Cindy's knee jerked again—this time not against mine, but bouncing wildly under the table like she was trying to shake something loose. "You are right. The only reason my mom doesn't go straight to the police right now is that your dad seems to be able to keep her out of jail, and my little sister with her mom. But don't you think I wouldn't give up that protection, if it keeps my sister from being messed with by YOU. If I cannot trust you to keep your end of the contract, at least with my sister, then I have no reason to keep the contract, got it?" Jennifer’s fingers twitched toward her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen—halfway between a threat and a plea. The vanilla scent of her perfume had turned cloying, mixing with the acrid sweat beading at her hairline. Brenda’s pretzel snapped in her grip, the sound like a dry twig breaking. "I wasn't threatening your sister," Jennifer finally said as she put the phone down, as if she had only been checking the time. "I was just upset that you tried to refuse a gift. I was being nice to you, and you threw it in my face. I will not tolerate that while you are my servant. If I want you to eat, you eat, unless you really can't because you are sick or full. If I tell you to use the toilet even off schedule, you thank me, and you do it. That's all I was trying to assert here. You are my servant, as long as you want your mom and your sister to stay together. Right?" Brenda's fingers twitched toward Jennifer's wrist—aborted movement—before she snatched her hand back into her lap. The cracked plastic cup tipped over, ice cubes scattering across the table like dice. Cindy's bouncing knee stilled abruptly, her breath shallow through parted lips. "Just remember," I gave Jennifer a hard look. "My sister is off limits. Above all else, messing with me, and yeah, I'll throw a fit, but with my sister, there will be no fit. It will be a silent resignation, and the police will be looking into your family employing underaged girls, and possibly human trafficking, and maybe even illegal things that hurt other people who are citizens in this country. I'm not as weak as some of those other girls your evil gang of hags tries to control." Jennifer's lips parted—just enough for the tip of her tongue to flick against her teeth—before she smoothed her expression into something bored. Brenda exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers twitching toward her abandoned pretzel before curling into fists. Cindy's leg bumped mine again—gentler this time—her thigh pressing warm and steady against me like a silent ally. "Well, whatever you call us, I don't think I was being a hag by feeding you. So, do you want to see a movie, or not? I can send you home if you don't want to see a movie. But the rule will be... no toilet at all until I get home." Jennifer was fighting for control over me. I let her have this one, though. "I can watch a movie, or you can punish me and send me home. Whatever you want. I'll do it. We understand each other now, don't we?" Jennifer's fingers twitched toward her phone again—hesitating—before she slid it back into her pocket with deliberate slowness. The cinnamon sugar on my hands had turned sticky, clinging to the folds of my skirt as I clenched the fabric. Brenda's breath hitched when Jennifer's gaze flicked toward her, as if waiting for backup that wasn't coming. "Honestly, she made one mistake," Brenda said in an awkward silence. "Just let her watch a movie, Jennifer. Besides, didn't you say you wanted to get her some school stuff so she wouldn't embarrass you when you had to keep near her to make her behave?" Jennifer's fingers curled around her purse strap—tight, then looser—as if recalibrating her grip on the situation. Beneath the table, Cindy’s foot nudged mine, sliding sideways until our ankles touched. Not a warning this time. Solidarity. I studied Cindy a little more. I thought she was the coldest of them, having been the first one to think I needed diapers or something on this ride. Cindy tore her pretzel in half and pushed half of it towards Barbara. "Thank you for the pretzel, Jenny, but I'm not that hungry. I think Barbara is, though." Jennifer looked up at Barbara and then back at Cindy before nodding. Barbara hesitated, her fingers hovering over the offered pretzel half before withdrawing. Jennifer's gaze flicked between them, her throat working silently like she was swallowing something sharp. The air smelled suddenly of burnt sugar and Brenda's jasmine perfume gone sour with sweat. "Okay, well, I'm getting my little servant some school things, so does anyone else want to do school shopping or not?" Jennifer frowned up at the others. Brenda exhaled sharply, her fingers twitching toward Jennifer's sleeve before she pulled her hand back. "Actually, I think I'm gonna head home early." She stood abruptly, her chair screeching against the tile. The pretzel wrapper crumpled in her grip, cinnamon sugar dusting the table like evidence. "Go ahead, Brenda," Jennifer frowned. "And don't even bother sitting with us at school next week." I watched Brenda's face crumple before she smoothed it into resignation. "Fine. I'll stay." She sat back down, her fingers clutching the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping her upright. The sugar flakes on her abandoned pretzel had dissolved into tiny wet stains, like tears. And when Brenda's resolve crumbled, that meant the rest of them, no matter how badly they wanted to follow Brenda in leaving, they'd also follow her in staying. "Good," Jennifer said as though they had just agreed over something trivial. "So, everyone finish up your pretzels, and Barbara, go ahead and be nice and take Cindy's gift. Then we can start looking at school stuff." Barbara hesitated, glancing at Cindy's half-pretzel like it might bite her. Slowly, she picked it up, her fingers trembling just enough to make sugar flakes rain onto the table. She didn't take a bite—just held it, her knuckles whitening. Jennifer's smile flickered as she watched, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant hum of mall music and the squeak of sneakers on tile. Brenda's breath came too fast, her chest rising and falling like she'd just run upstairs. "Look, ladies, aren't we supposed to be having fun? What? Do you want me to just give Lena permission to wet her pants? If that's what you want, I can just do that...." Barbara's fingers twitched violently, sending her half-pretzel skidding across the table. Cindy's knee pressed harder against mine—no longer a warning but a demand—as Jennifer's gaze swept over us, her smirk widening at the way Brenda's shoulders hunched forward. I picked up the pretzel that came across the table at me, and I pushed it back towards Barbara who took it, and with a heavy sigh and a sour face, as if biting into a lemon, she bit into it. A sign she knew what she had to do. Brenda bit into hers, and then Cindy. I looked at Cindy, not sure what her demand was, but I bit into the pretzel I had. Barbara's chewing was slow, deliberate—like she was counting each grind of her molars. Cinnamon sugar stuck to her lower lip, but she didn't lick it away. Jennifer watched her with narrowed eyes, fingers drumming against her thigh where no one else could see. The silence was thick enough to choke on. "Now, we have about two hours before we are supposed to catch up with Angela and Hannah, so I suggest you all either get your attitude and loyalty in check, or some of us might be made fun of for what she comes to school in. Understand?" Jennifer looked more at Brenda than anyone else, staring her down. Brenda's hands clenched around her purse strap—tight, then looser—as if recalibrating her grip on the situation. She exhaled sharply through her nose, her jaw working silently before she gave a single, stiff nod. The pretzel crumbs stuck to her fingertips like sand. Cindy's ankle pressed harder against mine beneath the table—not quite reassurance, not quite restraint. We finally got up, and the girls were a bit quiet for a bit. I wondered how loyal they really were, or if they were mostly just kissing up to the Grievere family name. But we did end up going towards an expensive stationery shop first. Barbara held the door open for me, but Jennifer put her hand on my shoulder to stop me from going in yet. "Wouldn't want Lena breaking anything, or stealing pens. She'll join us once we've gotten what she needs. Meanwhile, Brenda, I think you should stay with her and keep her out of trouble." Brenda exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers twitching against her purse strap, but she nodded. The fluorescent light overhead flickered, casting shadows under her eyes that made her look older suddenly—bone-tired and brittle. While the others went in, Jennifer still pretty normal towards Barbara, but both of them flanking Cindy on each side, as though she was being watched, as well. "So, have you and Jennifer always been friends?" I asked Brenda while we waited outside in the hallway, sitting on a low wall that had a tree planted in a planter in the middle of the hall, like a divider meant to direct traffic. I knew that Jennifer had always had people around her, since fifth grade that did what she wanted, but other than the rumors, I didn't really notice until last year when I saw her getting really mean with people. Brenda's fingers dug into the faux marble ledge, her knuckles whitening against the polished surface. The mall's recycled air smelled faintly of chlorine and burnt coffee—harsh against the cinnamon still clinging to my tongue. "You really don't get it," she muttered, her gaze tracking Jennifer through the store window. Barbara was holding up a leather-bound planner while Cindy pretended to examine pens, her shoulders rigid. "We weren't friends. Her father bought my uncle's construction company last year. Now my cousins deliver groceries at night." "But, you were the one that mostly picked on people at school last year, and told the group what you were going to do, as far as everyone at school could hear?" I shuffled my Mary-Janes against my legs shaking a little. Brenda's laugh was brittle—too loud—echoing off the storefront glass. A passing couple glanced over, their steps quickening. "That was the deal," she whispered, thumb rubbing raw circles over her palm. "Public performances keep Daddy Grievere happy." I felt the crinkle of the plastic in my panties, and knew too well, what she meant. "So, why follow her if she ruined your Uncle? Did she threaten you further? Is there a chance she or her family caused the trouble that happened that got my dad killed?" Brenda's fingers clenched around her purse strap—tight, then looser—as if she was recalibrating her grip on reality. The faint scent of her lavender hand cream mixed with the acrid sweat beading at her temples. "You don't ask questions like that," she murmured, her gaze darting to the store window where Jennifer was now inspecting Cindy's shopping basket with exaggerated scrutiny. "Not if you want to keep breathing." "You could just try to avoid her, and stop hanging out with her at school and stuff?" I asked nervously, knowing she was going to say it as impossible, like trying to get away from the mob or something. Brenda didn't answer immediately. Instead, she traced the scar along the base of her thumb—thin and pale, like a snapped thread. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sickly green reflections in her nail polish. "Three months ago," she said finally, "my best friend switched schools after 'falling' down the library stairs." She flexed her thumb, watching the scar stretch. "Jennifer pushed her." "That was near the end of school, but Jennifer wasn't anywhere near her. She was too busy making my life miserable then?" I whimpered. Brenda exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers twitching against the marble ledge like she wanted to rip it loose. Through the store window, Jennifer was holding up a neon pink binder against Barbara’s blushing face while Cindy watched, her grip tightening around a pen until the plastic cracked audibly even through the glass. "Jennifer’s hands don’t get dirty," Brenda muttered. "Her dad sends people." I shook my head. "So going against her, is really, just a suicide note?" Brenda's fingers twitched toward her throat—quick, reflexive—before she flattened them against her thighs. The scent of her lavender hand cream mixed with the acrid tang of the cleaning solution they used on the marble walls, turning thick and cloying. Through the storefront glass, Jennifer was tapping a glitter gel pen against Barbara's wrist in mock sternness while Cindy pretended to examine notebooks, her shoulders stiff as coat hangers. I remember Cindy trying to tell me to do something with gestures under the table while we ate pretzels. I felt her leg movements against mine, and I wondered if she was warning me, if she was threatening me, or if she was trying to somehow communicate something to me. I sighed. "What do you think Jennifer wants me to do right now? I don't want my little sister to ...." Brenda's thumb dug into the groove of her scar, pressing until the skin blanched white around it. Through the store window, Jennifer was now sliding the glitter pen down Barbara's forearm, her smirk widening as Barbara flinched but didn't pull away. Cindy's reflection in the glass showed her gripping a notebook so tightly the cover bent backward with a faint crack. "Jennifer will let you know when she's ready," Brenda frowned as she looked in and saw the same scene I did. Barbara was staring down at her forearm, where Jennifer had drawn a line so hard it left a red welt. The gel pen was still in Jennifer's hand, its glitter catching the store lights like tiny knives. Cindy's reflection stared at Barbara's wrist—not at the welt, but at the way Barbara's fingers trembled as she reached for another binder without protest. "You being left out here to 'babysit me,' do you think that was a way of her punishing you for trying to leave earlier?" I was starting to catch on to how much control Jennifer really had over these girls, and even though Barbara had been the most obedient, it didn't seem that she was obedient enough because Jennifer was taunting her. Brenda's knuckles whitened against the marble ledge, her thumb pressing harder into that pale scar until the skin puckered. The scent of her lavender hand cream soured with sweat. Through the storefront, Cindy had moved closer to Barbara—close enough that her elbow brushed Barbara's ribs—but Jennifer wedged herself between them, gel pen twirling between her fingers like a conductor's baton. Suddenly, Cindy's face went pale as Jennifer stared at her, expectantly, but her mouth wasn't moving. She was just staring, and Cindy was shaking. I looked at Brenda, who looked away from the scene unfolding inside. "You see?" Brenda whispered, her breath hitching as Jennifer slid the glitter pen into Cindy's trembling hand, curling her fingers around it with deliberate care. "She doesn't need to say anything anymore." Horrified by something I couldn't get a clear view of, Barbara stepped away from Cindy. Jennifer backed away casually, and Cindy, stared at the floor aghast as though something scaly had crawled out of it. I couldn't see the floor, but could see that whatever they were looking at, it came from there. Brenda's fingers dug into my sleeve—too tight—as Cindy slowly knelt. The gel pen rolled from her limp fingers, its glitter catching the fluorescent lights like broken glass. Through the window, Barbara had pressed both hands against her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs that fogged the glass between us. "I think Cindy has just pissed herself," Brenda finally whispered. "Jennifer's doing. And Barbara had allowed her to draw on her arm with the pen so she wouldn't suffer the same fate, I am guessing." They came out, Jennifer carrying four bags of stuff, Barbara carrying four bags of staff, and Cindy carrying two bags. Cindy's face was so blazing that it looked like she'd been in the sun way too long. Her skirt was soaked. "I told Cindy to use the bathroom earlier, didn't I, Brenda?" Brenda's breath hitched, but she nodded. "That's why you do as I say. I know what will happen if you don't," Jennifer said to all of us. "I predicted that Cindy would pay for not going then, and now, here she is... regretting not going earlier like I told her to." Cindy's soaked skirt clung to her thighs, the fabric darkening further as a thin trickle ran down her leg and pooled around her shiny black high heels. The ammonia smell mixed with Barbara's rose-scented hand sanitizer, creating a nauseating sweetness that made my eyes water. Jennifer adjusted the bags in her arms, her manicured fingers tapping against the plastic handles in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "I know you want to see your stuff," Jennifer smiled at me. "But we do need to get to the movie theater soon. I dare say Angela should already be there with Hanna. And Cindy, don't you even think of trying to back out... unless you want me to post this online for the whole school to see the first day back." Jennifer showed Cindy's skirt darkening and the pee running down her legs. Barbara twitched violently—her manicured fingers digging into the paper bags—as Jennifer tapped her phone screen twice, saving the incriminating footage. Cindy's breath came in shallow gasps, her soaked hem dripping onto the tile in sync with the mall's ticking clock above the fountain. The ammonia stench mixed with Barbara's rose-scented sanitizer, turning the air thick and cloying. "And... Since Cindy had decided to wait and pee her pants instead of using the toilet earlier, I think she should babysit Lena and Hannah. They are too poor and too immature to watch what the rest of us are watching, and now, it seems Cindy is just as immature. And Lena, since Cindy just gave you an example, I suppose you will follow her example during the movie, as will Hannah. You will." Jennifer handed Cindy one of her store bags—too fast—letting it drop before Cindy's trembling fingers could catch it. Plastic crinkled against the tile as Cindy's soaked high heels shuffled backward, leaving wet footprints that mirrored the dark stain spreading across her skirt. Barbara's grip on her own bags tightened, her knuckles pressing white against the pink-and-gold shopping bags like bones trying to escape skin. "You'll carry Lena's things too," Jennifer said, nudging the fallen bag toward Cindy with the toe of her ballet flat. The scent of ammonia clung to the soles of Jennifer's shoes as she stepped back, her smile widening at Barbara's suppressed flinch. Cindy's breath hitched—audible—as she bent to retrieve the bag, her wet skirt peeling away from her thighs with a sound like tape being ripped off skin. I shook my head and followed as Jennifer had already started walking, not even giving Cindy enough time to recover from everything that had happened. Barbara’s lips trembled as she adjusted her grip on the bags, her polished nails digging crescent moons into the plastic. Ahead of us, Jennifer hummed softly—a pop song about love and betrayal—her ballet flats clicking against the tiles in perfect rhythm with the mall’s piped-in muzak. The air smelled suddenly of buttered popcorn and ammonia as we passed the pretzel stand, its warm cinnamon scent now soured by the memory of Cindy’s humiliation. Cindy lagged behind, her wet shoes squeaking with each step. The darkened fabric of her skirt clung to her thighs, the hemline dripping steadily onto the mall floor like a broken faucet. She clutched both bags to her chest like a shield, her knuckles pressing white against the paper. Beside me, Brenda exhaled sharply through her nose—two short bursts, like a warning signal—as Jennifer slowed near the theater’s velvet ropes, her manicured fingers tapping against her phone screen.

Sorry. My brain doesn't like schedules when it comes to writing. I did look at this one a couple of times, but though I know where I want to go with it, I just haven't figured out, yet, how to get it there. I'm not giving up, just taking my time to try to get it there the best way I know. So until I figure it out, I'll be writing on Sent Away.

Chapter Fourteen My Legs, My Sisters, Raw Love! I was in the house, the living room as dim-dark as a bear-den. The television was on a low hum, and Sorsche and Aoife were watching it. I was at the table, my homework out, watching from far away. It must have been one of those days that Erinne watched us, and Mama had told her to make sure I did my homework. Greinne had called out sharply. Her eyes were red, and tears were falling down her face like a waterfall. She gritted her teeth, and a more growl-screech came from her mouth than a wail of a cry. "I told you," Erinne had been yelling at her.... But then darkness. The dream or memory or whatever it was started to fade into a red-magenta light, behind closed eyes. My eyeballs rolled around behind the shutters of eyelids, and consciousness started to pull me out of that moment. A moment of a few months ago, when Greinne had gotten that yellowish mark around her left eye that hadn't fully healed yet. I felt a little thud thud thud starting to pick up into a spray and then a full-on flood flowing into my diaper as my stomach seemed to deflate just a moment before my eyes opened. I knew that Susan had picked up my sisters and Mama, but only Mama had visited earlier. This time, when I opened my eyes.... Aoife was standing next to Susan, watching me intently—that sharp, assessing look she used to give Daddy when he'd come home with whiskey-breath. Greinne hovered near the foot of the bed, fingers pinching the hem of her sweater, her yellowing bruise now a sickly green at the edges. Erinne was standing near the window as far from the bed as she could, but still further towards me than Mama and Susan. Sean, always the vigilant soldier, stood right at my bedside. He had Ms Whiskers in his hand, the rabbit he and Susan had gotten me a few days ago when they took me to Wyoming. "Are you okay?" Greinne asked me in a whisper from the foot, her head down but glancing through the top of her hair at Sean like she often did Daddy when Daddy had to hit me, and Greinne knew she better not get in the way. I sighed. "We're safe here, Greinne." Aoife snorted—half-disbelief, half-amusement—her fingers tapping against her thigh in a rhythm I recognized from the times she'd crawled over me, knowing I'd peed the bed, but tried to tell daddy she had done it. The hospital gown rustled as I shifted, the diaper beneath crinkling softly; Sean didn't flinch, but Greinne's shoulders hunched like she'd been caught stealing candy. Sorsche, down my Greinne at the foot of the bed, but having been on her knees, had only poked her head up after she'd heard me speak. Her long, dark brown hair hung off the sides of her face, oily and unwashed, for days. Susan and Mama were whispering something between them. Sean placed Ms. Whiskers at my head, closer to me, in a place where I could reach for her when I was ready. Erinne seemed to be watching the parking lot like a hawk. Some moments, she would glance over at Mama with a sour look, and then over at me, with something foreign. I couldn't make sense of her at the moment. I'd never seen her give a look like she did me, just then. Our mixed-up family, with Erinne being only Daddy’s girl. Sorsche was only Mama’s, and although I should have been Daddy’s, I was more treated like I didn’t belong at all. The three of us created quite a dynamic for our parents. Especially Erinne, loved to push her limits, to see how much she could get away with being a brat to Mama, and how much Daddy would defend her. Greinne, about six months older than me, and Aoife, two years younger than me, were the only ones who were both of theirs. Really theirs. Erinne never did like Sorsche, but more than Sorsche, she’d always pick fights and hurt Greinne. I never really understood why. Daddy would always punish Sorsche and me. Erinne would get some screeching from Mama, but Mama never laid a hand on her—probably too scared to, and Aoife. Aoife was never hit by anyone as far as I knew. Greinne moved a little closer to me, now halfway between the foot of my bed and my knees. Aoife meandered towards Greinne, getting just in front of her, her little seven-year-old self just small enough that Greinne's already ten-year-old self was easily able to see over her. "Is Caitlin going to get better?" the little one asked, her eyes looking up at her big sister. "Get better?" Greinne frowned and then lifted Aoife to the side of the bed, putting her near my knees. "They haven't told me anything more than they told you," she whispered. "But I think that's why she's in bed here. They trying to fix her up." Aoife sighed. Sorsche reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of my blanket—hesitant, like she was testing the heat of a stove. Her nails were bitten raw, the skin around them pink and angry. "They said your nerves were all... tangled," she murmured, her voice fraying at the edges. "Like when Aoife knots her jump rope so bad even Mama can't undo it." Aoife giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting to Erinne by the window. Even if Erinne never hit Aoife directly, there were times when Erinne was in charge, and if Aoife did something wrong, she would give her a look or slap something just right, that caused Aoife to jump. She had learned well how to intimidate her, just like Daddy intimidated Sorsche and me all the time. Sorsche's eleven-year-old mind was quick when she spoke. "That's why they say you pee your pants?" I sighed with a shrug. "I pee my pants because... it safer to do," I reminded Sorsche. "Daddy acspected it." "Yeah, I know. But what about now, when you weren't even at home?" "I told her to," a quiet voice from the window, almost too quiet to have realized anyone spoken at all. "I told her to do it, so that Daddy wouldn't throw her out or get mad at her for faking her accidents." Sorsche frowned. "Would you have told her to pee her pants if you knew?" "That we would all be dragged out of our house, across to another state, and daddy would not even be here with us?" Erinne seemed to get a higher pitch as she spoke, each phrase threatening to start her crying. "No. Of course not. But Cait must have done it wrong. She's so stupid, sometimes." I sighed and looked down. "Why are you calling her stupid if you told her to do it?" Sorsche asked. Erinne's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles whitening. "Because she messed it up—like always," she muttered, but there was something hollow in her voice, like she was repeating words she'd heard too many times in the dark. Those were not really her words. She told me often, when no one was listening, that I was smarter than that. Those words were from the man who taught Erinne to be cruel. Aoife wrinkled her nose, her small fingers clutching the hospital blanket. "But Caitlin ain't stupid," she protested, her voice wobbling with the effort of standing up to Erinne. "She peed her pants so Daddy wouldn't hit her. That's smart." Erinne sighed. "She didn't do it often enough or at school when she should have, and she must have made a mistake with these people." Aoife frowned. "No," she whispered. "She did it just right." Erinne turned sharply—her braids snapping against her shoulders—but whatever acid she'd been about to spit dissolved when she saw Aoife clutching Greinne's sleeve, her knuckles white. "You... you know...," Sorsche looked to the back of the room and saw Mama there, not Daddy. "You know Aoife is right." Erinne's breath hitched—a wet, jagged sound—as she pressed her forehead against the cold windowpane. Outside, a crow pecked at something in the parking lot, its black wings ruffling in the wind. The glass fogged where Erinne's skin touched it. "I know," she whispered, her voice cracking like thin ice. "But knowing doesn't make the screaming stop." The door opened, and I saw Sean, with his stone-etched face and heavy, strong body, walking towards me with the rolling gate that I knew would hold me every time I needed it. He crept up the other side of the bed towards me, avoiding getting too close to Sorsche, Greinne, and Aoife, as though he was trying to sneak up on a timid rabbit that he didn’t want to bother. “You’re awake, Cait,” he smiled. “So glad. The doctor was just talking to me about the other things they’ve found.” He hesitated, then carefully lifted my hand—slowly, like he was handling something fragile—and pressed Ms. Whiskers into my palm. The rabbit’s fur smelled faintly of lavender detergent, a sharp contrast to the antiseptic sting of the room. Behind him, Erinne’s reflection in the window twisted her mouth like she’d tasted something bitter, but when she turned, her face was smooth as stone. “It’s time they started to check Sorsche,” he told me. “You know the doctor needs to help build the case against that man. He should never have treated any of you the way he did. Though you don’t think he touched Erinne or Aoife, I do have suspicions.” Greinne started shaking, her fingers gripping Aoife tighter—not enough to hurt, but enough that Aoife leaned into her side. “But I don’t want to go to the doctor,” Sorsche whispered, her voice thinning to a thread. “I don’t want them to see.” "I know the kinds of things demons like that tell little princesses like you, honey.” His teeth seemed to bare for a moment like a dog about to lash out and bite someone that was tormenting it. “I know you're scared, but it will help to keep him from ever hurting you again." Sean reached a fiercely shaking hand over and laid it on my body, not too far from where she stood. It was nothing more than an offer, one she could choose to take or not. It was tied to his ever support that he always showed me. I whispered down at Sorsche. “Sean is safe. He won’t even call you stupid or anything if you pee your pants,” I told her. “You can trust him.” She blinked, her eyes darting to his hand, hovering near her shoulder—close enough to feel warmth, but not close enough to trap. Her breath hitched, uneven, like a sputtering engine. Aoife tugged Greinne’s sleeve, whispering loud enough for the whole room to hear: “He smells like pine needles.” As if that explained everything. I smiled. "And hay and earth." I still had his red plaid flannel shirt draped over my chest as like a blanket over the hospital bed one. I pulled it off and showed it to Sorsche. "You can borrow it, for comfort." Sorsche shook her head. She didn’t know about how Sean’s presence could drive away the scaries, but I knew that explaining it just didn’t really help anyone to understand. I just had to let my sisters figure him out on their own. She blinked at me, and I could see the twisting fear inside her—like a trapped animal trying to decide if the outstretched hand meant food or fingers to bite. Her lips parted, then sealed shut again—no words could undo what had already been done to her. "It's okay," Sean said, a voice of patience amid the shaking terror that I could see his hand going through at the thought of Daddy. Daddy was probably safer in jail than anywhere near us right now. I knew that Sean was getting more ravaging towards Daddy the more the doctors told him about what happened to just me, and now, he could see my four sisters, all with their own troubles. The crow outside cawed—a harsh, scraping sound—and Erinne flinched, her reflection tightening in the glass. Sean’s fingers twitched, then stilled. He didn’t reach for her. He just waited, letting the space between them hum with quiet tension. Doctor Henderson finally walked in, and he looked around at all the kids in the room. He had, of course, wanted this, or I doubt he would have let this many people in the room at once. He walked towards Susan. His voice was low and even. His steps were measured and professional. "Sorsche is the second eldest, right?" he asked her. "Yes," I could see Susan's eyes turn focus sharp as she pointed out Sorsche. "Be gentle with her. She's had it almost as bad as Cait." Doctor Henderson nodded, then knelt—slowly, like a man trying not to startle a wild animal—until he was eye-level with Sorsche. His tie brushed the floor, the silk pooling like spilled ink. "Sorsche," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it, "do you know why we need to check you today?" Sorsche shook her head. "Daddy. He didn't do nothing to me. He just spanked, when I did bad. He didn't touch me bad. He didn't." I didn't think Daddy touched any of us that way, but I knew Sorsche had bruises on her like me, and I knew she had been kicked at least twice. She was probably as hurt as I was, but I knew the doctor would find it. I didn't have to say anything to the doctor. Doctor Henderson didn't press—just nodded once, his gaze flickering to the raw crescents bitten into Sorsche's palms. The fluorescent light caught the sheen of sweat along her hairline. "Sometimes," he said carefully, "our bodies keep score even when our mouths can't." His pen tapped lightly against his clipboard—three quiet clicks, like a code none of us could decipher. "May I see your hands?" Doctor Henderson didn't press—just nodded once, his gaze flickering to the raw crescents bitten into Sorsche's palms. The fluorescent light caught the sheen of sweat along her hairline. "Sometimes," he said carefully, "our bodies keep score even when our mouths can't." His pen tapped lightly against his clipboard—three quiet clicks, like a code none of us could decipher. "May I see your hands?" Sorsche's breath hitched, her fingers twitching toward her stomach before she thrust them out stiffly, palms up, like she was offering something stolen. The nurse stepped forward with a basin of warm water—no antiseptic smell, just plain water—and Doctor Henderson dipped a cloth in it. The droplets pattered softly as he wrung it out over the basin. "You're not in trouble," he murmured, dabbing at the ragged cuticles, his touch feather-light. "Bodies speak when words fail. Your sister's nerves screamed. Yours might whisper." The cloth came away pink-tinged; Sorsche hadn't realized she'd been picking at her hands until that moment. Aoife gasped—a tiny, wounded sound—and burrowed into Greinne's side. Erinne turned sharply from the window, her braid whipping against her shoulder like a cracked whip. "Stop it," she hissed, though whether to Sorsche, the doctor, or herself wasn't clear. Doctor Henderson didn't react to Erinne's outburst, his focus solely on Sorsche's trembling hands. "These little wounds," he murmured, tracing a fingertip just above the raw skin, never touching, "they're like Morse code. Your body spelling out what happened when you couldn't." "If I go with you to another room, what are you going to do there?" Sorsche asked. "I might not get a say, but at least, I can get ready, right?" Her voice was small—smaller than she was—and I saw her eyes dart to Erinne, then to Mama, as if waiting for someone to tell her no, to tell her she didn’t have the right to ask questions. Sean, however, narrowed his eyes at Erinne first, causing Erinne to turn away, so she looked out the window. Then to Mama, to make her look down. And then he whispered as low a growl as he could muster, "Baby, they are going to see what pain you've had to endure, and make sure that what has been done is healing as best it can. They are also going to be documenting so that we have a case to keep that monster from ever getting close to you again." "Monster?" Erinne's words were wrapped in tears and delivered in soft squeaks. "Daddy's not a monster! He's a man who has been trying. He's just stressed out!" Susan moved between Erinne and Sorsche, her arms crossed and her shoulders squared. "A man doesn't hurt children, Erinne. A man protects them." "Enough," Doctor Henderson said to Susan. "She's a child, and no doubt has her own baggage. Let me just take Sorsche first." Aoife's hands clenched Greinne's sleeve tighter, her knuckles whitening. "I'll go too," she blurted, her voice unexpectedly firm—a sapling standing straight in a storm. "If Sorsche's scared, I'll hold her hand." It must have looked strange to every adult in the room except Mama that the seven-year-old was trying to protect the second-oldest child, the Eleven-year-old, from being scared. "Honey, I think Sorsche would love you to come and comfort her," he patronized our seven-year-old baby sister. "But I can't have you come, honey. I need statements from you alone, and if you hear what she says, you might accidentally say what she says, instead of using your own words. I'm sorry, but I promise to return her as soon as I can." Sorsche's wide eyes darted between Aoife and Doctor Henderson, her lower lip trembling—caught between the desperate need to bolt and the quiet terror of being left alone with strangers. Greinne shifted, her fingers tightening around Aoife's shoulder—not pulling her away, but grounding herself in the contact. "I'll walk the child out," Sean told the doctor. "You don't have to say anything to her until she's settled and I'm gone again. She doesn't know me that well, but she's seen me pick up her sister at their old house, and I dare say, at least understands that Cait is safe in my house?" Doctor Henderson gave a single nod—more acknowledgement than agreement—and Sorsche flinched when Sean’s shadow fell across her, his bulk blocking the harsh overhead light. His boots scuffed against the linoleum as he knelt, the creak of his knees louder than his voice. "You remember me carrying Caitlin to my truck, don’t you?" he murmured. "How I didn’t let her feet touch the ground?" Sorsche nodded, and she looked up at him. There seemed to be a look in her eye, probably one of pleading, but I wasn’t sure. I don’t think she’d ever pleaded with anyone at our house before. Why would she? Mama could only protect her so much, and pleading with Daddy only got you in more trouble for talking back. Sean reached down and started to lift her. Sorsche yelped a little, more because of the surprise, but she didn't ask to be put down. That's when I saw part of her panties because her dress accidentally moved. Her panties looked wet, but maybe I imagined it. If you looked at Sean's reaction, you wouldn't be able to tell either way. Just like with me, he just held her and carried her, not caring if she peed her pants or not. Doctor Henderson walked slowly behind Sean as he carried Sorsche out the door. Their footsteps faded down the hallway, but I could still hear Sorsche's soft whimper—like a rabbit caught in a trap but trying not to scream. Erinne's face twisted into something ugly, her fingers digging into the windowsill until her knuckles turned white. "She's gonna tell," she hissed under her breath, like it was the worst betrayal she could imagine. "I already told you," I reminded Erinne. "If you are going to be mad at someone, be mad at me. I was stupid, be member? I got caught pooping my pants, and Sean and Susan decided it wasn't natural, so they took me here, and then it started everything. Blame me!" Erinne's breath caught—a wet, jagged sound—and her shoulders hitched like she'd been punched in the ribs. Greinne flinched, her fingers tightening around Aoife's shoulders, but it was Susan who moved first—her arms wrapping around Erinne from behind before the older girl could bolt. Erinne thrashed, her elbow catching Susan in the ribs with a dull thud, but Susan held firm, murmuring something low and steady into the crown of her braids. "Shush, baby," Susan told my eldest sister, thirteen-year-old Erinne. "Shush. None of this is your fault, baby." Erinne tried to pull back, but Susan had her good and in hand. She rocked with her body. It took several minutes, but eventually, Erinne was calm enough to ask. "You don't know anything. How do you know what is and isn't my fault?" Susan sighed, but she didn't let Erinne go. "Because I know what it's like to blame yourself for things you couldn't control," she murmured, her voice rough as gravel yet impossibly soft. "And I know the shape of guilt that isn't yours to carry." "But, I did blame Sorsche for everything. And I blamed Greinne. I got mad because they can see their Mama. Ever since Daddy started seeing Maire, back in Ireland, my Mom had to stop coming around. Then, we moved all the way across the world, and everyone had their Mama--except me... and Cait. That's why I didn't hit Cait." Susan exhaled slowly—a sound like wind through old rafters—and pressed her cheek against the top of Erinne’s braids. The girl smelled of sweat and shampoo, with a faint undercurrent of something metallic, like pennies left in a damp pocket. "Guilt doesn’t rust," she murmured. "It stains." "How come only Cait and me? How come we can't see our Mommies, but everyone else gets to see their Mommy? Daddy said my Mom was bad, so Maire told her not to come around no more, and she said that Cait's Mommy just left her, like she was an unwanted puppy your Dog accidentally had." Aoife's fingers went slack on Greinne's sleeve, her face crumpling like tissue paper in the rain. Susan's arms tightened around Erinne—not restraining, just holding—her knuckles pressing into the girl's ribs like braille. Outside, the crow took flight, its shadow flickering across the window like a film strip skipping frames. "No one can explain the choices that we make, sometimes, not even the ones that make them," Susan told Erinne. "It's natural to be a little jealous, but did you start hitting because you were jealous?" Erinne looked up at her. "You blame yourself for some reason, sweetheart. You're not in trouble. Your Daddy should have put a stop to you doing that a long time ago. He didn't teach you right from wrong, so that's more his fault than yours. I just want to know, was it jealousy that made you hit Greinne and Sorsche, honey?" Erinne started to shake and sob. "Daddy said jealousy was natural. He said that it was okay to be jealous and to hit because of it, but...." She was holding back on something. "Yes, baby?" Susan asked her softly. But Erinne didn't answer—just curled forward like she was trying to fold herself out of existence, her forehead pressing into Susan's collarbone. The silence stretched thin between them, taut as a wire about to snap. Then—so quiet I almost missed it—Erinne whispered, "But Daddy never hit me for being jealous." "You shouldn't be hit for being jealous," Susan whispered to clarify that that would never happen anyway. "There are gentler ways to teach right from wrong, child. Jealousy is an emotion. You can't help emotions. It's the actions that jealousy could cause that need to be understood so that you know you have choices in how you handle it. You know it's not really Sorsche or Greinne's fault you can't see your Mom, right?" Erinne's shoulders hitched—not a nod, not a shake, just the involuntary spasm of a body trying to contain something too large for it. Her fingers curled into Susan's shirtfront, the fabric twisting like a noose beneath her whitened knuckles. The overhead light caught the wet tracks on her cheeks, turning them to liquid silver. "I know... but knowing doesn't make the wanting stop," she choked out, her voice fraying at the edges like old rope. "No, no, it doesn't," Susan agreed with her. "What you need is counseling, sweetheart. No hitting, no yelling, just counseling. And when we get things sorted, that's what all you girls are going to get." Erinne hiccuped—a wet, childish sound—and Susan gently shifted her grip, one hand moving to stroke through the girl's braids, fingers catching on the snarls like they were tally marks of neglect. Outside, the crow returned to its perch on the parking lot lamp, something small and dark clutched in its beak. Suddenly, I couldn't help myself! I shrieked in delight. "Aoife peed!" It wasn't that she peed her pants sitting next to me, but I felt it on my leg. My leg knew it got wet! It was something. They had been prodding at me, trying to get me to feel something, and then it just happened. Little sissy peed, and I felt it! I was crying, laughing, and excited all at the same time. "She peed!" Aoife looked horrified—like I'd just announced she'd murdered someone—her face draining of color as she stared down at the darkening patch on my hospital gown where her dress had pressed against my thigh. Greinne's hands fluttered uselessly in the air like panicked birds before she grabbed Aoife's shoulders, yanking her back so hard the smaller girl's shoes squeaked against the linoleum. Sean had just come in, and I had to repeat it! "Aoife pee! Look!" I yanked the blanket back, showing the wet spot on the bed. "I'm not going to lose my legs! I CAN walk again! Aoife peed!" I was still crying, excited, and laughing all at the same time. The wet patch spread slowly across the stiff hospital sheets, its edges blurring like watercolor on cheap paper. Sean didn't react to the mess—his eyes locked on my face with an intensity that made my laughter stutter. His calloused thumb brushed the tear tracks on my cheeks, his touch lingering like he was memorizing the texture of my relief. Susan walked over, letting Erinne take a moment while she helped Aoife, knowing that having her failure declared like that might have hurt her, but I didn't notice at the time. I couldn't get over my own delight that I felt it. Sean's hands trembled—just once—before he pressed them flat against my shoulders, grounding me as if he feared I might float away with the sheer force of my relief. His breath hitched when I grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard to prove I could, my fingers leaving pale crescents in his weathered skin. "My leg has feeling, Papa!" The words tumbled out before I could stop them—too loud, too raw—and Sean's breath caught like I'd punched him. He blinked rapidly, his lashes clumped with moisture, and for a fractured second, I saw the soldier in him waver. Aoife whimpered, her wet dress clinging to trembling thighs, but Sean didn't turn—just kept staring at me like I'd spoken in tongues. I had now started to realize not everyone was excited. I saw Aoife trembling. I saw Erinne looking wary, and Greinne was looking down. Susan was trying to comfort my little sister. I finally understood. I had told everyone what Aoife had done. I looked down sadly. "Sorry," I muttered. Sean, however, kneeled down before me, his eyes serious. "No, baby," he murmured, "Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong." His rough fingers brushed against my cheek—calloused but gentle, like sandpaper wrapped in velvet. "But I did. I told on Aoife, and made her feel scared and lonely. I'm her big sister. I shouldn't have told everyone!" Aoife gasped—a tiny, wounded sound—and burrowed into Greinne's side. Her wet dress clung to Greinne's sweater, transferring the dampness like a secret shared too late. The room smelled suddenly of salt and antiseptic, the sharp tang of urine mingling with hospital bleach. Sean exhaled—slow, deliberate—then reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Aoife's ear, his fingers brushing her damp cheek. "Little one," he murmured, his voice rough as gravel yet impossibly soft, "in this house, accidents are just weather. They come, they go. Nobody drowns here." Aoife sniffled, her small frame trembling like a leaf in a storm, but she didn't pull away when Sean's thumb traced the curve of her jaw—a gesture so tender it made Greinne's breath hitch. Behind them, Erinne stood frozen, her braids a tangled mess from Susan's embrace, her eyes darting between Sean and the door like she expected Daddy to burst through it any second. "No one's ever hit me for an accident before," Aoife whimpered. "But Daddy was my really daddy, and Mama was my really mama. Not like Cait that Daddy doesn't want or Sorsche that isn't Daddy's!" A hush settled over the room—the kind that comes after a scream in an empty house, when even the walls seem to recoil. Sean's fingers stilled on Aoife's cheek, his knuckles whitening against her soft skin. Greinne made a sound like a choked-back sob, her arms tightening around Aoife in a grip that was half-protection, half-restraint. Aoife leaned against Greinne. "Why is Cait excited that I peed though?" She seemed to have missed why it was important. Sean swallowed hard—his Adam’s apple bobbing like a cork in rough water—before crouching to meet Aoife’s gaze at eye level. "Because Cait’s nerves were damaged, pumpkin," he murmured, wiping Aoife’s damp cheek with the cuff of his flannel. "Feeling your accident means her body’s healing." His thumb traced the rim of Aoife’s ear, his touch featherlight. "But that doesn’t mean we shout about it like it’s a fireworks show, understand?" Aoife nodded. "So... she's better then?" The air in the room shifted—not like a storm passing, but like the earth tilting imperceptibly on its axis. Sean's shoulders relaxed, the tension bleeding out in increments as he exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. "She's getting there, babygirl," he murmured, his thumb brushing Aoife's earlobe one last time before withdrawing. Erinne walked closer to me. "You were walking before. How come you thought you couldn't now?" She had tears in her eyes, not yet spilling. Something about the way she asked—the rawness in her voice—made me pause. My fingers curled tighter around Ms. Whiskers' limp body, pressing her button eyes into my palm until the plastic edges left tiny crescents in my skin. The pain was sharp and clean, a grounding counterpoint to the numbness still lingering below my waist. "Last time Daddy threw me, I landed bad. That was months ago, but my body grew back weird, and the doctor said I was getting more and more hurt every day, so they operated. Then I couldn't walk, but the doctor said I was already not going to walk. He said he hoped to save me so I could walk, but it looked too late." I sighed and looked down. Erinne's breath hitched—a wet, strangled sound—and her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach for me but didn't dare. Greinne's lips parted, but no words came out; instead, her grip on Aoife tightened until the smaller girl squeaked in protest. "The doctors think that I'm starting to wet my pants on accident because of getting kicked like last month, too," I told Erinne at last, and then looked to the side. "Sean says I can wet my pants until I want to stop, and my body can control it, but if it doesn't happen, it's okay." Erinne's hands clenched around the bedrail—so tight the metal groaned—before she released it suddenly, as if burned. Her face twisted like she'd bitten into something sour, but her voice came out softer than I'd ever heard it: "You... you didn't tell Daddy about the kicking?" "You didn't know Daddy was the one that kicked me, for making puddles again?" I asked. Erinne's face went slack—that same stunned horror she'd worn when we found the neighbor's cat after Daddy's truck hit it. Her fingers fluttered near her mouth like she might vomit. The hospital gown rustled as she leaned forward—ever so slightly—as if drawn by some morbid gravity. Erinne smelled kind of earthy and sort of rottenish, but I tried not to say it. I didn't know why, and I didn't want to cause another scene. I'd already made a mistake with Aoife, and I didn't know what I was smelling from Erinne. Sean moved suddenly—a soldier's swift sidestep—placing himself between Erinne and the bed, his shoulders blocking the overhead light so his shadow swallowed her whole. His jaw worked silently for a moment before he spoke, the words measured like steps across a minefield: "Erinne. Look at me." When she didn't—her gaze fixed somewhere near my knees—he crouched until their faces were level, his knees popping with the effort. "Whatever you're thinking right now? That's his voice, not yours." Erinne jerked her head up. "How do you know what I'm even thinking?" Sean exhaled sharply—a sound like shrapnel scraping bone—but kept his voice low. "Because I've carried that weight too." His thumb brushed the scarred knuckles of her clenched fist, tracing the ridges like they were braille. "The moment you start believing you deserved it—that's when they win." "I never got hurt like them," she jerked her head back at Greinne, me, and ... Sorsche was still missing—still with the doctor. "I just...." The smell seemed to be getting stronger. I couldn't place it. It's not like I'd think Erinne would do anything that could cause a smell like.... My face, I felt it, contort in horror. No! Susan was breathing deeply, and she looked at Erinne. "Erinne, honey, did your Daddy ever... touch you?" "T... touch me? Like a hug?" she asked, but even I understood that Susan didn't mean that kind, even if I was a little confused at first about exactly what Susan was asking. Susan shook her head. "No... honey. No." Erinne frowned, and I saw her blood vessel in her head seem to twitch before she looked back, confused at Susan. "I was Daddy's. He wouldn't have touched me. But.... I...." She shivered. There was something on her lips, but she didn't say. Susan inhaled sharply through her nose—the scent of pennies and damp fabric thick enough to taste—and carefully reached for Erinne’s wrist, turning the girl’s palm upward. There were scratches on her arm. Not deep enough to cause her to bleed out, but definitely cuts that seemed too neat and purposefully made. The smell from Erinne was intensified, now, and nearly made me gag, but I still couldn't place it... that is, until Aoife stared at Erinne's butt. "Your Daddy never touched you?" Susan whispered, her voice fraying at the edges. "No. No one touched me," Erinne shook her head. "I did this by myself. When I felt I knew I did wrong. When I hit Greinne for no reason, when I pushed Sorsche, and when I... sometimes, I was told to hit Cait, Sorsche, even Greinne with the belt by daddy." I finally realized someone must have pooped their pants. I tried to feel under the blanket on my own diaper, but I knew it wasn't me. Sorsche wasn't in the room. Aoife had already peed he pants... so... that only left Erinne. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating—like wet wool pressed over my face. Sean's fingers twitched toward Erinne's wrist, then recoiled as if burned by the invisible heat radiating from her skin. The scratches on her arms weren't random; they formed deliberate patterns—crude crosses and jagged stars—etched into flesh like a child's desperate attempt at self-punishment. Susan went to hug her again, whispering. "We can fix this, baby," but as she hugged her, that's when she realized the thirteen-year-old girl had poop in her panties under her skirt. Erinne smelled like rotting fruit and iron, a sickeningly sweet decay undercut by the tang of blood—old wounds reopened by fingernails bitten to the quick. Aoife whimpered and pressed her face into Greinne’s sweater, small fingers clutching the fabric like a life raft. Sean moved—not toward Erinne, but positioning himself between her and the door, his body angled like he expected her to bolt any second. Susan’s hands froze mid-air, hovering an inch from Erinne’s shoulders. The girl stood rigid, her skirt stiff with dried filth, each breath hitching like she was counting seconds between lightning and thunder. The overhead light caught the sweat beading along her hairline, turning it to liquid gold against skin gone grayish-green. Aoife whimpered again, pressing her face deeper into Greinne’s sweater—a muffled, animal sound of distress. Sean shifted his weight subtly, blocking the door with his body as if anticipating Erinne might bolt through it like a spooked deer. His fingers flexed once—a soldier’s reflex—before settling into loose, open palms. "Easy," he murmured—not to Erinne, but to Susan, whose nostrils flared with each shallow breath. Erinne didn’t move. Her arms hung stiff at her sides, fingers curled inward like claws around imaginary switches. The cuts on her forearms wept tiny beads of rust-colored blood where fresh scratches overlapped old scars—topographical maps of self-loathing. Susan exhaled—slow, deliberate—then reached for Erinne’s wrist with the cautious precision of someone disarming a bomb. Aoife whimpered again, a sound like a kicked puppy, and Sean’s jaw flexed—once, twice—before he crouched to her eye level. "Look at me, little warrior," he murmured, thumb brushing her tear-streaked cheek. "You smelled it first. That makes you the bravest one here." His words were soft, but his eyes darted to Erinne’s skirt hem—the stiff, darkened fabric whispering secrets no child should know. Erinne’s breath hitched—wet and ragged—as Susan’s fingers grazed her wrist. The girl flinched, but didn’t pull away; her fingers twitched like she was counting invisible rosary beads. The scent intensified—coppery blood under spoiled milk—as Susan’s hand gently turned Erinne’s palm upward, revealing crescent-moon indentations where nails had bitten too deep. Aoife sniffled against Greinne’s sweater, her small body trembling like a plucked violin string. Sean kept his voice low, murmuring to her about bravery, but his eyes never left Erinne—watching, waiting, as if expecting her to shatter like a dropped icicle. The overhead light flickered, casting jagged shadows that made Erinne’s scars look like cracks in porcelain. Susan’s fingertips ghosted over Erinne’s wrist—so lightly it might have been an accident—but the girl jerked back as if branded, her heel catching on a loose floor tile. The motion sent a waft of something sour and metallic curling through the air, sharp enough to make Sean’s nostrils flare. Aoife buried her face deeper into Greinne’s chest, whimpering, "Smells like when Daddy left the meat out too long." Erinne’s breath came in short, panicked bursts, her chest rising and falling like a trapped bird’s. Her gaze darted to the door—calculating, desperate—but Sean had already shifted his weight, his boots planted wide like a man bracing against a gale. "Easy," he murmured, his voice rough yet impossibly gentle. "Nobody’s leaving this room until we’re all ready." Susan’s fingers trembled as she reached for Erinne’s elbow, her touch featherlight. "Sweetheart," she whispered, "when was the last time you changed your—" Her voice cracked, the unspoken word hanging thick in the air between them. Erinne’s face contorted—not in shame, but in something far worse: the hollow resignation of a child who’d long since stopped expecting kindness. Aoife’s small fingers dug into Greinne’s sleeve, her knuckles white as bone. "It’s okay," Greinne murmured into Aoife’s hair, but her gaze locked onto Erinne’s skirt—the way the fabric clung stiffly to her thighs, the crusted hemline whispering of days spent hiding in silence. Sean exhaled through his nose, the sound like a blade being sheathed, and stepped closer—not to restrain, but to shield Erinne from the door, from escape, from the cruel arithmetic of her own thoughts. Susan’s hands hovered, trembling, before she gently cupped Erinne’s elbows—not gripping, just offering anchor points. "Baby," she whispered, "you’re not in trouble." The words landed like a stone in still water, rippling through Erinne’s tense frame. For a heartbeat, the girl swayed, her knees buckling slightly as if the weight of those five syllables had cracked something loose inside her. Sean’s boot scuffed against the linoleum—deliberate noise to ground her—as he reached behind him without looking, fingers brushing Aoife’s shoulder. "Breathe," he murmured, and it wasn’t clear who he was talking to. Erinne’s nostrils flared, her breath hitching wetly as she stared at Susan’s collarbone like it held some sacred text. The smell—thick and cloying—seemed to pulse between them, a living thing. Susan’s thumbs traced slow circles on Erinne’s elbows, her touch featherlight. "You’re safe here," she said, and this time the words landed differently—not comfort, but fact. Erinne shuddered, her knees buckling slightly, and for a heartbeat, her shoulders hunched like she was bracing for impact. Then, with a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh, she slumped forward, her forehead thumping against Susan’s sternum. I could only shiver. I had never known Erinne to potty her pants, but now Susan asked her when she changed. That was weird, like Susan expected she had been wearing poopy panties for a while, then, maybe before she came in, and we only started to smell it at the last. I shivered. "I'm going to get this child cleaned up," Susan told the room. "Sean, ask the nurse for diapers. I'll be in the bathroom with poor Erinne." Sean nodded. Just like with me, there was no judgment. No yelling at her. No hitting. Susan just tried to help her, and I think Sean only hesitated because Erinne was thirteen and not nine like I was.