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For how large that chapter was i had too. Since it was a way to long to read in one sitting. You should of clicked the reddit link then.

I have several from Little for Big, love them 

Author notes: For some, this story will be easily recognized and it is my reboot of another story of mine. I am doing this because I have improved my writing and those have a lot of holes. It was written badly. It was one of my first stories, so many stories will go through this.   Messages: Please read, criticize, speak. My English is not my native language, but I am learning. Do you have any tips on how to improve? There are three chapters for now. The rest will be here soon. Intro: A complex story of crime and investigation. A very popular girl is kidnapped to be a baby. Chapter 1: The Abduction It was a quiet evening in southern Maine, and the fresh air of the park seemed to invite people to enjoy the day. Amelia, a petite girl with blond hair and a radiant smile, was jogging through the park as part of her exercise routine. She wore a blue T-shirt with the word "CAL" in bold letters—a reference to the California Golden Bears—and gray leggings that clung to her athletic body. During a brief pause, she took her phone out of her pocket and took a selfie with the trees in the background at dusk. When she posted the photo on social media, she used the hashtag #FreeLife. It was as common a gesture for Amelia as breathing. With over a hundred thousand followers, her popularity was undeniable. After posting the photo, she picked up her water bottle and took a few sips, feeling the hydration revitalize her tired muscles. Not far away, a woman with brown hair and an attentive gaze was sitting on a bench, discreetly observing Amélia. When the young woman finished drinking and began to stretch, the woman stood up and walked towards her. As soon as the woman approached, she pretended to trip and deliberately bumped into Amélia, causing the girl to drop the water bottle on herself.   "Sorry! Geez, it seems like I spilled water on you," the woman said, her voice full of forced friendliness. Amélia tried to divert the situation with a polite smile. "Don't worry, it's nothing serious." But the woman insisted, a strange glint in her eyes. "Oh, no! Let's go to the bathroom. You need to clean up."   Before Amelia could refuse, the woman grabbed her hand firmly. The unexpected strength surprised Amelia, who, even though uncomfortable, reluctantly followed. As they walked, she began to notice something strange. The bathroom was in the opposite direction from where they were going.   "Ma'am, I think we're going the wrong way," Amelia said, her voice full of hesitation. The woman didn't respond. The park was almost empty, and the pressure of the woman's hand increased. Before Amelia could react, the woman took a cloth from her pocket and pressed it against the young woman's mouth and nose. A strong chemical smell invaded her nostrils. Amelia tried to struggle, but her vision began to blur and her muscles lost strength. The last words she heard before she passed out were whispered in the woman's sweet, sinister tones. "Sleep well, baby. You'll be home soon..."   When Amelia's consciousness faded, the woman arranged the young girl's limp body in her arms as if she were a child. She passed a few people in the park, but her calm and confident appearance made no one suspect anything. To others, she just looked like a mother carrying her sleeping daughter. The woman walked over to a black SUV parked near the park entrance. When she opened the back door, she revealed a child's car seat, something common for those with small children. Without rushing, she positioned Amelia in the seat, fastened the seatbelt and, in a gesture that bordered on the absurd, put a pacifier in the unconscious girl's mouth. With everything ready, she got in the car and drove off, leaving the peaceful park behind and plunging into the darkness of the road. More than a thousand miles away, in Washington, D.C., a young man lay in bed, enjoying a rare moment of rest. His cell phone rang, and he answered it promptly.   "Special Agent Paul speaking," he said in a professional voice. On the other end of the line, an authoritative female voice answered. "We have a kidnapping in Maine."   Paul sat up quickly, feeling adrenaline rush through his veins. He recognized his boss's voice immediately. A kidnapping? In Maine? His rest was over. The mission was just beginning.   Chapter 2: Agent Paul Levesque Paul Levesque was awake early that morning. The smell of golden pancakes, fried eggs, and crispy bacon mingled with the strong aroma of coffee he was brewing in his French press. Wearing a University of Miami T-shirt, Paul had an air of confidence and command that was almost tangible. As he piled the pancakes onto his plate, he cradled the phone against his shoulder and spoke.   "Do I really need to be a team player?" He sighed as he paced the kitchen, balancing his coffee cup in one hand. On the other end of the line, a firm but friendly voice answered. "Yes, you do. They want you closer to the area. Not just for the results, but to help the newbies. And in addition to the coffee, get some aspirin. I guess you had a long night."   Paul paused for a moment, his mind briefly returning to a flashback of the previous night: a poker table, scattered chips, and laughter. He remembered his opponents' thinly veiled attempts at cheating and the smile he'd given them when he'd turned over the winning cards.   "These guys had their cards marked," he said with a sarcastic smile. "They tried to fool me, but I took a lot of money from them." He took a sip of coffee and concluded, "But I'm on my way now."   The NCIS office was a mix of modern efficiency and tradition. State-of-the-art computers lined neat desks, while whiteboards covered in notes and photos illustrated ongoing cases. A glass bulletin board displayed a world map with pins marking relevant locations. Three agents were already at their posts. Lewis Bishop, an elegant man with impeccably combed hair, looked at his watch and muttered:   "Will Casper show up today?" Cassie Evans, a young woman with straight red hair tied in a tight bun, looked up from her computer and answered without taking her eyes off the screen. "The way they called us yesterday, it's very likely he'll show up." Lewis smiled sarcastically. "Okay, Oracle Cassie, what else can you tell us?" Cassie, unfazed, answered, "Same as you, Lewis." Before Lewis could reply, Tony Shepar, a young African-American with a serious expression, intervened. "If Casper doesn't show up, the sharks up there will swallow him." Lewis chuckled, "Tonny, tell me the whole story." Before Tonny could speak, the elevator doors opened and Paul Levesque walked into the office. His presence was immediately noticeable. He set his things down on his desk and, without wasting any time, asked, "Have we had any ransom demands, Cassie?" Cassie raised her eyebrows. "No. No sign of any." Lewis leaned forward, smiling curiously. "First, how do you know our names? And second, what ransom demands?" Paul took a sip of coffee and looked calmly at the three agents. His sharp mind had already noted the details on the plaques on their desks. He answered matter-of-factly, "First: MI6 agent and cybercrime expert, Cassie Evans." He paused and turned to Tonny. "Special Agent Tonny Shepar, former SEAL and Sniper." Finally, he looked at Lewis. "Senior Agent Lewis Bishop, former New York City police officer and one of the best interrogators in NCIS." The three of them were silent for a moment, impressed by Paul's accuracy. He continued, "And the second question: who would kidnap a young girl in Maine?"    As he walked up the stairs toward the conference room, Paul was already mentally mapping out his plan for handling the case. The mystery was just beginning.. At the agency, Paul stands in front of Monica's office, where a sign on the door reads "Boss." He enters the office, noticing Monica, a tall, black woman with braided hair and an infectious smile. Paul says: "What an interesting team, but I only work alone, so I won't work." Monica responds with a teasing smile: "Do you still want me to call you immature?" She laughs, but her tone quickly turns serious. "This case is important, and you're going to work as a team." Paul replies, "You know what happened last time." The two stare at each other, and the silence is heavy, filled with memories. Monica says firmly, "You know what? That wasn't your fault, and everyone knows it." Paul has a flashback. Sounds of gunshots and an explosion echo in his mind, but he changes the subject, trying to regain control of the conversation. "Who is this girl?" Paul asks, gesturing to the folder on the table. Monica opens the folder and shows a photo of Benson. "Benson is a famous influencer, a spokesperson for several brands, and the daughter of an important politician. She also has several connections with the attorney general." Paul looks at the file carefully. Benson's father is a member of the chamber, and she is the granddaughter of a famous general. He asks, "Did we get a ransom demand?" Monica shakes her head. Paul thinks to himself: It doesn't look like a kidnapping for money, but for something else. He reads from the file that Benson's last post was in the park. We have a beginning, he concludes mentally.    Paul leaves the room and goes downstairs, lost in thought. It looks like I'm going to work as a team. Ever since that time... I can't think about that now. I need to focus on the girl. Arriving at the place where the other agents were gathered, Paul declares:   "Guys, let's go. I'm going to work with you." Everyone looks at each other, surprised. The idea of Paul working as a team seemed unlikely, but there he was. "What did you find on the girl's social media?" he asks. Cassie answers: "Not much. Meteoric success. A little money here, another there, and boom, she's a hit. Success. You can see it in the first ten posts: everything is self-promoted. Plus, her schedule is practically all posted on social media." Paul reflects on how this makes life easier for the kidnappers, allowing them to know exactly what Benson's doing. Lewis adds: "The family is powerful. Her father is running for governor of Washington state. I've already called him to talk." Tonny adds, "I've warned the parents not to talk to the media yet. I'm holding the Amber Alert until we have more information." Paul agrees. If he's a psychopath, he'll want to see the media coverage. Holding back information might lead him to make a mistake, like stopping at a gas station or other visible location. Finally, Paul starts delegating tasks. "Tonny and Cassie, go to the kidnapping scene. Lewis and I will talk to the parents."    Everyone starts moving with determination. For the first time, Paul feels like giving orders as a team isn't so bad.   Chapter 3: Maniac At the small local gas station, a news program on a worn-out TV was showing a peculiar story. The newscaster was reporting, with a cynical tone, about people running naked through the streets after leaving a fruit stand, resulting in an unexpected increase in local revenue. A tall woman with neat brown hair and striking features watched for a moment as she waited at the register. In her hands was a bottle of fresh milk. At the register, a baby in a carrier caught the woman's attention. With a shallow smile, she played with the child, babbling sweet nothings that made the child laugh out loud. The baby's mother smiled kindly, but quickly turned her attention back to the line. The attendant announced the price: "One dollar." The woman handed over the bill, took the milk, and walked gracefully to her car. Inside the vehicle, a regular black SUV, Amelia remained in the child seat, still unconscious. The woman opened the back door and sat next to Amelia, holding the bottle of milk she had just bought. With practiced movements, she prepared a bottle, adding a few drops of sleeping pill before mixing the liquid. Holding the bottle, she murmured with a sadistic expression:   "My baby can't wake up now. It would be so perfect if you had bedwetting, you'd come home already wet...". The woman held Amelia by the back of the neck, tilted her head gently and force-fed her the bottle. Amelia, still numb, swallowed the liquid without resistance. With the radio tuned to KIIS-FM 102.7, the woman continued on her way. Pop music filled the silence as the car glided along increasingly deserted roads. Approximately 1h30 later, she arrived at a secluded property in Maine. A welcoming-looking yellow house stood amidst dense trees, with a rug at the entrance that read "Mrs. Roberts' House."   The woman got out of the car, picked up Amelia and carried her inside. The interior of the house, with its simple and cheerful decorations, contrasted with the surroundings. She climbed a narrow staircase and entered a room decorated like a nursery, but with a frightening aura. The walls were painted in pastel colors, with drawings of teddy bears and stars. The crib was made of light, polished wood, with high bars and soft padding. In the corner, there was a nursing chair, next to a small table with diapers, ointments and an electronic surveillance machine. Obsessively organized toys were arranged on shelves. Despite the childish environment, there was something oppressive and uncomfortable in the air. The woman laid Amelia in the crib and adjusted the bars so that she could not escape. As she did so, she spoke in an almost maternal tone, but with a glint of madness in her eyes:   "Poor child, your parents want to take you away from me. Washington? How crazy! You are mine now. If you are a good baby, you will have a long life with me here. But if you disobey... it will be tragic."   Amélia began to regain consciousness. Her vision was blurred, her mind confused. When she tried to move, she realized that she was surrounded by bars. She stood up unsteadily, touched the wooden material and realized that she was in a crib.   . "It can't be...", she thought, trying to understand how she had ended up there. She looked around, observing the details of the room: the painted teddy bears seemed to be staring straight at her; the mobile hanging over the crib turned slowly, producing a sinister melody. Amélia tried to climb the bars, but she didn't have enough strength. Hearing footsteps in the hallway, she fell back onto the mattress with a dull thud. The door slowly opened, revealing the figure of the woman, who wore a smile of satisfaction. "Look at the baby trying to escape," she said mockingly. Amélia stared at her, trying to sound firm: "I'm not a baby! Who are you?" The woman gave a wicked smile and replied, "Of course it's a baby. And you can call me Mommy Lindy." Amelia opened her mouth to protest, but Lindy was quicker, placing a pacifier in her mouth. "Shhh, babies don't talk to their mommy like that. Now, let's see how you're doing..." Lindy lifted Amelia easily, holding her with one hand as she tugged at the back of Amelia's sweatpants. "No poop..." she commented casually. Then she checked the front. "No pee either. Too bad! Don't you know holding it in is bad for your health? But we'll fix that." Lindy's voice was sweet, but her words were laden with sinister intent. With ease, she placed Amelia on the changing table next to the crib, holding her steady as she said, "First, let's feed you. A baby needs to be strong to play!"    Amelia felt helpless, trying to understand the woman's insanity and frantically thinking about how to escape this nightmare. Meanwhile, Lindy seemed to savor every moment, controlling the situation with a frightening calm.  

Not entirely but I have cloth pull-ups as a back up

Thank you very much.  Poetry is a medium that expresses the enigmatic in ways that prose cannot hope to capture.  Glad that you enjoyed it.