California

Seems like it'd be easier to just make that character of legal age than worry about crossing lines. 

I'm an AB who is in-between 1 years-3 1/2 years old. That is in nappies 24/7.  

Chapter 18: Red Faced Skip crossed their arms over their chest and stared up at the wall as they waited for Melody to begin.  They weren’t yet sure what they had gotten into. From the minute they’d been confronted, their brain had been on a short circuit, failing to keep up with the conversation. Skip hadn’t been able to think of a lie, they hadn’t even known what the truth was, and so Melody’s relentless flex of power had left them defenseless. A tiny piece of them, a fragment somewhere buried deep in their lungs, wanted to cry, to scream, to run. But…despite catching them out, despite laying bare how much they’d been lying and how much they’d cheated, Melody wasn’t mad. She wasn’t even annoyed, she seemed almost happy that Skip had lied.  They weren’t in trouble. Or…they were in trouble in that they were being punished, but they were being given no reasons to feel guilty.  Melody quirked an eyebrow down at them, and Skip realized they’d missed what she said. Skip glanced at her eyes then looked away immediately, embarrassment warming their face. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”  “Are you going to take off your pants, or do I have to do it for you?” Melody asked.  Not wanting to delay a second time–even if the first had been by accident–Skip jumped into motion. Shimmying their hips and catching the hem of their sweatpants with a foot, Skip wriggled out of their pants and kicked them down by the edge of the bed, leaving only their boxers and socks on below the waist. Melody took the next step, sliding their boxers down over their ankles and free, then discarding them on the floor. “You won’t be needing these for a few days,” she commented with a smirk. That only made Skip wriggle more, and at their reaction, her smirk grew. “If you wanted to keep these, you shouldn’t have broken the rules…” Skip looked at the wall above their head, shame creeping up their neck.  “...or, you should have done better to not get caught,” Melody concluded, and in that instant, the shame was washed away with excitement.  Skip wanted her praise, they wanted her attention. Maybe it was just the thrill of the game, and they certainly wouldn’t admit to any other motivations, but they knew that wasn’t the whole story. They were excited to play because they were playing with Melody, not the other way around.  Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t going to try and win.  “I have a question,” Skip said, still looking away as Melody handled the diaper, plastic and padding rustling loudly.  Aligning the tapes in the air, Melody asked, “Mhmm?”  “When I manage to win, how do you find out? Do I tell you once things are over, or do I keep it to myself?” Skip asked. “It’s not as exciting to come out on top if you don’t know you lost.” Tilting her head, Melody thought about it for a moment. “If you manage to come away from a play session without me catching you in breaking any rules, tell me you won, but don’t tell me how. A magician shouldn’t reveal their secrets.”  That opened up avenues of possibility. Many avenues of possibility. Skip could misdirect, they could pretend, heck, they could just obey the rules and say they’d cheated to claim a free win.  This could be fun– “Lift your hips.” With three words, Melody brought reality crashing back into Skip’s train of thought. Whatever else they might do with the game, for the time being they were going to have to wear a diaper.  They complied. The diaper slid beneath their waist and Melody gently spread their legs so that she could fold it up and in place.  “Do we need to get other changing supplies?” Melody asked. “Wipes, powder?”  “No,” Skip grumbled, only realizing a moment later that a hard no was the wrong answer. Without either a safe word or a reasonable explanation, they would appear to just be pouting, maybe even bratting.  Melody beamed. “I’ll pick some up while I’m doing rides today.”  Skip rolled their eyes. “If you think you need them.” Turning her attention away from the tapes, Melody looked at Skip, holding her gaze while Skip looked away. “Look at me.”  Reluctantly, Skip obeyed, the eye contact causing their blush to flare up.  “Do you have a problem with that?” Melody asked. “Because if you don’t expect me to keep you clean and cared for, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”  “I hope I’m not sore,” Skip quipped. “We haven’t planned out any sado-masochism yet.” The deflection worked, Melody laughed. After sticking the four tapes in place. It felt better…roomier, a more perfect fit than it had been. Melody had learned how to put these on better in the time since Skip’s first ‘punishment’. She stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “Oh, and of course…” She pulled out the drawer on her nightstand and took out a sharpie, writing a word over the tapes to ensure they would stay in place, un-tampered and secure.  Skip expected that Melody had just signed her name, but when they sat up and glanced at the writing, they saw the words were all different, and upon closer inspection, they saw the real message: On the right side the two tapes were marked, Don’t Even, and on the left two, Try It.  “Don’t try, even it?” Skip inquired, misreading the message on purpose.  Melody rolled her eyes. “I thought you might need a reminder: You can take this off, but if you do, I’ll know.”  “What’s the punishment for taking it off?” Skip asked.  “We’ll tack another day onto the time,” Melody decided. “And…if we want to stay on theme, thirty minutes on Grace’s time-out stool might be a good addition.”  “I don’t want to use her stuff,” Skip said, quickly adding, “Legitimately.”  Melody pursed her lips and paused for a moment in thought, calculating her answer, and Skip wondered if they should have safe worded until she said, “Thirty minutes standing in the Inspection pose I taught you, then. Keep the time penalty, but we don’t have to get her involved in your time-out. Is that fair?”  Skip considered it. The extra day alone would be steep, but not unwarranted. Adding the time out made the prospect of getting caught really sting.  Of course, that also made the thought of victory all the sweeter. “Deal.”  “You’re about to have some breakfast, right?” Melody asked. “Want to grab something?”  The possibility of going out on the town in a diaper blew past Skip and they immediately shut it down. “I should try and eat out less.” “Same, the dating scene is just awful lately.” Melody smirked. “But, alright. I can toss a pizza in the oven and we can split it?”  “That sounds great, I’m going to finish getting ready for the day.”  Skip got their pants back on and took their boxers, stuffing them into a pocket before they left Melody’s room.  Already they were buzzing with ideas. They weren’t even all that worried about getting it off to use the bathroom, they just wanted to prove that they could.  The tapes were snug, and from what little firsthand experience they’d had with the diapers, trying to peel them off would ruin the stickiness, rip the plastic, and misalign Melody’s note.  (Can I peel it off gently? Or warm it up to loosen the adhesive?)  It seemed like they could leave the bottom tapes in place and just shimmy free, using the bottom tapes as a reference to keep everything roughly aligned. They could probably get the tapes back down correctly, though any subtle misalignment could ruin things, so they’d need to be careful.  Thoughts buzzing, they returned to their room and stood in the darkness for a long moment. Their windows were covered with blackout curtains, a towel under the door could black out any light from the hall, their room was a little cave of isolation that shielded them from the outside world.  They reached out, knowing where to feel without looking, and switched on the light. For this, they needed to be able to see.  Skip didn’t have a mirror in their room, but they took out their phone and held it up, switched to selfie mode so that they could look themself over. Their typical wardrobe worked here; between baggy sweatpants and their loose hoodie, any puffiness from the diaper would be completely hidden. There was still the subtle rustling whenever they moved, a telltale audio cue to anyone who was listening closely enough, but if they stood still, there was no indication that anything was amiss.  Staring at their outline, at the negative space around their body, Skip blinked once and found that a minute had passed.  They weren’t just going to keep wearing the same pajama pants they’d worn to bed all day. (Right? That makes sense.) Kicking off the sweatpants and pulling off their hoodie, they crinkled over to their dresser and found a pair of black jeans, along with a plain black tee to replace the oversized band shirt they had worn to bed.  The jeans were a straight cut, not skinny or elastic, and took only a little encouragement to stretch over the diaper. With the T-shirt over it, the waistband was fully covered, and once they re-donned their hoodie, the whole outfit was perfectly discreet. Checking themself in their phone again, Skip ensured that they still looked normal, like their default self, in nondescript clothes that didn’t stand out. Mostly, that was true. Turning, they moved the phone to the side so that they could inspect the silhouette around their butt. The jeans puffed out, ever so slightly, bulging more than normal, with a little crease just above their thighs. Nobody who wasn’t looking for it would think anything was under there, but Skip knew.  Grace and Pearce might notice too, if they were keen-eyed and curious. Even Brains.  Skip shook their head. Even if Brains noticed, he would give them the benefit of the doubt and assume it was a trick of the light.  The tightness of the jeans eliminated the rustling noise more effectively than the loose sweatpants, even when they swiveled their hips to try and make sound, it was barely audible. This was still a step in the right direction. Lowering their phone, they planned out their next few moves. This wouldn’t be a game they could, or even wanted to, win quickly.  Throwing themself into the game would lead to over-indulgence.  It would be fun, and it would even probably help the book, but they didn’t want to go too far. It had to remain platonic, and it had to remain a game, they didn’t want Melody to get the misleading impression that this would be anything remotely close to sexual.  They would slowplay it for now.  That said…there were other rules they could break. Producing their phone, Skip went to their scheduled texts, deleting every message they had queued to send to Melody. They’d been stupid, the timestamps were too obvious, the messages too samey. Once the messages were deleted, Skip went back in, typing new messages with more variety and setting new schedules for each, offset by minutes. For one work arrival text, they even scheduled it to be almost forty minutes late, with an urgent, ‘Sorry! There was a crisis here, had to jump in and handle it immediately, I wasn’t able to text when I clocked in.’  Melody wouldn’t stand a chance at being able to tell those check-in messages from real ones.  With a victory already tucked into their waistband, Skip smiled to themself, put their phone away, and left their room, ready to play.    ... My audiobook for "The Baby Bet" is done! I'd describe it, but if you're reading this, I'd hope you at least know the premise of The Baby Bet at this point, so I'll just say - there's a sample chapter on the sale page and you can get the book here: https://peculiar-changeling.itch.io/the-baby-bet-an-abdl-audiobook

Generally I'll sit in a pooey nappy till mommy says it's time for a nappy change.   

This is a rather long chapter, kind of wordy, I apologize.  I am trying Grammarly to try to clean up the writing, but it seems to want me to put more descriptions in, and that's making it a little longer.  I only have the free version, so it's not going to catch everything, and some things that it's catching, because of the feel of the story, I did choose to ignore a few suggestions for the chapter.  I hope this does make the chapter a little more interesting to read.  Some feedback would be helpful.  But hopefully, Grammarly is helping a little bit? Chapter Twelve Admitted Susan disappeared upstairs, footsteps muffled on the wooden treads. Sean guided me towards the mudroom with a hand warm against my shoulder blade. He opened the weathered door onto a bitter gust; mid-afternoon light brightened the muddy yard. Rusty hinges groaned as he opened the passenger door of his battered white-cream two-door with heavy, thick tires.  Bowing the seat forward out of the way, he moved aside for me. "In you go," he said softly, helping me through the small opening. It was easy for me to get in, but it would have been hard for someone his size. I sat on the red-brown vinyl seat, right next to the spot where I had peed the day before. The stain was still there, making me feel ashamed. Cold seeped through the thin sweatpants instantly. He leaned in, buckling the seatbelt across my lap with surprising tenderness, his calloused fingers brushing my forearm. The metal clasp clicked loudly in the sudden quiet. His expression was unreadable – a mix of worry and that terrifying kindness – as he shut the door with a solid thunk, sealing me inside. Outside, the wind whipped across the empty fields, whistling around the metal wheeled barrier's corners. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching Sean stride purposefully towards the barn, his boots squelching in the mud. He vanished inside the dark doorway. I watched between the house where Susan was expected and the barn where Sean had just gone in, wondering why they were acting so... weird.  I was stupid.  Mama knew it, Daddy knew it, Erinne, my eldest sister, knew it, and even my teacher at school knew, though she did try to help me see things I could do, too.  But Sean and Susan didn't act like I was.  They talked to me like I understood things on their level.  They got me art stuff the night before, and Sean promised to make me a place to use it, permanent, somewhere downstairs where I'd be seen doing it.  I sniffled.  And... I was lying to them. My breath fogged the window, blurring the barn door.  Sean hadn't come back out.  Something was wrong – or maybe I was just being stupid again?  That awful lump formed in my throat.  The barn wasn't just quiet; it felt still.  Like when Daddy told me to sit in my room after I broke Mama's vase.  Waiting.  My fingers clenched on the cold vinyl seat edge.  The wind whistled louder, a sharp, lonely sound bouncing off the  nearby metal shed. I shivered in a chill of my own making, for it was only a few weeks before summer.  I was in the car, protected from the wind, but still, the coldness settled in my bones as I watched.  I was lying, I knew I was lying, and I had started to ask if they knew, but Sean said we'd talk about it later. He cut me off from telling them the truth.  Why? Susan appeared at the front door, carrying a small bag with her besides her usual brown purse for her pocketbook.  Her red hair flowed down the sides of her face, and her green eyes glanced around.  A strand of hair was near her eye, but not covering it.  She walked towards me, her gait sure, and her hand clutching the bag that seemed so out of touch with her image, large enough to put things in it, things that were unnatural for just a visit into town.  Her red hair made her care-worn face seem something more wild, like a protective male lion or something. She opened the door, sliding into the seat in front of me without a word. Her scent – something floral mixed with motor oil – filled the cramped space as she shut the door firmly. The vinyl crackled under her weight. She didn’t look at me, just stared straight ahead toward the barn’s gaping doorway. Her knuckles whitened around the bigger bag’s strap. The silence thickened, broken only by the wind’s mournful howl around the car’s metal frame. My pulse thudded in my ears. What was the bag for?  Were they tired of my lies?  Did she figure it out?  Were they taking me back? Sean came out of the barn, and he looked at the car briefly with a sour grimace before he proceeded toward us.  He seemed to stop to catch a sigh out of the air or something, his heavy breath pushing a fog of sorts onto the window moments before he pulled the long, heavy door open.  He squelched as his heavy bottom sank into the vinyl seat, and with a heaviness in his breath and a heavy thud of his door, he turned to look at both Susan and me. "Caitlin," he tried to mimic my native sound rather than the American sound of my name as he said my name kind of carefully.  "You are suffering, child.  You need help." I blinked up at him.  Were we in the car because I was too much for him and Susan?  I knew I was bad.  Daddy said so.  I'm bad and stupid.  I ruin everything.  I couldn't help my eyes tearing up. "I don't know what that man thought he was doing to you, baby." Sean was still being gentle, and somehow, his words didn't match the atmosphere of him sending me away.  So, what was going on?  "Those bruises all over your back... especially on your lower left side..., I need to have the doctor look at them.  I'm worried." I started to open my mouth, but nothing came to mind to say.  I was supposed to say something, I knew it.  But I was in shock that anyone cared about what my back or my stomach or anything looked like.  I felt my mind crowd with the worry of keeping my punishments hidden. It was MY shame.  I was the one that did stupid things and Daddy had to teach me.   "It's just love taps," I repeated words that both Mama and Daddy often said about Daddy correcting my stupidity.  "It don't hurt none, honest." Sean shook his head.  "Love taps don't leave purple marks on your skin, baby.  Love taps don't make it so you feel it hours after you are hit.  These are no love taps.  I might not be able to stop him what he does at your house, but at my house, those are not love taps, and it doesn't change the fact... that you pee your pants all the time.  I'm worried that maybe he hurt you inside, and that might be a reason you are peeing the bed, honey." I shook my head.  "No?  I just... I'm stupid.  I pee in the daytime, too.  Remember?" Susan turned and looked me in the eye.  I had to look down away trying not to meet her gaze that might reveal that I had pooped my pants on purpose earlier. "Sweetie?" Her voice was honey-soft.  "You do pee in the daytime," she admitted.  "And that's even more concerning.  You are going to be ten years old soon, right?" "In... September." "Well," Susan shifted, making the vinyl crackle under her.  "You are definitely old enough to have control over your little body.  Whatever is causing the loss of control and causing you to have accidents, it is our responsibility while we have you, to make sure that one of the reasons isn't because your body is hurt inside.  Do you understand?" I felt my legs jitteriness, like they wanted to carry me out of the car, but both doors were trapped, only being opened by the front, and being blocked by the two adults that didn't understand anything at home, and who I was still expected to lie to... if I wanted a home to return to after the summer. I shook my head.  "I'm not hurt, honest.  Daddy took me to see the doctor about wetting before.  I'm just stupid.  The doctor said so, too.  He said my brain doesn't get the message in time, especially when I'm sleeping, so I start peeing before I can get awake to go potty." Tears threatened a downpour, but still caught up in my eyes, threatening.  "I'm just stupid, Aunt Susan." Sean drew in a sharp breath.  His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, tendons standing out like ropes under his weathered skin. "No." The word was low, rough, cracking like stepping on frozen mud. "You ain't stupid, Caitlin. Not even a little bit." He glanced towards the barn, his jaw working silently for a moment before turning back, his eyes softening impossibly as they met mine in the rear-view mirror. "I saw a picture your daddy showed me before you came in the door.  I know he was trying to downplay it, and tried to act like... well, what he didn't realize, is that I saw that drawing--those flowers? The way you saw the light catching the petals? That ain't stupid. That's... sharp. Real sharp." I gulped.  Even Ms. Marlow had complimented my drawings all the time, and when everyone got little slips of homework excuses and prize chips for math, spelling, and other things, I was the one that earned them most of the time for art.  Ms. Marlow said that art was my thing. "Art is a waste of time," I repeated Daddy's words, and a little stream broke past my lower eyelid on the right and pushed its way, making a trail down my face.  "He says that people who don't have any real skills in life draw and try to sell crap to people."  I shivered.  I knew art was my only good thing, and it was worthless--like me. Susan reached back without turning, her hand landing warm on my knee. "Sweetheart, listen to me." Her voice held a strange tension, like a wire pulled taut. "That bag beside me? It's got clean clothes. Yours. And... pads." I sighed.  "So... so you are sending me to someone else because I'm too stupid for you to watch then," I found myself saying it, not so hurt as I was kind of sad.  They did try.  They didn't know I was lying to them, either, and that made it feel more fitting to me that they were giving up on me. "No," Sean patted my leg.  "You are not going anywhere, baby.  Those things we brought with you are so we can take care of you.  You are not stupid, and it's not right to force a kid to sit in wet clothes for longer than you need, even if she had peed herself on purpose." His words froze my jittering legs.  His fingers tightened on my knee. "Susan and I... we're worried about those bruises. The ones you tried to hide under your shirt yesterday. Purple ain't a love tap colour, Caitlin." The vinyl seat groaned under him as he leaned towards the gap between the front seats, his face earnest. "We're driving into town right now. To Doc Henderson. He needs to check you over, especially… down there." His gaze flickered downwards towards my lap for a fraction of a second before snapping back to my face, his cheeks flushing slightly. "To see if something inside got hurt." My stomach churned. They knew. They knew. Not just about the wetting, but about... Daddy. About the sharp slaps low on my back, the hard pinches on my thighs when I forgot to flush, the way he’d grab my arm and twist until I cried out. Shame, hot and thick, flooded me, making the cold vinyl feel slick under my palms. They were going to look. They were going to see everything. I shivered. "Cait?" Sean whispered, his voice still gravel-like as though he wasn't used to the concept.  "Remember what we told you when we left your parents behind in Idaho for the summer?" I blinked up at him, not sure what he was saying about that. "You are safe with us.  You are allowed to just be a baby and pee your pants until we figure things out.  No hitting, no shouting, and no shaming for a little saltwater.  Okay?  You don't have to be scared to wet your pants, baby." His words hit me like a warm blanket, thick and sudden. The knot in my throat tightened unbearably. Outside, the wind screamed against the metal shed, tinny and frantic. Susan’s hand squeezed my knee again, her knuckles pale against the dark vinyl. The bag beside her suddenly felt huge, monstrous—clean clothes and pads meant I wouldn’t smell, wouldn’t embarrass them in town. Sean turned the key; the engine coughed to life, vibrating through the seat into my bones. The sour smell of old gasoline mixed with Susan’s floral oil scent. He shifted gears with a heavy clunk, and the tires crunched over gravel as we pulled away from the barn, the house shrinking in the side mirror. As the house started to disappear, Susan reaffirmed his tender comfort.  "Sweetie, even if you get scared and pee on purpose, we won't mind.  You don't have to do it on purpose if you want to tell us to take you or something, but don't be scared... even if you do it on purpose, okay?" "Susan?" Sean looked over at her for a moment before looking back at the road. "I told her, Sean, because you can see it in her face.  She thinks the wetting is all her fault.  If she knows she's allowed, even if she thinks it's her fault, then she won't be as scared when it happens...." Sean grunted, but nodded.  "Okay." The silence stretched, filled only by the engine's uneven rumble and the rhythmic thump of tires hitting potholes on the dirt track leading to the main road.  Dust billowed behind us, swallowing the barn and the empty fields.  My fingers traced the cold seam of the vinyl seat beside my thigh, digging into the gap where the material had split slightly.   Inside, something sharp and brittle shifted—like a splinter working loose.  Was safety something you could feel?  Could it be this… absence?  The absence of flinching when Sean shifted, the absence of calculating Daddy's mood in Mama's tense shoulders?   The rhythmic hum of the tires on the road.  The quiet, secure presence in the car.  The peace of this little cocoon of metal put me to sleep.  I didn’t know how far town was, but when I felt the car suddenly stop, I woke up.  Immediately, I put my hand in my lap, checking to see if I had peed.  I hadn’t. My bladder twinged, a dull ache low in my belly, familiar and unwelcome.  Panic flared hot.  No. Not now.  I clenched my jaw, squeezing my knees together hard, looking around for a moment to see if there were any watching, staring, accusing eyes on my lap. Susan was getting my bag and some papers together from her purse.  Sean was turning off the car, and he and Susan exchanged looks before they got out. Then Sean walked around to Susan's side after closing his door, and that's when they bent the seat forward for me.  Sean could see me squeezing my hand into my crotch. "Need to go before we go inside?" he asked softly. My cheeks burned. It was the question Mama always hissed through clenched teeth in public places. But Sean’s voice held no impatience—just a quiet readiness. I swallowed, the ache in my bladder sharpening. Outside, the squat brick clinic loomed, its windows reflecting the bruised violet sky of approaching evening. The parking lot smelled faintly of antiseptic and hot asphalt. Through the glass doors, I saw a blurry figure walk past a reception desk. It felt too exposed here. Too bright. Too many strangers who might smell wet pants. My throat closed. Sean sighed, and he picked me up.  "Come on, sweet pea.  I'll just start taking you towards the bathroom, and remember, if you want, you can just pee.  I won't mind.  Susan will follow us, and if we need, I'll go out and get your clean clothes from her when I get you on the toilet, okay?  You can even pee your pants on purpose.  I promise."  He patted my bottom the whole time.   "Besides, I'm not sure it's good for you to be holding it right now,” he murmured in my ear.  “We don't know what damage has been done inside, so please, don't be scared to wet your pants.  You can do that, or you can hold it, if you can, and we'll be on the toilet in a moment." He carried me as he talked to me.  There was no accusation, but more of... as if he wanted me to pee my pants or something?  I mean... it wasn't exactly that.  He told me I'd be on the toilet in a moment... but the way he said it.  It's like... go ahead and pee my pants?  I was confused.  He wasn't supposed to be nice about it, or hugging me and carrying me, knowing it'd get all over him if he was encouraging me to wet, was he? I turned and looked where we were going, and Susan was just ahead of us as we approached the glass doors into the building.  There was a quiet sound of something that was supposed to be private in there.  You weren't supposed to be loud.  It smelled like lemon cleaner, scorched clean floors, and a bright ceiling.  The place was too clean to let anything dirty leak on the floor, especially my shameful bodily fluids.  I tried harder to squeeze my legs, but around Sean, they were sort of kept apart as he had me securely against his trunk, my head in his chest, when I wasn't looking where he was walking. He paused at the door, letting Susan hold it open.  Inside the waiting room, hard plastic chairs lined the wall.  A young woman sat near the receptionist's desk, bouncing a baby on her knee.  The baby cried softly.  Sean turned without speaking and headed straight toward a sign that said 'Restrooms' with arrows pointing both ways.  He whispered against my hair, "Almost there." My bladder pulsed urgently.  Every step jostled me, increasing the pressure.  I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face deeper into Sean's shirt.  His flannel smelled like woodsmoke and damp earth - a strangely comforting scent amidst my terror.  The hallway narrowed; footsteps echoed too loudly on polished linoleum.  Ahead, Susan hurried to open the bathroom door marked with a wheelchair symbol. I didn't notice anything different about the feel of my regular panties, Daddy always put me in, and the new panties that Sean and Susan had me in at the moment.  When we got them at the store the day before, I could see they were made differently and even a little thicker.  When they had put them on me, I thought they felt different, but comfortable, and they didn't push my legs out half as much as I thought they would.  But through the car ride, I hadn't noticed, until now. My bladder spasmed, sharp and sudden, as we passed through the clinic doorway. Warmth flooded into my panties instantly, soaking through the thick cotton padding. It didn't spread; it pooled against me, contained somehow. The panic froze, replaced by stunned confusion. I hadn't squeezed hard enough for it to happen that fast! Sean didn't react. His steady heartbeat thumped against my ear, his arm secure around me as he carried me straight past the startled receptionist and down the hallway. The wet warmth pressed against my skin, strangely comfortable, like sinking into a warm bath. A faint chemical smell – like baby powder – mixed with my own scent. My pants weren't even wet on the outside.  We got into the toilet, and Sean worked to get my pants and my panties down for me, and then he put me on the toilet.  The white cold plastic toilet seat felt welcome under my butt as I felt the peeing start to push out in squirts.  Sean smiled, and he put a comforting hand on my back. "Made it," he whispered to me, keeping his heavy, secure hand of protection on my shoulder.  I relaxed, and the pee picked up.  I was sitting here, some pee in my panties that didn't get on my pants, and Sean wasn't yelling about the little spill at all. Susan came in then with the bag.  Sean took it from her and put it on the sink countertop.  Inside, he pulled out the clean panties--those thick ones, and clean pants.  He turned away politely as I finished peeing. "There's a clean pad in there, too," Susan told Sean.  "That will save her embarrassment.  Her private business is no one but ours.  If she wets a little on the pad, then no one needs to know.  It will save her if she almost makes it." "Like now?" I thought seeing that there was a thin little pad in my panties that had some kind of gel or something that had puffed it up a little where my pee went in it.  I looked over at Susan, and then realized her arms were not as strong as Seans, but just the same, she had just protected me from accusing stares.  If I hadn't had this lining thing in my panties....  And she was the one that insisted we get the bulkier panties, though at the time I thought they looked like baby undies.  I didn't say nothing, of course.  They were buying new panties.  I wasn't going to complain. Sean cleared his throat softly, still facing the sink. "Doc Henderson's a good man. Seen him since I was knee-high." His reflection in the mirror above the sink was blurred, but I caught the tightness around his eyes. "He'll be gentle. Just tell him… whatever feels right. Or don't. We'll be right with you either way." Susan came over and helped me get my pants changed, and then Sean reached down to pick me up. "What's important, baby," Sean reminded me.  "Is we want to make sure you aren't injured.  Sometimes, peeing happens when you are injured inside, and your bladder can't wait as long when it's hurt."  He rubbed my back as we went to sit in the plastic chairs in the waiting room.  Susan left us for a moment to go to the front to get a clipboard and the papers, I guess, to let them see me. "We should have brought your rabbit or something with us," Sean seemed to have remorse about that.  "She would have helped you feel a little safer."  I guess he felt me jittery a little because he held me.  But I didn't feel like she would have been as much help as Sean's strong arms were. "Thank you," I whispered up at him. He looked a little confused about why I was thanking him, so I went on. "For the bathroom.  For not letting me pee in my pants and making me be bad, again." He hugged me a little tighter. The receptionist called my name softly. Sean carried me down a hallway smelling of bleach and something faintly metallic. A door opened into a small room—white walls, a narrow bed covered in crinkly paper, cabinets gleaming under fluorescent lights. Doc Henderson stood waiting. He was old, with kind eyes behind thick glasses and hair like spun silver. "So, what seems to be the problem today?" The doctor's voice was soft and patient. But I felt the shame burning inside, and when I opened my mouth, I couldn't speak.  I knew that I peed my pants on purpose, and that I was stupid.  Those were hardly things the doctor could fix.  My face felt flushed, hot, and cold at the same time.  My hands shook, and my legs kicked jitterily while I was sitting on the examinating table-bed thing.  I looked at Sean, scared of him getting upset if I couldn't get the words out, but when I opened my mouth, still, it just hung open.  What was I supposed to say? Doc Henderson leaned closer. "How about we let Sean and Susan step outside for a moment? Sometimes it's easier to talk without an audience." He smiled warmly. "Just you and your doctor, Caitlin." Susan squeezed my hand—a quick, firm pressure—before following Sean out. The click of the door closing sounded like a gunshot. I started to cry, and I shivered.  I didn't like it.  I wanted Sean and Susan.  I was scared to say I wanted them.  I shook, I grabbed, and twisted my hands in each other.  My legs squirmed and I pushed my hands into the lap of my pants like I had to pee, but I didn't.  I already peed not just before they called me.  I knew daddy would be mad I was seeing the doctor without his permission.  I knew that I was stupid and causing trouble.  I felt like ice was coating my throat, like those ice things that hang from caves, so long and unforgiving, that you wouldn't be able to breathe if it were stuck down your throat.  I was seeing Daddy's beer bottle broken on the floor in explanation, while he cursed words at me like that I wasn't allowed to say.  I actually felt something dampen my panties, but I thought I was done peeing? Doc Henderson sighed.  He patted his knee.  "Caitlin, come here, baby." I shook my whole shoulders with my head.  I didn't need the doctor.  I wanted Sean.  I wanted Susan!  I didn't feel safe, here, at all. Doc Henderson didn't push.  He just pulled his rolling stool closer to the exam table, his knees bumping the paper-covered edge.  "Alright," he murmured, his voice low and steady like creek water over smooth stones.  "Tell you what.  You don't have to say a word right now.  I just need to listen."  He lifted his stethoscope, the cool metal disc dangling.  "May I?"  His eyes held mine, patient, waiting. "Can... can Sean come back first?" I asked, tears streaming down my face, my body still acting as though it was in an Earthquake, and my head spinning.  "I don't... I want Sean." Doc Henderson smiled gently. "Of course, sweetheart." He rose slowly, his knees popping softly, and opened the door to the hallway. Sean stood immediately, shoulders tense. "She's asking for you," the doctor murmured. Sean nodded.  "I sort of knew she would, but I didn't want you to think it was just me controlling the child.  She's got some problems, for sure, but today, I'm more concerned about some bruises my wife and I found when we bathed her." Sean slipped back into the room. His large, calloused hand engulfed mine instantly, warm and grounding. The tremors in my legs eased slightly. "Right here, Cait," he murmured, thumb rubbing circles on my knuckles. "You just hold onto me." He positioned himself beside the narrow bed, his flannel sleeve brushing my arm—a constant point of contact. Doc Henderson resumed his place on the stool, his stethoscope still held gently. "Okay, Caitlin. Deep breath for me now? Like you’re blowing out a birthday candle." The cold disc pressed against my chest through my thin shirt. I breathed shakily, focusing on Sean’s solid presence beside me, the faint scent of woodsmoke clinging to him cutting through the antiseptic hospital smell. The doctor listened intently, his brow furrowed. He moved the disc lower, to my belly. I tensed instinctively, shame coiling tighter. Sean’s hand squeezed mine—a silent anchor. I felt a little more pee come out.  How could I be peeing?  I just went?  I shivered as I sat there, scared of getting caught any minute.  Sean's hand steadied me, though, so I just held it.  His presence allowed me to not tell on myself.  It allowed the doctor to do his job, for now, and he didn't know I was slowly wetting my pants....  The thick panties and the pad inside that Susan insisted on still protecting me in her own way. Doc Henderson moved with practiced gentleness, his fingers pressing lightly on different parts of my stomach, asking if anything hurt. I shook my head each time, the sensation distant beneath the thrumming panic. My eyes stayed locked on Sean’s weathered face, the deep lines etched around his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched almost imperceptibly. His thumb never stopped its soothing rhythm on my hand. When the doctor touched my left side, just between my stomach and my back, I flinched.  I still said no, but the doctor could tell that I wasn't being honest.  He furrowed his eyes at me, but then turned to Sean. "She's not being honest about where it hurts.  While I can detect the worst places this way by watching her reactions, it's still not enough to give me the whole picture.  I think we are going to have to do some more expensive tests...." "Whatever it takes," Sean said in a low, calm voice.  "We'll manage.  That child needs this." "Okay.  Well, do you think she can give me a urine sample soon?" Sean sighed and shook his head.  "She just peed before you saw her.  She had to go pretty bad and was kind of scared she'd wet herself, so I took her to the bathroom." Doctor Henderson smiled.  "Of course.  Well, we do have a lot of tests to do.  Do you have a few hours?" "We do now," Sean smiled and looked at me.  "This is more important than anything else we have to do." I felt my heart stop in my throat.  Did Sean just say that I was more important than anything else they had to do?  What about eating?  What about not peeing his pants?  What about sleeping?  Did he really mean it?  I shivered at the thought.  Here I was, causing trouble because I was lying, peeing on purpose, and being stupid?  I shivered even with his hold on my hand, that I was really liking. Doctor Henderson's gentle expression didn't change. He opened a drawer and pulled out a clear plastic cup with a blue lid. "No rush for the sample now. I'll need one later, when her bladder's fuller." His gaze shifted to Sean. "For now, let's focus on those bruises." He nodded towards a curtained corner. "Susan packed clean clothes? We'll need to examine her abdomen and back thoroughly. You can stay, Sean. Hold her hand." "Susan, too?" I asked weakly as I realized the clothes, the thick panties, and the pads were all her doing.  "Please?" Doc Henderson nodded, his silver hair catching the harsh fluorescent light. "She can come in." Susan entered silently, her expression calm but her fingers twisting together until Sean caught her hand. They flanked the examination table, twin anchors. The doctor got this little computer thing out of a corner, and he put some kind of gel on the end and then he asked Sean.  "Lift her shirt just to her chest, not over it, and pull her pants down just to the bone, no lower." I tried not to squirm.  The gel stuff was cool and kind of sticky feeling.  I didn't mind when they unzipped my shorts or anything.  The doctor couldn't see inside my panties, where it was a little wet.  He just move the machine's white thing around my stomach like it was some kind of computer clickity thing.  I wasn’t sure what it was called.  I had never really seen any computers except a couple of places at school.  The computer screen changed as he moved it around.  I think I started to stink, but I tried not to think about that.  If I didn't say it was me, maybe the doctor wouldn't know I just peed my pants when just before he asked for a pee experiment from me. Doctor Henderson's eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on the grainy image flickering on the small monitor. He moved the mousing white want thingy with slow, deliberate pressure just below my ribs. "Deep breath in... hold it..." His voice was a low murmur. The gel felt slick and cold against my skin. Sean's grip tightened fractionally on my hand; Susan stood statue-still beside him, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the exam table. The only sounds were the low hum of the machine and the rapid, shallow rhythm of my own breathing. "Sorry, baby, I am going to have to look a little lower on your hip.  Can we pull your panties down a bit more?" I looked up at Sean, scared that he was going to see that I did pee some, and scared that he was going to be mad when he saw the bruise.  Sean knew it was there.  He had seen it.  I shivered, and I squeezed his hand tight, not knowing what to say. Sean looked down at me and nodded softly.  "It's okay," he whispered.  He helped ease my shorts down over my hips, exposing the top edge of the thick cotton panties Susan had bought.  His fingers brushed against the damp fabric as he tugged gently.  He paused for just a second—his thumb pressing lightly over the wet spot near the elastic—but he didn't react.  Instead, he smoothly folded the waistband down just enough to reveal the ugly purple-green bruise blooming like rotten fruit across my hipbone. "I was afraid of that," the doctor frowned.  "I'm sorry, baby, but we are going to have to do an Xray.  Sean and Susan can walk you down where they do it, but they can't be in the room with you.  You also need to fully remove your clothes and put on a gown for me.  Your clothes may have metal parts and things that will block the machine's sensors.  Do you understand?" I looked up at him.  "But Sean?  He... he's safe," I admitted finally.  "I... I need him." Doctor Henderson shook his head.  I can't let you go in the X-ray room," the doctor told Sean matter-of-factly.  "You are going to have to talk her down.  I'm sorry.  I NEED this X-ray." Sean and Susan watched the doctor leave after he pointedly looked at the cup for a urine sample, and handed them a gown from a closet.  It was really thin, and it didn't look like it covered you well.  I shivered. Sean and Susan started to remove my clothes, and Susan saw my panties were kind of wet.  She didn't say anything though.  She just put the wet panties and pad away. "Maybe the pad will be enough?" Sean voiced while they got the gown on me.  At least only my butt was exposed, so I was glad the open part went in the back instead of in front.  Even then, it had some ties, but not nearly enough. Susan shook her head as she handed Sean the gown.  "The pad has gel in it now.  It will absorb liquid, but it also has plastic backing.  If she pees a little during the Xray, it will leak everywhere.  Plus, the metal clips."  She sighed.  "She needs to be entirely naked.  No diapers, pads, metal snaps, nothing."  She knelt close to me.  "Caitlin, honey, Sean and I will be right outside the Xray room door the whole time.  We're not leaving.  If you need to pee again, it's okay.  They'll just clean it—no yelling, I promise.  But you need to be bare." Sean coughed.  "Yeah, not what I meant, Susan.  He needs a pee sample.  She's not able to control herself, I was thinking, if she wet in her padding enough, maybe it would get enough pee in it he could squeeze it out?  Making her try to pee when she's having these issues, just seems... mean and pointless to me." Susan gave Sean a sharp shake of her head.  "He needs a clean sample, directly into the cup.  Anything else might be contaminated.  It's important."  She smoothed the gown awkwardly over my shoulders.  "Caitlin, you're going to be brave for this.  Sean will hold you until the last second." I heard them talking.  I didn't want to make them fight or get Sean in trouble.  "Can I try the cup now?  I almost wet my pants again.  Maybe there's something in there?" Sean lifted me gently off the table.  "We'll try."  The cold tiles seeped through my socks as he carried me back to the restroom Susan had found earlier.  Inside, the overhead light buzzed loudly.  Sean set the sterile cup on the edge of the sink.   "It's okay if it's just a little," he murmured, helping me position myself over the toilet.  My hands shook as I held the cup, the plastic cold against my skin.  Nothing came at first—just the ache and the fear tightening my chest.  Sean waited silently, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder.  Then, a weak trickle pattered into the cup.  I gasped, relieved.  It wasn't much, but it was something. "Try just a little more," Sean encouraged me.  "See the line?  It has to get at least to that line, and then you can stop.  Can you try?"  His voice was soft, supportive, a low... very low bear growl. The pee came slowly.  Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  Then a little faster.  I squeezed my legs tight, but then I relaxed them.  The pee started to flow a little faster.  I didn't have to push, but it felt like something was pushing inside me anyway.  The cup got heavier as the yellow pee filled up to the line.  I stopped peeing then.  I didn't mean to stop, but I stopped.  It was like a faucet shutting off.  I put the lid on tight and handed it to Sean.  He took it without hesitation, setting it aside to wash his hands first.  The water ran hot, steam rising, washing away any trace of me. He took me to the potty and sat me down.  "Just in case, baby.  Remember, you are allowed to pee, whether in the potty or not, but you'll feel happier if you pee in the potty, I dare say." He turned away politely.  I sat there for a few minutes, and nothing came.  The panic started to build again.  What if I couldn't do it?  What if I wet the gown?  What if the doctor got mad?  Sean could tell I was tensing up.  He washed his hands, drying them on a paper towel. "It's okay, pet," he motioned for me to come to him.  "If you wet later, you wet later.  No one will mind, baby."  His eyes blinked slowly and purposefully.  His head moved slowly and smooth, and his hands stayed low, but an inviting palm faced towards me to come to him.  "Remember, you can pee your pants, baby... even on purpose.  I won't mind." Sean carried me back down the hallway, the sterile gown fluttering open at the back. Each step echoed off the linoleum, and I buried my face against his neck, inhaling woodsmoke and damp earth—scents that anchored me against the clinical bleach sting. The X-ray room loomed ahead, its heavy door slightly ajar, revealing shadowed machinery inside. Susan stood waiting, her knuckles white where she gripped her purse strap. "Almost done, sweetheart," she murmured, tucking the gown tighter around my waist as Sean set me down. Her fingers brushed my bare hip, cool against the bruise—a reminder of what hid beneath skin. "Sean?" Susan sort of whispered worried just as the doctor took my hand to lead me into the room.  Before the door closed us off, I thought I heard "...broken bones?" The X-ray only took a few minutes.  It was sort of like getting your picture taken, I suppose, except they were taking pictures of inside instead of your face.  It happened so slow at the time, and yet I was so busy following directions, doing what they said, that after it was done, it felt like I hadn't even started.  That wasn't the only thing they did to me, though.  I had to get in this really big white thing that went around my body, and then they took my blood and did other things.  I think we were there all afternoon, and before we finally could leave, the doctor met us again. Doctor Henderson clicked on the computer screen, pointing at shadowy smudges among stark white bones. "See this fracture line?" His fingertip traced a jagged streak across my hipbone on the image. "It's healing, but improperly. The bone edges didn't align when it broke." He turned to Sean and Susan, his voice grave. "She needs surgery. Soon. That misalignment will cause chronic pain, mobility issues—it could cripple her if left untreated." He scrolled to another image—blurry, dark shapes near my kidneys. "And these shadows… possible internal scarring from blunt trauma. We'll need further scans." Sean's hand clenched into tight white fists that tensed so much, I thought he wanted to hit the doctor, but as he shook there, Susan was the calm one, putting a soft hand, both on his back, and on my leg.  Under clenched teeth, Sean growled out through a rumble that seemed to shake the floor.  "If we went to the authorities, could you prove what caused these injuries?" he asked. Doctor Henderson paused, tapping a pen against his clipboard.  "Without Caitlin's testimony?  Difficult.  But the pattern..." He glanced at me, then lowered his voice.  "The hip fracture has a classic torsion signature. Someone grabbed her leg and twisted violently. Repeatedly." "You could at least say that much, then?" Sean asked him.  "What about the damage to her kidneys?  The blunt trauma.  Is that something that can happen from a normal kid just playing?" Sean was a shaking volcano at the moment, and I didn't know what was going to set it off.  I started to pee my pants right there... without even knowing it was happening. Doctor Henderson leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Blunt trauma to the kidneys? No, Sean. That's not from falling off a bike. That's someone hitting her. Hard. Repeatedly." His eyes flickered to me, curled trembling on the exam table, gown dampening beneath me. "I'll document every injury. Photograph the bruises. The fracture pattern alone is textbook abuse." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "But proving who did it? Without Caitlin..." "I'll worry about proving it, and allow the police to do their jobs, too.  They have other children in that house.  I can get them to check the second-oldest kid.  I know she's not his....  She might have similar injuries!  I just need a doctor's testimony that these are not child-induced.  I trust you more than anyone else the police could try to subpoena."  The growl was still in his voice. I shivered knowing they were going to see I peed my pants in front of the doctor again, and without the cotton panties and the pad, it went everywhere, and I was afraid I might have caused them shame.  They were helping me, and I shamed them.  I didn't realize they were talking about sending Daddy to jail yet. Doctor Henderson nodded sharply. "I'll prepare the report immediately. Surgery should be scheduled within forty-eight hours—delaying risks permanent nerve damage." He rose, handing Susan a stack of papers. "Get her admitted tonight. I'll call ahead." "Susan, you call that friend of yours, and you tell her we know what that bastard did to Cait.  You tell her she's not going back there," he growled.  "And if I get my way, we're at least taking the second eldest, too.  If he's hitting Cait, then he's hitting that one, too." Susan nodded, clutching her purse tight.  She walked off down the hall, probably to find a payphone.  The gown was soaked through by now, cold and heavy against my legs.  I stared at the wet patch spreading on the linoleum beneath my bare feet—a dark, spreading stain of shame. Sean walked over to my side, picked me up, and rubbed my back.  "It's okay, baby," he tried to tone down his roaring, tense voice.  "This is no one's shame but that man that did this to you." Doctor Henderson handed Sean a towel.  "Why don't you get her into a dry gown before surgery prep?  I have to get a team together, and of course, she'll feel most comfortable with you until she has to go off to surgery." "I'm sorry, I peed," I whispered. "You are a baby, right now," Sean told me.  "Remember?  You don't apologize for protecting yourself or for your body having trouble.  You just pee your pants and tell us you are wet when it happens.  It's not a big deal, honey."  He kissed my forehead.  "You are safe now, baby.  No more beatings for anything, no matter if we do need to scold you, no beatings!" I felt my gut sicken.  He was still being nice about it.  I couldn't keep lying.  "Uncle Sean?  I pooped my pants earlier--on purpose.  I did it because... I have to, and if you tell Daddy, I won't have a home after this summer, and now, I don't know where I'd live." Sean froze for a heartbeat, his arms tightening around me.  Then his breath released in a slow sigh that sounded like sorrow, not anger.   "Honey, listen to me."  His voice was rough gravel.  "No one's sending you back.  Ever.  That man ain't your daddy anymore.  He's a monster.  And you poopin' yourself?  That's a scared kid tryin' to survive.  Susan packed supplies for that, too.  We'll handle it."  He gently laid me back on the exam table, peeling the soaked gown away.  The cold air hit my skin, raising goosebumps.  My face burned. "You are allowed to poop your pants for a while, baby," Sean whispered to me.  "I'll let Susan know you are scared.  But you will have a home, honey.  If we can wing it, Susan and I will take care of you, and anyone else your ...," he paused.  "...Anyone else that man's hitting will leave that house, too, by the time we are done with him." He helped me lie down as Doctor Henderson returned with fresh towels and gowns.  The doctor's eyes were calm as he explained gently.  "We'll need you to be brave one more time, Caitlin.  I need to examine your abdomen again—with skin exposed—to assess bowel sounds.  Sean will stay." "Okay," I whimpered, hand holding Sean tightly for a few moments until they had to peel my arms and legs away from him so the doctor could check me again.   "Doctor, she's going to need diapers while she's here.  I don't think she should be forced to get to the bathroom until at least you fix the bones or whatever needs to be done to help her." Doctor Henderson nodded.  "I'll have them bring disposable briefs.  They're thicker than Susan's pads but absorbent.  Caitlin, honey, I just need you to lie back."  His hands moved warm gel over my belly again as Sean held my gaze, anchoring me.  The stethoscope pressed cool against my skin, listening for gurgles that weren't there—only tense silence beneath bruised flesh. I looked up at them, wondering what was next.  I didn't know what was changing, just yet, but I felt safe.  I knew that Sean wasn't going to let me fall or let me get twisted, or even hit me just because I made a puddle somewhere.  He told me to pee my pants.  He was safe.  I didn't have to worry if I couldn't hold it. Susan returned, breathless, her eyes fierce. "Maire says that they are trapped.  They have but the one car, and you saw where they lived.  She can't get to the car, even when he's home.  And it turns out, Sorsche is also hit for wetting the bed, the only thing is, it's not Sorsche peeing the bed even.  It's Grienne, Caitlin's supposed twin." Sean frowned.  "You can drive, Susan?  You could make the trip?" Susan nodded. "Tonight, we both stay with Cait and comfort her.  When the surgery is done, and we know Cait's okay, you go get your friend and her daughters--all of them.  You wait to go into the property until that man has gone to get drunk or whatever it is he does, and you sneak in and grab them.  Don't even pack their clothes.  We'll just have to use our savings to get them all things.  I don't want you staying a minute longer than you have to.  You call your friend tonight, and you tell her not to pack anything.  If he sees signs, he might not be gone when you need him to be to rescue them." Susan nodded solemnly, clutching her keys tightly. "I'll call Maire tonight. She'll know to be ready." Her gaze flicked to me, curled on the exam table, clutching Sean's hand like driftwood in a storm. "What about...?" "I'll be staying with Cait.  I need to contact lawyers for both criminal and for custody rights over her.  Cait isn't your friend's daughter, so I want us to give Cait a safe home.  Her oldest sister might need one, too, Erinne.  If her dear old...," and again he cut off from saying that word, like it was a cuss word.  "...If he goes to jail, Erinne will need a place to hang her hat for a while." "Okay," Susan nodded quickly, leaning down to kiss my cheek.  "Be brave, sweet pea.  Back soon." Sean put a hand in mine.  "You're safe.  Baby, we don't want to make the nice nurse's jobs harder, do we?" I shook my head no. “I know it’s going to be hard, honey, but after surgery, you can’t move too easily, and anyway, I don’t want you worry about the toilet for a while, even when you can move, baby.  So, I’ve asked the doctor to get diapers for you while you are here.  If you wear them, you’ll help out the nice nurses and doctors that are trying to help you.” I stared up into his serious eyes and his sincere mouth.  “So I don’t make puddles all over?” “That’s right, baby.  I don’t mind the puddles, but the poor nurses have a lot of people to take care of, so it would be hard for them to keep up on your puddles, but if you just wet and poop in a diaper for a while, and ask to be changed when you feel it, then they can manage.” Doctor Henderson nodded approvingly. “She’ll need minimal movement post-op. Diapers are standard practice for pelvic fractures—less strain on the body.” He motioned to a nurse hovering near the door. “Bring the pediatric incontinence kit, please. Size medium-small.” His tone was matter-of-fact, stripping the moment of judgment. The nurse returned swiftly, placing a stack of thick, white disposable briefs on the counter. Sean picked one up, unfolding it with careful hands. The crinkling sound filled the quiet room—a practical whisper against the tension. "Remember, baby.  No shame.  Uncle Sean says you are allowed to both pee and poop your pants, in your sleep, or even if you are awake but don't feel comfortable moving.  The doctor says you are not to move.  Okay?" Sean's thumb rubbed circles on my knuckles as Doctor Henderson lifted my gown. Cold air hit my bare skin, making me flinch. The nurse leaned in with the disposable briefs—thick, plasticky cotton with blue cartoon stars. Sean slid one beneath my sore hips, his fingers angling carefully under the bruises. "Arms up, honey," he murmured. I obeyed, lifting trembling arms as he guided the garment over my waistband, sealing the tapes snugly on each hip. The padding hugged my crotch thickly—a strange comfort. Crinkles whispered against the silence as I shifted. Doctor Henderson pressed the stethoscope to my belly again, listening intently. Beneath the gel’s chill, my insides stayed quiet—too tense to rumble normally. The nurse’s pen scratched notes: Hypoactive bowel sounds. "She'll need counseling, obviously," Sean murmured more to himself than to anyone else.  The doctor was listening, and the nurse was writing.  I remember so many events that screamed I wasn't loved, and yet....  Until now... Until this moment?  I wasn't sure what love was.  But here it was, a man willing to sit here and call me more important than anything he had to do, and he was wasting money on a doctor to try to fix me, and even told me, I was allowed to wet on purpose, if I wanted to.  I sighed so deeply and my eyes started to close.  It had been a really long day. Doctor Henderson peeled off his gloves. "Recovery will be long. Pain management, physical therapy..." He paused, studying Sean's face. "And yes. Trauma therapy. Essential." A nurse entered with a clipboard—admission papers. Sean signed them without hesitation, his signature a jagged slash across the page. "Prep her for surgery. Now." His voice brooked no argument. "I'll carry her."