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Chapter 199: Not Without a Fight BETH WAS DISAPPOINTED to see that she missed the distorted face! But at least it forced the assailant to duck down. Unfortunately, her shot also weakened the door further! A second later, when another face peeked up, Nikki got a shot off and managed to send that one to the ground with a grunt! Just then, Beth heard a whine as something spun up, and felt her stomach plummet as an electrical discharge suddenly passed through the door and struck the field! It lit up with little sparks and arcs, creating a pulsing rhythm that grew faster and faster, ending with a high-pitched squeal before a loud pop made her ears ring! “That’s it!” one of the men said and must have thrown his weight against the door, sending it flying open! Beth made eye contact with one of them, even as she began rapidly pulling the trigger and spraying bolts toward the men! She saw one drop from her shot, even as Nikki must have gotten two more. Suddenly, though, something flew through the air and landed right in front of the tub they were covering in. Wordlessly, Nikki threw her body on top of Beth to protect her, and she screamed as a loud blast and a bright light filled the room! Nikki’s weight felt different then… She was heavier. It took her a moment to register the change that Nikki was now dead weight! She gasped, and Beth felt panic fully engulf her as she worried she was dead!!! She wanted to try to crawl out from under her heavy bodyguard, but knew it was better to play as if she were immobile at this point. She managed to slip her tiny pulse gun under her shirt and into her bra just before the heavy bodyguard was lifted out. “Got her!” The man said. Beth looked at where the man’s face should be, but noted the pixelated and scrambled mess that greeted her. It was incredibly disconcerting! “Grab the brat, and let’s go!” The man said. Beth did everything she could to wriggle free, and she bit the man’s arm that landed beside her face! She even managed to land a couple of good punches and kicks to his sides and stomach in rapid succession. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to make it through his body armor, and in the end, he gripped her tightly like a misbehaving toddler and began carrying her out of the room. She couldn’t help but notice that Shelby’s door was caved in, as was Carly’s. The others seemed untouched for some reason, but as they rounded the staircase, she felt her heart drop at the sight of Fred. He was lying still on the ground with blood oozing from a wound to his head! I HAD SEEN approximately two seconds of color and felt some weird sounds coming in like the auradots had, when ‘connection established’ flashed in the HUD, and my world turned into my Sphere room instead!!! ‘Thank God!’ I thought to myself. I rapidly activated a console and frantically tried to see if my internal unit could connect with the WombView unit to shut it down. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the connections were wide open, and a few tricks Grandma had shown me let me quickly gain control of the device. I shut it down in a way that I was certain should permanently disable the existing circuits, and breathed a small sigh of relief. ‘I’m not certain it couldn’t somehow do damage…’ I thought. ‘Mom said her nanites should filter hypnosis, but I have no desire to test her on that!’ I had no time to waste, though, and quickly reestablished a connection to the cameras that had been recklessly placed in the office as a security risk. “How long until she’ll be ready to transport?” Marshal Morales asked nervously. “A minute should probably do it, but just to be safe, we’ll wait fifteen minutes. Then we can take the hood off, and she’ll be as compliant as a newborn?” Emaly answered. “Would she be partially cooked sooner?” she asked. “Questionable, better not to risk it,” Shapiro told her. “Wendy, you probably should get back to the nests and have a ‘meeting’ with the nest mothers. Obviously, several had to have been complicit for that much internal footage to have gotten out.” “I’m not so sure,” Morales said. “Doctor Westerfield is incredibly talented. Everything in her file indicates she would have had no problem getting to it. You all had the cameras in there; all someone had to do was hack the server storing the footage.” “Either way, go ensure they’re going to behave!” Shapiro told Chester. “Got it, make sure you get her away from here soon, Mel. The longer you have her, the more likely someone is to come to get her back,” Chester responded. “Not likely with what’s going on at Amanda’s house,” Morales said as the door closed. “She should be finally taken care of?” Shapiro asked her. “She should be,” Morales said. “I couldn’t believe how badly she neglects all of the Littles at her house. She has no business being a mother!” My blood boiled as I heard all of this. I pulled away from the feed to try to contact Grandma. She answered to my surprise! “Grandma!” “Carly?!?” She asked. “How are you calling?” “Through my Sphere connection. Grandma, I’m in Shapiro’s office…” “We know… she’s locked down the admin building completely, though, so it’s taking us some time to override the locks.” “Chester should be walking out in a second,” I told her, “If you can catch the door while she’s going…?” “On it!” Grandma told me. “You get that, Evans?” I heard a muffled, “Yes,” and some other gibberish. “Grandma! There’s more! Something is going on at your house! ” Grandma scowled at that, “I know, we’re working on that too. I’m here for you first, though, since no one else is going to be able to help you. Just sit tight a little longer…” “Grandma, you have to also let the marshals know that Morales is involved! She’s in the room with me!” Right then, I noted the window that Evans was looking out of. Shapiro and Emaly followed. “I’ve got to go,” I told her, even as you could see she was genuinely surprised by that knowledge and wanted to ask questions! I exited the main SphereVerse then and activated the HUD. It was able to overlay a view of the mask’s exterior, so I could still see. I kept my head forward, though, as I began pulling my hands free of the restraints that had inexplicably loosened, taking advantage of the time while they were distracted to remove the harness! “LET’S GO!” THE lead man said. The man carrying Beth started down the staircase, going two at a time, but suddenly stumbled when the lights flooded on! “Shit!” he said, stumbling and dropping Beth in the process of trying to catch his momentum. He managed to stay upright, even as Beth’s body was flung down the last four steps and landed beside Fred! She groaned in pain, but her hand had landed near the energy weapon she’d concealed. With nothing to lose, she pulled it out and shot the man who had been carrying her and was rewarded by watching him crash to the ground. The leader turned and glared at her, his own weapon suddenly raised, “God damnit! This mission was a cluster, but you, little girl, are going to be getting…” Right as he was about to say something, Beth saw Tessa materialize in between them and watched her slam her fist straight into the man’s head! He went flying across the room and crashed into a cabinet along the wall! Tessa wasted no time in rounding on another of the men and attacking him too with some sort of energy pulse, and then punching another guy into the next room. She took one look at Beth and Fred and said, “We need to get you to safety!” She told her. Tessa scooped Beth up like she’d been carried by the other man, then did something to generate a gurney under Fred. “This way,” she told her while holding her like an upset toddler. A couple of quick turns led them to the pool room, and she pushed into one of the changing rooms as a back wall and a hidden metal door slid open. “In here,” she told her. “There’s a medkit there; use the scanner on Fred. I’m going to take care of making sure these monsters don’t get away!” Beth watched in shock as the hologram disappeared, then turned to Fred. She was relieved to see he was breathing, but the sound was ragged, and she noted the blood was still oozing from a head wound. She opened the kit and found the scanner. It was one of the self-treating emergency units that every high school kid back home was taught how to use. All she had to do was use the pair of scissors to rip open Fred’s shirt and place the palm-sized NanoAid device on top of his heart. On top was a green button that she pressed to activate. A projection of a display appeared above his chest, and a voice announced, “NanoAid scan beginning. Please keep clear of the patient during the scan.” Beth anxiously watched as a light rapidly shot from the top of Fred, down to his feet. She was glad he was breathing at least, but it was raspy, and she was terrified then! Adrenaline kept her from screaming right then as it said, “Scan complete. Patient is suffering from Blunt Force Trauma to the head, with multiple lacerations present in the cranial region. Thoracic Trauma detected, lung functionality at fifty-eight percent and falling. Fluid detected.” A laundry list of other damage showed rapidly before asking, “Nanite Response Programmed and Ready. Activation Required to Respond. Press the Green Button to Activate, and Stand Clear of the Patient.” Beth didn’t hesitate, pressing the green button and stepping back a couple of feet to ensure she wouldn’t be inadvertently infected by the response nanites. She watched Fred’s body convulse for a second, even as a beep went off and she knew the nanites were engaged in a race to save someone who had become family to her. She wiped her face from the tears that streamed down as she watched, and hoped that he would be alright. I WAS ABLE to pull my arms free of the restraints without any of the three women noticing. If they’d left my shoes on, I was sure they would have helped trap my feet, but like my arms, those straps had come loose too. It was tough to get the harness off, but the designer must have thought the arm restraints would protect the latch, so I was able to wriggle my way to freedom much more easily than I expected. Soon, the only thing holding me was a strap around my head that I was able to duck under. They hadn’t quite puffed up the pacifier enough to make it impossible to release the last time they pushed it into my mouth, so I was able to carefully extract it from my mouth after taking care not twist the knob in any way! I rubbed my jaw for just a second before turning to my right and seeing that all three women were looking alternately at the outside and their phones. Believing I had just a moment left, I tried to pull the hood off my head, but quickly encountered a zipper that, looking through the camera, I was sure was covered by a Little proof set of snaps. After everything, I was done playing by the rules. I’d been physically assaulted and beaten! They’d illegally attempted to wipe my brain and abilities! I was naked… And I was not going to go down without a fight anymore!!! I thought for a second about covering myself with pieces of my discarded clothes, but knew that would likely give them a minute to catch me. Instead, I hopped to the ground and debated about trying to make it out the door. Just then, though, Morales turned and stared at me. “How the hell did she get loose?!?” Morales swore. Both Emaly and Shapiro turned toward me with the same look. “Those restraints were tight! That should have been impossible!” Shapiro said. I shrugged, knowing now I was buying time for help to come, as well as I would be better off if rage put them off balance. “It’s probably just due to your incompetence,” I taunted them. “I mean, pretty terrible criminals, it seems? Everyone knows about what you’ve done, and I would imagine there will be arrests coming soon.” “Not a chance,” Emaly said. “No one will touch me!” “Maybe, but in the meantime, what are you going to do about me?” “What do you mean?” Shapiro said. “You’re so incompetent you couldn’t even wipe my brain properly? This thing is just a toy, right? Probably a sign of your maturosis?” “You little brat!” Shapiro hissed. With that, she did what I was hoping for, bending down and reaching to grab me. I’d intentionally been turned slightly so she’d be overconfident, but tumbled and used every bit of force and strength I could to smash her knee with a jump-kick. It sent her off-balance, and she fell to the ground! I had no time to waste because Morales was drawing her service weapon right then. I dove at her ankle to do my best to crunch it, before diving around from her back side and delivering a kick to the side of her knee as hard as possible! She stumbled for a moment as she swore! Morales stopped grabbing her sidearm and instead tried to reach for me! Her hand just grazed my skin as it closed, and I tumbled away! This was where their leaving me naked hurt her, though – if I’d been clothed, she probably could have caught hold of my shirt. I danced a bit more out of her reach and managed to get to her side again, and kicked her other knee as hard as I could! “FUCKING BITCH!” she swore as I heard the sickening crack I’d hoped for. She grabbed for her knee, and I had to dive out of the way from Emaly, now trying to attack me. A quick bit of footwork, and she was off balance, landing on the still-down Shapiro. “Fuck!” I heard one of them say, even as I was pretty sure she’d done as much damage with her clumsy weight falling on Shapiro as I’d done with my kick. Shapiro’s head had landed right into a desk, and I guessed she was probably at least dazed enough for me to return to Morales. The HUD and internal video helped me literally have eyes in the back of my head as I continued to deal with the much better-trained federal officer! Right when I thought I was making headway, she said, “Fuck it, you’re dead!” Morales was favoring her right foot and knee, but still used that injured leg to try to kick out at me. I moved a little too slowly and took a pretty heavy blow to my back as I tried to clear her reach. ‘FUCK that hurt!’ I thought to myself. There was no time to stop and feel pain, though, and I realized her foot was ripe for a grapple. I leapt into the air and ripped in a counterclockwise motion with all of my body, being rewarded by a scream, as well as an absolutely horrific sound as her knee dislocated! I released her and noted the absolutely inhuman way her leg now bent as she landed on the ground in a heap! I’d been so focused on her, though, that Emaly had somehow pulled a paddle from the Dean’s wall and swung it at my head and struck me hard! I tumbled to the ground a few feet away, feeling dizzy as I stood up and returned my attention to her, still holding the paddle. I felt myself sway a bit and knew I likely had a concussion from that hit! “How do you like that, you little bitch?” Emaly seethed. “You have to be the best case ever for newborn status!” “And you have to be the best case ever for a regression sentence and mind wipe!” I taunted her, even as I tried to clear my head. “It’ll never happen!” “You should ask Aubry Harris about that kind of never.” “She was nothing but a two-bit hack,” she told me. “And you’re not?” “Better organized,” she smiled in a predatory manner then. “We may have missed your mom back when she was here, but you’re going to be treated the way she should have been if that moron Mark hadn’t blown the whole damn operation!” I stared at her. “Venture?” I asked. She smiled, “I guess your mommy told you about us? I still can’t believe she managed to get away and neuter our agents in your world…” “If she were dealing with idiots of your caliber, that makes total sense to me,” I told her. I knew I couldn’t wait any longer, so I feinted that I was diving for her legs as I had been. Instead, I managed to leap onto a small coffee table we were standing beside, and then propelled myself into the air in a parkour-like move that let me launch a spinning kick straight at her head! Her leaning down to try and strike me where she thought I would be was kind of her, and I was able to fully connect with her temple! She crumpled to the floor right then with a crack, and I suspected my kick probably fractured her skull. I was just about to mentally declare victory when I realized Morales had pulled a backup service weapon from her holster, and she was aiming it shakily straight at me. “God damnit! Where the hell did they create you?!?” “Huh?” “You can’t possibly be a normal Little! What did your grandma do to you?” “Nothing,” I told her, as I tried to weigh my options. There was a couch sort of between us that I might have a chance to duck under. I was currently just in front of the table I’d used to leap up at Emaly. Meanwhile, Shapiro seemed to still be crumpled up and unconscious from the way she’d hit her head after Emaly landed on her. The only real threat was Morales, at least then. ‘Keep her talking,’ I thought to myself. “What are you going to do?” “Good question. I think the first thing is to get out of here after I deal with you.” “That’s not going to help you,” I told her. “What do you mean?” “I’ve been sending a live feed out this whole time,” I told her. “Bullshit! You don’t have contacts or a way to connect!” “I do have nanites, and you all put me in this handy-dandy computer mask,” I told her. “Fuck!” she shook her head. “They should have just gotten you out of here! That explains why I saw people in front.” She waved the gun at me, “So you’re saying I’m going to get busted?” “Seems likely? Every bit of this has been recorded, and I can’t imagine you talking your way out of it.” “Well, what’s to stop me then from…” Right then, there was a pounding on the door, “National Agents!!!” In the span of a single heartbeat, three things happened. One - the door crashed open under the battering ram’s weight. Two - I saw an expression of absolute rage on Morales’s face that sent chills down my spine. Three - The corrupt Marshal pulled the trigger! Firing her weapon that was still pointed straight at me! ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading!!! Please press the Like Button and Leave a comment! I can make you all wait until Friday on this cliffhanger... or, because you were so kind to give me a million reads, I'm open to a little bribery. 45 likes by tomorrow night and I'll post the next chapter Tuesday morning? 🤷‍♀️ I really appreciate all of the comments, I know many of you expected this to lead to one of my action sequences, I do hope you weren't disappointed by what you got. Please let me know what you think is going to happen to everyone! The first volume of this series is available now on Amazon Kindle!!! It's priced at $6.95 and includes chapters 1-73 plus a bit of a tag of an epilogue that wasn't in the original postings. I'm about 70% of the way through the AI audiobook version editing too, which will be available for $10.95 on its own, or as a $1.99 add-on to the Kindle version. (Hopefully I'll finish going through that Sunday... the script for the first film is a massive pain to get to sound correct and is taking about 10x more time than I expected!) Anyway, the Kindle Book link is here! https://www.amazon.com/Lights-Camera-What-Sofia-Hammerstein-ebook/dp/B0GDRDWS5P It'll probably be 4 or 5 books in total for Carly and Beth's story, I haven't got that set in stone yet! Thanks to those of you who have already purchased, please do give it a 5-star review when you finish. (It doesn't show up who did that fyi as long as you don't actually leave a review - and you can change names on those in your settings) I appreciate the person who did so already! 💜

Chapter 201: Shrunken AN ANNOYING BEEP was the first thing that I registered as I began to regain awareness of my surroundings. I instantly noted something was wrong, but really struggled to even get myself to stop feeling so sleepy! It was a struggle to come to the surface and open my eyes, even as I was sure I heard Grandma and Beth talking about me. I forced my eyes open. “Where am I?” I said hoarsely, even as I took in the scene of crib bars and a hospital room. “What happened?” I asked. “Carly!” Beth squealed, “Thank God, you’re awake!” “Shh…” I told her, trying to reach up to my head to hold it. I had an absolutely monstrous headache right then! As I shifted, the blanket slipped off one of my feet, and I discovered a fat device had been placed on the back of my left foot. It was an odd placement, but I remembered Hannah had gotten really sick when she was a couple months old - and the odd pod was about where an IV would have been hooked into her then. It felt light, but it pulled at my foot a little uncomfortably. I squinted at the lights that were too bright, but saw that both Beth and Grandma were on either side of me. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Beth said, leaning over to gently hug me and kiss my forehead. “It’s good to see you awake, Carly,” Grandma said to me, gently covering my foot with the blanket again. “What happened?” I asked again. “How did I get here?” “First, Megan, why don’t you go let the nurse know Carly’s awake?” Grandma told the figure I just now realized was in the room. “Got it, Mandy. Good to see you, okay, Carly,” she said with a smile. It was then that I realized there was an entourage of marshals in the room with us, as well as a man wearing an NBI jacket that reminded me of the FBI back home. ‘Different acronym, but effectively the same,’ I remembered. “So, what happened to me?” I asked again. “Miss Slane?” the NBI agent asked. “Yes?” “Could you hold off on the questions for the moment? We need to ask you about what happened, and I’d rather not have any questions about you being coerced or coached.” Megan returned right then, “I agree. We’re going to be very particular with this interview, though, Agent Clyde.” “Before anyone interviews anyone, I need to see the patient. Everyone except Grandma needs to clear the room right now, please,” Doctor Holly Nickerson said as she entered the room. There was some grumbling, but everyone walked outside, and she shut the door. “What did you get yourself into this time?” She asked as she came over to the crib, somehow made the sides all disappear, and a step stool to reach me formed from the floor for her. “I don’t…” I started to say, before the last hours before whatever happened came back to me. In the flash of a moment, I could picture the rough journey from the nest to Shapiro’s office, what had happened at the beginning, and most of the fight. I winced at the thought of the painful injuries I’d received, not least of which the beating to my rear to begin with. “They took me... and then... I was fighting them…” I said. Grandma nodded, “You must have been at the end. At least that’s what the agents believed they witnessed as they breached the room.” “Then…” I struggled for a moment. Mentally, it was a blank spot that I chased. I closed my eyes, and suddenly I was back in the room with the assailants, and I pictured staring at Agent Morales’s angry face as she... “I was… shot?” I gasped. “That’s what seems to have happened,” Grandma agreed. “I survived, though?” I asked. “You’re still talking,” Grandma smiled at me. “Something I’m quite grateful for.” “How…?” I breathed, even as I noticed Grandma palming one of the jammers. “Nanites,” Dr. Nickerson said. “Wait… but…” I felt my blood chill as I worried. Grandma sighed, “Yes, there was a price. Truthfully, you should have been dead, or at least in a coma for a few weeks, with the injuries that were registered in the logs.” “How bad?” “It looks like you’ve lost another six inches, Carly,” Holly told me. “So, I’m only forty inches tall?” I gasped. “Yes,” Grandma told me. “Still taller than what your mom was… but only by a couple of inches now.” “Not much taller than Bella now…” I thought aloud. “We don’t have much time,” Grandma told me. “We’re going to say you had a fluke reaction from the nanites you were changed with by the film. No mention of any other ones.” I nodded, “Okay… Just how injured was I, though? I lost six more inches?!?” “Really injured, Carly,” Dr. Nickerson told me, standing beside me with a tablet that projected data above my bed. “This is a breakdown of the injuries as they were logged…” Jaw Strain, TMJ Sprain Bilateral eye irritation and corneal abrasion Significant Gluteal Hematomas with Superficial and Subdermal Lacerations Blunt-Force Contusions Concussion: Without Loss of Consciousness Cranial Fracture Fractured Ribs Acute Energy Burn Consistent with high-powered Energy Weapon discharge. Electrical overload of Neuro Systems resulting in Loss of Consciousness “Guess I see why I lost so much height…” I breathed. “Other than losing more height, I’m okay?” “Yes, and we were able to mostly photograph your injuries and catalog them before you were healed. It helped that the nanites focused on internal injuries first, so that meant we were able to get the exterior wounds for evidence better,” Dr. Nickerson told me. “Guess I need to answer questions now…” I told her. “They definitely want that,” she agreed. “What do I say?” I asked Grandma. “I scanned through the footage while you were unconscious. Other than defending yourself, you didn’t do anything that should get you in trouble. Emerson may be a problem still, but we’re going to deal with one piece at a time here.” I felt my stomach turn as she mentioned the university, and I just hoped beyond hope that didn’t mean I was royally screwed there! BETH WAS WAITING out in the hallway with her protective detail, Megan, and Agent Clyde. He’d grilled Beth to find out if she knew anything before Carly had regained consciousness. She’d denied knowing anything about the hacking or films, while also having to relay everything she knew about the attack on her to both him and Marshal Evans. Evans had begun apologizing as soon as he’d met up with her. It was clear that the group had been watching for an opportunity for some time. They’d had the chance to review the restaurant surveillance footage from earlier and spotted someone they believed was one of the attackers having a quiet conversation with Marshal Morales. Evans wouldn’t say much, but she’d managed to overhear a couple of conversations over the six hours she’d been waiting for Carly to regain consciousness, to know that only two of the twenty-four attackers had been taken as ‘adults.’ The others had the same failsafe regression and mindwipe nanites activated before they could be stopped. The ones who hadn’t been regressed were being kept sedated while the doctors isolated where the failsafe nanites were being housed in their bodies. It sounded like the traitor, Jenna Morales, had figured out where the main power and Amanda’s two backup power supplies were located. Some of the noises she had heard were small explosives destroying them! Beth found herself fidgeting in her seat, wishing she could do anything other than sit there waiting to go back to see Carly. She identified the door opening, “Miss Slane can answer some questions now, but I reserve the right to shut down the interview if I feel her health is endangered,” Dr. Nickerson told them. “Yes, ma’am,” the agent said more respectfully than Beth would have anticipated toward a Little. Beth briefly made eye contact with Dr. Nickerson, but knew she wouldn’t be allowed in the room right then. She’d have to get the story from Carly later… She found herself taking a walk down to the bathroom with her escort in tow. Beth now had twelve agents stationed on the floor and directly around her – clearly, it was known they had screwed up! When she returned to the spot where she had been waiting beside Carly’s room, she heard, “Beth!” Turning to look up, she saw her parents. There was no hesitation; she threw her arms around her dad, and her mom wrapped her arms around both of them. “Thank God you’re okay!!!!” Her dad and mom both said in alternating words. She could only stay in their warm embrace and cry then. I LOOKED AT the entourage of Aunt Megan, the NBI agent, Marshal Evans, and another man I didn’t recognize being led in by Dr. Nickerson. She found a stool her size off to the side and seemed intent on watching over me. “Miss Slane,” Evans said, “I’m glad to see that you’re awake and okay.” “Thanks,” I told him. I looked up at the agent, “I’m Carly?” “Agent Clyde, National Bureau of Investigation,” he told me. “We have some questions I need to ask you, but I want you to know that if it gets to be too much, we can continue this later.” I nodded. “Before we begin, Agent Clyde, do you have that agreement?” Aunt Megan asked. “Right here,” he said, passing over a piece of paper. She examined it, then looked at me, “Carly, Agent Clyde has handed over an immunity agreement to me. Given that it is signed by the Attorney General for this district, a District Court Judge, and the head of the NBI, I believe you are immune from any incriminating statements here. Be sure you are honest with them, but there is nothing you can say that can be used against you here or in any further legal actions.” “Thank you, counselor,” Agent Clyde told her. Chairs were brought in, and he and the others sat down, making the room very cramped. “Miss Slane, before we begin, I do have to make sure that I tell you that per the terms of the agreement, you must answer all questions truthfully. If you need to have a brief conference with your counselor, I’ll allow it. And, of course, we’ll stop questioning if Doctor Nickerson deems it necessary for your safety as a patient. Do you agree to do so?” “Yes, sir,” I told him nervously. “We’re going to begin with some questions about the time since you have arrived here at Emerson. I understand you have been at the center of a few incidents?” “Someone called me a trouble magnet once,” I sighed. “Tell me about what’s happened?” I, of course, kept any hacking, retaliatory filmmaking, and the like out of my statements. I told them of my arrival, the gender change that had caused me to move to a girls’ nest, the films, the issues at the mall, the attack over spring break, and even some of the things I’d observed that had been done to my fellow Littles and some of the Tweeners. “We’ve been given a copy of a recording that was somehow created of what happened in the nest and Doctor Shapiro’s office. Carly, can you tell me about how that was made?” I looked at Grandma and Megan, and they nodded to me. “Umm… Grandma came up with a way to integrate a set of nanites into my eyes to record any incidents for my protection.” “Doctor Westerfield?” Agent Clyde asked, “What is this?” Grandma gave a complicated explanation of how a layer of nanites could record hundreds of hours of footage and download it remotely if needed. It also allowed me to send an SOS signal in case of an attack or kidnapping. “Can she access it?” He asked. “Not normally,” Grandma told him. “Normally?” He said, looking between us. “The thing that they put over my head in the room, apparently, was able to be accessed by the nanite code Grandma put into it. It became a set of eyes for me with that.” “That explains that…” He said. “I guess… that kind of stuff is always so far above my head, to be honest. Just give me a simple tablet!” There was some good-natured laughter then from the crowd, and thankfully, he left it at that. “So, again, I’ve seen the footage, but I want you to tell me about what happened from the time you arrived in the nest tonight, until you woke up…” I sighed and shifted uncomfortably. I realized then that my diaper would definitely need to be changed sooner rather than later. However, I hoped it would still only be a wet one when things finished! “Well, Grandma dropped me off after my last class…” I told him. I went through the sitting down for dinner, and then about my view of the film starting to air. I told them that was when I activated the recording, knowing Grandma would have done it that way herself. I was shocked to see the film being shown. I wasn’t asked about being involved, so I didn’t have to lie about it and risk ruining my deal. I moved on to Chester and Shapiro’s actions to try to shut things down, and then, after being shown my pod, they angrily came for me. “Do you believe Lilly Desmonde is involved in this scheme?” Agent Clyde asked me. I shook my head, “Definitely not willingly? She’s one of the few positive people in that building who have no interest in harming anyone. I trust her implicitly.” He nodded. “Tell me what happened when you were taken…?” For the next hour, I told my story and had to stop multiple times. I had seen Beth deal with PTSD after the bathroom incident, but I’d had no real frame of reference for what it felt like until then. I’d never been out of my own control in the bathroom incident – here, I didn’t know if I was going to escape as myself. ‘I didn’t,’ I reminded myself of my six inches of reduced height! “So how did that work exactly? How did that work that you got control of the system on the WombView system?” They circled back to one of the biggest things they didn’t understand. I shrugged, “I don’t know?” I looked up at Grandma. “That would be me,” she told him. “I suspected those devices might be something Carly would encounter. When I installed the recording system, I added a failsafe to disable something like that and have her nanites connect. Once they did that, she was able to just use it like any other computer system?” I nodded, “That explains how I got access,” I shrugged. “I’m good with computers. At that point, I used it to try to get a look around. When I discovered my restraints were loose, I took advantage of the opportunity to try and escape.” “You do realize that Emerson has the right to punish students, correct?” a man I had only been introduced in passing, a local police detective, I thought I remembered. “Punish?” I asked. “This wasn’t a punishment. This was on the scale of capital punishment back home! I was bleeding like I’d been caned for a capital crime in some countries back home. Not only that, clearly they intended to execute my mind?!? That’s not punishment. Ten swats would have been a punishment. Restriction to my dorm? Punishment. A beating so severe that I felt my blood dripping and pooling beneath the chair I was strapped into? That’s abuse. As far as I’m aware, it’s illegal in Ames?” “As well as federally,” Agent Clyde agreed. “Evans, take this fool outside and have him taken into custody until we can question him. I thought it was suspicious when he showed up, but now I really don’t trust him.” “What the hell?” The guy stood and tried to argue, but Evans was pissed, much bigger, and easily manhandled him out of the room. “Was he one of them?” I asked nervously. “Might be,” Agent Clyde said with a sigh. “Emerson has more corruption connected to it than I would have believed. We’ll give him a moment to come back.” “Tell you what, can we get her diaper changed?” Grandma suggested, “I have a feeling she’s soaked?” “Oh…” he said, “of course!” He cleared out, leaving Dr. Nickerson, Megan, and Amanda inside the room. “There are spares over there,” Dr. Nickerson told Grandma. “I’ve got some in my bag for Bella that should fit,” she said. “I thought you could use a break for a moment, too,” Grandma said as she pulled the blanket down and revealed a diaper that was beginning to drip outside of the leg gatherers and exposed my foot with the odd pod attached to it. I nodded, “Thanks.” I closed my eyes while she worked, but doing so just let me picture what I had been through. I quickly opened them again and found myself staring at the painted characters on the walls instead. “You okay?” Dr. Nickerson asked me. I shook my head, “No, I don’t think I am… I know Beth went through PTSD after what we dealt with at the mall, and it flared up on the island, but for me… well, I was in control still? I have a feeling I need to talk to Doctor Sterling.” Dr. Nickerson’s hand found mine and gently squeezed. Hers was smaller than Beth’s or Grandma’s, but it offered a reassurance I appreciated. “I’ll let her know when we’re done here. You ready to keep going?” She asked me, “I can justify telling them to come back later instead? You’ve certainly endured enough trauma for one day.” I shook my head, “Let’s just please get this over with.” She walked back outside, and soon the original group, minus the local detective, were all inside again. “So, you left off that you had managed to wriggle out?” Agent Clyde asked. “How? I would think that they would have more than enough experience securing Littles?” I looked at Grandma and Dr. Nickerson, “Can one of you explain this?” It was then that Grandma told them far more about my nanites than I would have expected her to, “So, my daughter Stacy had a treatment completed back when she was living here. Those nanites transferred to Carly at birth. It turns out her mom had made some ‘improvements’ to the code as a failsafe for her health. If a life-threatening injury was inflicted on her body, the nanites would attempt to repair her.” “Like a NanoAid kit?” he asked. “More primitive than that,” Dr. Nickerson told him. “Though a similar concept.” “Primitive?” He asked. “The NanoAid kits come with a sort of super juice that powers the repairs; the ones in Carly have to get that energy somewhere. That means in this case, she shrinks.” “Shrinks?” “She’s shrunk six inches and lost about twelve pounds since I saw her last here in the hospital,” Dr. Nickerson told him. “She did this before taking them on?” “I examined the logs; there was only a couple of inches of loss at that time as it tried to stem the blood flowing out of her posterior.” “The wounds were life-threatening?” He asked. “Without a chance to examine her with them untreated, I couldn’t say for certain,” Dr. Nickerson told him. “The nanites definitely believed they were, though.” “So she shrank and lost weight? What did that do?” “She was skinnier and able to pull free,” Evans suggested. I nodded, “That’s what I guessed. I didn’t have time to think much about it at the time, though.” “So after that?” “I jumped to the ground and tried to see if I could make an escape first.” “Not possible?” He asked. “I wasn’t even sure I could get to the door before I was noticed, let alone reach up and turn the doorknob,” I said, shaking my head. “It was a moot point, as I was noticed then anyway.” “And what did you do then?” “I fought for my life,” I told him. “Marshal Morales threatened to shoot me with her weapon, and all bets were off. I attacked her first, trying to eliminate the biggest threat, and kept fighting and working through Emaly and Shapiro. I would guess the recording of the fight will give you a much better recap of it than I can remember. I know I was slammed with a paddle across the head at one point, struck a few other times, before I was face-to-face with Morales, aiming her weapon at me again. Right as you all busted in, it all went black. I know she has to have shot me, though.” Evans nodded, “Yes, and it was a high setting too…” He looked angry, “I’m going to make sure that she pays. I can’t believe she betrayed the service like this.” I was exhausted then, as Agent Clyde said, “Miss Slane, thank you for answering our questions. Between the footage provided and your testimony, I hope we can put these women in prison where they belong.” “Where are they now…?” I asked nervously. “Another hospital on the other side of the city,” he told me. “You gave as good as you got.” He came over and held his hand out. I let him take my tiny hand in his gigantic hand, feeling more like a baby than ever at that moment. “Thanks,” I told him. As they cleared themselves and the chairs out, Dr. Nickerson told me, “Carly, I think we can probably let you out of here sometime before evening rounds, but I want Doctor Sterling to have a chance to speak with you first.” “What time is it, anyway?” I asked. She looked down at her watch, “Just after lunch time. Which you missed… I’ll get the nurses to bring something to you. If, for some reason, they play games with pureed foods, let me know, Mandy,” she said to Grandma. “Got it,” Grandma said. “I’ll tell Beth to come in. I saw Addy and Cam out there, too. I’ll send them in.” “Thanks,” I said, and watched her leave the room. “Am I safe?” I asked Grandma. “Good question,” she said. “I hope so.” ‘That’s not overly reassuring…’ I thought to myself. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading!!!! Please press the ‘Like' button and leave a comment! I’m hoping to offer a bonus for 35 likes this weekend, but I need to get at least one chapter written on Saturday to feel I can afford it. I’m really hoping that with the extended weekend I have, I can get two or three written. We’ll see what happens! I may have to go down to once per week again if I can’t get that done, though. If you give the likes, I’ll do my best to come through for you all, though! Let me know what you think as you get answers to some of the problems/attack information you didn’t have before! I love to see comments! 🙂 The first volume of this series is available now on Amazon Kindle!!! It’s priced at $6.95 and includes chapters 1-73, plus a bit of a tag of an epilogue that wasn’t in the original postings. I'm about 85% of the way through editing the AI audiobook version, too, which will be available for $10.95 on its own or as a $1.99 add-on to the Kindle version. (Hopefully I’ll finish going through that this weekend... the script for the first film is a massive pain to get to sound correct and is taking about 50x more time than I expected!) Anyway, the Kindle Book link is here! https://www.amazon.com/Lights-Camera-What-Sofia-Hammerstein-ebook/dp/B0GDRDWS5P It'll probably be 4 or 5 books in total for Carly and Beth’s story. I haven't got that set in stone yet! Thanks to those of you who have already purchased, please do give it a 5-star review when you finish. I appreciate the people who did so already! (Thanks for the great review too!) 💜

Chapter 198: Breached I COULDN’T BELIEVE that she just touched my eyeball with her bare hand, even as I reflexively tried to close my eyelid!!!! The feeling of her finger directly on my eyelid felt scratchy, and I knew it had the potential to cause an infection! “Please stop!” I told her. “I don’t have anything in my eyes! You’re going to hurt my eyes.” I could feel the tears streaming from my right eye as she pulled back her hand! I blinked rapidly, but had no time to even think about relief before she forced open my left eye and did the same!!!!! I yelped! The bitch of a board chair laughed then! “Well, okay, maybe I am overthinking Amanda Westerfield’s prowess here.” Right then, I heard a drip. Another drip. And realized it was coming from below me. Without a diaper on, I was unable to stop the pee that had flowed from me and onto the chair. “That’s a set of demerits there at least?” Emaly told Shapiro. “Obviously! She took her diaper off and chose to piddle on my carpet like a naughty baby!” I just glared at them, even as I triple-checked through the augmented reality system that a recording was still being made. “I haven’t done anything! And you all are the reason I can’t control my bladder anymore!” “Oh, you silly whittle baby!” Emaly sneered, “Can’t you tell fiction from reality?” She came over again and said, “I think she needs a reminder about not peeing on university property before we send her to Twinkle Tots.” Without warning, she suddenly activated the chair’s function to make me expose my butt to her again! I was already sore from the beating with the diaper on, and winced just from the motion of turning me over. I jolted as her hand rubbed my bottom for a moment, moving from one cheek to the other. It made me not only wince from the soreness, but also from the contact that no one should have without my consent. “At least you are smooth as a baby down here. Those nanites that went awry on you seem to have done a good job with your skin, too! It’s not quite what you’ll have after Twinkle’s vat gets done with you, but I think most mommies would already be happy. Unfortunately, I don’t think your skin is quite the right color yet.” Without any warning, the hand pulled away, and I felt the painful impact of the hairbrush!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! I considered myself to have a high pain tolerance after years of martial arts injuries, but something about the hopeless situation, the exposed skin, and the repeated beating that would let up for a second, before going again, broke my ability to control my emotions. I felt the tears stream down my face, even as I heard a horrible gut-wrenching scream that I had trouble processing was my own! I closed my eyes, hoping that it would all just end already!!!!! BETH COULDN’T HELP but continue crying. Shelby hugged her tightly. A tone sounded in the house, and Shelby sat up in alarm. “Grandpa?” She said. “Upstairs!” He told her tersely! Without any explanation, Shelby bounded up the stairs like a cat and was gone. “What’s going on?” Beth asked Fred. “That’s an alarm Amanda set up for any suspicious vehicles approaching the roads toward our house,” he told her. Right then, Beth watched Tessa materialize in front of them. “Fred, there appear to be four Little Protection Service agent vehicles on the way to the house.” “Why?” He asked. “I will investigate, but I don’t know. It could be related to everything else?” “Of course, Mandy isn’t home! Bella, Shelby, and Ryan are in their rooms, correct?” “Yes, and all are now asleep,” she added. “Keep an eye out if we need to activate intruder protocols,” he told her. “Under no circumstances are they to be allowed to take the kids.” “Of course,” she said. “What’s going on?” Beth asked Fred again. “Sounds like someone is using LPS to grind an axe here. Marshal Greaves and Nikki are in the kitchen. Beth, would you please go get them and then go upstairs yourself? You don’t have to go to sleep or anything, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to be…” he started to say. “Doctor?” Greaves suddenly came in! “Yes?” “There are several large vehicles attempting to approach the house. We only have one other agent besides myself and Miss Paulson.” “You might call for some backup,” Fred told him. “Beth, go grab Nikki and get upstairs!” Beth stared for a moment, but did as she was told. “Nikki, Fred said you should go upstairs with me?” She noticed her bodyguard was as tense as she’d seen her and was looking down at her phone. It took her a moment to respond to Beth, “Probably smart…” she told her. As a chime sounded at the gate, Nikki pushed Beth onward toward the staircase even faster. “We need to move,” she hissed at her. As soon as they reached the top of the staircase, she watched Nikki press a hidden button on the side of the rail, before she pushed her down the hallway to her room. As soon as they entered, she closed the door behind them and turned the door lock that probably wouldn’t do much to stop someone. Then, though, Nikki put four small buttons on the corners of the door frame and activated a field. “A force field?” Beth asked nervously. “Just in case…” Nikki told her. “What about Shelby, Ryan, and Bella?” “They should be okay - I know Amanda and Fred have a plan in place,” Nikki told her. “But you are my top priority right now.” Beth walked to the window that overlooked the entry drive and saw four unmarked vehicles in a line right behind the entrance gate. LPS would definitely have jurisdiction to conduct a wellness check on Littles if there was a complaint. The concept of sending four vehicles led Beth to believe it would be much more than that. Suddenly, she watched the lead car jolt forward and try to crash into the entry gate!!! The gate held, but the car suddenly disgorged several people, followed by the other vehicles. She watched in shock as they began attempting to climb over the wall! “Nikki!” she said to her, “Look!” Nikki had been looking at her phone then and said, “Fuck!” Beth couldn’t help but feel the blood drain from her face as she watched one of the people make it over the wall. Then another. And another! “Beth, hit your panic button for the marshals!” Nikki ordered. Beth floundered around for the small bracelet she’d been quietly given and pressed on, then twisted a little fake jewel on one of the charms. There was no indication whether anything worked, but she had been told there would be a response, even though nothing would be obvious. Another man jumped the fence and began running up the driveway. Her stomach twisted as she noticed they were wearing the same blurred-face gear from the islands! Moments later, a loud alarm began sounding in the house, even as she watched the window suddenly darken as a physical shutter closed in front of it! I WAS ROUGHLY sat back up, still naked, and barely conscious as I tried to tune out the pain shooting through my nerves. My butt had just been put through something out of a horror plot. This was no simple spanking – this was closer to one of those canings that I’d heard about in some countries back home. Each smack with the hairbrush landed with a mix of pain and a sickening sound! I was pretty sure that I could feel dripping from my bottom that wasn’t urine or poop – it had to be my blood. I caught a glimpse of the brush in her hands and confirmed it was bloody and looked like a murder weapon! I winced in pain, but did my best to not sob out loud any more than I already had. “Okay, baby girl, let’s try this again!” Emaly said to me. “Your mom got away from us, but you’re definitely not getting out from here. The only thing you’re going to decide is if you might keep a few teeth and be mobile on your hands and knees. How did you all do this? And what else have you done?” “I don’t know!” I cried to her. “Bullshit!” She told me, smacking me across the face! “Is it possible she didn’t do it?” Chester said. “Maybe it’s all her grandmother?” “Faulkner said there were too many odd things in the code of stuff going on. It has to be a student!” “It wasn’t me,” I told her. “Melanie, do you still have that WombView unit I sent you?” Emaly asked her. “I shouldn’t after that Grace fiasco… but yes?” “It’s here?” she asked in follow-up. I wearily watched as Shapiro dug through a cabinet and produced a pink bit of fabric that she shook out, and I felt my stomach clench as I realized this couldn’t be good for me. Between her comment and the video I had seen, I was certain I recognized it from what happened to Grace. “What is that?” I asked, hoping she’d enjoy stalling. Emaly took it from her, “This is some of the latest tech from back home in Calisota! It was designed for whittle baby girls just like you! Once we place this on your head and adjust some settings, you’ll receive the conditioning that will make you the perfect baby girl for your new mommy or daddy! Between this and a few weeks’ stay at Twinkle Tots, not even your granny is going to be able to help you pretend to be a big girl again! Don’t worry, I’m going to make sure we take lots of precious photos of you with no teeth and chewing on your rattles and teething toys to send her!” “Wait!” I said. “Why? Are you going to confess?” Emaly asked. “I can’t confess to what you want me to? I didn’t have anything to do with those things?” “Then why is it that you’re the only Little who is taking the classes and could create these things?” Chester asked me. “What makes you think it’s Littles doing this?” I asked her. “Huh?” Emaly sputtered. “Did you not see the protestors? There were hardly any Littles out there! Everyone out there was a Big or a Mid! Not to mention, Bigs and Mids with time on their hands! When would we as Littles have time to put something like that together?” “You go home with your grandmother. I’m sure she doesn’t enforce bedtimes there?” “She does,” I told her. ‘Just not yours…’ Shapiro snorted, “Bullshit!” She shook her head, “We’ve had reports for the past couple of weeks that you are staying up past curfew.” I looked up at her, “Who’s been lying to you about that?” Just then, another knock came at the door, and I learned the answer to my question, even as I felt my hopes fade even further of making it out of there as a student! BETH WAS SHAKING as after the clang, there began a pounding on the front door! “Nikki, what’s going on? Those aren’t LPS agents, right?” Beth quietly asked. “Zero chance they’re legit LPS. I’m sure they’re someone else,” she told Beth. “Probably the same group as on the island.” “What are we going to do?” She whimpered. “We’re going to sit tight and hope that the backup call made it through. I don’t think most people can even break through the front door of this house, let alone upstairs.” “What about Fred?” Beth suddenly worried. “I’m sure he’s found a safe place to be now, too,” Nikki reassured her. “Now, I want you to go into your bathroom and clean up, then get down into the tub.” “Clean up?” Beth asked. Nikki’s eyes moved down, and Beth felt even worse! She’d needed to go to the bathroom when she’d gotten home. Then this happened. And apparently so did a fear reflex. Fortunately, she’d been wearing a Pull-Up. Unfortunately, it was now sagging and appeared to have leaked onto her pants, based on the half-moons on her pants. “What if they are LPS and they find this?” Beth shivered. “Put them in the trash can in the bathroom; it’ll disintegrate them for you. Put on a fresh pair of panties and some pants you can move in.” Nikki pushed her to move, even as she heard banging outside on the front door. She’d just managed to finish cleaning herself up when Tessa appeared. “Beth, Nikki, I believe the men will be making it inside the house in two minutes or less. The force shields on the doors should hold, but they seem to have some experimental disrupters with them that might be able to get through them.” “What do we do?” Nikki asked. “I assume Amanda has a plan?” “All of the main bedrooms have safe rooms. I’ve got Shelby, Bella, and Ryan safely locked away in theirs. You don’t have one in this room, unfortunately.” “Can we make it to one?” Nikki asked her. Right then, there was a shudder, and the power to the house failed suddenly! Along with it, Tessa faded out. “Damnit!” Nikki swore. Beth watched her reach into the bag she always carried, push her into the bathroom, and activate another shield around the bathroom door after closing it. She also grabbed something else, “Beth, take this.” Beth nervously held the energy weapon in her hands. “Have you ever fired one of these?” Nikki asked her. Beth nodded nervously - one of her family’s bodyguards had taught her a few lessons on how to fire one when she was younger. “If anyone comes through that door, we shoot until they stop.” Just then, she could hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs as they took cover in the tub, the best that they could. A weird crackling sound occurred, followed by a high-energy whine, and a loud POP! Beth heard more footsteps and banging on doors as the men began pushing their way down the hallway. A smash came from one of the doors near instantaneously, and Beth hoped she was correct that it was Carly’s empty room. A moment later, she heard more pounding, then the crackling sound repeated. After another pop, she heard someone swear. “Locked safe room!” “Keep going! The target should be down the hall anyway!” Beth felt her heart stop then. Target? Who… Her? ‘It can’t be a coincidence that the marshals were pulled tonight!’ she worried. It sounded legitimate that they were being pulled over to the university to help there… ‘Trapped animals get more dangerous,’ Beth thought, thinking of how she’d almost hoped that maybe the day would end with a victory. She’d tuned out from the world for several moments, and it was jolting to realize she was hearing that same pounding on the other side of her door now! After a smash, she heard another swear. The forcefield must have managed to foil them for a second, because even after the crackling sound she’d heard several times, they didn’t seem to have come inside the room from what she could tell. Suddenly, there was another pop and a swear! “It burned up!” “We’re running out of time!” “How long?” “Five minutes to exfiltrate,” the voice said at a low volume. Beth was surprised by how loud they were actually talking, though. ‘Maybe the pop I heard messed with their hearing?’ There was more bashing at the door to the bathroom, and cracks started to appear in the door on the other side of the shield! “Get ready to fire,” Nikki told her, pointing her own weapon at the door. Suddenly, a piece of the door pulled away from the field, and Beth could see one of those figures with the HoloMasks staring straight at her through the field! “Targets!” The man said, glancing around the door frame with just his head. Beth aimed at the head and wasted no time pulling the trigger at the only part of the attacker she could see! I FELT MY rage boil over as I realized that one of the Marshals who had been protecting us at Grandma’s during the night was in cahoots with this group. “Well, hello there, baby girl,” she cooed at me. “Jenna?!?” I hissed. “You’re in with these guys?” She laughed, “Of course, they pay a lot more than the Marshals do! Enough from this job that I can look at moving to a cozy little island like you were just on.” “You know you’ll get busted, right?” I told her. I could still feel the pain in my rear then, and as dire as the situation had been before, I knew it was worse now. She laughed, “By who? Your Grandma and Grandpa? They’re being taken care of right now, along with your cousins. Beth makes an adorable potty training dunce, so we’ll just help her find her place like that. I’m sure Emaly won’t have any trouble helping find her a new home? That is, if she makes it out alive.” Until that point, everything had been about me – and my fate. So I had held back on a few resources. That was over! I activated my HUD and overlayed everything in the office. The high chair was my first problem, as those straps were so tight. Wait… they were so tight. Not so much just then! I didn’t have time to think much about it, though, as Emaly started speaking again. “Everything is on schedule then, Jen?” “Like clockwork, they just entered the house. This whole fiasco is horrible for you all, but it was fortuitous that it happened the week we were waiting around hoping for a hole to open up.” “Good! Maybe we can salvage this situation,” Emaly told her. “Melanie, it sounds like we’ve got a Little here who has earned her demerits?” “Indeed! Staying up all night is enough, even without the dating that’s not allowed, add in the risky behavior on spring break? Plus, all of the insurgent behavior she’s obviously involved with? Baby Carly, you’re no longer a university student here at Emerson; instead, you’ll be a daycare resident at Twinkle Tots. Emaly, if you want to go ahead and start her education?” Without warning, the tall woman reached for the hood. She forced it down over my hair and eyes, leaving me with nothing but my mouth uncovered and my nose barely peeking out through another hole. Just as I took a breath through my mouth, something was pushed inside. I guessed a pacifier, as it inflated most of what had been done to me before! I noticed I couldn’t hear anything, and it was pitch-black. ‘Shit!’ I swore internally, and began doing everything I could to activate the Sphere connection. Something about the hood, though, seemed to be blocking the signal! I knew my arms could come free, but I also knew that they had to be watching me right then. The pitch-blackness, combined with the room's isolation, was disorienting as I sat there considering my options. In an instant, though, my view and environment all changed! Suddenly, in front of me was suddenly a vibrant sea of color! As it began swirling into patterns, music began playing through the hood, and I swore I could just hear a soft voice beginning to speak! I tried to shut my eyes, but the hood was prepared for that, and I felt tendrils attach to my eyelids, stick to them, and then force them to stay open! That meant I couldn’t help but gaze at the colors in front of me as cartoon characters began hopping toward me. I felt my stomach twist and turn as I plunged into a world that seemed as lifelike as the SphereVerse was! +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading!!! Please leave a comment and press that Like Button!!!! Well... Is this where you thought things were going...? Where I never dreamed of this going was crossing a million views! I went to bed thinking this chapter would be required to get there, but instead it's already there!!!!!!!!!! I hope this has been a worthy chapter to do that with! Please let me know what you think! Sunday you'll get the bonus either way for that read count! Likes would be nice though still!!!! 🙃 I mean... A million views should equal a whole bunch of likes... right...? 🥺 Please? Pretty please with cherries on top! (Just no bananas, you know how Sofia and Carly feel about those!) Once again though, thank you all so very much for continuing to comment, like, and such!!! This is my 'fun' outlet, and it's nice to not write to an empty void! Last week I did get the first volume of this series posted on Amazon Kindle!!! It's priced at $6.95 and includes chapters 1-73 plus a bit of a tag of an epilogue that wasn't in the original postings. I'm about 70% of the way through the AI audiobook version editing too, which will be available for $10.95 on its own, or as a $1.99 add-on to the Kindle version. (Hopefully I'll finish going through that Sunday... the script for the first film is a massive pain to get to sound correct and is taking about 10x more time than I expected!) Anyway, the Kindle Book link is here! https://www.amazon.com/Lights-Camera-What-Sofia-Hammerstein-ebook/dp/B0GDRDWS5P It'll probably be 4 or 5 books in total for Carly and Beth's story, I haven't got that set in stone yet! Thanks to those of you who have already purchased, please do give it a 5-star review when you finish. (It doesn't show up who did that fyi as long as you don't actually leave a review - and you can change names on those in your settings) Sofia is sad about the innocent replies, but believe Fenny must have had a part in the views, so she bids the magnificent Fenny a big thank you! 💜 Thank you!!!!! 💜 (We were both off on our guess here!)

Chapter 195: Packages “THEY’RE PSYCHOPATHS!” CARLY seethed. “Yes,” Beth agreed. “We have to get this out to people…” “You’re right, but we need more…” Carly told her. “What else did Grandma have in that folder…” Carly and Beth finally called it quits far later than they should have, and knew they would be over the ten-minute video they had planned. It would have to be finished the next night, though, because they were nowhere near done. Beth and Carly took off their goggles and wiped their eyes and faces. “That’s one of the longest times I’ve used those before,” Carly said, looking around the room. “What about Saturday?” “I kept alternating with the implants,” Carly told her. “As much as I function with less sleep than most Littles, it’s late!” “Yes, it is, let’s get you tucked in,” Beth told her while scooping her up. She quietly carried her down the hall to Carly’s room and laid her down atop the changing table. She had no illusions that Carly’s diaper would have made it five more minutes, let alone the six hours that she had left to sleep! “You’re going to be tired tomorrow,” Beth told her as she finished taping the diaper. “And you aren’t?” She asked Beth. “True… Need anything else?” She asked her tiny, yawning girlfriend. “No…” She groaned, “Ugh! Stupid cravings…” “Huh?” Beth asked. “I’m thirsty, hungry, and craving that stupid milk more for some reason right now.” “Do you need me to get your grandma?” Beth asked tentatively. She shook her head, “No, can you hand me a pacifier, though, please?” Beth smirked, “Sure, one paci coming up!” After she inserted the pacifier in Carly’s mouth, she asked, “Better?” “Yeth, night!” She kissed her on the forehead and walked down to her room, used the toilet, and then crawled into bed. “Tomorrow is going to hurt!” She groaned. She had a hard time turning her brain off that night, despite how tired she was. Those people were monsters, and somehow… they’d been allowed to take over the university. ‘I wonder how many of those people were friends with Mom’s mother…?’ WEDNESDAY MORNING WAS a tough one to get moving! Grandma let me sleep in my car seat on the way to class at least, which did help. As much as the nanites I had dwelling inside of me helped function with this dimension’s longer days, I wasn’t used to staying up past this dimension’s midnight! During Computational Intelligence, I really had to force myself to focus on what was being discussed in class, not the facts we’d learned last night. I knew from the timestamp of the video that Grandma hadn’t had it more than a day at most before leaving it for me. ‘Why did she just leave it for me, though?’ I had to wonder. A part of me wondered if she’d even watched it, or if she was just searching for files. ‘Did Tessa find it and not tell her what was in it?’ That would actually explain why she didn’t specifically say anything about it. ‘I’ll have to ask tonight,’ I thought to myself. I did just manage to take enough notes, at least in class, to look like I had paid attention… Grandma changed my diaper before catching up with Beth and her team to walk to our classes in Marconi. “Grandma?” I asked as we walked. “Yes, Carly?” “Did you look through all of that box you gave me yesterday?” “Box?” Grandma asked in surprise, “Actually, no… I had Tessa pack some of that one?” “Oh… there were some really interesting things inside.” She made a face, “You’ll have to show me tonight.” I nodded. She shifted me, and I got a whiff of something that I instantly knew was milk. She saw me stiffen, “Are the cravings bad?” “They’re not good…?” I told her. “What do you want to do about it?” She asked me, carrying me into the doors of Marconi. “I haven’t the slightest clue, Grandma.” “Well… I know I’m your grandmother, but I could help if I need to.” I nodded, “I know… thank you for that. I’m just not sure about that…?” “Are you saying it’s even more awkward because I’m old?” She asked me, tickling my side. I giggled, “Well… it’s… just… yeah? You’re Grandma?” She hugged me, “The offer stands if you need it.” She whispered, “We can always stop by and get Lilly to help if we need to, too. She said she has a freezer stockpile right now that she’s building up just in case.” I blushed, “That’s embarrassing… but honestly, if it comes to it, I might prefer that. Let’s see if I can kick it first. Mom said it was hard, but she did it.” “Just mind your moods; if you start doing it too much, it will be something your body needs to regulate itself.” I felt my mood darken at that, but nodded. Holo Fields, at least, was interesting enough that day that I didn’t fall asleep, and I was able to distract myself from all of the rest of my problems. We were talking about how to physically build a sequence based on an exponential growth property, and I watched it create some absolutely incredible explosions come to life! ‘If I’d known how to do this, it wouldn’t have helped me in Narratives because of the stories… but I’d love to find an excuse to use this knowledge!’ As Grandma carried me out of the classroom, I felt the weirdest sensation. It was like my entire body vibrated! “What was that?” I asked her. “No clue…?” She said, seemingly concerned. Right then, Beth and her team came out of her classroom, looking very nervous. The marshals seemed to have their hands on their weapons, ready to draw them, and Nikki was constantly looking around, scanning for an unseen threat. The walls shook right then. “Let’s get out of here,” Marshal Evans ordered calmly but tersely, guiding everyone quickly outside, where we quickly saw the most bizarre sight I could imagine! BETH FELT LIKE she was going to go deaf! But that being said, the music had an incredibly vibrant sound, and the sudden holographic performance right in front of the administration building was something they couldn’t help but stare at in awe! Somehow, a massive holographic rock concert stage was projected in front of the admin building. The figures singing on it looked to be fifty feet tall, with the drum set in the group looking like it was taller than any Big alive! The figures singing were evidently supposed to be Littles. They were dressed in t-shirts and diapers, onesies with diapers sticking out, and a couple of girls in babydoll tops with their diapers proudly showing below. They suddenly shifted to a new song, and Beth took a moment to try to understand the lyrics. Cribs can’t hold us, we won’t break, Not your rules, not your mistake! Don’t need your blankies, not your baby dolls, We won’t be changed inside your walls! Pacis out and voices loud, Littles rise, defiant, proud! It was kind of a catchy song, really, and Beth couldn’t help but smile at what was probably the most impressive defiance they’d seen yet. She had no clue how they were making the sound happen without any visible speakers. Meanwhile, students and professors were coming out of the buildings to see what was causing the commotion. All around her, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of students finding places to sit and enjoy the concert. The song ended with the lines, No more playpens, no more chains We’re not lost, we’ve got our brains. You can’t rock us into sleep We’re wide awake and digging deep. Cribs can’t hold us—hear our sound Littles rising, standing ground. Beth smirked as security personnel streamed out to try to stop the projection. Still, as her team led her group off campus for safety, she couldn’t help but note that it looked like more drones were flying the projectors. A news crew seemed to be getting set up on one part of the quad, with a camera facing the HoloConcert, and she noted others rushing up as well. The next song started with an amazingly ironic voice, telling them, “Now remember class… pacifiers are for safety, and diapers are for comfort. Just let the nice Bigs decide what’s best for you.” Beth couldn’t help but smirk at that voice. They were moving faster, and just on the other side of the building, she heard the following song half-sing/half-shout, “Pacis and Lies,” and knew it was once again an homage to the bravest Little this campus had known in a long time. Grace’s shout of “PACIS OUT!” Had become the students’ war cry. She was proud to be making her own moves for it, even as she couldn’t help but smile that so were others. Her security team was not pleased with the situation, having already seen one protest they considered risky, so they drove off-campus a little farther than usual for lunch during their class break. She was using her tablet beside Carly to look at the news coverage. She hated being the person who played videos aloud for everyone else nearby to have to listen to. To avoid being obnoxious, she dug in her backpack and put a pair of Auradots she rarely used behind one ear. Thoughtfully, Beth put one on the near ear of Carly, who sat beside her in a highchair. “What was that?” Carly asked. “Oh, an Auradot?” She told her. “What’s that?” “Here, you’ll see,” she told Carly. She pressed play on the news story that she’d wanted to watch. “I’m here on the campus of Emerson University. Over the past couple of months, they’ve had several protests due to alleged abuse of Littles on the campus. A couple of weeks ago, following the last protest, the university’s president, Doctor Ryan Barnes, resigned. Circumstances behind that resignation haven’t been made public by the university. Still, our sources claim it was in response to him trying to remove members of the staff involved with the Littles’ part of the college after an incident that drew national coverage with holograms and drones that delivered diapers that exploded into tons of glitter.” The news showed the footage of the glitter bombs alongside the description. “Emerson has only given us a very brief statement on that, and no further interviews have been allowed with the interim president, Dr. Ophelia Brighton. It seems that the students of the university are still quite unhappy with the circumstances, and have stepped their protests up to a new height – literally!” The camera suddenly showed footage of the ongoing Little’s rock concert going on in front of the admin building. The camera showed the scope of the projected figures reaching up to the roof of the building. “Whoever is behind this event has truly created a spectacle!” She shouted into the microphone, “Though no one has confirmed who is responsible, we have been able to identify a series of drones that are acting as projectors for the images. Somehow, we believe that they’ve also achieved impressive sound levels by using the walls of campus buildings as speakers. Our tech crew back at the station has been absolutely floored by the technical aspects of what has been accomplished. No faces match any recognition on the campus or on social media, so they believe the holograms and the music are all artificially generated. From the artwork behind the band on their drums, we believe the group is called the ‘Crib Breakers’.” The screen broke back to the anchor, who tried to ask questions that had to be shown via text because it was so loud. “The concert has been going on for over an hour, from what we can tell. Songs have included ‘Demerit Number 9,’ a song discussing Emerson’s draconian demerit system for Littles, ‘Pacified,’ that alludes to the fact that every Little we saw before they cleared them from the quad were sucking on pacifiers, ‘One Crib Empty,’ a banger of an anthem called ‘Crib’s Can’t Hold Us,’ and more. They even had a ballad called ‘One More Hug’ that was about Littles saying goodbye to a friend or a lover one more time after they demerited out.” The shot moved back, and the anchor asked the on-scene reporter what the students thought about it. “You know, Ames hasn’t always been the most progressive state, but it certainly hasn’t been as draconian as Calisota for Littles. Most of the students we have talked to are speaking up in favor of the Littles. They’ve mentioned they have since been banned from the cafeteria altogether, and rumors are they’re being forced to eat pureed baby food for their meals. They suggest that there is significant abuse ongoing, and that things are spreading to the Tweeners on campus as well.” The interview ended with the anchor speaking a few words. Carly looked up at her, “Everyone, but the people who need to, seems to be ready to listen.” Beth nodded. She shifted in her seat right then and couldn’t help but hope it wasn’t too late. She wasn’t having accidents, but she’d already been forced to feel scared enough to wear Pull-Ups again for her own safety. “And this is really cool! How does this work?!?” Carly asked about the Auradot. Beth laughed, “Well…” JUST AS WE were preparing to return to campus, there was an alert, EMERSON STUDENTS, FACULTY, STAFF: Due to concerns that the unauthorized event in the quad may be causing structural issues, all classes for today will be cancelled. Faculty and staff for buildings attached to the quad should depart unless otherwise notified by supervisors. Buildings will be assessed immediately, and any information on resumption or cancellation of classes for tomorrow will be sent out. Littles should be in their nests at this time. “Do I have to go back?” I asked Grandma. “Are you normally there on Wednesday night?” “No?” “Then that is what we’re sticking with per the legally binding agreement. I’ll send a message to Lilly myself letting her know we’re taking you home.” I smiled at that. I would have more time to keep working on the latest video before sending it out an hour after the film finished playing. It would hit just in time for the evening news editors to see it, know they had to air it, I hoped, and send it out with minimal editing! When we arrived at Grandma’s, I saw it wasn’t even two in the afternoon! Grandma gave me a fast diaper change in my room. She took care, I could tell, to try and avoid holding me too close to her breasts, but I could still catch a pheromone or something every so often and had to fight to not stare at her breasts! ‘This is so weird!’ I thought to myself. She pulled the uniform off of me and pointedly made sure I left my phone and anything else that could possibly have held tracking or electronic stuff in my room. Without a word, she also pulled out the ribbons Beth had used to do my hair that morning, and then carried me down the hall to her workspace while catching Beth with a tilt of her head to join us. She closed the door, noticed Beth had something with a scanner, and took her back down the hall for a few minutes. When she returned, she was wearing a different outfit and had no jewelry or hair ties. I watched her scan her again after closing the door, and then she finally spoke. “You two weren’t kidding about that folder!” She looked around, “Tessa!” “Yes, Amanda?” The hologram flitted into existence. “How did you locate that recording of the board members?” She looked at me, “I assume that’s what you girls were alluding to?” We nodded, “I found a whole series of recordings in the SphereVerse that Senator Montclair was storing. I assume it was either for blackmail or her actual job as Secretary for the board?” “Do they know you have access?” Grandma asked. “No, they do not.” “I want the details of your route in, receipts of the recording, and everything I need to be able to give for a court appearance,” Grandma told her, “And I need you to lock yourself down from this moment on, do not leave this house or travel outside in any way.” “Of course, Amanda, that’s probably prudent. I’m certain I was undetected, but I can imagine Stuart Lemoine using his vast resources to track everything.” “I’m certain of it!” Grandma said. “Okay, go ahead and go away for now. Unless I activate you from the console, please do not reappear and do not make any recordings or records of anything we’re doing now.” “Of course,” Tessa said, and disappeared. “That was kind of rude?” Beth said. “I knew there were problems on the board, girls, especially with Rhodes and Senator Montclair; the other team had been kept quiet. There are very few people with resources that make me nervous, but Stuart, Harlan, and Quentin can take down entire countries at this point.” “So do we still go ahead with the plan?” Beth asked her. “Hell yes!” Grandma told us. “But I will be the one sending this out and the film. You two can finish putting together this packet, but I need it done in seven hours, so I have time to get this done right.” She looked at me and read the disappointment in my eyes. “Sorry, Carly, I’m still willing to have you here to watch, but this is a level of cyberwarfare I don’t think you’re quite trained for yet.” “Just who are these people?” I asked. “I mean, I get that they’re powerful… but aren’t Beth’s parents, and you just as much?” Grandma gave me one of those knowing smiles of someone who is flattered, but thinks differently. “Carly, your mom told you all about the issues she had with that group here, right?” “Venture, she called them?” I nodded, “She said they even tried to get at her back home…?” “That they did, and they’ve never been eliminated. Emaly and Stuart are both connected with the very powerful criminal organization that they’ve grown out of.” She looked at Beth, “Senator Montclair worked for your mom’s mother’s company for fifteen years before going into politics, and Petrov and Whitaker were both scientists with her company.” “Is this where everything has been coming at us from?” Beth asked, shakily. Grandma nodded, “I think it has to be.” “Do my parents know?” Beth asked. “Kind of hard to say this one in a HoloChat right now,” Grandma said. “Knowing who is involved, I’m actually scared we may have already been compromised, but I haven’t seen any signs they’ve made it through.” “They’ve tried?” I asked. She laughed, “They haven’t stopped since your mom got the better of them, Carly.” “Great…” I said. “So…?” Beth asked. “Get to work, girls, we have powerful people to bring down,” Grandma smiled. “Oh, and for the record, the students who worked on that wonderful performance today are good friends of yours. They know nothing about what you’re doing, and you know nothing about what they did. Hopefully, though, you can bring this group down together. I have to say, though, I didn’t expect them to come up with songs quite so catchy. I’ve downloaded the album on a playlist on the house server if you want to listen to it,” she smiled at me. “Later, work to do now,” I told her. I looked at Beth, “Let’s finish this up!” Beth and I entered the Sphere workroom and immediately began finishing ripping through every piece of evidence, video, email – everything! The end clip had narration generated by a very realistic AI commentator, inspired by the Crib Breakers, and made from a series of anchors into the ideal anchor. They described the whole sordid plot to demerit out the Tweeners next to keep their quota up. Grandma had even managed to track down forty of the lost students, including some of my former nestmates and exchange students, to show their fate. Films of them being more regressed than most, and disturbing side-by-side before-and-after shots, made it even more compelling. Nevaeh even made an appearance. As much as Beth hated what had been done to her, we found serious evidence in the files suggesting that some of these same board members were involved in blackmailing her into participating and shutting her up about everything. Apparently, one of their customers had wanted such a Big ‘Little’ for their ‘collection.’ It was sick! Grandma came in later and watched the short and long versions we were providing to the news outlets. One was a five-minute version that they could run without a commercial break, the other was a forty-minute piece that exposed everything. Additionally, she packaged all the supporting evidence after scrubbing for potential vectors for retrieval, then assembled the data packages. The subject for the emails? There was really only one thing it could be… ‘PACIS OUT!!!’ +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading!!! Please press the Like Button and leave a comment!!! If you would like to hear the Crib Breakers amazing album, you can find it here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3LuGmXtwo0FCNgaZZLj-Fiqf5D406r_h They are also available on my Discord Server if YouTube is problematic for you. You can join that server here: https://discord.gg/Ckw4Nq8kQZ That'll also allow you to see why I got into the whole AI generated music spree! This will be my last post until Friday of this coming week, but I’m glad you all have enjoyed this string of chapters! I’m slowly getting myself back into writing, and hope to get a few more chapters written in the next couple of weeks so I can maintain the two per week spoiling I’ve been doing to you all. Please leave comments, and press the like button to help motivate me! Happy New Year to everyone! In case you're looking for a place to spend those Amazon Gift Cards you've been given, and haven't yet picked up Kindle versions of all of my books, you can find them here! http://www.amazon.com/author/babysofia

🎄 Merry Christmas!!! Welcome to a special bonus chapter! Please see notes at end for this weekend's posting schedule! 🎄 Chapter 193: Cravings GRANDMA HAD SQUEEZED me tightly into her arms before saying, “Come on, we’re going to get your appointment with Doctor Sterling in early again.” “I have a lot to talk to her about,” I sighed. “I know,” Grandma said. I frowned. A vague memory popped to the surface then, and I groaned, “Pictures?” I asked. “I guess Nana said she was sending some.” “She’s digging her grave,” Grandma said. “But yes, you don’t have to worry about explaining it to me.” I could tell Grandma was angry. I just sat in her arms then and leaned my head against her shoulder, a childlike comfort I had found was nice to have. As I did, I stiffened. I could smell her milk. My stomach grumbled. I jerked my head upright. “What’s wrong?” Grandma asked. Internally, I squirmed, “I can smell it,” I told her. She looked puzzled, then looked down, and sighed, “I’m sorry, Carly. It’s definitely one of the things I want you to talk with Sterling about, okay? Might also be worth a private chat with your mom tonight?” “I was thinking I really need to talk to them with everything going on.” I paused, “Especially if I don’t make it out of here.” At that, Grandma hugged me even tighter, “I promise you, Carly, I won’t let anything happen to you.” “I know, but… well, when I’m in the nest like that? There’s absolutely nothing you can do for me.” “Did they hold you down to nurse?” She asked me, still walking down the sidewalk. Fortunately, it was mostly empty for our privacy. “In a way…?” “What happened?” I told her about Nana, the bananas, the alternative… and then the bath and ‘skin-to-skin’ nursing. “Well…” Grandma said, “I guess at least Nana didn’t make you nurse from her.” I screwed up my face, “Eeew, can you imagine having to put your lips on her?!?” She laughed. “I did it more for Lilly, though,” I told her. “They’ve been getting harder on them, I think, with some sort of loyalty tests. I’m afraid for her…” “Hopefully, this won’t go on for too much longer for them,” Grandma said quietly. “Unfortunately, you may not find the addiction as easy to get past. Especially with what you just said.” We reached the office quickly enough and checked me in. I spent a good hour talking to Dr. Sterling about everything going on. When I got to last night… well, it was more than slightly awkward! To her credit, she’d been through that kind of thing before and helped me agree with how I rationalized it. “What do I do about the cravings?” I asked. “Depends on how many more times you do it,” she told me. “Doctor Nickerson would actually be a better person to talk to about this, as I know she’s tried getting off of her mommy’s milk a couple of times. From my limited experiences with Littles who have gotten away from adoption… Well, if you never nurse again, probably after a couple of months…? Then you’ll be able to be around it without cravings.” “If I have to do it again on Thursday?” “Again, once or twice… probably add another month. If you get to the point where you nurse every day for a couple of weeks, that makes it like getting off of a nicotine or a drug. Bigs have definitely evolved in a way that some of our bodily reactions, like milk, end up serving as a lure for prey. I think it’s mostly the oxytocin release that really gets into Little’s heads. You see a massive dose of dopamine hit their brains when a Little nurses. Again, it’s very much a typical addiction in that way.” “So avoid it?” “If you can?” She said. “The truth is, it’s not biologically going to harm you, at least. It might even help you feel a bit more regulated emotionally. The biggest thing, though, is if you want to go home, it’ll be rough going cold turkey then.” “If I want to go home?” I asked her. “Of course I want to go home!” “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you don’t. I also know that you want to be with Beth. That would be a lot easier if you didn’t go home?” I felt a stab in the gut once again thinking about it. “Look, normally I’d tell you to take things one week at a time, but with all that you’re dealing with. Take it one single day at a time. Things will work out!” “I hope so,” I told her. As we ended, and I found myself in Grandma’s arms, I noted the milk smell again. ‘Ugh!!!!’ I whined inside my head. Knowing now just how bad the cravings felt, I feared that being compounded by other hits, though! ‘Knowing ‘Nana,’ she’ll probably show up Thursday to babysit the nest so my ‘mommy’ can feed me.’ “Still bothering you?” Grandma asked me. I grimaced, but nodded, “Unfortunately! She explained If I don’t do it again, I can probably get over it sooner than later.” “Well… I’m sure this isn’t going to be something you want to do, but if you ever do need to, I have more than enough for you and Bella both.” I don’t think a face could get any redder than mine right then, “Thanks, but I’m going to do my best to pass on that.” I groaned, “Lilly had offered me pouches to take with me, too.” She squeezed me gently, “I understand, just know I’m always there for you, Carly.” I nodded. We ate lunch – real solid food – at an off-campus place nearby, before meeting up with Beth and her team in our Narratives class. I noticed Beth was off to the side talking to Sebastian about something. She handed him something before seeing me and coming over. “Hey Carly,” she said. Beth scooped me up and hugged me like she hadn’t seen me in a week! “Are you okay?” She asked, pushing me to her hip so she could see my face. I blushed, “I guess…?” “Amanda showed me last night…” “Showed you the pictures?” She nodded. I felt a twist in my gut. “Sorry,” I told Beth. She hugged me, “What are you sorry about?” “It kind of feels like I’m cheating on you,” I quietly told her. She hugged me tighter, “I love you, that’s not changing,” she told me in a whisper. “We’ll talk more at home later.” I nodded in agreement, and she carried me back to the group as the class actually filed in that day. Our group had some conversations focused mainly on catching up on life. I noted that Charlotte and Sebastian seemed preoccupied that day. As class was about to start, we also had a visitor! Dr. Gibney waved at me before sitting down in a spare seat. I noted that Grandma had hung around, too, and that Nikki and the marshals in the detail had also found a place to sit. Fortunately, it was a decent-sized theater, and there were plenty of seats available. Doctor Wyler opened up the class, “Good afternoon! I’m glad you all were able to make it in today. We have one of our studios that has completed their last two projects, or at least enough of a near-final draft, so I felt it would be a good idea for us to watch their commercial and short film here in class today. When any of your groups feel like you’re ready, I’d be happy to do this for your projects too!” He smiled at Sebastian, “Why don’t you all show them the commercial first since it’s short?” “Thanks, Doctor Wyler.” Sebastian played around with a tablet in his hands, and the whole room went dark. The advanced holo-projection commercial we had filmed and edited appeared. Really, it had come out quite well! I’d have loved to take an EasyBrew home! Professor Wyler then stood up and discussed what was shown in the commercial. He talked about the camera angles chosen and how they helped increase the emotional appeal of purchasing one. As a class, they discussed it, and it was decided I needed to tweak one thing because they felt it needed another clip we had actually filmed, but cut out for time. I made a note to do so! The use of AI music was seen as effective and a good way to keep costs down on a low-budget film. Overall, he said, “It’s an A all day long, but I would love to see that one tweak in the final version?” “We’ll get it done,” Sebastian said before turning back to the room. “Next is going to be our short, Crumbled Friendships. Carly wrote the script, and of course, you all know us as the cast members. We hope you enjoy,” he said. I watched the room turn to darkness again as my… our film began to play. BETH HAD OF course seen bits and pieces through the editing process, but it was her first time seeing the short film put together. It was longer than she realized it would be after you added in the opening credits and end credits, which were all played before the lights came up. Beth turned during the film and was surprised to see several members of their studio, and others, wiping tears from their faces. At the end, there was a moment of silence before all the groups stood and applauded. Dr. Wyler led a discussion about the film, then, and more than once, the statement was made by a Big, “That hit me in the feels… It makes it clear how wrong it is to do that to Littles before they even have a chance to do things on their own!” “How is that even legal?” she heard someone say. “What? It’s just normal?” Another girl had said, “I mean, who wouldn’t want to adopt someone like Carly?” There were some hisses then, even as a couple of girls seemed to agree. What Beth noted, though, was that it seemed to affect many in the room, who were suddenly far less inclined to support the forced adoptions. “It makes all this bullshit they’re doing to Littles right now even worse in my opinion,” one girl in Studio Four said. “I mean, can anyone say they’ve had a better-written script? Or a better film?” “That’s just cause Charlotte’s the main character!” someone said. “Bullshit, those two are just as much the leads! And Carly was in the one they did for the festival. Not to mention, Carly wrote that script?” The girl responded. It was a fairly animated discussion that Wyler brought back to the topic at hand: how they had created the film. When class ended, it took them a while to get out because people wanted to talk to them. “We need to get these two home,” Grandma eventually said. “No problem,” Charlotte said. “We’ll see you guys later! Thursday, we’ll figure out the final edits?” “Sure,” Carly told her. With that, they finally managed to drag Carly out of there, with Beth getting to carry her for once beside Amanda. She had shared a look with Sebastian before leaving, and hoped he’d take care of the other stickers that needed to go up. Sebastian made the third person she’d involved, and she hoped her trust was well placed! Ava Mitchell from her film class, who had played Charlotte’s mom, was the other. Between them, and Livy, plus the stickers she’d been able to put up, she hoped they’d give the Tweeners a chance to have their nanites deactivated. Beth was a bit surprised that Amanda let Carly ride with her on the trip home, but she appreciated the chance to hang out with her in the car. They were hanging out in Beth’s room so she could get changed into her swimsuit first before they went down to Carly’s room. Carly sat on her bed, talking to Beth as Beth took off the skirt and top she wore. Beth stiffened, mortified, as she knew Carly could see the Pull-Up. She’d somehow managed to forget about the damn thing, despite having pulled it up and down to go to the bathroom multiple times that day. “What happened?” Carly asked. “You don’t have accidents?” Beth broke down, then, in tears, told Carly about the night they took Livy back to the dorm. “I just… I can’t risk it…? At least if… if…” She wiped her face, “If I did… the rules wouldn’t doom me again.” Carly hugged her tightly, even as Beth was dressed only in the Pull-Up and her bra, then, “I’m sorry, Beth, we both had a horrible day yesterday, and I didn’t even ask you about yours!” She hugged the smaller girl tightly, too, then leaned down and kissed her. “I didn’t exactly want to advertise this,” she told her. “I understand,” she told her. “But you don’t need it at home, right?” “Hell no!” Beth said, swearing for a rare time. “Well, then get that stupid thing off and a swimsuit on,” she told her. She began pulling the wannabe underwear off, and then pulled up a bikini bottom. She couldn’t help but note how much thinner it was. As she was switching out her bra for the top, Carly said, “I’m really glad Grandma let me ride home with you tonight.” “Why?” “I can smell it…” Carly told her. “Smell what?” “Her milk…?” “I can’t?” “I never noticed it until this morning,” Carly told her. “I think it’s only because I nursed from Lilly?” “You’re having withdrawals already?” Beth asked her with concern. “Apparently,” Carly made fists with her hands, “I hate Chester!” “So what exactly did she do to make you nurse from Lilly?” “Most of it was holding Lilly like a hostage, but she also made it as a way to get out of having to eat something really gross,” Carly told her. “What could be that gross?” Beth asked her. Carly blushed, “You’re going to think I’m stupid…” “What was it?” “Bananas?” Carly told her, hiding her face with her hands. Beth couldn’t help herself; she laughed. “Bananas?” She shook her head, “That was enough of a threat to make you nurse num-nums from your nest mommy?” “They’re disgusting…” “Why?” Carly told her the story of a childhood trauma with them. Somehow, they’d been dating that long, and Beth had never realized just how horrible bananas were to her. She hugged her as she finished getting the story after dressing her in her swimsuit. “Get a swim in, maybe it’ll help. Then we’ll take a quick shower and get you some real food for dinner.” Beth actually did swim a little in the main pool with Carly before moving over to the jacuzzi for as long as Amanda would let Shelby stay in. Dinner was going to be ready soon, so Beth carried Carly upstairs, grabbed a diaper and an outfit from her room, and then brought the smaller girl into her own room to share the shower. They really did just quickly shower, but it helped to have Beth able to pull down the nozzle and rinse off the shorter girl. She quickly dried both of them off, then put a diaper on Carly so she wouldn’t have an accident on the floor. ‘I can’t help but notice she pees in the shower or bath almost every time… She doesn’t even notice it,’ Beth thought. She found a comfortable pair of yoga pants and a top to wear for herself, and a nearly matching set for Carly. Carrying Carly downstairs, they enjoyed a pretty typical dinner, even if, in the end, Bella said, as she usually did with company present, “Nummies, Mommy?” Beth noted that Carly stiffened up right then, and Amanda winced. “In a little while, baby girl, Mommy has a couple of things to do first.” Beth turned to Carly, who seemed to be shoveling food in quicker, like her brothers did. She tried to hurry too, as it was clear that Carly needed to move away from ‘nummies’ being a thing for the poor girl. Carly probably would have liked to have worked out with Beth again that night, as she had been doing most days. Still, looking at the time, she knew they needed to get the munchkin out of sight so no one could say she was ‘out past curfew.’ “I’m going to get Carly ready for bed,” she told Amanda, undoing the harness holding her in the high chair. “Thanks,” she told her. Shelby joined them upstairs. “What was that about with Mom?” she asked Beth as she changed Carly’s diaper and put her into pajamas. ‘Should have just put her in those to begin with,’ she thought. Carly answered, “I… I nursed from my nest mommy last night.” Shelby looked at her like she’d grown horns. “What were you thinking?!?” “No choice,” Carly told her. “That sucks,” Shelby replied. “Yeah, it does…” They went through a bit of a ‘show’ for anyone who might have been watching the light on in the window outside. Soon, Beth was lightly running her hand up and down Carly’s back, while Amanda sat on a stool a few feet away in her workshop, going through things. “How did it go for the things today?” Amanda asked Beth. “I think we’ve got them all out there.” “Things?” Carly asked. Both felt a bit of guilt for not telling her about the project to disable the nanites. “We’ll tell you this weekend,” Amanda told her. “Just in case – this way you don’t know.” “Fair enough,” Carly sighed. “You’re good for Thursday?” Amanda asked her. “I think so?” Carly said, “Although I’m kind of tempted to want to add a whole segment on what they’re doing to Mids now!” Fred had joined them then, “Why?” “Shouldn’t we?” Carly replied. “I think you’d be better off using it as a separate story,” he told her. “Huh?” Carly asked. “Fred’s right,” Amanda said. “How about we put something together, but instead of doing the plan for Thursday, we get it to a whole bunch of news organizations?” “Pre-prepare a news story for them?” Carly mused, “That just might work, actually!” “Can you do it by tomorrow night?” “As long as I can work tomorrow night too… should be able to?” Carly said. “Then get to work, let me know what you need, if it’s evidence, footage, interviews, it’s going to have to be gathered quickly!” “Can you get Beth a clean set to join EdgeSphere with, too? That way we can work together?” Carly asked. In response, Amanda held a setup, “I’ve got one, but you said you wanted to talk to your family tonight? I’ve got it set up for them to meet you inside for a little bit?” Beth noted that Carly brightened then, even as she squirmed. “Thanks!” She said. “How long until they’re on?” “A few minutes?” “Okay,” Carly said. She looked at Beth, “Do you mind if I go ahead and talk with them for a bit, then we’ll get to work?” Beth hugged her, “Of course! Tell you what, I’ll go give my parents a call, and then I’ll come back and check on you?” “Thanks,” Carly said. She watched as Carly put on the goggles, then Amanda did something with a set for a few minutes before pulling hers off, too. “She doesn’t want you there either?” She asked Amanda as they walked out. “I think she has a tough conversation to have. I’m sure she’ll talk with all of them, but I expect she really needs to talk to her mom.” “Stacy?” “Yes.” Beth nodded, “She’s the only one back home that will understand, isn’t she?” “I’d guess even maybe the only one here that she could talk to about it. They’re different girls, but they’re also a lot alike.” She squeezed Beth in a hug, “Go call your parents, though, your mom was worried about you today and kept messaging me.” Beth agreed and disappeared to her room. “Hey Mom, Dad…” she was saying a moment later. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading!!! Please press the Like Button and leave a comment!!! As promised I'll be giving a couple rapid fire chapters here, one again tomorrow (probably similar time as this one) and then one late Saturday night my time here. I'm visiting family so that one is a little up in the air when I'll have the privacy to post it. I appreciate each and every one of you who press the like button, leave a comment, tease me with coal, and brighten my day. Merry Christmas to you all, and I hope the coming New Year is brighter for all of you! In case you're looking for a place to spend those Amazon Gift Cards you've been given, and haven't yet picked up Kindle versions of all of my books, you can find them here! http://www.amazon.com/author/babysofia

Chapter 200: What Happened?!? BETH FELT LIKE she had been watching the progress screen above Fred blink for hours, but she knew that it was likely only a couple of minutes with the way the system worked. “Patient stabilized,” the NanoAid said. Beth let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “Patient should be transferred to a medical facility as soon as possible for further care.” Beth just stared for another moment before she noticed Fred groan and open his eyes. “Where…” he rasped, then made eye contact with Beth. “Fred!” she said, “You’re okay!” He started to sit up, but Beth pushed a hand down, “Stay where you are, you were hurt badly.” “The kids?” He asked. She shrugged, “I think they’re in their safe rooms…” Before she continued, Tessa appeared, “Fred, it’s good to see you conscious. Beth, the threats have been neutralized, and friendly law enforcement is currently searching the house. When they complete their search, I’ll help you to exit this room.” “What about Carly?!?” She asked Tessa. Tessa replied, “I have not heard from Amanda. From what I can see at Emerson, it appears that she is working with Marshal Evans to extract her.” “Wait, what’s going on?” Fred asked, “I don’t really remember anything…” “The house was attacked,” Beth told him. “I vaguely remember that – I must have taken a blow to the head?” “Along with broken ribs and some other things,” Beth confirmed. “Amanda went after Carly after she was pulled from her nest and taken to the admin building. Right then, though, we were attacked here. Tessa, can you find out anything else?” Beth pleaded. “I’ll do what I can, Beth, but it will take some time. Also, I’m still bound by Doctor Westerfield’s directive to not leave the house, so it’ll be a bit more challenging to discover the information.” Beth knew her face was soaked, even as she felt absolutely sick to her stomach. “Can you show me where everyone else is in the house right now, as they search at least?” She asked. Tessa displayed a three-dimensional model of the house, then with green silhouettes of ‘good guys’ moving from room to room, checking on them. She noted that there were ten ‘red’ silhouettes on the ground in various places around the house. One green one was down flat in Beth’s bathroom, leaving her feeling sick to her stomach. “Is Nikki okay?” She asked Tessa. “She is coming around now, my sensors indicate she will need to be checked out in the hospital, but thankfully, they were only using stun levels on their weapons when they entered your bathroom. I think the concussion grenade they used on you only knocked her out and concussed her.” “So are we secure yet?” Beth asked, after seeing the green silhouettes finish moving through the house.” “I believe so, but we’re going to wait for the ambulances to be allowed inside before I let you out. I want Fred and Miss Paulson to be able to go straight out there without any issues with waiting for them,” Tessa told Beth. Fred fidgeted for a few moments before Beth heard Tessa say, “Beth, go ahead and disengage the door locks. It’s that button over there,” she said, pointing. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” Beth asked. “I’m not allowed to, and the button is protected from me in case something goes wrong.” “Tessa… it is safe out there, you’re not just setting us up, right?” Beth asked, feeling her stomach clench in more fear. “I promise, Beth, no one can get to me like they did Rachel. That’s why they had to shut down all power here to get past me in the first place. They didn’t know there was a separate backup power supply just for my program in Amanda’s lab. It took me a while to reroute the rest of the house to get it back up, though.” Beth uneasily pressed a big red button on the wall, felt a click, and heard the hiss as the physical cylinders retracted. She found herself face-to-face with Marshal Tanner from the first shift, who had been off-duty. “Tessa said Fred is hurt?” She asked without hesitation. Beth shakily pointed, “I used a NanoAid on him; he was in rough shape before it.” “Got it,” she told her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. A local police officer said, “Miss, we want you to get checked out, too. There are a few ambulances ready to look you all over.” “Beth!” She heard from the stairs then, though. She saw Shelby running toward her, “You’re okay!!!” The smaller girl wrapped her arms around her before turning back to where her mom and brother were standing for a moment before turning to her, “Where’s Grandpa?” “He’s okay, but they’re checking him over,” Beth told her, trying to keep her calm. Right then, a set of EMTs with a gurney, escorted by an officer, entered the house and headed down to the safe room. Fortunately, Bella and her kids had been shoved in the safe rooms so quickly that, as far as Beth knew, they hadn’t seen anything other than the lights go out. She watched a bustle of activity as another set of paramedics went upstairs to treat Nikki and check on the assailants. There were probably forty officers and marshals within the house and perimeter, and she found herself and Bella’s family pushed into the living room to get them out of the way. “Miss?” A female paramedic said, approaching her. “Yes?” “One of the marshals suggested you were injured?” “I don’t think so…?” Beth said. “Beth, you’re bleeding!” Shelby said suddenly. “Where?” Beth asked. “The back of your head!” Shelby said, “Your hair’s all bloody there.” “Here, let me take a look,” the paramedic said. “How did I not even notice?” She asked Shelby as the paramedic made her wince as they took a gloved hand and began treating her. “It’s common in a case of shock, Miss,” the EMT said to her. “Can I get your name, please?” “Elizabeth Sylvester,” she told her. “Birthday?” She went through a series of questions that Beth knew were as much about verifying she didn’t have a concussion as actual information that was needed. The EMT used a topical treatment that sealed up the cut on the back of her head and noted the bruises that were forming on her body. “Miss Sylvester, I think it would be best to have you checked out at the hospital just to be safe.” Beth made a face at that and was about to respond when she watched a pair of tall women walk in wearing LPS jackets. “What are they doing here?” Marshal Tanner swore, having just come out of the safe room with Fred on a stretcher in front of him. “Can I help you?” She approached them. “Yes, we understand there are Littles here who need to be taken into custody temporarily?” “Do you mean the assailants in our investigation?” She asked. It was only then that Beth realized several wriggling masses were lying in the living room playpen. Her level of shock meant she’d completely not noticed them! “Names are Isabella Westerfield, Shelby Westerfield, and Ryan Westerfield?” “They are not under your jurisdiction,” Tanner told her. Beth was ready to get involved herself when she recognized Amanda’s brother-in-law, Matt, who came in, led by a police officer. “This man says he represents the family as their attorney.” “What is LPS doing here?” “We’re here on a wellness check and to take in Isabella, Shelby, and Ryan Westerfield into protective custody while we identify if their caregivers will be well enough to continue to care for them…” “I’m Matt Lethbridge. I represent this family, and I know they have a duly appointed caregiver and custody chain in the event of death. There is no reason for your presence, and you will not be taking them.” Beth was a bit squeamish about how forceful he was about that. She knew LPS had a longstanding history of removing Littles with very little recourse. “You cannot say that…” the older of the two women said. “No, but I can,” a tall man said, entering. “Judge Price?!?” The woman said nervously. “What are you doing here?” “A friend called me, and woke me up to tell me there was a big incident at the Westerfield’s house where his daughter was staying. I agreed to come check in on her.” He nodded toward Beth, “Care to tell me what’s going on?” “We received reports that these Littles are being allowed to stay up at night, sleep outside of cribs…” Beth watched the Judge give a look that reminded her of her dad when she or her siblings tried to lie their way out of something. There was no verbal warning; he just glowered until she stopped. “And the proof?” “A federal marshal…?” “Would that happen to be a Jenna Morales?” He asked her. “Your Honor, I don’t know that I should…” “I’ll take that as a yes. You’ll find that the former marshal has some major credibility issues right now. I recommend the following. Turn around, exit that door, and don’t even consider coming and bothering this family again without speaking to me first with evidence in hand of neglect or abuse. It had better be accompanied by ironclad proof if so! You may not know it, but one of those Littles you are trying to remove was the victim of your department many years ago - neither the Westerfields nor the Sylvesters will take kindly to your actions.” Beth watched the woman’s face drain, and the other woman didn’t even wait for her, turning tail and running. The older woman made a face like she’d had something sour, but followed her out. “Good thing you arrived when you did,” Matt told him. “I owe her dad more than a few favors over the years.” “Beth, you were injured?” Beth nodded, even as the paramedic said, “We really should get her checked out at the hospital. Fred is in the first ambulance leaving, and Miss Paulson should be down in a moment.” “Can she ride with Miss Paulson?” Matt suggested. She looked torn on that. “I’ll drive her in,” Marshal Tanner suggested. “No offense, but after what happened, I don’t think that’s a good idea?” Matt told her. “What happened?” Beth asked. “Something about Morales?” Matt looked torn, but said, “She was in on this. We don’t know all of the details, but she provided information to the culprits at the university.” “Wait! You know what happened to Carly?” She asked him. “They’re in the process of trying to get her out,” Matt said, even as his phone rang. “Hold on one second.” He stepped a few feet away. “Mandy? What happened? Is she okay...?” Beth felt her heart stop as she listened to the silence while Matt was given an answer. For a long moment, she felt her entire blood freeze cold, and couldn’t help but worry that the love of her life had the unthinkable happen to them. She couldn’t help but think about what her dad felt when she walked away toward her voluntary adoption out after saying goodbye all those years ago. He told her of the grief of finding out she had just disappeared off the face of the planet after they were engaged. Then... his finding out she was mentally no better than an infant... The grief she knew had to have eaten at him hit her like a wall, even as she watched Matt frown. “Make sure you all stay with her. We’ll get there as soon as we can, Amanda.” Beth stared at him and felt her face full of tears as he told her, “They got Carly out, but they don’t have information about her condition. I think there may be more to it because she was in the office, but Megan didn’t say. Let’s get you to the hospital. I’m sure they’ll let you see her as soon as we can get you checked over yourself.” Beth shuddered as her body was wracked with relief and tried to wipe her face. Right then, Nikki was brought down on a stretcher. She was sitting upright and seemed mostly okay, if a bit dazed. “Marshal Tanner, how about you go ahead and drive behind the ambulance that has Miss Paulson and Beth inside. Jim, would you mind following them as well? We need to make sure that she makes it to the hospital safely. I need to take Bella and her kids to our place,” Matt directed. “They can’t stay there alone,” Jim told him. “My son Sam and daughter Leelah have passed the certification classes to sit for Littles. They can legally watch them, and have babysat before.” “Good,” he told him. “I don’t want to see you in my courtroom over this mess.” “Neither do we!” Matt told him. THIRTY MINUTES LATER, it felt like déjà vu as Beth was getting checked out in a hospital room by a doctor. This wasn’t Doctor Nickerson, unfortunately, but at least this doctor was still respectful and treated her like an adult. Ten minutes after the ambulance drove her in, they had her in an exam room. She had sat patiently while they scanned her and were just waiting for a final clear from a specialist reviewing the scan. Her parents and the marshals wanted to take no chances on her having hidden injuries. She’d been brought in with the dazed Nikki and kept together just long enough to know they were running more thorough scans on her, but initially thought she would be okay. They planned to keep Nikki under observation overnight to be safe. Beth turned on the TV as she waited for her results to see if there was any news about what happened at Emerson, because no one seemed to want to tell her any details. All she had been told was that Carly was brought out and was somewhere here in the hospital, on the other side, in the pediatric unit. She saw a ‘Breaking News’ chyron below the lower-quality screen. “Anna, what are you learning now?” “Jake, it appears that there was a major incident as federal agents moved to take Doctor Melanie Shapiro, the Dean of Littles, into custody. Our source has told us that agents observed Shapiro, the head nest mother who essentially serves as a Residential Director, forcefully taking a Little from the nest. Upon verification of a warrant for their arrests that was issued by a judge tonight, they moved to arrest her and check on the welfare of the Little.” “How is that Little doing?” Jake asked. “That is unclear. Our crews did observe a patient being taken out by a stretcher into an ambulance rapidly, and no one at the hospital will answer questions at this time.” “Were there any other casualties?” “Yes, Jake, three women were also brought out on stretchers and transported to the hospital. Their conditions are also unknown. Marshal Evans, a Deputy Marshal who is involved, has announced a press conference for the media here in the next couple of minutes.” “That’ll be a big one. Hopefully, we’ll get some answers then. We’ll be back with you when that begins. For now, we’re going to take a quick break and be back with more of this breaking news coverage!” Beth watched the commercials roll through, looking out the door and hoping someone would come in to tell her she was good to leave. Or, someone would come to say to her Carly was really okay, or… just anything! Instead, she sat bored until the next commercial. Then the next one, then the next one, until she finally saw Marshal Evans standing beside a man in an NBI jacket. The man in the jacket began, “Good evening, this will be a very brief news conference to update the public on events that have taken place on the campus of Emerson University. For the past couple of weeks, our NBI agents have been probing possible illegal activities by faculty and staff here at Emerson. Through our investigation, we have encountered many illegal actions, both nationally and here in the State of Ames.” He paused for a moment to swipe on his tablet, which he was looking at. “Among the actions are civil rights violations, human trafficking violations, and conspiracy crimes related to these. Given the nature of the cases, we will not be able to provide many more details at this time. Earlier this evening, an unknown organization or entity provided video evidence, in the form of documentaries, to news agencies and hacked into Emerson’s systems to broadcast one of them on every projector and device on campus. When the film stopped, a copy was provided to all national law enforcement agencies, along with raw evidence, and also to news agencies.” “Following our investigation, warrants were issued for the following individuals: Doctor Wendy Chester, Doctor Melanie Shapiro, Emaly Rhodes, Stuart Rhodes, and Roland Faulkner. More individuals who have not yet been served are also pending. During the course of apprehending Doctor Chester and Doctor Shapiro, our agents observed a Little being roughly handled. They brought the student out of the nest at an unusually late hour for Littles on the campus, then raised an outcry for help to a passing agent. Further investigation revealed that they, Chester, Shapiro, and Rhoades, had chosen to take out their frustration on the film shown tonight on her, though our investigation has not yet uncovered any links to the victim. Our agents followed the pair to the administration building and intended to move in and apprehend the suspects then.” “Due to a security protocol on the building, we were unfortunately delayed by nearly an hour in gaining entry. During that time, it is known that the Little in question was beaten severely, questioned, and an attempt was made to permanently regress that student. This action was outside the scope of state and federal law—and even the Emerson code of conduct. At some point, a struggle broke out, and our agents were able to gain access to the room and arrest the individuals. The Little was rescued and is currently being treated at the University Hospital.” “Additionally, during the arrest, Marshal Jenna Morales, of the national marshals, was apprehended. I’m going to allow Marshal Evans to make a statement on that.” ‘What the hell?!?’ Beth seethed, ‘She was supposed to protect us!!!! Wait! Wasn’t she one of the marshals on detail on the island, too…?’ Beth began putting pieces together and realized how they’d been found. ‘So… is this more of Mom’s past…?’ She watched as Marshal Evans came forward and gave a brief statement that the marshals were investigating her involvement and that criminal charges were pending. The one thing he added, though, was, “During the course of a struggle with the victim, Marshal Morales appears to have intentionally discharged her weapon at that victim.” ‘Carly was shot?!?!?!’ She felt panic strike her, even as she saw a man enter that she recognized as a friend of her dad’s, another attorney, from their meeting before Spring Break. “Edgar?” She asked, barely remembering his name. “Hi, Beth,” he said, coming over to shake her hand, but she hugged him instead. “What’s going on?!? Is Carly okay?” “As far as I know, she’s going to be okay. Not many people really know what happened inside the office at this point. As soon as you’re released, your parents told me to take you to see her. What did they say about your injuries? And what exactly happened to you?” Beth filled him in on the attack at Amanda’s house. The look on his face was quite severe as she explained what had happened. He shook his head, “I used to think your dad was a magnet for trouble…” She felt embarrassed, “It’s not my fault? Or Carly’s?” “No,” he agreed. “Okay, just so you know, I don’t think anyone is going to be able to stay at Amanda and Fred’s for at least a week. Your mom is flying out here and plans to find a place to stay. I think she said something about additional security, possibly too.” Beth sighed, “Normally, this is where I would rail about my mother being overprotective and overreacting…” He gave her a small smile, “Yeah, hard to say that after three problems in four weeks or so?” “More than that,” she sighed. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore,” she told Edgar. Right then, the doctor came in, “Miss Sylvester?” “Yes,” she said. “You’re all clear, nothing will be long-lasting. I would recommend taking some over-the-counter painkillers for the next few days, as you will be quite sore. I’m also prescribing some cream that should help those bruises heal a bit sooner. If, for some reason, you begin to notice any dizziness, nausea, headaches, or other concussion symptoms, please come back to the ER and get checked out.” “Yes, ma’am,” she told her. “Great, just sign here, and I think your escort knows where to go next; I gave them directions.” Beth quickly signed on the tablet and was happy to walk away. Marshal Tanner was waiting outside, along with two uniformed police officers, an NBI agent, and another man wearing a Marshal jacket. “They said you know where Carly is?” she asked. “Yes,” Tanner told her. “If you’re ready, we’ll go there next.” Beth followed her, while the others flanked her, leaving no doubt that she was being guarded. The gaggle of law enforcement agents drew stares as they walked down the hallways and across a breezeway over a road to get into the Pediatric Hospital, where Carly had been taken. ‘At least I got to be with the adults this time…’ she thought. Tanner showed her badge to a receptionist, and a nurse led them to Carly’s room. Carly was hooked into the monitor system and had her eyes closed. Amanda sat in a chair beside her… crib. Beth blushed for Carly, but wasn’t overly surprised given the pediatric wing. She quietly waved at Beth as she entered. “How is she?” Beth asked her quietly. “She’s still unconscious right now,” Amanda said with a sigh. “They’re not worried yet, but she took a direct hit from Morales’s weapon at the highest non-lethal strength it can be set at. Given her size…” “She’s going to be fine, though, right?” Beth asked worriedly. “They think so. Hopefully she’ll wake up in the next hour…” Beth moved to the other side of the bed then and looked down. Besides her being unconscious, something seemed off. She couldn’t quite place it at first, not until she reached down and gently took Carly’s limp hand in hers. It was only then that it really dawned on her what was different. She felt her anger at what happened explode into rage, even as tears flowed down her cheeks for the love of her life! +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading!!!!! Please press the 'Like' Button and leave a comment! So a HUUUUUGE thank you to you all for all of the love and likes on the last chapters!!!!! You made crossing a million reads even more special with them! Plus, this was a part I had been working toward for a long time! Let me know what you think about everything, and what's to come! As I've said in a couple comments, we're nowhere near the final end of the girls tales here! I'll post again on Friday morning before work. I'll have a bonus this weekend up for grabs, but I may have to slow back down to once a week after that for a bit depending on if my writing output picks back up... I'm hoping this weekend will work for that! The first volume of this series is available now on Amazon Kindle!!! It's priced at $6.95 and includes chapters 1-73 plus a bit of a tag of an epilogue that wasn't in the original postings. I'm about 85% of the way through the AI audiobook version editing too, which will be available for $10.95 on its own, or as a $1.99 add-on to the Kindle version. (Hopefully I'll finish going through that this weekend... the script for the first film is a massive pain to get to sound correct and is taking about 50x more time than I expected!) Anyway, the Kindle Book link is here! https://www.amazon.com/Lights-Camera-What-Sofia-Hammerstein-ebook/dp/B0GDRDWS5P It'll probably be 4 or 5 books in total for Carly and Beth's story, I haven't got that set in stone yet! Thanks to those of you who have already purchased, please do give it a 5-star review when you finish. I appreciate the people who did so already! (Thanks for the great review too!) 💜

Chapter 192: Imprints BETH STOOD IN the shower that morning longer than she should have. She was doing everything she could to not have to dry off her body and put on… that… Eventually, she knew she couldn’t put it off forever, turned off the water, and began wrapping her hair to dry it, then drying her skin. When she had nothing else she could do to procrastinate, she found herself staring at the pink garment in front of her. She remembered the characters on them from a newer TV show called ‘Glimmer Wings Academy,’ which was aimed at toddlers and preschool-aged girls. The show was about these weird half-fairy, half-animal creatures that went to the school to learn how to fly, share, and even use the potty in the episodes. The one on the Pull-Up she held was named Luma and was essentially a cute white kitten with wings. The package said she would disappear if you wet it. The idea, of course, is that you don’t want to pee on your favorite character! Sighing, she unfolded it and put her hands into the synthetic fabric sides to open it. Stepping into it wasn’t any different than the ones she’d done for the film. Still, it was different because there was zero reason to do so, and she didn’t have anything on under it. ‘No reason except not wanting to be shoved into a nest,’ she thought with fear. Growing up, of course, she had been smaller than her classmates. She hadn’t hit a major growth spurt until she was ten, so she was considered a Little, effectively, until then, under all the rules. That included a couple of run-ins with mandated forced protection at her school. It was one of those nightmares that she had hoped to never relive. But when she’d found out from her parents her real life’s tragic story, the idea she’d actually been an adult before, managed to climb to that level twice before failing both times, and basically being dead… It really had broken her! She pulled the sides up to where they should sit and noted that the waistband sat above her belly button, as Carly’s diapers did. It was going to make hiding the damn things even harder! She pulled the bike shorts over the top and was pleased to see they at least rose just barely high enough to cover it. With her blouse pulled over the top, you could barely see the hint of puffiness in the shorts that there was padding beneath. Adding her cute knee-length skirt made it completely disappear. Except when she went to the bathroom, hopefully she’d not have to think about it much. The fake fabric inside the Pull-Up was at least soft. She finished doing her hair and decided she’d finish her makeup on the car ride when she looked at the time. Going out to her backpack, she went back and forth on the idea of a spare. As much as she had no plans to use it, she also didn’t want to be in a situation where she needed to change and only had a HoloNanny with a crawler diaper as a solution! With a sigh, she used the hidden compartment of her bag opposite Carly’s diapers and put two spares inside. She put the wipe container in with Carly’s diapers – that was a normal addition, she’d just about run out, though! Moving down the stairs, she couldn’t help but think she was slightly rustling that morning. It made her even more self-conscious! Not having much time since she took too long to get ready, she just used the AmeniTea to make a breakfast sandwich to go, and let Nikki help her into the booster seat in her SUV. She stiffened as Nikki’s hand inadvertently landed on her bottom, ‘I guess she already knew since she bought them for me.’ She blushed deeply, but Nikki was kind enough not to say a word. It seemed they were backing off again on having a marshal in the car that day, and Beth made a mental note to ask her dad about it. “How are you doing, kiddo?” Nikki asked her when they got on the road. “Not overly great?” Beth told her. “Did you happen to talk to Amanda about what she was sent?” “No?” Nikki said. “What happened?” “Last night… well, I’ll have to get the story from Carly, but it looks like Lilly breastfed her twice.” “You’re kidding?” “I wish I were,” Beth said. “That wasn’t the worst part, Chester sent Amanda three pictures of Carly – one of which was her just standing in a playpen in only her diaper. The other two were of Carly… sucking on Lilly’s breasts.” “Shit… No, we had our own things going on this morning, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to her,” Nikki told her. After they’d driven down the road a bit further, Nikki played dumb and asked, “So… did you…?” Beth blushed, “Yes, I wore one… I’m worried,” she added. “I’m not going to let them do something to you,” Nikki told her. “If I had an accident outside of protection, it wouldn’t matter what you would want to let them do, Nikki. It’s stupid! I just want to tear down their rules… and this whole system!” “I get it,” she told her. “I think there are plenty of others who get it, too. That last protest showed it, I think.” “But nothing has happened since then,” Beth said, “nothing has changed.” “Sometimes it takes more than one stand, or one battle, but there are a lot of people who care and aren’t giving up without a fight!” Beth nodded and thought of the task Amanda had entrusted to her today. It was going to be an… interesting day. THE NEXT MORNING, I didn’t wake up until after I had been carried to the changing table and my bottom was in the air being wiped. “Huh?” I said. “Oh, finally waking up, huh?” Lilly asked. “What time is it?” I asked. “Your usual wakeup time,” she told me. “Well, usual as in the first one up?” “What are you wiping?” I asked, nervously. “Oh, you made poopies last night in your sleep?” She said. “I don’t usually do that,” I told her. “You haven’t usually nursed from Mommy twice in a few hours, either,” she pointed out. “Oh…” “Yeah, I’m going to have to check you in at night in the future. You’re a bit red here,” she told me, “hopefully this cream takes care of it quickly.” As she said that, I did become aware of an itching sensation down there that wasn’t quite burning, but wasn’t pleasant. I also took a look at the wipe and noticed the poop color wasn’t normal! ‘That’s from just one night…?’ I worried. As she laid my bottom down on the new diaper, I felt a bit more rested and more energetic. She dressed me in another of the summer uniform dresses, and again, my hair was braided into a pair of pigtails. She added a pair of premade bows with rubber bands attached this time, and then a couple of cute barrettes with these little multi-layer butterflies, sparkly and bright colors popping out from them. I couldn’t escape looking like I was in the early stages of toddlerhood, thanks to the nanites and my height. Still, the outfit and hair made me look like a very girly, mommy’s girl, being shown off as an angelic little doll! ‘Maybe the point?’ I thought. “Since you were such a good girl for Mommy last night, go do what you want before class on your tablet or computer.” “Thank you, Mommy,” I told her. I sat down and made a quick chart of what was coming up. I was done with my final Screenwriting assignment. So today’s morning class was actually going to be the ‘check in and leave’ style again. I sent Grandma a quick message via my SphereVerse access that I’d need to be picked up again. We’d made a hidden connection that weekend for things like this, so that I didn’t appear to be on texts. I’d given Beth a similar message access and realized she’d been quite panicked last night. I sent her an, ‘I’m okay, sorry I didn’t join you last night… something came up.’ ‘We know,’ was her simple reply. ‘Huh?’ I thought, but didn’t reply. ‘What do they know?’ I wondered. ‘Did Lilly message Grandma?’ There was no way for me to learn more without leaving the connection open, and one of the best security measures was to avoid using it. ‘Guess I’ll find out what that means later,’ I thought worriedly. ‘I am not looking forward to that conversation… I sure hope Beth doesn’t think of it as cheating on her when I tell her.’ I looked at the date and also realized we were going to watch our film in class, as well as the commercial. I checked my email and saw that Sebastian had spoken with the professor, and we were going to watch them in class that day. That was nice because the projection setup in that room was a whole lot better than the little theaters we would have used otherwise. I was nervous about not having seen it since the first draft, without music or sound effects. A couple of our members had also created the credits to be tagged at the beginning and end, which I hadn’t seen either. Before long, we were sitting in our highchair seats having our baby breakfast. Well, the rest of the nest had only oatmeal and formula. Apparently, I was now the ‘mommy’s pet’ as I was the only one who got to have scrambled eggs too. I worriedly looked at the bottle as Lilly fed me the eggs. ‘Just formula,’ she mouthed at me when no one else was looking. ‘Thank you,’ I mouthed back to her. Given the lack of real classes that morning, I guess I could have nursed. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world, but I really didn’t want to be taking a nap immediately after waking up! Mom had kind of been able to make that work by having the drive from Grandma and Grandpa’s every day, so she could sleep it off. As Lilly carried me to class in the infant carrier, head facing inward toward her chest, though, I couldn’t help but feel like I could smell the milk coming from her chest. I really had to fight the compulsion to ask for another hit! “How are you doing this morning?” She asked when we were alone on the walk. “I feel kind of weird… and embarrassed?” She told me. I felt her arms squeeze me through the carrier. “I’m sorry, Carly. We’re both stuck between a rock and a hard place,” she told me. “Are you… Are you feeling any cravings this morning?” “Sort of… It’s worse with me facing your chest right now. It’s like I swear I can smell the milk?” She stiffened, “Do I need to turn you around? We’re almost to your class?” “I’ll make it for now. Maybe next time that would help, though.” “Let me know if you do need milk to go with you home to your Grandma’s. I do produce ten bags a day…” “How many bottles is that?” “About that many…? Maybe a few more since some of them probably have more than your size nurser will hold inside them.” “And you’ve been producing like that for how long?” She squeezed me, “all the time? Since I started here a year and a half ago… but realistically, I’ve had to pump since I was like fourteen or fifteen when the first Littles’ cries at school made me let down almost daily?” I shook my head at that, “Thank you for being the one I had to do that with the first time.” “Not Beth?” She asked, clearly curious. “That’s a different relationship,” I told her. “Good,” she told me simply as we walked through the doors to Matisse. She delivered me to my classroom and said, “Let me know if you need milk; you can stop by on the way to leave after class if needed. Or… if it gets too bad by lunch, I can meet you. I’ll see you Thursday if nothing else.” “Thanks,” I told her. “I love you, Carly,” she told me as she left. “Love you too, Mommy,” I told her. Strangely, I meant it. ‘Mom said breastmilk rewires your brain some… bonding or imprinting or something?’ I sighed and waited for our professor to come in. He’d at least planned to do so to let me get my attendance credit each day. Sitting there, though, for an extra five minutes while I waited for him was annoying. Back home, we’d always had a ‘rule’ that you waited five minutes for someone with a lower degree, and a maximum of fifteen for a doctorate. If they didn’t show up, you left! Unfortunately, Gibney had a doctorate! And, I was a Little, so I waited without even a thought for the full ten minutes before he came in. “Sorry, I’m late, Carly. We have our granddaughter staying with us this week, and she was being a handful!” “It’s okay,” I told him. “As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m here anyway?” He nodded, “I saw you turned in your final project. I looked it over—it’s really exceptional! That means you really are completed with all the requirements of this class.” “No final in this one, correct?” “No, you turned it in. So I guess we’re going to have to keep this silly attendance charade up, but you can relax the rest of the semester. Great job!” As I began to leave, “Oh, you wanted to see my short when it was done? We’re viewing the first full draft in our Narratives class today at one, if you want to stop by?” “I might just do that!” He said, “Thanks for telling me!” I smiled at him, and then went outside to the hallway to meet Grandma, who I thankfully found ready to give me the hug that I needed after last night! BETH HAD BREATHED a sigh of relief when she received Carly’s message confirming she was okay. It frankly helped her make it through her therapy appointment that morning, even as Dr. Sterling talked her through everything happening around her. When she brought up the incident of having the taunts sent to Amanda, Dr. Sterling’s eyes flashed something, but she asked, “How did that make you feel?” “Angry! Pissed off!” she said, “I want to make Chester and Shapiro pay for all they’ve done! I’m tired…” “Tired…?” “Tired of everything always stacked against me!” She seethed. “I’m tired… of being scared all the time?” “What are you scared of right now?” “Honestly?” Beth said, “I’m scared of failing again! After what they did to Livy and the others with those stupid protection offers… well, I’m wearing a Pull-Up now for fucks sake!” “You are?” Dr. Sterling asked. “To be honest, I couldn’t tell.” “Really?” “Not at all.” Beth sighed, “Anyway, when I failed last time… it was because I was too stubborn to wear anything. I decided if I don’t want to fail now… I’d better take the same precautions as the rest of the Mids.” “That’s a smart decision,” Dr. Sterling told her. “I know you think it’s mortifying, but I have seen enough things this past week that I just think it’s a wise and mature decision.” “I don’t find anything about wearing a baby diaper wise or mature,” Beth said coolly. “That beats being sent to the nests? I think that’s more than wise!” She’d been driven to her first class after that and sat down beside Reila, noting how much younger and smaller the summer uniform made her friend look. Reila had actually given her an embarrassed, fearful look when she saw her, which made her gut clench. She hugged her tight, “Are you doing okay?” Beth asked her. “Better than Carly,” she told her. “Huh? Is Carly not okay? She sent me a message earlier?” “She’s not in trouble… She just…” “Was breastfed last night?” Beth said calmly. “I found out last night.” “You know already? I thought there wasn’t a way for her to contact you all last night?” “There’s not,” Beth covered. “Your ‘Nana’ decided to send a taunt with some pictures to Amanda last night.” Reila nodded, “sounds like her…” Class started then, and Beth couldn’t really talk to Reila anymore. Other than Carly, who had Amanda to pick her up from classes and take her places, the other Littles kept getting picked up at the outside entrances and buckled into their stupid little harness trains moving from class to class. It was like a stab in the gut to watch her close friend be treated like that. “Oh, Rei-Rei,” a nest mother she didn’t know cooed at her, “That’s quite a soaked baby diapee you have here!!! I guess that you really don’t have any chance of becoming a big girl next year, huh? That’s okay, though, because we mommies always love to take care of extra special baby girls like you!” It was only the knowledge that she was actually doing something about this that stopped her from going and giving that witch a piece of her mind! She took that chance to place the second sticker at her eye level on the central doorway to Marconi. Beth had attached the first one on her way in and appreciated that it blended completely with the surface. Even the edge was blended so it didn’t look like the material was raised off the surface. ‘They want a war? We’re going to give it to them,’ Beth thought coldly, ‘Pacis Out!’ she added the war cry from Grace in her mind. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading! Please press the Like button and Leave a comment!!!! As you've all noted, things are taking a nose dive for shorter people at Emerson! The next couple chapters will bring you to a new level of anger about it all too I think! 😈 Oh, one fun extra special addition today! I totally went down the rabbit hole on Glimmer Wings Academy as a show (the characters on Beth's special panties). Created an AI theme song that's really impressive, and a partial title video to go along with the credits with AI. The song is actually scary good on this one: https://youtu.be/f7T3oTg5Kbs (Sorry it is going to require verification of YouTube accounts, just due to me wanting to make sure there's no risk of providing content to minors) Tomorrow I'll be heading to visit my parents for the holidays, so it'll be a bit limited when I'll probably be on to check on things until the 1st when I have to come home to get going for work again. (I tend to find some screen privacy, but often am not actually in private when I can access things - it can be a bit awkward!) That being said, Christmas is Thursday... and your normal posting day is Friday... I might be coerced into giving you an extra special bonus chapter late my Christmas Eve (your Christmas day in Europe and beyond). It's not cheap... 40 likes, but you've all done that on many of the past chapters. Let's see if you can give Sofia the gift of Likes, and she'll return the favor with an extra chapter! If not, you'll just have to wait until Friday! 🤷‍♀️ I can't imagine many of you are purchasing ABDL books for your loved ones, but Sofia's works could make a great gift to yourself if you don't own them! http://www.amazon.com/author/babysofia They're available on Amazon, and hopefully Book 1 of this will be published before New Years! (You've almost made it to the end of book 3 in about a dozen or so more chapters.) Just waiting on some artwork for the cover and a couple more tweaks on the blurb I'm working on!

Chapter 191: Latched WHEN LILLY BROUGHT the other girls out, I watched as they quickly covered themselves up in their pajamas and climbed into their pods. I’d picked up every baby toy on the floor, which was a lot more than there should have been in a college dorm room! Each girl climbed into their pod, and I watched as Lilly pressed the ‘lock’ button on the side wall. It was a little disconcerting to be on the outside and hear a faint hydraulic sound as each one latched. ‘You don’t hear that inside,’ I noted. I truly feared that a disaster could happen someday, and everyone would be stuck inside for a fire or something… Supposedly, the pods would auto-disengage, and according to something I read, could survive a building falling on them with a week’s supply of air… I had no desire to test that out! “Come here, sweetie! You’ve earned an extra special bathtime today! And some extra attention from Mommy!” I had to assume she was playing it up for the cameras. If she wasn’t… well, clearly her instincts had to have gone into overdrive with me nursing from her! Instead of carrying me to the normal bathroom, she brought me into her apartment. She shut the door and took me down the short hallway to her bathroom. I watched as she began filling the tub with water and a bottle of bubble bath. Next, she unbuttoned the back of my dress, pulled it off over my head, and set it on the counter. The frilly white socks I had on my feet came off next. I stood in front of her, only wearing a diaper, as she pulled her own blouse off, her pants off, and everything else. “Mommy’s going to take a bath with baby Carly tonight! Then we’ll probably give you a chance to have some more num-nums?” I noticed that she carefully placed her clothes on top of the counter in a way that made me wonder if she’d activated her jammer device. “Here, let’s get you in here,” she told me, lifting me in her arms and sitting down in the tub. “Did you…” I asked her. “Yes,” she said, “we can talk. Carly… are you okay? I am sooo sorry about having nursed you!” I smiled at her, “You did what you had to do. I’m guessing Chester has threatened anyone who doesn’t get with the program?” She nodded, “She said if we weren’t nursing at least one of our Littles this week in front of her and the rest of the nest, she was going to assume we needed to just join them.” “I hate her,” I told her. “Me too,” she said. “Are you okay, though? Really?” She paused, “I know it… has effects?” I shrugged, “The effects of taking away continence are already maxed out. They infected us with nanites that did the same thing Big’s milk does. That just leaves the embarrassment or addiction left?” “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.” “I did it for you, in case you couldn’t tell.” “Why?” “Because you’re the best person in this building, and it would be wrong not to help you. If we need to keep it up, I may have a problem with withdrawals, but worst case, I have a Grandma who’s still feeding my aunt.” “That is a weird thought,” she told me. “But…” “Look, if we ever get them gone, we can stop. Until then, I’ll gladly drink num-nums to avoid seeing you get demoted. Just please don’t start my day with it… I don’t think I would wake up!” She laughed, “You probably would take another nap.” She sat me in between her legs, then began soaping me up and gently scrubbing me. She used a small container to wet my hair, then gently massaged shampoo into it before rinsing it out. I was facing away from her, so it was a little less awkward. She eventually turned me toward her, and I was grateful for the bubbles. I had the same parts as her now, but it was still very awkward for me to see naked women. Beth was probably the only one I was slightly desensitized to at that point. Nothing about her made me feel anything, though, other than the nipples of her breasts. I found my eyes wandering there as she washed herself and then used a hand sprayer to rinse out my hair. “I’m worried about you girls,” Lilly said as she finished. “As long as we don’t get demerits, we should be okay…” I told her. “Well, most of us. I’m really worried about Mia.” “I don’t know if you quite see how babyish everyone is acting,” Lilly told me. “I do…” “You’ve been doing it too?” She said softly. “Doing what?” “Pacifier?” “Only when I have to,” I told her. “You took straight to it after I nursed you?” “Oh,” I said. I shrugged, “My mom has been through all of that; I’m not overly worried about breaking that one back home.” “You’re sure you’re going to make it?” I shook my head as she picked me up and held me under my bare bottom, “No, I’m not. Everyone else is just about avoiding demerits. I’m having to avoid my mother’s past and a couple of women who seem to have it out for me and my grandmother.” She nodded at that, “You know they’re not going to stop, right?” “I know that they aren’t going to on their own. I’m really hoping someone will stop them before it goes too far. I can already tell there’s a lot of Littles who have disappeared in the past couple of weeks?” She nodded, “Littles at this point only occupy about forty percent of what Sanders and Wenig can house.” “There are Tweeners, now though?” “We’re up to fifty-five percent capacity as of this afternoon with them,” she said. “That many…?” “Sadly, yes. Reila is not a unique case.” She stood with me in her arms and swaddled me in a towel before drying herself off and putting a robe on. The jammer was pocketed in her former outfit, and she carried me to the living room of her apartment, where a small stack of diapers sat. She found one of mine, diapered me, and then placed me in the playpen, which was now apparently set up in her apartment. “Stay there for a moment, Mommy’s going to put some panties on, then we’ll get some skin-to-skin contact nummies for Mommy’s extra special baby girl!” She cooed. I shook my head and looked around the playpen. I was cold, dressed only in a diaper, and hoped she’d hurry. Off to the side, I noticed that a few shaper toys, rattles, and stuffies were piled, ready for someone to play with. I stood and realized that only if I stood on my tiptoes could I barely reach my fingertips above the rail. With my strength, I could probably pull myself out with the right hop, but it would have to be a full pull-up, because the mesh certainly wouldn’t give my feet any traction! I put my arms over my chest, feeling chilled, and kind of bounced up and down, wishing she’d left me with a blanket or something! I was expecting Lilly to come in from down the hallway next, but instead, the nest door opened! I found myself instantly shoving my thumb in my mouth, hoping that would be enough of a pacifier for Nana, who was coming inside! BETH LOOKED AT the image on the phone in front of her, and then saw two more rapidly come through. ‘Dr. Westerfield, you have such an adorable baby granddaughter, her nest mommy is taking very good care of her per my direction.’ “She’s not actually…?” “Breastfeeding Carly?” Amanda asked. After a pause, “It looks like she is. I know if Carly put her nipple in her mouth, there’s no way she could just fake it.” “But…” “Wendy Chester has been trying to figure out a way to screw her over, and I know she’s also been trying to make Lilly do things she doesn’t believe in doing.” “Huh? She’s a nest mother?” “She got into it thinking it was a different kind of position because it was in Ames at Emerson – a supposedly more progressive school now. When nest mothers were forcing Littles to nurse, she was quietly trying to help.” “But she’s nursing Carly now?” “I’m sure Carly had to have been at least a little willing for her to do it. What I’m most pissed off about is this picture of my nearly naked granddaughter being taken by her and then sent! It violates SEVERAL university policies!” “Is that enough to get her?” Beth asked. “At the end of the week? Maybe…” “For now?” “Be prepared for her to be cranky tomorrow.” “Why?” “Her mother only took one feeding to get hooked…” “And…” “And it looks like she’s at least had her second one,” she sighed. “What are you going to say to Chester?” “I’m not going to say anything,” Amanda said. “She’ll see the read bubble. If I taunt her back, she’ll do something else. If I demand she stop, she’ll probably increase things. The only way to play this particular part of the match is to wait. I’ve downloaded the conversation, documented it, and now we’ll just have to be there for Carly’s withdrawals. I just hope they don’t make her nurse before class tomorrow…” “Why?” “Milk comas are real,” she told her. “I hate Emerson!” Beth seethed. “I didn’t use to, but I’m about to the point of saying it’s time to completely move away from here when Carly leaves…” “Where would you go?” “New Haven, we could be close to Shelby going to school.” “And you could be near my family,” Beth said. “How about you?” “Huh?” “What are you doing next year?” “We need to survive this year first… but I think unless something changes, I’m transferring back home. I’m not going to constantly live in fear for the rest of my college years. I wanted to prove I was strong enough to make it… But look at me?” Beth sighed, “I’m going to put a baby’s Pull-Up on tomorrow just in the hopes I don’t relive my past!” Amanda gave her a hug, “We’ve got your back, Beth, I promise you. I had your dad’s when your grandma went after him, too.” “She’s not my grandma,” Beth told her. “Sorry,” Amanda said to her. “You and Grandma Ruth are more of my real grandmothers.” Amanda smiled at her, “Thanks, now, there’s nothing more we can do right now. You were worried Carly hadn’t gotten online. I can tell you she probably won’t be conscious until the morning. If she nursed twice since we saw her, that’s enough to put her out completely.” “What do we do if our plan doesn’t work?” Beth asked. “Jump off that bridge only when that bridge is on fire, Beth.” She made a face, “Why does the bridge have to be on fire first?” Amanda laughed and led her out the door and down to her room. “Get some sleep, things will work out. I STARED UP at Nana and wanted to vomit. She used her phone to take a picture of me, and at least where I was from, I needed to consent for this to happen. “Why did you take that?” Lilly asked, coming around the corner. “I wanted to give her grandmother a message showing her how well we’re taking care of her baby granddaughter,” she said. If I didn’t already have things in motion to try to take her down with my own ideas, I would have probably said screw the demerits and killed her! “Oh,” Lilly said. I didn’t blame her for not complaining or arguing. ‘Not when she effectively is holding a loaded gun to her head...’ “So what is the baby girl doing in here instead of her pod?” “Well, I had just finished giving her an extra special bath with Mommy? Now we’re going to have some skin-to-skin nummies?” Lilly came over and picked me up protectively. She was wearing a robe and panties, but I could tell she was braless. ‘Lilly thought she was walking out only to me right then, too,’ I thought. “By all means, don’t let me interrupt you?” She said, waving her hand at Lilly to sit on the couch. “Thanks,” Lilly said, “I need to get this baby girl off to bed, but since she’s been so good, I felt she needed a reward.” “Not a grown-up kind of reward, right?” Nana asked. “Oh, no... No! That’s gross! Just me giving her a special wash, one-on-one time, and now her num-nums since she asked for them.” “Well, put her up there, she’ll do what all good babies do, I’m sure.” Lilly sighed and sat with her back in a corner of the couch, shifting her left breast out from the robe and shifting me to hold me up by her bare breast. I found myself semi-fascinated with it this time. The areola had felt firm and… kind of bottle-like under my lips. Her nipple was extended further out, ‘probably because it’s cold,’ I thought, shivering before Lilly thoughtfully placed me beneath her robe. Her warm skin was comforting in a way that was tough to describe. Knowing there was no point in refusing at this point, I quickly placed my mouth around her nipple and let it inside. The nipple touched the top of the roof of my mouth, and I felt my tongue instinctively press against it even as I sucked. The first suck didn’t bring anything out, so I tried again. That one was also without milk! It wasn’t until the third suck that I felt her shudder, even as her milk let down and a gush of the sweet liquid filled my mouth. I quickly found myself in a steady rhythm of suck and swallow. My hand instinctively began kneading her breast too, mentally connecting with the idea of squeezing more out. I heard another camera shutter click then, and felt angry that she was taking pictures of my naked body without my consent! ‘At least I’m mostly under her robe on this one…’ “So, I see you both are finally getting with the program. Thank you for that,” Nana told Lilly. “You’re welcome,” Lilly said coolly. “Next step will be finding an excuse why she needs to stay here every night. I want to revoke her agreement, but according to our attorney, there’s no way to do so unless she fails out or gets into trouble.” “Miss Carly here doesn’t cause trouble,” Lilly said. “She’s the sweetest Little that Mackenzie or I have ever met.” “Be that as it may be, we’re going to figure it out.” She said, “By the way, don’t you just love talking about Littles when they can’t talk back at all? She’ll never let go of that breast until she’s full, or you pull her off!” The sadistic woman chortled. I so wanted to take my hand off her breast and flip her off, but my attention returned to suck, swallow, suck, swallow. “I like my little chatterboxes, though,” Lilly said. She was gently rubbing my back right then, beneath the robe. “Anyway, you nursing her is definitely the best way. When she’s hooked on your milk, she’ll want to be around you all the time. Might be worth sending some milk home with her tomorrow.” “We’ll see,” Lilly said. “Did you need something else?” “I came by to let you know that you’re probably getting a couple more girls tomorrow. More silly Tweeners not wearing any protection, even when they’ve all been given a couple of cases of Pull-Ups and diapers as an option.” “I don’t understand why they’re all having problems all of a sudden?” “Not something for you to worry about. Just worry about taking care of your babies in here and making sure they get plenty of conditioning to be good baby girls.” “Just please, no bananas for her again? You have no idea how mad the cleaning crew was last week?” “As long as she’s a good baby girl nursing from her mommy, no more nanners for her. We’ll try to get her off of solids altogether in a few weeks.” Suck, Swallow, Suck, Swallow, Suck, Suck, Suck, the stream slowed to nothing then! “Uh-oh, already done with that side!” Lilly said, using a finger to break my latch, I started whining, but she just patted my back. “Give a good burpy and Mommy will give you her other booby,” she told me. It took a moment to work up a good belch, and then she wiped a little milk that came up with a cloth. “Here’s Mommy’s other booby,” she said, turning me to the other side. The nipple went in, and it only took one suck on this side for her milk to let down, suck, swallow, suck, swallow… I felt my stomach clench for a second during one of the swallows, and pressed it to make the feeling go away. I felt something in my diaper then, but all I could do was focus on suck, swallow, suck, swallow. “Well, you’re doing a good job with her now. Next week, I want you to get another baby girl hooked. You can tandem nurse another one – I’d recommend that other short girl from her dimension, Mila?” “Mia,” Lilly corrected. “We’ll work on that next week,” she told her. “Very well, have a good night.” I felt a hand brush through my hair, “Nighty-night, stinky baby Carly, enjoy your time away from babyhood while you can have it. You’ll be a full-time baby in a nursery just as soon as Nana can make that happen!” I heard the door close, even as all I could focus on was suck, taste sweet, amazing milk, swallow, over and over again as Lilly’s hand patted my diaper. “She is such a fucking bitch,” I heard Lilly say. I managed to nod my head just a bit, but all I could do was keep nursing! Eventually, at the tail end of her supply, I was pretty much asleep. I barely noticed as she cleaned my face and changed my soaked, poopy diaper. “Don’t worry, Carly, I won’t let her destroy you,” I heard her whisper as she pushed up the wall of my pod, and I felt the world turn fully dark as I fell asleep. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for keeping the comments and the Likes coming!!! Please press that button again!!!! And then leave a comment! Pretty please?!? Remember bonuses must be earned!!! (Once per week can still happen if less than 35 likes are given!😰) I'm going to be taking some vacation time from when I get done today until the 1st, which will be nice. Not sure if I'll be able to write much due to being around my family with little privacy. I should be able to still post next week on Friday, but it may be a late Christmas post instead. (I'll be in another time zone too, so it really will be odd timing for me) I think another bonus will be doable, but we'll see just due to privacy concerns and whatever my parents and I end up doing while I'm with them. (Usually I can stay up after they go to sleep and get some things done.) In the meantime, don't forget to get yourself the gift of my published books if you haven't already!!! http://www.amazon.com/author/babysofia Kindle books and AI Audiobooks are available for all of my works and great ways to pass the time on any travels you might have some privacy! Still hoping to get LCW Book 1 out this month too, running a bit behind on that project as work has been swamped again the past few weeks.

Chapter 194: Quiet Part Out Loud I SPENT A few minutes in this other SphereVerse space trying to spruce it up a little bit. My normal Sphere room at this point felt like a kind of comfortable hangout spot, Beth’s felt like a room she’d grown up in, but this one had been just temporary for safety’s sake. I had no idea how Grandma managed to get Mom and everyone on that night at pretty short notice, but I guessed she was talking to Mom a lot more often than I knew! I quickly created a couple of nicer couches, added a table between them, a couple of recliners at the ends, and then a fireplace seemed right after that. Since I’d already customized my own room, it didn’t take much to do so. I was pacing when I heard a ding and let them in. It was less interactive with them like this than with anyone here who had actual EdgeSphere devices, but at least I could hug them. “Mom!” I said, nearly crying at the sight of her and Mama after the last week. I hugged my sisters too, and we got to talking about some just boring day-to-day life things, before Mom finally told my sisters, “Girls, Carly and I need to talk about some things now… I’m assuming she’d rather do it a bit more privately?” I nodded. “Aww…” Riley said. “Come here,” I told her, “Hugs first!” As I hugged Lila, she said, “You know, Connor never would have insisted on hugs first. I like Carly a bit better.” I felt tears welling up in my eyes. “Love you too.” When they were gone, Mom and I sat down beside each other on the couch. “So what’s going on?” Mom asked me. “I guess… how much has Grandma told you?” I asked, “You seem to be talking more often?” Mom looked a bit nervous for some reason, “Yeah, we are. It’s been really nice to talk to her more like this,” she told me with a smile. “Your grandparents back home were always my parents, and I loved them, but… honestly, Mommy and Daddy here… They really loved me, took care of me, and I really hated leaving.” I nodded, “They are both really amazing. You got so lucky that you picked them.” “You know my other choice ended up being a nightmare… who would have thought?” Mom said. “So, yes, Mommy and I do talk, but I know we don’t talk about everything. I’m also sure there are things she’ll think are more important about something than you do, and vice versa, so… What happened since we talked a couple of weeks ago?” My size in this space was basically my normal height, and she was at her now-normal height back home. It meant that as we ‘cuddled’ on the couch together, talking, I felt like a kid again with her. I told her how we came back from spring break and had someone missing from the nest right away, how things were regressing with treatment in the nests, and what Grace did… “Mom, I mean… Glitter is practically a weapon of mass destruction, and Grace and those girls, along with whoever else was involved… I guess if they had to go out… at least it was legendary.” “They’re gone?” Mom asked. “Shapiro didn’t even give them a trial before basically executing them to eternal infancy. I don’t understand how anyone can be that hateful!” I described the next day, with the protests, how the university president was ousted. “Mommy told me about that one; she’s really mad about it.” “Yeah… It’s only gotten worse now, too. Now they’re going after Tweeners…” I told her about Livy, how Reila had been demoted to my nest, and now it seemed like they were going after everyone. “Seeing Beth wearing a Pull-Up tonight… I was shocked, Mom! She doesn’t need it, but she’s too scared of failing…” “I’d only met her once, I think, before she did the first time,” Mom told me. “It really bothered Cameron. I was so happy when I heard from Amanda that things were improving and they were getting married. Then when they destroyed her…” “Had you talked to him before that last time?” “We’ve traded some messages, but not in person like this,” Mom said. “Both of us got pretty busy in our own lives.” I nodded. “Anyway, now we’re down to having to eat baby food in the nests along with formula.” “What kind of baby food?” Mom asked nervously. She knew how bad it could be. “Mainly ‘okay’ ones like beef stew and such. They did macaroni and cheese last night…” I gagged thinking about it. “I was lucky I didn’t have to eat that stuff,” Mom told me. “I tried a bite of one of those when you were a baby, though. That was one of the grosser ones for some reason.” “It was,” I agreed. “The worst part last night…” Mom knew me; she put her hand on mine. It didn’t ‘feel’ right, but the motion did. “Go ahead, take your time…” “Last night they were going to force me to eat bananas again!” She smirked, “Again?” “The first day they did that to us at breakfast.” “You ate them?” she asked in shock. “I gagged them down, then promptly threw them up,” I said sheepishly. She laughed, “So this would have been take two?” “Yeah… Nana was on a rampage against everyone. I’ve watched her picking on Miss Lilly a lot recently, and I heard her threatening her that she wasn’t doing a good enough job. She… offered me an out on the bananas.” Mom just waited for me as I took a breath. “All I had to do was nurse from Lilly.” I was shaking by now. Mom hugged me the best she could. “I’m guessing you did?” “Uh-huh,” I told her. “You liked it?” I cried, “I shouldn’t have though!” Mom hugged me more, “Look, you can’t help it. I understand completely… Did I tell you about my first time with Mommy ever?” It was true, Mama and my sisters would never have been suitable for this conversation. We spoke for longer than we should have, but by the end, she had reassured me my life wouldn’t end, and that despite her nursing from Grandma for most of four years, she had been able to come home and survive. “If I were you, I’d let your grandma nurse you while you’re there at this point,” Mom told me. “That’s so weird,” I told her. “Take some of Lilly’s milk if it’s bad then. Beth can feed you a bottle that way, too?” I stuck my tongue out at her, “We’re not like that…” We talked for another long period of time before I finally asked the question, “Mom? What if I don’t come home?” Despite the primitive quality of the connecting holo experience, I could see tears in her eyes at that question. “Then, Carly, I want you to know that — no matter what happens, no matter how little or big you are — I will always love you as my baby girl. Nothing will ever stop that!” She hugged me, and I couldn’t help the tears streaming down my face, both in the holo world and the real one, then, as I said, “I love you too, Mommy.” BETH HAD BEEN told by Amanda that she’d let her know when Carly was done talking to her family. She had a feeling it would be longer than she would be talking to her own parents. Beth had talked with them on her normal EdgeSphere unit for a good forty-five minutes, though! It wasn’t until the end that the choice to wear protection came up. She hated admitting it, but she told her Dad she at least felt a little safer from some of the stupid things going on. “Look, between that and the marshals, they’re not going to be able to do things to you,” her mom had told her. “It doesn’t make it feel any better,” she told them. “I hadn’t had a chance to tell Carly yet when we got home. I didn’t even think about it when I was changing into my swimsuit, and she saw them,” she blushed. Her mom hugged her, “That girl will love you no matter what you wear, I guarantee it!” After another while of talking, they’d disconnected. It was about forty minutes later that Amanda let her know Carly was good with her joining her. She logged in with the new unit and found Carly already at work at a desk she created, with the kind of control layout she’d had in the Matisse editing rooms. “How’s it going?” She asked her pint-sized girlfriend. “You have a good visit?” “It’s nice being able to talk to my family like that… especially Mom,” Carly told her. “I really don’t know how she did four years here without ever going back home, and only having basically an old-fashioned video call with a 2D screen?” Beth laughed, “It’s the people you talk to that matter,” she told her. “They weren’t even able to do it all that often…” Carly shrugged, “It was good to talk to them, though.” Beth noticed her wipe away a tear, “Everything was okay though?” Carly looked up at her, “Just stupid emotions, I was a baby at the end, talking to Mom.” “It happens sometimes,” she told Carly, “I was the same last night here with Amanda.” “Anyway, I looked at the time, we need to get to work. Grandma and Tessa have pulled some surveillance footage. Tessa said they found some things that show this is related to Littles, and more… we need to put this together as a package. Can you…?” Carly started sending Beth on her own searching set with the video files and documents Amanda had found. It was all organized in this file system, and even someone like Beth could easily sort through and search things. It was more time-consuming than editing their film, though, since they didn’t have a script to go off of! “I can’t believe this crap,” Beth said, finding an email from Harlan Petrov, one of the Regents, to Emaly Rhodes, who was the Board Chair. March 4th 5:30 PM Subject: Tech Update Emaly, My investors are really wanting to see a move on the technology we’ve provided you all. Especially in light of their hoping it’s an effective way to boost our population of adoptable Mids. Please let me know the status of getting the Domes into the designated student rooms. We have another vector we can use to get access to the students and render the expected results, too. Our primary concern is limiting contact to the correct students. Harlan Grandma had a response she’d found. March 4th 9:45 PM Subject: Re: Tech Update Harlan, Please continue all correspondence regarding this issue outside of emails. We have employed all measures for the designated students, though. Stuart and I feel like it’s going to be an effective way to fill in the nests. We’re currently only at 65% capacity in them, according to Shapiro. Let’s talk via conference in Sphere tomorrow at one pm if you’re available? Emaly “These guys just put this all on an email chain?!?” Beth said with disbelief. “At least some of it. I can’t believe that the nests are only at sixty-five percent capacity?” “That was all the way back at the beginning of March,” Beth pointed out. “Before Spring Break,” Carly sighed. “I’m pretty certain that we dropped below fifty then.” “Are there any more?” She asked aloud, before searching, “Your Grandma gave us these… This one would have been good for your documentary?” “I saw that one, it is in there,” Carly told her. “I missed it?” “To be fair, there was a lot in it!” Beth looked over the message, sent from Emaly Rhodes to the former president. To: Ryan Barnes Subject: Suspension of Dr. Shapiro Ryan, The board and I have concerns that you have so publicly humiliated and removed our choice for the university’s interim dean. We believe she is a better candidate for her position than you are for yours. Reconsider her suspension immediately! Emaly Rhodes Emerson University Board of Regents Chairman “Yeah, that one is nuts,” Carly said. “Grandma didn’t happen to find any recordings in Sphere from that meeting, did she? I didn’t have that lead this weekend.” “Let me look… Yeah, here we go!” She looked. “She tagged the participants, it says Emaly Rhodes, Theresa Montclair, Stuart Lemoine, Harlan Petrov, and Quentin Whitaker. They’re all part of the Board of Regents.” “I wonder what other connections they have?” Carly looked up for a second. “Let me look up these names real quick before we watch it. I want some context.” “Most of them are really rich or powerful,” Beth told her. Carly dug through some systems and made a chart for herself. Emaly Rhodes CEO - Nurtura Group Chair of Board of Regents Theresa Montclair Former Senator Secretary of Board of Regents Stuart Lemoine Billionaire Philanthropist (Co-Founded NeuroLoom) Member Harlan Petrov Medical Research Director - Orphinex Biosciences Member Quentin Whitaker CEO - Orphinex Biosciences Member “What do their companies do?” Carly asked. “I see that two are involved in Orphinex?” Beth searched; she knew her projection didn’t adequately represent what her actual face was doing at that moment. “They specialize in BioTech for Littles,” she said shakily, “Regressants, Nanites, Neuro inhibitors, Growth Inhibitors, and anything else for getting designer Littles.” “That about tracks,” Carly said. “Those PTRSI nanites look like they’re in their wellhouse of creations… What about Nurtura?” “That one I can tell you, they do things like diapers, lotions, nursery supplies, baby bottles, and such. It’s one of the biggest manufacturers of those.” “And NeuroLoom?” “It’s one of the biggest AI companies and creators; they also have their hands in creating a different brand version that’s like EdgeSphere, but for Littles…” “What do they call them?” “NeoInfant brand stuff, or CrawlPad Goggles?” Beth said, looking quickly and nervously. “These guys are on the university board?” Carly asked incredulously. “How long have they been on it?” “Rhodes for eight years, just became the Chair last year, Montclair… three years, Lemoine fifteen years, the other two came on about three years ago?” Beth searched and made notes “I guess let’s see what this meeting is, I have a feeling it’s going to be bad…” She started the video file and projected it into the room. They were able to look around as if they were on a theater set. They were inside a costly, gold-laden sitting area, a small chandelier above, a fire in the fireplace, and mahogany walls lining the room. Everything, including the wall decorations, screamed extreme wealth. “Emaly, how are we doing on the Littles?” An older gentleman with gray hair asked. “Stuart, we’re trying to leave a few in the nests so we can maintain the illusion that they can all still graduate. If we get rid of all of them, we’ll have too much of a reputation to stay away from. Emerson ran into that decades ago.” The woman who looked a bit older than him and Grandma responded. “How many more do you think can go?” A relatively younger man, hair still dark, but probably dyed, asked. Emaly answered, “Well, Harlan, maybe thirty more Littles? I really think we should probably let most of the rest of them stick around until next year. We let a few of the seniors graduate.” The final man, impossibly full dark hair, who Beth now knew had to be Quentin, scoffed, “Like they could graduate and live on their own at this point. PTRSI took care of that, along with those domes before people got wise to them.” “True, Quentin, but they still can talk and walk.” “Not sure how much longer Chester’s going to let that go,” the other woman who hadn’t spoken said. “If you ask me, it’s a little bit stupid to go pushing things like she and Shapiro have been doing? We lost Ryan over that crap.” Emaly shook her head, “Ryan wasn’t important, and if anything, he was just in the way of everything. Not to mention letting that display happen! Two protests?!? I’m okay if Chester wants to turn the Little nests into a daycare. Hell, they can stop going to classes, Terry, it won’t even hurt the tuition subsidies we get for them?” “The real problem, though, is that we have clients who need more stock,” Quentin said. “I say we go ahead and finish activating the bots for the Tweeners. How many are on the campus? How many spaces are open in the nests?” Theresa answered, “Well, the nests have space for 770 Littles. As of this week, there are 409 Littles still in the nests.” “They started full, this year, right?” Stuart asked. “Yes, they were completely full, so we’ve had about 440 units we’ve moved on with some exchange students who helped fill the quotas.” Quentin said, “I know our clients wanted two hundred more this spring?” “Two hundred?!?” Terry said, “That’s just going to draw too much attention! And, that number actually includes Tweeners who have already been demoted.” “How did that happen?” Stuart asked. “Some of the Domes that had been tested weren’t removed with the rest of the nests. At some point, they and the PTRSI systems were prematurely activated in a dozen rooms for some reason. We’re not entirely sure why,” Harlan told them. “How many Tweeners can we get in there, do you think?” Quentin asked. “They’re definitely the best option, we have plenty of parents who would be happy to have an older toddler to baby, or even better, a kid they could send off as a forever potty failure to elementary school to get picked on.” Terry shook her head, “Sixty got given CGSPs this week?” “That’s not enough,” Quentin said. “Just ramp it up,” Emaly said. “Let’s get all of them to have accidents. We’ll give them all boxes of Pull-Ups to be ‘safe.’ If we count students under nine feet tall who aren’t in the Little nests, how many would that be?” “You’ll overfill the nests at that point - there are 979 students?” “There’s our solution,” Harlan said. “I agree, do it,” Stuart said. “And… Tell Shapiro and Chester to have fun with the ‘students’ in the nests. If she wants to feed them baby food – tell her to go ahead. After the crap those Littles pulled in the cafeteria, I’m good with whatever she wants. I’ll happily cut the university a check for more baby gear. I know we’ll make more than I can ever donate back in proceeds from the new adoptions.” “We’re getting that much for them?” Terry asked hesitantly. “Remember, Harlan has figured out the science of giving these ‘parents’ exactly the babies they want. With all of the custom modifications he’s able to make… Well, hell, he could even make a pretty adorable Little baby from you?” Beth could feel the chill in the room as the video ended there. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading!!! Please press the Like Button and leave a comment!!! Per my promise, I’m being a good girl and giving out chapters this weekend! So you get this one now, then one sometime later Saturday my time. I really appreciate you all reaching 36 likes!!! Please keep that up! Answers to many of your questions are coming here about the motivations and players behind the conspiracy. Hope to see some comments about what you all think about that! In case you're looking for a place to spend those Amazon Gift Cards you've been given, and haven't yet picked up Kindle versions of all of my books, you can find them here! http://www.amazon.com/author/babysofia

Chapter 197: Snatched AMANDA HAD INVITED Beth to join Megan and her family for dinner at a restaurant out that evening. It was partly meant to serve as a solid alibi for Amanda and Beth. ‘Hopefully Carly was in the clear because how could she possibly be doing something in the nest right then…?’ Beth’s stomach, though, was currently queasy as she was nervous. The risks if this plan didn’t generate good results were incalculable. There was no question that Carly, in particular, was vulnerable being in the nest when things went down, with not much they could do to help her. Carly would hopefully be seen as innocent with it. Even though, in a way, they knew she would make a great suspect with her filmmaking and holo experiences. The documentary, of course, had no credits giving names at all, except for those who were interviewed and appeared in the footage. They had just sat down at a restaurant with a large bar top visible, complete with raised holo screens about the restaurant, when the ‘Breaking News’ alert appeared. The audio on the TVs was turned up by someone at another patron’s request. “Jake, I’m here at Emerson, where we continue our coverage on yesterday’s very impressive stunt to support Littles. For those who may not have followed that story, a group of individuals, it’s believed to be students, came up with a way to use drones as holo projectors in front of the administration building at Emerson, which has seen multiple large protests in recent months. The group also used a very ingenious method to provide sound for this AI rock band concert in the quad, at a volume rarely seen even at stadium events. When the event ended, all of the technology just disintegrated, leaving no clues about the perpetrators, even as the concert was loud enough to show on seismographs hundreds of miles away!” She took a breath, “We have talked with students who claim that Emerson is truly being blatantly abusive, and probably illegal in their conduct towards not only Littles here on this campus. They claim it’s not just Littles, but Tweeners as well. It seems either the same group or a related group has now hacked into Emerson’s network and completely taken over access to every university holoprojector, computer, and tablet screen to air a documentary produced that shows these abuses. The broadcast is currently about thirty minutes in. Already, we’re seeing allegations with unconfirmed evidence that, if true, would likely send multiple university staff members and Board of Regents members to court for possible prison time.” She was about to say more when the anchor in the main outlet said, “Anna, hold on one sec, we’re getting some more news…” He appeared to be listening to an Auradot or something for information and began speaking, “HBS is now learning that another group has just sent packets of information to all of the news networks in Acirema with information on what you just mentioned on Tweeners. We have a clip to show you. Please keep in mind that this footage is currently unverified. Still, our experts who have quickly examined it believe it appears genuine.” Beth watched the ten-minute clip version they’d put together get aired in its entirety then. It was filled with information about the Board Members—and conversations—along with the most incriminating recordings. “Anna, has Emerson issued a statement at this time?” “Not yet, Jake, but I would expect to see something tonight. They’ve already had a significant presence of National Agents on campus today, investigating the incident yesterday. We believe it’s likely they’ll continue investigating this as well.” “Thank you, Anna. Please let us know if you hear anything else. I’m sure we’ll be in touch with you again very soon!” “Now, we’re going to take a short break, and we’ll bring a legal panel to analyze Emerson…” Marshal Briggs, the lead for this shift of her detail, swore loudly as he looked at his phone. He came over to Beth, “We can stay for the rest of dinner, but we’ve been ordered to make sure you’re back home, and most of us are being tasked to help with the investigation that just opened up more…” Beth kept her smirk to herself, even as she and the rest of the table ate a little faster. Little news clips and talking commentators took over the broadcast with dedicated coverage then. Eventually, dinner finished, and they all piled into the vehicles. “Is Carly going to be okay?” Beth asked Nikki as she saw Amanda’s car go the opposite direction from her house, towards the university. “I hope so,” she told her. “I suspect Amanda’s going to go make sure of that, though.” I HAD WATCHED the lights of the dorm pop completely out for a moment before the emergency lighting came on. There was suddenly a surge of power that made everything ‘pop’ before the room again went pitch-black. Typically, a set of fans ran inside the pod to keep it reasonably comfortable, but that was suddenly dead then, too. I watched as Lilly scrambled around in the darkness, using a couple of mini battery lights to at least make the nest less pitch-black! I had never really noted the lack of windows in the nests, but at that moment, we could have used the light! ‘Harder to trick Littles to go to bed early in the evening, though,’ I admitted. I was debating whether to connect to the SphereVerse to try to get a lead on what was happening when the door suddenly slammed open! The pod kept me from hearing their conversation. Still, I clearly saw Dr. Shapiro and Dr. Chester standing there in an aggressive pose toward Lilly! She seemed to be arguing with them, but finally, in the end, pointed toward me!!! I wasted no time, knowing I was probably truly screwed, and activated the connection to warn Grandma that something was happening! I also started the recording function and just hoped that whatever they were going to do to me wouldn’t permanently injure me. ‘They can’t know anything…?’ I thought to myself. The pod suddenly swung open, and I looked into Dr. Shapiro’s tense, smiling face. “Well, hello there, Carly. It seems we need to have a bit of a discussion in my office.” “About what?” I asked. She laughed, “Isn’t it obvious?” “No?” I told her. “Well, I’m sure it will be after we have you properly situated.” Her arms suddenly reached out and clamped down on mine. I was roughly grabbed and situated on her hip. “Why don’t I come…” Lilly tried to ask. “Miss Desmonde, I think right now you need to worry about yourself. Depending on what answers this soon-to-be newborn girl gives me, you may very well find yourself filling your own diapers. I think Wendy could use a new daughter to help keep her baby girl company… A little sister would probably be fitting!” I looked Lilly in the eyes and shook my head. She gave me the most pained look I’d ever seen on anyone’s face, and that alone sent shivers of fear through my being. I turned my head toward her until we were out the door, and I was roughly carried to the elevator. “It’s good you’re not resisting, baby girl. I might change my mind and allow you to still be a crawler…” I looked at her, “I don’t know why you’re doing this. I didn’t do anything.” “We’ll just have to disagree on that!” Shapiro told me. “I want to call a lawyer, or my exchange professor,” I told her, within sight of one of the men who looked like a federal agent to me. “Oh, you silly baby, you are way past lawyers now…” She pulled a pacifier out of somewhere and put it in my mouth. I gulped as she twisted the end button, and my mouth suddenly filled with the expanded nipple!!! It painfully pushed my jaws apart, and I worried it would break the bones! She looked down at me and gave the most menacing look, even as she twisted it two more times, then!!! It felt like a jack was trying to pry my jaw apart, and I winced as I felt muscles in my lower jaw cramp and send waves of pain back and forth to my brain. It took everything I could to force myself to breathe through my nose calmly, even as I made eye contact with the man. Unfortunately, he made no move to step in, and I felt my stomach sink knowing that I was not going to talk my way out of this. ‘Hopefully Grandma got my message…?’ I worried. The walk to the administration building was far too fast for my taste, even as I at least took relief in that I’d only been gagged and threatened so far. As soon as she entered the building, she carried me up the stairs, and I found myself in the office I knew no Little wanted to be in. Mom had described the former Dean Sanders’ office at the time as being one of the scariest parts of being at Emerson. She’d only had a couple of near misses there. I’d only been in there once before with the previous Dean, but now I knew that I would be getting a first-hand look into the dark side of the office with traditional university trappings and a waiting chair for me. “Let’s get you nice and comfy!” Shapiro hissed at me. Though I had seen plenty of traditional Littles high chairs since I had arrived, this was my first time being fully strapped into one. Shapiro handled me roughly as she first buckled me into a harness that I knew had to have a Little proof buckle to lock me inside it. ‘Maybe I should have physically fought her?’ I wondered for a moment, even as she roughly pushed my right arm down onto a waiting strap that automatically grasped my wrist and tightly locked it in place. My left wrist followed, before she bound my feet as well. I looked up at her animalistic expression then, “So, Carly, how did you and your granny do this?” I raised my head with a question as I tried to make a face about the pacifier. She smirked, but twisted the knob and yanked it out of my mouth before it was fully deflated, leaving me feeling like my teeth had been yanked out with it!!! “Huh?” I asked as I did the best I could to massage my mouth with my tongue. “The film? It’s clear you two must be involved in this and all of the holo attacks?” “Didn’t Marshal Evans already confirm I had nothing to do with that?” She shrugged, “He’s your girlfriend’s personal guard? Why would I trust him?” “She’s not my girlfriend…” I tried to say. “Lie one,” she smirked at me. “That chair is my favorite design for a lot of reasons; it’s time for you to experience one of them.” “Huh?” I was about to say, but instead felt my body suddenly fall face down, even as it felt like the actual seat disappeared behind me. I tilted my head and saw she brandished a large wooden hairbrush painted with ‘naughty’ along the back. I felt my blood turn to ice as I believed I spotted what appeared to be dried blood stains on it. “Time to show you what I do to bad baby girls…” I felt and heard the ripping open of the crotch snaps of my onesie top, even as I felt a monstrous hand pull the fabric up and tauntingly rub the back of my diaper. “You know… for this first one, I’ll be nice and let you keep your padding on…” I breathed in and held my breath as I felt the first blow from the hairbrush land! BETH AND NIKKI made it to Amanda and Fred’s house, and Beth rushed inside as soon as Nikki helped her out of the booster seat! She hurried to the living room, where she found Shelby, Bella, and even Ryan sitting beside Fred, watching TV. Turning around, she could see she only had one or two of the marshals with her still at that point. Seeing Marshal Greaves, the third shift leader, she asked, “Everyone else is gone?” “Yes, ma’am. It was decided you have enough security for the moment, and they needed the backup to respond to a call for backup.” “At the university?” Beth asked. “I really shouldn’t say, Miss Sylvester.” Beth inwardly screamed and turned her attention to the TV. “Anna, what have you learned since the broadcast on campus, as well as the data dump we received?” “Well, Jillian, at this time, the university has reportedly lost power throughout the campus. According to students who have reached out to us, this was done to stop the ongoing broadcast on campus. If that was the intention, though, it seems to have minimal success since the film has now been posted to all major social media sites, and copies have been provided to all of the major television networks.” “Is this related to the drop we had about the alleged Tweener student abuse?” Jillian Cronkite, the calm middle-aged anchor, asked. “It’s impossible to tell at this time from the people I’ve spoken to. However, it’s hard to imagine that things are not connected. We started seeing a coordinated resistance a couple of weeks ago with the impressive HoloProtest and glitter-bomb episode, then moved on to the HoloConcert yesterday, and now this? It would be a massive coincidence to be the work of more than one group.” Right then, Beth’s phone showed a call from Sebastian. “Hello?” She answered, moving away from the room to talk. “Beth?” Sebastian’s voice came through, not sounding calm. “What’s wrong?” She asked him. “I… Look…” she could hear him struggling to get the words out, “Beth, they took Carly to the admin building! I think they’re going to blame the incidents on her!!!” Beth felt her blood freeze. “But she…” “I know she’s not involved with the first two,” he said. “You’ve got to let her grandma know! They took her past my dorm, and I saw her…” “I’m calling her right now!” Beth said, hanging up the phone, and dialing Amanda. The dial tone continued for five rings, and she was about to give up when Amanda answered. “Beth, what’s wrong?” she asked her. “I just got a call, they took her!!!!” “Took Carly?” She asked. “Yes!!! They took her to the admin building! You have to help her!!!” “I’m not far, I’ll get there, Beth,” Amanda told her. Shelby walked up right then, “What?” “They took her to the admin building!!!” Beth cried in a whisper. The tears were streaming down her face, and she found her body completely wracked in sobs as she collapsed to the floor and was suddenly hugged by Shelby’s smaller arms. I FELT HER tap my bottom lightly with the hairbrush, as if to taunt me. She did that three times. Then she let loose! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!!!! I knew I should feel grateful for the diaper’s padding, but the truth was, it didn’t do much good! Each blow hurt more, and more, and more!!!! Through it all, though, I forced myself to stay quiet. If I was going to go, I sure as hell was going to do everything I could to not give the sadistic woman any joy! I could feel tears stinging at the edges of my eyes, my face was red, but I had not uttered a sound through the countless blows before she sat me abruptly upright, and I felt the chair bottom reform. ‘SHIT! That hurts!’ I thought to myself as the hard seat suddenly pushed into my bruised bottom. “No screams?” She said, clearly annoyed. “I want a lawyer or my grandma,” I repeated to her. Dr. Chester laughed at that, “Oh, baby girl, you’re far too far gone for them to help at this point! Not after what you did!” “Did what?” I asked, playing dumb. I felt like my acting was pretty solid, and it must have been because of the quizzical look on Chester’s face. “Hacked our systems with that attack?!?” Shapiro hissed. A knock came from the door right then, and I noted Shapiro seemed unsurprised about a guest. I was praying it was Grandma, or anyone who could help, but instead I recognized Emaly Rhodes, the chair of the Board of Regents. “Emaly, we have her here. Just like you asked,” Dr. Chester told her. “Good, but you incompetent idiots are about to lose everything for us!!!” “Us?!? Who the hell recorded those meetings?!?” Dr. Shapiro hissed at her. “That’s all beside the point; this pint-sized brat is causing us more trouble than her mom did! I’ve already had thirty calls for me to resign immediately!” “You should listen to them,” I found myself stupidly taunting her. “Oh, you poor misguided thing,” she said, turning her attention to me. “You checked her for transmitters, right?” “Uh…” Dr. Chester said. “God damnit!” the woman hissed. “Strip her of everything!!! Diaper included! There’s no way her grandma left her without some form of protection.” “She has one of those student ID bands?” Chester told her. “What?!? Tell me, how the hell did you get one of these?!?” Emaly asked, tightly gripping my wrist with the student ID. “No exchange student should be able to get one of these!” “My grandma was my family member,” I told her. “We need to fix that loophole,” Emaly told Shapiro. “In the meantime, make sure you pull it off and put it in one of those isolation bags in case her grandma has gotten cute and modified it.” Chester approached the chair. A tool was used to first unlock the wristband as she dumped it in a bag. She then wasted no time taking the straps off and stripping me to my bare skin. My shoes, socks, and diaper were removed before I was strapped back into the chair, completely exposed. Even the hairbands were pulled out of my hair, and my bottom was even poked inside like some sort of prison search. “She doesn’t seem to have anything on her,” Chester told Emaly, who was watching. “No way she doesn’t have anything…” She came closer to me, and before I knew it, my head was now strapped down too. She looked thoughtful, “Those contacts… she could have those?” “They don’t come that small,” Shapiro told her, “It’s part of why we don’t worry about them in the nests. Wendy checked just in case a few weeks ago, though?” “Her grandma could easily make them smaller… Let’s make sure Wendy didn’t miss anything,” She looked thoughtful and pulled out her phone, turning on a bright, blinding flashlight from it, and forced my eye open. “I wouldn’t look directly at the light if you want to ever see again,” she smirked. The blinding light was in my peripheral vision, and all I wanted to do was close my eyes! Then, all of a sudden, without any warning, she pushed her gigantic finger to touch my right eye!!! +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading!!! Please leave a comment and press that Like Button!!!! So I will be completely unapologetic here, as this part of the story is entering cliffhanger city! 😈 Let me know what you think is coming! I'll post again Friday morning before I go to work, and we'll see about Sunday this week. I have a bit of a catch up week from being on vacation to deal with, and it's also got some extra stuff to deal with beside that. I may be able to get the bonus again this weekend. After this week that'll be up to my muse if she's behaved enough to give me some more padding chapters to stay ahead of you. As I mentioned on my Discord, we're eating through those a little faster than I want to. That being said, this month is typically the one I start making progress on writing again, and that lasts through April or May most years. (Last year I actually managed to keep going through August... we'll see if that miracle ever happens again though) I'm aiming to finish writing Carly and Beth's story in 2026 though, so we'll see what happens! Part of what can help me with that, is support of purchasing my works. Friday, I finally was able to publish the first book of this series on Amazon Kindle! It's priced at $6.95 and includes chapters 1-73 plus a bit of a tag of an epilogue that wasn't in the original postings. I'm about 70% of the way through the AI audiobook version editing too, which will be available for $10.95 on its own, or as a $1.99 add-on to the Kindle version. (Hopefully I'll finish going through that by Wednesday at the latest.) Anyway, link is here! https://www.amazon.com/Lights-Camera-What-Sofia-Hammerstein-ebook/dp/B0GDRDWS5P It'll probably be 4 or 5 books in total for Carly and Beth's story, I haven't got that set in stone yet! Thanks to those of you who have already purchased, please do give it a 5-star review when you finish. (It doesn't show up who did that fyi as long as you don't actually leave a review - and you can change names on those in your settings)

Chapter 202: Tabloids BETH WALKED INTO Carly’s room with her mom possessively holding onto her shoulder. Her parents both nodded as the agents left, then each hugged Amanda. “Mandy, how’s Fred?” her dad asked. “I’ve heard he’s doing okay…” Amanda replied. “Wait, did something happen to Grandpa?” Carly asked. “No one told you yet?” Beth asked in disbelief. “Told me what?” Carly asked. The heart rate monitor on the projection above beeped a bit faster right then. Beth walked to her and sat beside her, holding her hand and running her hand through her disastrous hair. “We were attacked at Amanda’s house last night,” Beth told her. “What?!?” Carly asked, in shock. “Is everyone okay?” Beth watched Carly turn to Amanda for confirmation. “It was a close call for your grandfather, but Beth here saved his life,” Amanda said. Beth felt her skin redden with embarrassment. “I didn’t really do anything,” she protested. “You most definitely did,” Marshal Evans said behind her, causing her to turn to look up at him. “I’ve seen the footage. You fought back at just the right moment, and you didn’t hesitate to use the NanoAid on him. Without that, it could very well have been a different outcome.” “That was all, Tessa,” Beth said. Before they could correct her, there was another knock on the door. “I’m sorry to bother you,” a nurse said. “But there’s an attorney here with a court order demanding that I let her in.” “Huh?” Several voices said at once. “Let her in,” Beth’s dad said. He had his face scrunched up in a look that Beth always knew meant he was puzzled and annoyed at something. Everyone in the room, except Carly, recognized the attorney for Emerson that they’d met with back in President Barnes's office. “Mrs. Thompson, how can we help you?” Amanda asked. “I’m here to take custody of Carly on behalf of the university.” “Excuse me?” Amanda hissed. “This order grants me the rights to do so,” she said, brandishing a paper copy of a court order. “Miss Slane was given thirty-eight demerits and is no longer a student of Emerson. She is to be remanded to the custody of Twinkle Tots until a suitable family can be found for her.” A police officer accompanied her, “Doctor, is the patient ready to be released to Mrs. Thompson here?” “No, she’s not,” Dr. Nickerson said. “And she won’t be released to her,” Beth’s dad said. As if everyone else in the room had been waiting for this moment, Judge Price appeared in the room. “Sorry, I’m late, officer. I’m Judge Price. May I see that order?” The officer seemed a bit startled, but must have recognized him, “Here, Your Honor.” Judge Price examined it for a moment, “Yep, Mrs. Thompson here will need to be arrested too. This order is not valid, officer. I am issuing a stay on any such orders being given or granted against Carly Slane. Please take Mrs. Thompson into custody, and make a note that she is to appear before me on Monday morning. She is not to be released on bail until at least that hearing.” “You can’t do this!” Thompson screamed. Right then, she reached out to grab Carly, but was landed on her ass by Marshal Tanner. “I may have missed saving that Little girl from your associates, but so help me, it’s not happening again in front of me. Please hand me your handcuffs!” He ordered the officer. Beth and the rest of the room watched as the woman was roughly handcuffed and stood back up. “You’ll pay for this!” She hissed as she was led away. Beth turned down and looked at Carly, who was now as white as a ghost. She hugged her tightly, “It’s okay, Carly, we’re never going to let them get to you.”: “But…” Carly started to say, “Doesn’t that mean I’m…” “Safe,” Beth’s dad said to Carly. “There is no way in the world that those demerits stick after a due process hearing. Judge Price here can, and did, place an injunction on any actions against you until one is granted in his courtroom. All we have to do is play the video of what happened, and there’s no way anyone will back up the demerits. Plus, as of this time, Shapiro, Chester, and a dozen others have been placed on leave by the Board of Regents.” “How?” Carly said. “Did they remove Emaly Rhoades, too?” Beth’s mom laughed, “Along with five others,” she nodded. “Ivy called to tell us as we were flying in. They’ve been suspended for now, but a full vote to revoke their places on the board is scheduled for later today.” “What happened to them?” Beth asked nervously. Marshal Tanner answered, “Well, Emaly Rhoades was arrested in Shapiro’s office when we came to rescue you. Theresa Montclair and Paige Frasier were arrested about an hour after everything happened there. Unfortunately, we are still trying to find three of the others that we know were responsible.” Beth felt her stomach twist, knowing some of the conspirators were at large. “We’re safe from them, right?” Beth’s dad put his hand up on her shoulder, “As safe as we can make you.” “Oh no! My test!!!” Carly said suddenly. “I’m missing my HoloFields exam!!!” Beth looked down at her smaller pint-sized girlfriend, “No, you’re not.” “But…” “Carly, do you really think they would have classes today after everything that went on last night?” her mom said a little bluntly. “Maybe…?” Her mom laughed then, “No, they aren’t. Not only is it a madhouse of reporters on campus, but the protest numbers have swelled beyond any other that’s happened so far. I promise the only thing you’re missing right now is the rest you should be getting. Amanda, call us when they are willing to release her. We’re going to go find a place to buy to stay for the time being.” “Place to stay?” Beth asked. “After everything else that’s gone on, I’m through sitting on the other side of the country hoping you’re safe. Until the end of the semester, I’m moving out here,” her mom told her. “What about Laura and Jason?” Beth asked. “Your dad can make sure they get off to school. Chef Miro is flying up, so I know they won’t starve.” “We can’t have her come this direction, can we?” Carly said with a tired look. Her mom laughed, “You just want more of her sauce! We’ll get some sent out here – she said she owed you some more.” Carly smiled; the look on her face was exhausted then. “Come on, Beth, let’s get out of here and let Carly get some rest. Tanner, you’re leaving a detail here, correct?” her dad said. “Yes, sir… Along with the NBI team that’s stationed here.” “If anyone tries to pull the same stunt as the Thompson woman, let me know. I’ll sign my own injunction immediately if necessary,” her dad said. Beth found herself giving her dad a hug before doing the same to Carly, and kissing her forehead, “I’ll see you in a while, get some rest, Carly. I love you,” she said softly. “Love you, too,” Carly replied. With that, her parents led her outside and into a surprise array of cameras between them and the vehicle waiting for them in the driveway. I LOOKED UP at Grandma, “Grandpa… is he really okay?” “Yes, he is,” she told me. At that moment, Megan came in with Shelby, Ryan, and Aunt Bella. Aunt Bella, Ryan, and Shelby all practically ran over to Grandma to hug her. I could see tears on everyone’s faces. “How’s Fred?” Aunt Megan asked Grandma. “I’ve heard he’s okay, I haven’t been able to leave to see him yet… I don’t trust leaving Carly with many people.” “Then go, we’ll stay with her,” Aunt Megan told her. “I…” “Go, Mandy, I promise, between myself and the agents and marshals outside, no one is getting to her right now. Go see your husband!” “Can we go too?” Aunt Bella asked. “I want to see Daddy?” “Sweetie, unfortunately, you’re not only too short, but you’re also too Little to be allowed in the unit,” Aunt Megan told her. “It’s probably better if you three just stay here with us?” “Can we try after Grandma comes back?” Shelby asked. “Sure,” Aunt Megan replied. Soon, she’d helped Shelby climb up beside me into the crib. “How are you feeling?” She asked me. “I’ve been better,” I told her. “Wait… what happened to you…?” She gasped. “I shrank,” I sighed. “A lot!” She noted. “Yes,” I agreed. “I mean, you’re still taller than my Mom… I think?” At that moment, I guess I finally broke again and began crying even as Shelby hugged me. Eventually, I must have cried myself to sleep. BETH WAS NOT fond of leaving Carly behind, but was so exhausted she was clinging to her mom’s side as they walked out of the hospital and dodged the reporters. Her mom usually showed restraint in picking Beth up like a toddler, but at that moment, Beth found herself on her mom’s hip like she was a young girl again. “Mom…” she complained. “Don’t Mom me,” she chided. “You’ve been through so much today, and it’s clear you’re falling asleep on your feet. We’re going to take you to the hotel and let you have a chance to sleep for a while before we have an appointment to look at a couple of houses.” “You already…?” Beth started to question, but shook her head. “Never mind, of course you do…” She groaned at the waiting booster seat in the Luxuria, but the second the belts fastened around her, she was out for the count! She woke up sometime later on a hotel room bed. “Where?” She said sleepily, spitting out some hair that had entered her mouth. “We’re at the hotel,” her dad’s voice responded from beside her. She looked up at where he sat in a nearby chair. “How are you doing, Pumpkin?” She sat up, noting she was in a set of pajamas she didn’t remember dressing in. “Confused? How did I get here?” “You were pretty out of it,” he told her. “I think the stress and everything just knocked you out…” he gave her a worried look, “Your mom helped you change when you got here, but we both figured you wouldn’t remember… I haven’t seen you that tired in a long time.” Beth just felt numb right then, “Yeah… it was…” Right then, she just started crying, even as her dad rushed to her side and held her in a tight hug, rubbing her back gently every now and then. “Sorry,” she found herself telling him as she finally stopped sobbing. “Don’t be, Pumpkin,” he said, “you’ve been through so much this semester. I’d be a lot more worried if you didn’t cry.” She did her best to wipe the tears from her face with her hands, then, “Daddy… when everything happened before… how did you deal with it?” Her dad gave her a worried look, then sighed, “Not well. I assume you mean before the trial?” She nodded. “Are you sure you want to hear this…?” Beth could tell her dad feared a relapse to when her parents had first come clean. “I… I need to.” He sat up and pulled her into his side. She was now bigger than him, but she still felt absolutely comforted as if she was still the smaller body. His strong arm held her to his side as he sighed, “Honestly, I didn’t handle it well at all. If it wasn’t for your Grandma Ruth… and then the firm, I guess? Dad helped at first, but he passed away not long after everything happened. To be honest, I felt like I was drowning in sorrow.” “How did you keep going?” Beth asked him. “I threw myself into my cases… Especially any cases that stuck up for Littles? Those were dark years.” “And when you…” “Discovered you were still alive?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “Your… your dad…” he choked up at that, “he told me you wouldn’t want me to see you. I honored that until right before the trial, when I convinced him I needed to remind myself why it was worth it. Seeing you like that…” Beth watched her dad physically shudder. “It was one of the worst moments ever in my life. From then… it was just about revenge.” Beth found herself hugging her dad, “Daddy,” she told him, “he was my dad then, but don’t ever think that you aren’t my daddy now.” He hugged her back, unable to say anything at that point, even as the tears down his own face left no doubt in her own mind of how much her dad loved her! They stayed in a long embrace before her dad said, “Why don’t you go get a shower and wash up. Your mom has two places she wants us to look at and decide between before dinner tonight. We can go back and check in on Carly then?” Beth found herself nodding, “Okay, Daddy,” she told him. “Umm… I need clothes, though?” “Your mom left you something in the bathroom?” Beth nodded, “Of course she did. Where is she?” “Making phone calls? They attacked you… It wasn’t a good move on their part.” Beth sighed, “Right…” An hour later, she found herself sitting in a vehicle between her parents, with a marshal driving, and a small motorcade of marshals and her mother’s private security officers leading and following them up a road she recognized as the main highway out of town, which led to the Westerfields. They turned onto a long drive long before their place, though, and were soon presented with a massive brick wall and a solid metal gate that opened only after the lead vehicle spoke to someone inside via an intercom. Beth found herself looking up at a large two-story house surrounded by what would be a beautiful lawn in the spring and summer. Just then, it was brown and dead, though. The doors opened, and she followed her parents out, realizing there was a large gap between the house and the exterior wall. That wall was probably twenty feet tall, she guessed, and a reasonably decent deterrent against intruders. A well-dressed woman in a skirt suit came down the steps from the house then. “Your Honor? Mrs. Sylvester and Miss Sylvester?” “That’s us,” her mom told her in response, “Sharon, I presume?” “Yes, ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you. This is the first house I told you about…” she said, leading them into a house that was smaller than their home back home, but probably more than enough space for her mother and her to stay in temporarily. The whole experience left her feeling like a complete child, as the woman only seemed to care about her mom’s opinion of the place – not even her dad got much attention, she noted! They ended up following her to another place that was more centrally located in town but less secure. In the end, the security concerns decided the issue for them, and thanks to her family’s wealth, they had the keys in hand and a title being sent to their attorney's office before even heading to dinner. “I think it’ll be nice,” her mom said. She looked at Colton, her head of security, “You can have all of the security features set and ready to go by tomorrow?” “Yes, ma’am, we have a team already coming in from a firm we trust to do so. Do you want to have someone deal with the decorating and furnishings?” “Please have Baylee get that done tonight? There should be some companies that can deliver in the morning?” “Probably can’t paint by then?” “It was just painted, you could tell that when we were in. It won’t be our design, but it’s only a couple of months anyway?” “Fair enough, we’ll get it taken care of, Mrs. Sylvester.” “Let’s get some dinner, and then head back to the hospital so Beth can see Carly?” Her dad suggested. “Sounds good,” her mom said. Beth found herself scrolling through news sites as they traveled down the streets after dinner and headed back to the hospital. An article from a tabloid in Calisota that covered stars caught her eye. Charlotte Perez: Little Advocate? The entertainment world has been shocked by events in Ames over the past few weeks. Charlotte Perez, one of the darlings of our children’s childhoods, has long been one of the most wholesome and family-minded actresses in the industry. We watched her on Life with Charlee as the precocious young Charlee, who we all watched struggle and grow into a fine example for our kids! Her latest films have also been very family-friendly, and no one can deny that she seems to have gone through her teens without getting dragged into the drug and alcohol pitfalls so many child actors do. In some ways, something like that might be better than the scandal she’s found herself in! Recently, protests have erupted in Ames at Emerson University about the still quite liberal treatment of the Littles who attend school there. Here in Calisota, you won’t find any Littles at our universities since we recognize putting them through that horrible stress is just cruel! Their best places, of course, are being taken care of by their loving mommies and daddies! Though Ames does have a more liberal outlook and allows students there to be Littles, it has at least insisted on having proper care for them. Most recently, a new administration has implemented some fantastic care strategies to help prepare those adorable tykes for their futures! Charlotte Perez, though, seems to think that’s wrong. She must hate family values, is all this author can guess. We’ve seen her spew nothing but hate towards the loving Bigs who are just trying to use established care protocols with their charges! Though no violence has yet occurred at her direction, classes have been cancelled on multiple days due to disruptions caused by the protests she keeps organizing! We can only sympathize with her mother, actress Morgan Cordova, for the anguish she must feel at seeing her daughter betraying the family values we know she espouses. Maybe the lack of future roles due to her controversies will help turn our wonderful, formerly amazing child star around? One can only hope this rebellious phase only lasts a short time, and we can get our ‘Charlee’ back again! ‘Poor Charlotte!’ Beth couldn’t help but think as she finished reading the article. ‘That’s total bullshit!’ A text came right then, on her phone, ‘Do you think Carly would be up for a visitor?’ she saw from Charlotte. She responded, ‘I bet she would! We’ll be back there ourselves here in a little bit. Be careful, there were a lot of cameras around earlier when we left.’ A laugh emoji returned, ‘🤣 I bet! They haven’t stopped following me around, though, so no change there. See you soon!’ Beth sat quietly, just hoping Charlotte, Carly, Amanda, and her family hadn’t bit off more than they could chew. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks for reading! Please press the Like Button and Leave a comment! This will probably be the last bonus chapter for at least a few weeks. I’ve gotten a little bit of writing done so far today, but not as much as I need to. I should be able to keep up with a chapter a week for the foreseeable future. If I can get back to being 12 chapters ahead of you, I'll start looking at 2 chapters a week again. You all provided a nice number of likes though, and I felt like I should reward you for that! Let me know what you think about this latest info! The first volume of this series is available now on Amazon Kindle!!! It's priced at $6.95 and includes chapters 1-73 plus a bit of a tag of an epilogue that wasn't in the original postings. I'm about 93% of the way through the AI audiobook version editing too, which will be available for $10.95 on its own, or as a $1.99 add-on to the Kindle version. (Hopefully I'll finish going through that this by tomorrow! Anyway, the Kindle Book link is here! https://www.amazon.com/Lights-Camera-What-Sofia-Hammerstein-ebook/dp/B0GDRDWS5P It'll probably be 4 or 5 books in total for Carly and Beth's story, I haven't got that set in stone yet! Thanks to those of you who have already purchased, please do give it a 5-star review when you finish. I appreciate the people who did so already! (Thanks for the great review too!) 💜

Here is the next installment. Might want a few tissues just in case it makes you cry. I hope all my little friends had a Merry Christmas and Santa was good to you all!! Chapter 56: Casual Conversations Avery was already in tears, the salty moisture stinging his eyes, as he sat hunched in the sterile wheelchair, his gaze fixed on Christy. She lay motionless in the hospital bed, a still, pale figure, her chest rising and falling with the rhythmic hiss-shush of a ventilator—a comma in the sentence of his life. The sight of her, so still and unreachable, was a physical blow. When he had first entered the room, propelled by Darlene and Laurisa, the urge to flee had been overwhelming. His stomach had twisted into a cold knot, and his heart hammered against his ribs, a desperate prisoner trying to escape. If not for the two women, one on each side of the chair, gently but firmly guiding him the last few feet to her bedside, he would have spun the chair around and rolled straight out the door. He knew, with the borrowed logic that Laurisa and Darlene had patiently drilled into him, that the physical attack had been John’s doing. This wasn't your fault, they insisted. You didn't hurt her. John did. But his own internal monologue, a torrent of self-recrimination and raw emotion, fought tooth and nail against that rational notion. It was easier to blame himself. Blame was a perverse form of control, a delusion that if he had only been different, or acted faster, or been better, the outcome could have been prevented. It was a safer mental prison than facing the chaotic, brutal randomness of the truth. His mind, in a desperate attempt to find a pattern in his perpetual misfortune, flashed back to a brief, painful memory from his childhood. He recalled a girl in elementary school, perhaps ten years old, who had once tried to be his friend. She was bright and bubbly, and she had genuinely seemed to like him. He remembered the mockery she had endured from the other children—the whispers, the exclusionary huddles, the outright shunning—simply for the crime of associating with him. He had always been an anchor, he realized then and now, a magnet for trouble and misfortune, a blight on anyone who dared to show him a simple kindness. He brought trouble to the people who were good to him. Christy was merely the latest, and most severe, casualty. Darlene’s voice, soft but firm, broke through the suffocating curtain of his thoughts, startling him. "Christy, honey," she said, leaning over the bed, her hand gently stroking Christy's arm. "I brought someone who would really like to say hi to you." Darlene had already taken Christy's cool, limp hand and held it securely. "He, like the rest of us, misses you terribly. We all want you to know that we are right here for you. We're not going anywhere." With a smooth, practiced motion, Darlene reached over and maneuvered Avery's wheelchair right up against the edge of Christy’s bedrail. Then, with infinite care, she took Christy's hand from her own grasp and placed it gently on top of Avery's. His immediate reaction was involuntary and stark: his hand jerked back as if scalded, covered in a sudden, cold sheen of sweat. But Darlene was quicker. She reached over and gently but firmly pressed Christy's hand back down onto his. "It's okay, Avery," she murmured, her eyes kind but insistent. "She needs to know you're here. She needs to feel you." He was paralyzed by a potent cocktail of fear, guilt, and raw emotion. He was so intensely nervous that finding even the simplest words—the very phrases they had rehearsed and practiced back in the sterile, quiet confines of his own hospital room—felt like an impossible task. The overwhelming anxiety was a physical force, tightening in his chest, making his breath shallow, and in a mortifying consequence of his sheer terror, the anxiety caused him to wet his diaper while sitting there in the wheelchair. Darlene, sensing his imminent retreat into silence, clasped his trembling hand while still holding Christy’s, a physical push, urging him forward. Finally, the words tore themselves from his throat, a fractured, weak sound. "Christy... It's me. It's Avery." His voice was a thin, reedy quiver. "I am so, so sorry this happened to you." A fresh wave of scalding tears began to slide down his face, cutting wet tracks through the thin film of sweat. "Please, please come back to us. We still have that presentation to give. You have to help me with it. I... I can't. No, I won't do it without you." His voice cracked completely on the last word. "You have to get better," he insisted, leaning forward slightly, the wheelchair squeaking faintly. "You’re... you’re the only person who has ever been kind to me." He paused, the silence in the room heavy, broken only by the ventilator. "Your only friend," he continued, the words a plea. "Who is going to bring me one of your homemade sandwiches for lunch now?" Another painful pause. "And your laugh," he continued, the memory suddenly vivid, a sharp, aching contrast to the sterile quiet of the room. "The way you try to cover your mouth when you think you're being too loud. It always made me smile, Christy—every single time. I need to hear that laugh again. I need to see you roll your eyes at one of my stupid comments." He swallowed hard, trying to push the tightness from his chest. “Who is going to tell me to stop hunching over my keyboard now? Who is going to bring me those stupid little star-shaped sticky notes you always use for my reminders? Nobody else does that, Christy. Nobody cares about the little things like you do." "I know I’m not good with people," he confessed, the tears flowing freely now, blurring his vision of her still face. "But you have been so good to me. So impossibly good. Please, come back to us. And I promise you... I can be good for you." His hands, pressed beneath hers, began to shake uncontrollably as the weeping continued. He desperately searched for any indication, the smallest sign—a cough, a twitch of a finger, the faintest flutter of an eyelid—that she could hear him, that his words were reaching her. But she lay perfectly still, a beautiful, devastating tableau of quiet, unresponsive unconsciousness. His voice cracked on the last word, a raw, uneven sound, and a single, hot tear finally escaped, tracing a path down his cheek. He squeezed her hand gently, a desperate, silent communication. "I've been thinking about what I'll say when you wake up," he managed, his voice a tight, quivering whisper. "I have so many things to tell you. Mostly 'thank you.' And I want to continue to work on the project with you. It's so boring without your input. I keep trying to channel what you'd say, but I just end up sounding like a miserable idiot. You're the one who makes the ideas work. You make me work. So please, come back and fix me. Just... hurry." Avery’s shoulders began to tremble violently, the sobs escaping his throat no longer quiet sniffles but wrenching, guttural sounds that tore at the silence of the hospital room. The anguish was a physical weight, pressing him down in the sterile confines of the wheelchair. Darlene, seated beside him, shifted immediately. Her arm went around his shoulders, and with gentle but firm pressure, she drew his shaking head to rest against her side. The movement was instinctive, offering a small, human anchor in the maelstrom of his grief. “You did well, Avery,” she murmured, her voice a low, steady counterpoint to his distress. She stroked the back of his hair softly, a gesture of purely maternal comfort. “That was very heartfelt. Every word you said to her… she heard you. I know she did.” He pulled back slightly, his face wet and contorted with despair, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. He looked at Darlene, searching her face for a certainty she couldn't possibly possess. “She has to come back, Darlene. She has to,” he choked out, the words raw and desperate. He turned his head away from her and looked back toward the hospital bed. Christy lay there, a pale, heartbreakingly still figure swallowed by the white sheets. The only evidence of her life was the rhythmic, high-tech pulse of the machines beside her. The monitors emitted their steady, disconcerting symphony: the flat, consistent beep-beep-beep of the heart rate, the rise and fall of the green lines tracking her fragile vital signs. It was a cold, objective testament to her continued existence, yet offered no comfort, no promise. Avery felt a brutal, hollow ache in his chest. “Why can’t she just give me a sign? Just one small thing to tell me she’s going to be fine,” he whispered, his voice cracking with the unbearable strain. He watched her chest rise almost imperceptibly with each mechanical breath, praying for a flutter of an eyelid, a twitch of a finger—anything to breach the terrible, motionless barrier between them. The silence, punctuated only by the monitors, felt like a judgment. Laurisa approached Avery, her expression a careful balance of relief and lingering concern. She placed a gentle, reassuring hand on Avery's shoulder. "The doctors believe she will make it out of the coma," she told Avery softly, her voice hushed but firm. "We just have to give it time. It's a waiting game now, but the prognosis is good." She squeezed Avery's shoulder lightly, urging her to look up. "I know she can hear you," Laurisa insisted, her eyes shining with certainty. "I know from all the research on coma patients—extensive studies show they retain auditory perception. They can hear. That is why we are here, Avery. Not just to sit vigil, but to speak to her, to connect with her, and to keep her mind anchored to us. Your voice, your presence—it’s the strongest medicine she has right now." Laurisa pulled up a chair beside Avery, her tone becoming more earnest. "We need to talk to her, tell her everything that's happening, share memories, and let her know we're right here waiting. Don't be afraid to talk about the future. Scientists call it 'therapeutic communication.' It’s vital for stimulating her awareness and giving her a reason to fight her way back to us." Avery swallowed hard, the lump in his throat feeling as large and immovable as a stone. He forced himself to stand tall, a fragile shield of strength for Christy. He watched her still form on the hospital bed, the rhythmic beep of the monitor a constant, haunting reminder of her state. Darlene and Laurisa, sensing his internal struggle, moved closer, their presence a quiet, anchoring support. The following hour was a careful, deliberate exercise in normalcy, a desperate attempt to build a cocoon of life and hope around Christy. Darlene, ever the pragmatic one, started talking about the logistics of returning home. "We can set up a comfortable spot on the sofa if she needs to stay and visit, Avery," she said, her voice steady. "And we'll make sure you have everything you need to focus on getting better." Laurisa chimed in, a hopeful lilt in her voice, "You know, once you're back, we can get your nails done just us girls.” Avery nodded, forcing a smile that felt brittle. He contributed to the plans, talking about the next steps for his recovery—the physical therapy appointments, the need to catch up on work. They meticulously avoided any mention of the attack or the uncertain future, instead painting a vibrant picture of the days ahead. They cracked jokes—silly, often-repeated inside jokes—and laughed, the sound hollow but determined, just loud enough for Christy to hear, if she could. Darlene made a playful threat about how much she'd charge Avery for rent, and Laurisa teased him about the inevitable mountain of take-out containers Avery and Christy would accumulate while working on their project. Their conversation turned to frivolous, everyday pleasures. "When you wake up," Avery said, leaning close to her, his voice a low, earnest murmur, "we are absolutely going to see a movie. The one you were so excited about and remember I have never been to a movie theater. It might be treat as….." Avery paused.. “As friends.” It was a hard word for him to say out loud. Laurisa immediately launched into a detailed, dramatic description of the dinner they would have beforehand, down to the specific appetizer Christy might love. They wove the conversation with an almost frantic energy, a continuous, seamless narrative that placed Christy right in the center. They talked to her, not about her. "Christy, you'll love the seats we get. We will book early," Avery promised, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "And you have to tell me how to phrase the opening line of our research paper, you're the wordsmith, remember?" They were creating an auditory tapestry of their shared life, a lifeline of familiar sounds and promises, willing it to pull her back to them. They talked, and laughed, and planned, determined to make the sterile hospital room feel, for an hour, like a waiting room for a life that was merely on pause. The intense, emotionally demanding discussion had spanned a good two hours. Avery had spent all his emotional support on her, and he had done his best. The air in the small room was heavy with unspoken sorrow and exhausted emotion. Avery felt utterly drained, his reserves of strength completely depleted. It was Darlene who finally, and reluctantly, brought the difficult conversation to a halt. "Avery," she said, her voice soft but firm, glancing at her watch, "you need to get back to your room. It’s almost noon, and you have to order lunch. Plus, the nurse will be coming by for her routine check-ups soon." The reality of the hospital routine felt jarringly mundane against the backdrop of their deep emotional turmoil. Avery nodded, a lump forming in his throat. He reached out, his hand finding Christy’s. He gave her hand one last, lingering squeeze—a silent promise and a desperate farewell, pleaded for him to come back, rolled into one. He searched her pale, serene face, trying to commit every detail to memory. "We'll be back," Darlene promised, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Hang in there, man," the others echoed, offering final, hushed goodbyes. The parting was agonizingly slow, a reluctant severing of a lifeline. A nurse's aide, who had been patiently waiting near the door, entered as Darlene wheeled Avery out of Christy's room and back into the sterile, brightly lit hallway. As they moved, the reality of the separation crashed down on him. A large, shuddering sigh escaped his chest, and he couldn't stop the hot, painful tears that began a steady track down his face. Each turn of the wheelchair felt like a mile further away from the only person who had been kind to him when he first came to DNA Pharmica. Darlene walked beside the wheelchair, her hand resting lightly on Avery’s shoulder. She watched his silent breakdown, her own vision blurring as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks, tears not just for Avery's pain but for Christy, now lying alone again, facing an uncertain future. The overwhelming sense of helplessness and heartache was a crushing weight they all now bore. —--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back at Avery’s hospital room, the sterile quiet was only occasionally punctuated by the soft whir of the IV pump. Lunch had arrived, though "lunch" was another round of the same thick, faintly sweet smoothie. Avery lay propped up against the pillows, a mixture of boredom and frustration clouding his expression. He was acutely tired of the endless liquid diet. The stitches inside his mouth, a painful reminder of the recent trauma, made the mere thought of solid food a distant, tantalizing fantasy. "It tastes like blended desperation," he muttered under his breath, pushing the straw away slightly. Avery eventually drifted off, the combination of medication and sheer emotional exhaustion finally taking hold. He was out within a couple of soft clicks of the bed railing. Seeing him finally resting, Laurisa seized the opportunity. She leaned closer to Darlene, her voice dropping to a soft, almost imperceptible whisper, mindful of Avery's slumber. "Darlene, I was thinking," Laurisa began, her gaze fixed on Avery's peaceful, sleeping face. She wanted to change the approach they had originally planned for introducing the idea of regression therapy. "I think that maybe you should step away and let me talk to Avery about this alone when he wakes up. I want to try a different angle." Darlene watched her son for a long moment, the deep circles under her eyes betraying her exhaustion. She listened intently as Laurisa elaborated. "If you're not in the room, Darlene, I think I can give it a more direct, clinical approach—from a therapist’s point of view—and he won’t feel pressured," Laurisa explained, carefully choosing her words. "With you absent, he won’t feel threatened or cornered into saying yes or no right away just to protect your feelings or avoid upsetting you. I genuinely think he will take the suggestion better if it comes from me in a professional capacity, giving him space to process it without the weight of your emotional involvement immediately present." She felt that a clinical, almost detached delivery would allow the gravity of his situation to sink in without the added layer of familial anxiety. Laurisa continued. “This phenomenon is called the observed subject effect, where the presence of a primary caregiver can subconsciously skew a patient's response due to emotional attachment and the desire for approval. For a therapy as profound as age regression, we need an unfiltered, truly authentic consent, which is more likely without a familial emotional buffer. He needs to process this entirely through his own lens.” A slow, heavy sigh escaped Darlene. She knew Laurisa was right. She could feel the enormous, terrifying weight of the decision settling over her. She nodded in reluctant agreement, the reality of the situation finally hitting her with full force. Avery was scheduled to come home tomorrow, and everything—absolutely everything—was about to change. She couldn't do this alone; she was out of her depth and desperately needed Laurisa's clinical expertise. The realization was also a punch to the gut: her house wasn’t ready for this. She wasn't ready. This intensive, deeply personal regression therapy was something she had zero preparation for. She was bringing home someone who, emotionally and psychologically, was going to be a baby—a person utterly dependent on her for everything—with no nursery, no proper equipment, no emotional shield, and certainly no handbook. A wave of panic mixed with fierce protectiveness washed over her. She gripped the railing of Avery's bed, resolving to put her trust completely in Laurisa and the hope of this therapy.. Laurisa’s voice was gentle but firm. “Let me be here when he wakes up. It will be easier for him, I promise. He’ll need a friendly, familiar face right away. Why don’t you get some lunch and stretch your legs? You look like you haven’t slept in days, Darlene.” Darlene did, in fact, desperately need a break. The stale hospital air, the hard plastic chairs, and the relentless anxiety had been a draining cocktail. She agreed immediately, a wave of gratitude washing over her. She grabbed her purse, slinging the strap over her shoulder, and walked out of the room, taking a deep, shuddering breath as she hit the main hallway. She had brought her laptop precisely for this kind of downtime, deciding she would go to the hospital cafeteria and work until Laurisa sent her a text or called her to return. The cafeteria was a hive of controlled chaos—the clatter of trays, the low hum of conversation, and the smell of slightly burnt coffee and institutional food. Finding a relatively quiet corner booth, she logged onto her computer. Her first priority was a professional one, a call she had been dreading but knew had to be made. She called Julian, the HR Director of DNA Pharmica, for whom she worked. She kept the conversation concise, professional, and non-negotiable. She explained the situation with Avery—his immediate discharge and the need for a comprehensive home recovery plan. She informed Julian, not asked, that she would be working from home for the next couple of months to personally oversee his care and recovery. She added a pointed, well-rehearsed line: she fully expected the company to be supportive of this arrangement, especially given the security breach involving John that had happened right on their premises and a potential lawsuit that could follow if they didn’t support her. She knew she had the years in the company and the proven track record in keeping the company's IT safe, so they wouldn’t want to lose her. Her tone left no doubt; she was drawing a line in the sand. “Julian,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, cold register, “I’m not calling to ask for time off. I’m telling you my plan. I won't accept a 'no' on this. I’ll make sure my team has everything they need, but I am putting myself and Avery first right now.” After hanging up, a sense of weary satisfaction settled over her. That was done. Now for the other critical call. She picked up the phone again and dialed a number she hadn't needed to use in months. She was calling Margaret Camiller, the owner of Mama B’s AB and Medical Supplies. Margaret was not just a business contact; she was Tilly's mother, a young woman Darlene had mentored. More importantly, Darlene had recently helped Margaret navigate and recover from a devastating cyber-attack on her company. Darlene knew that Margaret owed her a favor—a big one—and she was about to cash it in. She was going to need Mama B's specialized help to set up Avery’s home for recovery, and she was going to need it fast. "Margaret, I am so glad you picked up," Darlene started, her voice tight with urgency. She quickly explained Avery's situation. “Thank you for everything yesterday with Avery and for bringing Tilly over. I really think it helps his spirits. But Laurisa and I have decided to enter Avery into a regression program. It starts tomorrow when we get back to my house.” "Margaret, I know you have some experience with, well, with this kind of situation," Darlene said, her voice now a little softer but still resolute. "I want to see him heal from the trauma of his past and present. I am afraid the incident with John will break him if I don’t do this." "My plan is to start with a period of complete dependence, almost like an infancy phase, but tailored to Avery's comfort and needs. I want to make sure he has everything required for that level of care, the right supplies, the right clothing, the safe space. The goal isn't to force anything, but to give him permission to fully lean into the safety and lack of responsibility that the Regression can offer him right now. It's about letting his mind truly rest." "Oh, Darlene, I am so sorry to hear about Avery," Margaret replied, her tone immediately shifting to one of genuine concern, quickly followed by a spark of professional enthusiasm. "Don't you worry about a thing. You helped save my business; this is the least I can do, and honestly, this is right up my alley. I can absolutely help you, and I can get everything delivered and set up this afternoon. Consider it done." Darlene’s voice was low in the hospital cafeteria, but nervous as she spoke. "I need adult-sized baby gear—crib, high chair, changing table, the works. Whatever you think is essential for Avery's comfortable, safe recovery and daily routine. I know this is incredibly last-minute, but I'm desperate. Also, I have an empty spare bedroom I'd like to turn into a proper nursery for him." By saying this out loud to her friend, the reality was starting to set in more that her life was about to change. Margaret didn't pause for a second, her tone becoming a rapid-fire, knowledgeable inventory list. "Adult-sized, got it! That’s what we specialize in, honey. Okay, let's break this down. For the 'nursery,' we'll start with the furniture. We'll send over the Grand Sleeper crib—it's the largest one we have, beautifully crafted in white oak, with extra-high sides and a medical-grade mattress. It will fit him comfortably. The high chair will have to be my favorite, Little King's Throne model—extra tall, fully padded for comfort, with safety restraints and a wide, stable base for placing food and bottles on. For the changing station, you'll want the Nanny's Helper—it's a large, reinforced changing table with a deep, comfortable well and integrated shelves below for storage." "What else?" Darlene whispered, feeling a hot flush creep up her neck. This was happening so quickly, and with such terrifying expertise coming from Margaret. Margaret confirmed, completely focused on the logistics. "What about daily necessities? We're talking needing a lot of diapers, aren't we? Adult-sized but baby-like—with cute little designs on them. I will get you a starter supply of the ultra-absorbent disposable kind and a dozen of the super-soft flannel cloth diapers—just in case you want a hybrid approach. For disposal, you absolutely need the Smell Be Gone Diaper Genie disposal system; it locks away odors completely. Trust me, that's non-negotiable. He could go through 3-4 diapers a day, so disposal is a big topic you need to address." Darlene swallowed hard. "Right. I hadn't... I hadn't thought about the actual logistics of disposal of the diapers." "And clothes," Margaret continued breezily. "Standard clothes won't do if he's primarily in bed or a high chair. We need adaptive clothing. I'll send ten of our extra-large, soft cotton, snap-crotch bodysuits—a mix of plain blue and white. And tear-away pants—those are essential for easy changing access. You'll want about ten outfits to start, minimum, given the potential for accidents. And bibs. Oversized, with waterproof backing—don't skimp on those. Spills are a constant. I will get you a supply of everything, but leave the tags on anything you want to return." "Oh, and toys!" Margaret added, her tone brightening even more. "A bored baby is a fussy baby, even an adult one. I’m including a few things to stimulate him. I’ll send a large, colorful Sensory Mobile to hang over the crib, a big, soft Comfort Stuffy—the teddy bear with the weighted paws and plays music for naptime—and a couple of large, easy-to-grip Stacking Rings he can play with while in the high chair. Darlene gripped the phone tighter, thinking about the empty, silent spare room she'd hoped to transform into a cozy refuge. She felt a wave of nausea, the reality of caring for a fully grown man with the needs of an infant hitting her like a physical blow. Snap-crotch clothes? Bibs? Toys? "Okay, Margaret," Darlene managed, her voice strained. "That sounds... comprehensive. I need you to just—take the lead. Get everything. Send me the bill. I'll worry about... learning how to use it all later." "And don't forget toiletries," Margaret tacked on, the final, awkward detail. "Special wipes, barrier creams to prevent breakdown, odor control spray... It's all part of the package, Darlene. This is going to be a complete lifestyle overhaul." "Margaret, you're a lifesaver," Darlene sighed, relief flooding her. "Just tell me where to send the credit card information. I want to pay for everything." "Absolutely not, Darlene. Put that wallet away," Margaret said firmly but kindly. "We'll work out the finances later. Right now, the priority is getting Avery's home ready. I'll get the necessary supplies and furniture gathered immediately. Just tell me one thing: how do we get into the house?" "I'll call my sister, Ashley, right now and let her know. She has a key and can let your team in," Darlene explained. "Thank you, Margaret, truly. I really, really appreciate this." "It's my pleasure, dear. And I know Tilly will absolutely love to help out and get everything ready for Avery, too. We’ll take care of it. I will come by later today with several pictures of everything and a clipboard so we can lay it all out before it arrives." Darlene again told Margaret how much she appreciated this before they both hung up. She turned her attention away from the sterile beige walls and looked out of the cafeteria window as she held a drink. It offered a soothing view of a small, well-maintained courtyard, a pocket of nature amidst the brick and glass of the hospital. Sunlight filtered through the branches of several mature trees, dappling the pavement below. A few colorful bird feeders hung from the lower limbs, attracting a flurry of sparrows and chickadees, their cheerful chirps a welcome distraction. Darlene watched the tiny, frantic movements of the birds, her thoughts drifting inward. She sighed deeply, the weariness settling into her bones. The persistent ache of a dream unfulfilled—the child she could not have—was a familiar shadow that always seemed to lengthen in moments of solitude. A familiar, deep-seated sorrow tightened her chest, a silent grief that she carried with her. But then, a subtle, profound shift occurred. Deep inside her, a resilient warmth began to spread. Bringing Avery home, the thought of this adult, being her child, waiting for her, filled her with a powerful, inexplicable hope. It wasn't the tentative hope of someone wishing for a miracle, but a burgeoning certainty. It felt less like a choice she was making and more like a destiny unfolding, a path she was meant to walk. Avery was the unexpected answer to a prayer she’d almost stopped praying. This hope, so solid and real, was something she couldn’t yet fully explain or even openly admit to herself. It was a secret, treasured knowledge that this connection, this soon-to-be motherhood, was a form of healing and completeness she never thought she would find. She was ready.

Chapter 51: The Next Seven Days - Part 3 Day 5 I knew everything was wrong the moment I opened my eyes in the morning. My head ached. My mouth was parched. My skin was damp and clammy from sweating beneath the excessive layers of pajamas and blankets. The house was nowhere near as cold as it had been when I had fallen asleep. My stomach churned, and not in the hungry for breakfast kind of way, but the something isn’t right inside of it kind of way. I attempted to push myself up off the mattress only to give up halfway and collapse back down. And to top it all off, the way the pull-up squished between my legs when I landed back down let me know that my attempts to deprive myself of liquids had been for naught. I had practically drunk nothing yesterday. It should have been scientifically impossible for my bladder to have had anything to release while I was sleeping, let alone work up such a sweat. The only thing that hadn’t gone wrong was that it didn’t seem like the pull-up had leaked at all this time. The only reason I was able to get out of bed a few minutes later was that cleaning myself up was a superior option to letting Mom stumble across me in this condition. “You feeling OK?” Grace asked, taking her toothbrush out of her mouth for a second as I shuffled past her. I muttered something that vaguely resembled “Yeah” and slipped into the other half of the bathroom and shut the door behind me. After taking off my pajamas, I let the pull-up drop to the floor and then let out a loud gasp at what I saw. The pull-up wasn’t just wet with pee; there were some red patches that were unmistakably blood. “You OK in there?” Grace asked through the other side of the door. “Yes,” I yelled back. “It’s nothing.” I wanted to scream. Had I been alone in the house, I might have. I was dealing with way too much to have to suddenly be dealing with getting my first period. I hadn’t given my health sciences classes any more attention than the rest of my subjects at school, which is to say that I had paid very little attention to them at all. But I had gotten more than enough information on that topic from Emma and Angie, as both my friends had reached that developmental milestone ahead of me. There was a knock on the bathroom door. “If something is going on with your bedwetting, you can tell me,” Grace said. “I’ve been there. I promise I won’t judge.” “It’s not that,” I blurted out, before instantly regretting having provided that information. “Did you get your period?” she asked after a short pause. I was too mortified by the accuracy of her question to find the words to deny it. “Maddy,” Grace said. “I’m not an idiot. Do you want me to help you or not? Or should I get Mom?” I rolled the pull-up into a ball and tossed it in the garbage bin before opening the door with a towel wrapped around my waist. Grace had a bit of a smirk on her face. I don’t know why my older sister thought this was so funny. “How did you know?” I muttered, looking down at the floor. “Well,” Grace said with smile. “Something about your pull-up shocked you when you took it off, and if it wasn’t because you had peed in it, the only options were you starting your period or shitting yourself. If you had done the latter, I think I would have noticed it when you walked past me.” I stomped my feet. “Stop smiling. It isn’t funny.” “Well,” Grace said. “I’ll just say there are far worse circumstances for a period to start in that I, of course, wouldn’t know about from personal experience.” I stared at her. I didn’t get my older sister at all sometimes. “Just hop in the shower,” Grace said with a wave of her hand. “I’ll have some stuff for you by the time you are done.” The shower wasn’t much help. I couldn’t manage to get the right temperature. I thought turning it colder would help with my aching head, but that only seemed to make things worse. I hesitated for a moment when putting on underwear after getting dried off. I knew I couldn’t continue the day like this, but I wasn’t sure what to do next. Grace was waiting for me right outside the bathroom door, with a handful of small plastic-wrapped items in her arms. Before I could say anything, she launched into a long spiel in which she explained what she used for herself for her period and what other options were available: some of which I was already well aware of, others I hadn’t heard of before, and one that I hadn’t even remotely contemplated as a possibility. “You know,” Grace said at the end. “Some women even wear adult diapers, like if they need more protection or want extra coverage while they are sleeping.” I stared at my sister. I really couldn’t figure her out. Was she being serious, or was she making fun of me? “You’re joking, right?” I asked cautiously. There was no way she could be serious about that. “Nope, completely serious,” Grace said. “They even make cloth ones that you can wash and re-use.” That led to a question I couldn’t help but ask. “Do you wear them?” “Oh no,” Grace said casually. “I mean, I wouldn’t be embarrassed to if I needed it, but those would be overkill for me.” I just gawked at my sister. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? It was such a perfect excuse to wear pull-ups that I couldn’t even believe that the idea had never crossed my mind. Of course, there was absolutely no way I was going to do that now. I reached out to grab one of the small packages in my sister's hands. Pads it was. <><><> I wasn’t sure how it was possible, but the pad somehow seemed to crinkle even louder than my pull-ups ever did. I was fairly confident that I had it positioned correctly in my underwear, but I guessed I would find out for sure by later this morning. The pad didn’t cause me to waddle anywhere near as much as a pull-up did, but it was something even harder to forget I had it on than when I was wearing a pull-up. My initial theory was that something smaller would be less noticeable and more comfortable, but it turned out that the opposite was true. My older sister at least had the courtesy to assist me with getting set up to deal with my period before informing our mom of the situation. Then I was inundated with pretty much the same advice that Grace had already given me. My temperature got taken. I had a fever – no surprise there. Mom proceeded to interrogate me about my symptoms. I told her about everything except for the accidents I’d been having during the day. She did chide me about taking the medications on my own last night, though she did agree that she would have let me take them if I had asked first. Thankfully, Mom did not ask to actually see the evidence in the pull-up firsthand. Now that the shock had worn off, I actually felt an immense sense of relief in spite of all the discomfort my body was experiencing. I had an actual explanation for all the craziness that had been going on with my body this week, and a renewed sense of hope that everything would be better once my first period passed by in several days. “I already called your therapist,” Mom said. “I got the appointment cancelled so that you can stay home and rest.” That was a relief. I didn’t really want the pads to get tested for the first time while I was out in public. “You can get settled back in bed to rest for the rest of the morning,” Mom said. “I already changed out all of your sheets.” I was more than happy to comply. By now, my head was in a fog from the information overload. As I got settled underneath the covers, Mom brought me a whole bunch of pills – some pain killers along with the ADHD meds. There was no way to skip out this time, though I was less inclined to now that I had a better explanation for my recent bladder issues. Mom left and returned a few minutes later with even more supplies for me – a warm compress to place on my chest, a cup of hot tea, a water bottle, a granola bar, and a bunch of chocolates. She handed me the compress and set the rest of the items on my bedside table. I attempted to take a sip of tea, but stopped the second the scalding liquid touched my lips. “Yeah, you better let that cool for a bit first,” Mom said as she took the cup from my hands and set it down carefully on the table. “You should be all set. Don’t forget to stay extra hydrated. I’m going to come by on my lunch break to check on you as well, but please call me if you need anything. I’ll make sure my phone isn’t on silent.” <><><> It was more fun being sick in bed on a school day than in the middle of summer break, but at least I got to still skip the therapy appointment. After Mom left, I contemplated continuing my self-imposed liquid restrictions, but decided it was as pointless as stopping my ADHD pills now. It wasn’t the medicine or liquids that were the issue; it was just my changing body. I’d be better in a few days – how long could it last anyway – so I was content to discard my previous plans to prevent the bladder accidents. I attempted to take a sip of tea, but it was still way too hot, so I switched to the water bottle instead. Even with my mouth still a bit parched from the lack of liquids yesterday, I found that I wasn’t all that thirsty. Even the bite-sized chocolates Mom left me were less appealing than normal. I ate one, but only took a nibble out of the second before setting it aside. An urgent warning from my bladder interrupted my reading about twenty minutes later. I stumbled out of bed, with my stiff joints almost making me feel like a zombie. I didn’t sprint out of the bedroom. The need to pee was urgent, but it didn’t feel so pressing that I needed to worry about making it on time. I made it into the hallway before my bladder gave way all of a sudden. For the briefest of moments, I wondered if perhaps the pad might be enough to contain the fallout. It was not. The pad delayed the inevitable by maybe a second or two, and then pee was running down my legs, all the way into my socks. I slid my hands across my face in annoyance. Just great. The pads had all the downsides of wearing a pull-up with none of the benefits. As I was getting cleaned up, I noticed that the pad must have performed its intended purpose prior to the bladder accident, given that there was some blood on it as well. <><><> I was still in bed a few hours later when Mom arrived home on her lunch break. I had managed to avoid any further accidents, though there had been a couple of close calls. I hadn’t needed to change the pad since that first time, though I checked it each time I went to the bathroom. Mom glanced over at the bedside table as she entered the bedroom. “Maddy, you hardly touched your water.” “I’m not thirsty.” “It doesn’t matter whether you are feeling thirsty or not. Your body isn’t feeling well, so you need to drink up.” Mom grabbed the water bottle, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to me, not letting up until I had gulped down a third of it. “I’m going to warm up some soup for you in the kitchen,” Mom said. “Why don’t you get changed if you need to before coming downstairs.” Once I could hear Mom walking down the stairs, I got out of bed and pulled down my shorts and underwear. There wasn’t any blood in the pad still, but it wasn’t all-white either. A third of it was now yellow. I had peed just a little in it without noticing at all. I grabbed another clean pad from the pack that Grace had given me. I thought I had put it in place properly, but it still felt weird walking down the stairs afterward. “What happened to your other shorts?” Mom asked once I was in the kitchen. “The pad leaked,” I replied. “I guess I didn’t put it on right.” "I can help show you how to do it,” Mom said. "I’m fine. I’ve got it figured out.” Mom didn’t press me any further on that subject. She instead set a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich on the table. I wasn’t usually a big fan of tomato soup. I found it even less appealing in the present circumstances. I grazed on the meal slowly as Mom ate her own lunch next to me, taking small nibbles of the sandwich and sipping on tiny spoonfuls of soup. My stomach was protesting angrily that it didn’t want any more. I maintained the pretense of eating until Mom dashed out the door to return to work. I answered in the affirmative when she reminded me to make sure to finish the entire meal, but once the car was out of the driveway, I poured the remaining soup down the drain and wrapped the half-eaten sandwich in a few paper towels before hiding it in the garbage. I helped myself to more pain medication on my way to the bedroom – Mom had said I could if I needed it, so long as I didn’t stray from the recommended dosage. I also needed to pee. But that wasn’t a surprise, not with how much Mom had just made me drink. This time, when I pulled my underwear down to take a seat on the toilet, there was a bit of blood and urine in the pad. I chucked the used pad in the garbage in disgust. Was I really going to have to deal with this every month for the rest of my life? <><><> An afternoon of lying in bed, eating chocolate, and reading one of my favorite books should have been relaxing, but it was anything but that. The pain meds Mom had let me take didn’t seem to be working at all. My head hurt. My side hurt. Laying down hurt. Walking hurt. Even peeing hurt. And while I wasn’t keeping count, it seemed like I was doing that a couple of times an hour. Mom was sympathetic when I texted her to complain about the pain, but the only solution she offered was that I should heat up the compress in the microwave again and bring it back with me to bed. Eventually, the discomfort of walking up and down the stairs was outweighed by my aching body, and so I eased myself cautiously down to the kitchen. My stomach churned uneasily as I stood in front of the microwave. A minute later, the churning turned into the need to vomit. The bathroom was too far away. I wouldn’t make it in time. I pulled out the garbage bin from under the kitchen sink just in time before all of the tomato soup came back out. Once I was done, it looked like I was hiding the evidence of a murder in the garbage can. When I stood at the base of the stairs a few minutes later, the compress already clutched against my side, the thought of having to walk all the way to the top felt overwhelming. I had to pause at the top of the stairs to catch my breath before continuing down the hallway to get back into bed. <><><> By the time everyone arrived home, I had relocated from the bed to the couch. I had tried playing on the Switch in bed, but I was too tired to hold up the whole device in my hands. It was much easier to just plug it into the TV and use a controller instead. I was feeling better, but that was relative to how I had felt after lunch. The nausea was gone and the pain meds seemed to be mostly doing their jobs for now – the aches and pains weren’t gone, but they were fairly reduced – but I was still very fatigued. “How are you holding up?” Grace asked as she took a seat next to me on the couch I hit the pause button on my game and answered with a long-winded explanation of the current quest I had been on, while Grace just nodded at me. “I meant about your period,” she asked once I had stopped. “Oh, it just kind of sucks.” “Yeah, that it does.” “Shit!” Dad exclaimed from the kitchen. My sister and I both turned our heads in his direction. That type of language was almost unheard of coming from Dad. “I wonder what that was about,” Grace said as she got up from the couch and walked toward the hallway. “Is everything OK, Dad?” she asked a few seconds later. I wasn’t able to hear Dad’s reply. Curiosity got the better of me, and I eased myself off the couch and followed behind my sister to the kitchen, where Mom, Dad, and Grace were standing, looking down at an opened package of chicken breasts that had splattered across the floor. Chester, our orange cat, who was sitting in the corner, was also fixated on the chicken, looking strangely pleased with himself. “This stupid cat nearly tripped me, and the package of chicken split open when I dropped it,” Dad explained to Mom. “Is there anything else I could help you put together quick?” Mom asked. “No, we’re way overdue for another run to the grocery store,” Dad said. “But that’s fine. I’ll get this cleaned up, and we can just go out to dinner tonight.” “Honey,” Mom said, her eyes moving from me to Dad. “I’m not sure that is a good idea. Maddy hasn’t been feeling well today.” “Well,” Dad said, turning toward me. “Are you feeling up for going out?” My head hurt a little as I nodded. Mom stepped forward and placed a hand on my forehead. “Your still feeling quite warm,” she said. “It’s OK to stay home when you are feeling under the weather.” “Mom, it’s not like she is contagious,” Grace interjected. Dad burst out laughing so hard he had to grab his sides. Mom glared at him until he was quiet again. “OK, you can come,” Mom relented. “I’ll go get Jackson.” Mom left to get Jackson while Dad stayed in the kitchen to clean up after the spilled chicken – shooing away Chester, who had been slowly inching toward the raw meat with a ravenous look on his face. I headed over to the front door to put on my shoes, turning around to see Grace right behind me. “Once you’ve got your shoes on, you should grab one of your small drawstring sports bags and toss a few pads and a pair of clean underwear in it,” she said. “I’m not going to need that.” “Look, just trust me on this, OK?” I did as Grace asked, glad to be getting out of the house after being stuck in bed all day. As noticeable as the pad felt, I had to remind myself that I had gone a whole week of wearing a pull-up during the soccer camp and not a single person had noticed. <><><> I stared blankly at the menu in front of me. Usually, the biggest challenge I had at restaurants was narrowing down my choices because so many of them looked appetizing. But right now, nothing seemed appealing, even my standard, go-to options for when I was feeling indecisive. We were squeezed into a booth in a corner deep inside the restaurant. Grace and I were on one side of the table, with Mom, Dad, and Jackson across from us. Everyone except Jackson was looking down at their menu – he was busy coloring with crayons on a piece of coloring paper. I rubbed my face with both of my hands. Mom had me take more medicine before we left for dinner. My body didn’t hurt like it had in the morning, but my head was in a fog. “Does anything look good?” Mom asked me. “No.” “Why don’t you just get some soup?” Mom suggested, pointing out a chicken noodle soup listed on the bottom left corner of the menu. “I guess,” I answered with a shrug. Maybe staying home would have been a better idea, after all. <><><> I excused myself to go to the bathroom once the server had taken our orders. Grace handed me my bag after I had stepped out of the booth. I had accidentally left it behind. “Just in case,” my older sister said. My face flushed, and I snatched it quickly from her hands before turning toward the restrooms. Occupied. That was the word showing near both handles of the two single-stall bathrooms. The bathrooms were buried behind a small maze of dimly lit hallways, so I was completely on my own, meaning that I didn’t have to hide the potty dance my feet were conducting. I crossed my legs and squeezed my hands between my thighs. A flush echoed from behind the closest door. I remained as still as I could. Maybe if I were lucky, they’d forget to wash their hands and hurry right on out. I was not lucky. The sink ran for twenty seconds. Then there was a brief pause followed by the unmistakable blaring of the hand dryer. My bladder felt like it was on fire. The doorknob jiggled. I jumped back into a normal stance. As I did so, I felt a small squirt of pee leave me. The door started to open. Please don’t let there be a wet spot on my shorts. A middle-aged woman stepped out into the hallway. I let go of any sense of decorum, as giving in to urgency was better than any more pee ending up in my pants. I darted past her into the bathroom, bumping into her without so much as saying “excuse me” or “sorry.” In my haste to get to the toilet, I completely forgot to even lock the door behind me. The relief of peeing in the toilet was mixed with the pain of my insides protesting against that action. My eyes lowered to the pad stuck to the inside of my shorts – blood and pee. The leak was small enough that the pad had been able to contain it fully this time. I swapped it out for a fresh one, with a bit of gratitude for my older sister’s foresight. <><><> “We were just telling your brother about our vacation plans in a couple of weeks,” Mom said as I took a seat back at the table. I had completely forgotten about the vacation, a long road trip all the way down to Florida to visit some relatives. It was to celebrate Grace’s high school graduation, and her only request for a destination was that she be able to go to a beach along the ocean. Before this morning, I would have been worried about my bladder issues continuing on the trip, but now I felt certain I would be back to normal far before then. And a break from home would be perfect for helping me to continue to move on from my pull-up and diaper desires. “Yeah, I know,” I said. At least with this next road trip, I’d have video games to kill the long hours on the car drive. “I don’t know if you remember your cousins, Timothy and Alex?” Mom asked. “I think you may have met them when we traveled for the funeral several years ago.” Yes, I remembered them all too well. It was their fault that my interest in pull-ups started in the first place. If they hadn’t left one of their nighttime pull-ups out in the open, I would never have asked about it, and that initial curiosity wouldn’t have transformed into the obsession that had led to this whole mess I was in this summer. “Yes, I remember playing with them.” “We’ll be staying at their place while we’re in Florida,” Mom said. The server arrived with our food, the timing bringing an end to the conversation about the vacation. In the years since that chance encounter with my cousins, I had occasionally daydreamed about what it would be like to meet up with them again. Mostly because of how it would have given me access to pull-ups, but also for all the questions about bedwetting that I could have asked them. I lifted a small spoonful of soup up to my lips and blew on it for a long time before finally inserting it into my mouth. I forced myself to another spoonful of soup each minute or so, despite the protestations from my stomach, though I eventually set the spoon down inside the bowl after having made little visible progress on my dinner. Mom eventually noticed that I had stopped eating, and at her coaxing, I had a few more spoonfuls before insisting that I was too full to continue. Then my bladder betrayed me. The urge to pee hadn’t registered long enough to even give me time to so much as ask Grace to get out of the way so I could leave the booth; I had already begun to pee. Unlike this early outside of the bathroom, it wasn’t a tiny dribble that could be contained by the pad. And like this morning, the pad proved completely useless for handling a larger accident. I could feel the warm pee soaking through my clothes, the sensation of wet cotton against my skin so much worse than that of a wet pull-up. Everyone else was too busy eating their food, and with how I was seated against the wall, no other diners would be able to see my shorts as long as we remained seated. But I wasn’t going to be safe forever. I stared down at my soup. I needed a way out. I took another sip of water. That was it. I just needed to spill it on my lap, and then no one would think that I had peed my pants. I set the glass down. Took another sip. Set the glass down. Took yet another sip. Trying and failing to work up the courage to go through with this latest crazy scheme. How was I supposed to make this realistic? I waited another minute until at last no one was looking in my direction. Then, as I reached out to grab the now half-full glass again, I let it tip in my direction, wincing as a cold waterfall cascaded from the table onto my laptop. “Maddy!” Mom said as her head jerked in my direction. I didn’t need to fake being embarrassed. My face burned. The glass had landed with a much louder clang than I had anticipated. It felt like everyone in the restaurant had turned to look at me. “Ugh, seriously, Maddy?” Grace said as she scooted a few inches to the left to avoid getting wet as well. Dad passed me the napkin dispenser, and I emptied a quarter of it over the next several minutes in an attempt to get my pants and seat somewhat dried off. The walk of shame out of the restaurant and into the parking lot was the worst. It was one thing to have wet pants around people who believed the cause was a spilled glass of water. But for anyone seeing me in the parking lot, I couldn’t help but suspect they thought I had actually peed myself. <><><> There was another small burst of warmth between my legs on the way home as another trickle of pee leaked out. I allowed myself one quick glance at my shorts. They felt wetter. But they at least didn’t look any different. Once we were home, Grace went inside to get a jacket that I could tie around my waist while walking up the driveway. That was a relief, as one of our neighbors was mowing his lawn across the street. I inspected the pad once I was alone in the bathroom. Some more blood, like before. But it was again mixed in with all of the pee from my accident. I wasn’t sure what was supposed to count as normal for a period. I didn’t have any personal frame of reference, and Grace had said that it could vary widely. There was no way I could even show them, as that would mean also providing evidence that I had been peeing myself as well. <><><> Last night, everything had been too cold when I was getting ready for bed. Tonight, everything felt too hot, even with shorts and a t-shirt on over my pull-up. But when I complained to Dad about the temperature, he answered that the air conditioning was set to seventy, like it was every single summer night. I grabbed a fan from a hallway closet and brought it to my bedroom in an attempt to cool down. Opening the windows wasn’t an option, though. The weather app on my phone said that it wasn’t supposed to get below seventy-five. My shorts came off first, followed by my shirt, and I was left with only a pull-up on beneath all of my bedding. I tossed and turned restlessly for the next several minutes, unable to find a position where my body didn’t ache. The short reprieve I had received from my symptoms around dinner had faded away, and they were back in full force. I kept waiting for the latest dosage of medicine Mom had administered to me before bed to kick in, but it never did. I tossed off the top cover, leaving only the thin bedsheet over me. Still not enough. The bedsheet was tossed aside as well. If I had only been concerned about getting pee over my sheets, the pull-up would have come off as well, but that would need to stay on for tonight. -- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com

Chapter Sixty Four Amanda’s eyes fluttered a bit before finally opening. Something had woken her up. It took a moment to realize that her back was warm and comfortable because there was a large body behind her. The large left arm draped over her side and holding her around her ribs snugly was equally nice. With a sigh, she couldn’t help but recall the events of last night. After some enthusiastic kissing and fondling, they had moved to the bedroom. Mike had asked her as she sat down on the edge of the bed “Are you comfortable with this?” There it was, he was being a gentleman and making certain that she consented And then… she hesitated for a moment, worried that they may be moving too quickly. And that was that. From that moment on, Mike adamantly insisted that they wait until she was absolutely comfortable with anything more. Curse him for being a gentleman! She had put her foot down (and stood in the doorway pointing at the bed insistently) when he said that he would simply sleep in the guest bedroom. While laying in the bed enjoying the great snuggling, Amanda realized what woke her up. There was something poking the back of her thigh. Reaching back, her eyebrows went up as she accidentally grabbed a very enthusiastic morning wood. Without having thought to take her hand off of the prying appendage, she laid there thinking briefly of pulling his boxers down and rolling him onto his back… But that would be wrong. Looking over at the clock, she saw that her alarm was going to go off soon regardless. And so, with a slow sigh she started to worm her way out from under the comfortable snuggle and meander off to the bathroom to get ready to get started with the garden before Mr Tempes could come. Within five minutes of leaving the bedroom, Amanda was in the kitchen waiting for the coffee pot to finish when she heard heavy footsteps coming out of the bedroom. Turning from the counter to look, she immediately clapped a hand over her mouth to try to hide her snicker when she got a look at Mike, with his wavy red hair now sporting a hilarious cowlick. And even then a ‘snrk’ still made it out. Even barely awake, Mike rolled his eyes and shuffled over to the bathroom, almost tripping over the child gate. More snickering followed, of course. Once the coffee pot finished brewing, Amanda filled two mugs of coffee as Mike came out of the bathroom and shuffled over to sit at the counter. She offered one mug to him silently and he nodded as he took it. Sitting on stools at the kitchen island, they sat leaning against one another as they sipped their coffee in the quiet. Finally, while she was taking a sip of coffee, Mike whispered “Do you always get up at four thirty?” Suddenly choking on coffee that went up her nose as she instinctively tried to laugh at him, Amanda decided that people had to stop saying funny things while she was drinking coffee. Eventually she whispered back “Only on Friday. Mr Tempes will be here in about an hour and I always cut some things fresh right before he arrives. He measures it out and bundles it at the Market, so I just fill the bin with it and give it a quick rinse with the water hose.” For a moment Mike just listened and processed what he had just been told. But then his right eyebrow shot up a bit as he asked: “Wait … Tempes? Like the Weather Man?” Nodding in confirmation, she answered “Yep. The very same.” “You mean that Frank Tempes, the local weatherman comes to your house every Friday morning?” Again, she answered with a nod “Yep, the very same.” “The weatherman whose dog would wander through the studio every so often and whoever he walked up to had to pet him, like it was some sort of rule?” A third affirmative “Yep, the very same.” Mike seemed to be stuck in a loop “So you’re telling me …” so she stopped him by patting him on the shoulder and mumbling “Stop talking and drink your coffee.” After taking another sip, he finally accepted “Huh. Neat.” Having finished their coffee in peace, Amanda refilled their mugs and looked at the amount that was left. An amount that wasn’t enough to fill Mr Tempes’ thermos like she always does. With eyebrows furrowed, she opened a cabinet and had to stand on tip toes and use her fingertips to reach her own long forgotten thermos, only for an arm with a much longer reach to stretch over her head and grab it easily and set it on the counter for her. Mike didn’t even say anything or acknowledge that he had helped her, he simply picked up the second cup of coffee and walked back to the stool at the counter, only awake enough to have one eye open. So Amanda filled the thermos with coffee and got another pot brewing for when Mr Tempes arrived. Patting him on the shoulder, Amanda reminded Mike “I have to get the rest of the produce cut and all the crates outside the gate. Would you mind helping me move those four crates of pickles over there?” With one final yawn, Mike stood up and walked up to Amanda and wrapped her up in a warm, firm hug. Only after a half a minute did he finally say: “Okay. But if you have me over again, let’s make it a day we can sleep later?” Unable to contain her laugh, she poked him in the ribs and stretched up on tip toes to kiss him on the cheek. “I think we can do that. But for now, it’s Friday morning. And Friday morning here means work for us bigs.” By the time she made it to the door, Xerxes was standing at attention, ready to be let out to go potty. So Amanda went to the front gate and opened it up so that he could do his usual routine of running around the field for five minutes searching for the perfect spot to relieve himself. Crazy dog. Grabbing her kneeling pad, garden scissors, and a collapsible crate, Amanda wasted no time in getting to work gathering the rest of the produce. By the time she had one crate full and moved to another row, Mike had already swapped it for an empty one and was carrying that one to the gate. Yeah, he might be a keeper. As she was carrying the last crate to the gate she heard the sound of tires on gravel and looked to see the same well kept older truck that came every single Friday for years. There’s a comfort in a routine. Mike walked up to her left side just in time for Mr Tempes to lean across and open the passenger door. For almost five seconds Victor smelled Mike excitedly while Mike tried to pet the large brown Shepard. He had no success as Victor started smellign back and forth between Amanda and Mike, like he was trying to find their scents on each other. And finally there came Xerxes. A bit late, but he ran up to Victor and they spent a moment smelling each other down before. Amanda looked at Mike as the two dogs started smelling each other and counted quickly on her fingers “One, Two … Three!” and the exact moment she said three the two hyperactive dogs were off like hyperactive missiles, already doing laps of the field. Walking up, Mr Frank started “Good Morning, Miss Taylor” as he held out his hand. And for well more than the hundred time, Amanda took his hand as she rolled her eyes “Good Morning Mr Tempes. And as usual, you can call me Amanda.” With a little laugh, he one again said “And every time I tell you that I will call you by your last name when I greet you.” They stood there sharing a laugh as Mike stayed off to one side, clearly feeling like the odd one out on the inside joke. After their usual routine, Amanda turned and motioned to Mike to introduce him. “Mr Tempes, this is my friend Mr Guile. Mike, this is Frank Tempes.” She introduced them making fun of her and Mr Tempes own routine of starting with last names. Mike couldn’t help smiling as he said “Mr Tempes, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” Franks head tilted as he thought out loud. “Guile… Guile … Does anyone in your family own a painting company?” Even from the side, she could see Mikes eyebrows go up. “Yes Sir, that would my Uncle Fiero. He’s been doing that since long before I was born. I guess you’ve met him?” Frank nodded “Yes indeed! I actually need to call him to get some work done. But I see you’re out here helping a beautiful young woman out with her garden, yes?” BOTH Mike and Amanda started blushing as he said that. Mr Frank concluded out loud with a knowing smile “Well, I’m glad that you two are getting along so well! How did you meet?” With a glance back and forth between the two of them, Amanda pointed at Mike, passing on the task of explaining it. And also making it his problem. “Well … I run the delivery crew that brought out some furniture for her new adopted little and we uhh… got along?” Mike was struggling a bit. Well, a lot. Having a bit of mercy, Amanda chimed in “Mike had to come out the next day to deliver an item that his boss had forgotten to take out of the truck. I happened to have something he liked for dinner, so he joined us. And the rest we are just making up as we go.” Mr Frank had an incredibly knowing grin as he listened. Amanda had a very strong feeling that he already knew that Mikes boss had set them up. “I see.” Frank said while trying to control his grin. “So Mr Tempes…” Mike started “Just Frank, We aren’t at work here.” Mr Frank interrupted him. Mike finally asked “Oh. So Mr Frank, how did you wind up coming to get produce here on Fridays?” Head tilted toward Amanda, Mr Frank explained briefly “Amanda here set up a booth at the Farmers Market next to mine about three years ago. But she hated having to talk to hundreds of people and just wanted to grow stuff in her garden. Which I think we can agree that she’s done very well at! So we came to this agreement, and it’s worked out well. We split the profit, and she makes it so that I don’t have to bend over in my garden as much as I used to.” Mike listened intently, nodding along. “I see! So that works out well for everyone. Amanda obviously loves her garden, her Son and her …” And then he looked toward the field “Her slightly hyperactive Collie.” Trying to get things moving again, Mr Frank pulled an envelope out of his back pocket and handed it to Amanda. "I think you will find a bit more in there than usual. If you get more pickles and salsa coming, I think that they'll likely pay all of your bills." Taking a peek into the envelope, Amanda looked up and protested "Frank, is this too much?" Changing the subject, Frank simply clapped his hands together once and said “Okay, I don’t mean to rush, and I would love to get together and chat more, but unfortunately I’m going to be late if we don’t pack up in a hurry and round up my own slightly hyperactive dog.” Everyone nodded in agreement and without saying anything at all, Frank was taking empty boxes and buckets out of his truck while Mike was putting full ones into it. By the time that Amanda came back outside from filling Mr Franks thermos, the truck was already loaded and Mike was snapping his fingers and trying to get the attention of the two dogs that were playing tug of war with a tree limb they had dragged out of the nearby woods. Victor had the size advantage by half again. But Xerxes was lower to the ground and dug in his paws. By the time the two men managed to break up the tug of war, both dogs were covered in grass clippings. Amanda sighed as she rolled her eyes. Bathing Xerxes was going to be a full contact sport later today. Stopping on the way to his truck, Mr Frank turned. “By the way, the weather today is going to be in the upper seventies, might bump the lower eighties. We have one of our last warm fronts for the season coming through soon. We are going to have particularly good weather through Monday. So if two love birds wanted to do anything together, Sunday or Monday would be the perfect opportunity. It'll rain off and on from Tuesday to Thursday.” Leaving Mike and Amanda blushing, having obviously done it on purpose, Frank went to get back into his truck. Right before he shut the door, Mike called out something that Mr Frank used to say on the news every day: “Remember: If you don’t check the weather…” Mike said. “It’ll sneak up on you!” All three of them shouted together as they said Mr Franks tag line that he closed the weather report out with five days a week for decades. While the truck was disappearing down the driveway, Amanda looked up to Mike. He seemed to be thinking about something. “Penny for your thoughts?” She asked. “Well … I have to help my parents out on Sunday …” Mike said, trailing off. With a nod, she agreed “And I have an article to finish by Sunday night.” Tentatively leaning in “I can ask for a PTO day on Monday? Do something here or maybe go to town and I could buy you lunch or dinner?” Amanda couldn’t help but smirk and lay on a classic belle accent “Mr Guile … Are you asking me on a date?” Mike immediately did his best impression from the old show ‘Away with the wind’ “Why yes, Scarlett, I do believe so.” Staring into each others eyes, they tried to keep a straight face. And failed. Finally Amanda broke first with a chuckle “Okay, I’m in. What are you thinking?” “Maybe sushi for lunch? That place by the mall? Maybe go into the mall and grab something from that new coffee place?” he was obviously thinking as he went. “Hmm… I could see if my friend could watch John.” Mike shrugged and suggested “If not, you could bring him along. He's a good kid.” Finally nodded before agreeing to go not only to town but to the Mall of all places, she agreed. “Okay, we can do that. And if I can’t get a babysitter then we’ll bring John. But he’s going to start drooling at the smell of a coffee shop.” Finally in agreement, Amanda asked hesitantly “What time do you have to leave to go to work?” Mike pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the time, doing math out loud as he thought. “Twenty minutes to my house … twenty minutes to shower and change … ten minutes to work … drive thru breakfast …” Before finally concluding “I have about a half an hour.” “Come sit on the porch with me.” She said, waving him back through the gate.” The next half hour, they didn’t really talk about much. Mike sat on the edge of the porch drinking his now luke warm coffee, while Amanda sat leaning against him. The conversation felt secondary to just leaning against one another. Finally, Mike stood up and started to stretch. Going in for a hug, Amanda was also pleased to get not only a long firm hug, but a long, gentle kiss. “Monday?” “Monday.” Amanda sighed as she watched him shut the gate behind himself, but was immediately interrupted by Xerxes running back and forth between her and the gate. Watching for a moment, Amanda sighed. “Xerxes, I’m not opening that gate.” Making certain to take a towel and swat the leaves and most of the dirt off of the dog, Amanda slipped into the house. After using the bathroom, she went to check on John. Lowering the gate she found him in his usual position, splayed out on the pillow with his butt up in the air. Gently checking him, she found that he was very wet and messy. Picking him up as slowly as she could, she got him onto the changing table, he groaned a bit in his sleep as she got him cleaned up. Mumbling as he probably dreamed, he said “No, I can’t bring an Ostrich into the library any more.” Amanda found herself stopping mid-wipe, blinking. What was he even dreaming about? With a shake of her head, she finished getting him into a rough pup and his onesie snapped back up. As she carefully lifted him up against her chest, he starting mumbling some more. “No Mr Pennysmith, I do not respect your laws of physics.” Stopping again to stare at her daft child, she took a moment. Finally admitting “No, I’m not parenting this.” she went back to the couch, laid down with him on her chest and got them both under the blanket. As she got him situated and locked in place with her arm, he seemed to instinctively stretch out and flop his head down onto a boob. “Ostriches ruin everything.” was the last thing he said as he started to go completely limp again, clearly back into a deep sleep. Hopefully. With a long, slow yawn, Amanda mumbled to herself “I don’t know what he’s dreaming about, but it’d make a weird movie.” Finally, she drifted back off to sleep with her son bundled up warm and snug against her while the dog stared jealously.

Here is the next chapter. I plan on trying to get one more chapter out before the New Year. Enjoy.. Chapter 55 - Victim, Not Accomplice Darlene and Laurisa stayed quiet while Avery slept, the heavy, sterile silence of the hospital room settling around them like a cloak. As they sat, Darlene continued to sit close to Avery’s bed, her hand resting lightly on the blanket near his hand, close to his chest, a gesture of silent anchoring. Her mind was a whirlwind of the recent conversations: the harrowing sight of Christy in her coma, Laurisa’s shocking revelation about Christy’s past trauma, and the monumental, life-altering commitment she was willing to make to Avery. She felt the physical reality of her decision—the throbbing pull of her body's denial and the fierce, protective instinct that had surfaced now entirely devoted to this young man. She couldn’t deny it. She wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Was this all from the recent event with John that somehow triggered this, but when did she develop this towards Avery? Laurisa, across the room, was seemingly calm, scrolling through her phone, but her posture was rigid. She was building the mental framework for the difficult conversation they were about to have with Avery—a clinical approach to delivering a devastating truth while simultaneously offering a lifeline of support. She knew the conversation about Christy was necessary to preserve Avery’s long-term psychological integrity, but it felt cruel to introduce another trauma when his defenses were already shattered. She kept her mind sharp and keen on how to structure the coming conversation. Playing it over in here head. She was also playing the next conversation over in her head on the regression with Avery approaching from a psychological benefit for Avery so that he would accept it. She knew how delicate these conversations could be. The quiet was broken by the soft, rhythmic click of the door opening. A young nurse, Maya, who was there yesterday, followed by the neurosurgeon, Dr. Patel, whose quiet confidence was instantly reassuring. “Good morning, everyone,” Dr. Patel said, his voice a low, steady rumble that seemed to respect the fragile atmosphere of the room. He moved to Avery's bedside, his movements efficient and focused. “We’re going to slowly bring him up now and check his progress and status this morning.” Maya gently began the process, speaking to Avery in a soft, encouraging tone as she adjusted his IV. “Avery, time to wake up for us. You’ve had a good, long sleep.” Avery stirred, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips. His eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly against the soft room light, a slight panic began to fill his chest. He looked immediately for Darlene, his gaze hazy and unfocused, but finding her seemed to offer a measure of peace as he seemed to calm when he locked eyes with her. “Good morning,” Darlene murmured, moving closer. “We’re right here. Time to talk to the doctor.” Dr. Patel leaned in. “Avery, I need you to tell me where your pain is, okay? On a scale of one to ten.” Avery’s voice was a dry, raspy whisper with his mouth still filled on one side with cotton. “Head… six. Hand… six. Side… four.” The neurosurgeon began a careful examination, shining a penlight into his eyes, checking for pupil response, and asking basic questions to confirm his cognitive function. “Do you remember what day it is, Avery? Who is this lovely woman next to you?” “Wednesday,” Avery mumbled, his brow furrowed in concentration. He tilted his head slightly towards Darlene. “Darlene.” The simplicity of his answer made Darlene's heart clench with a complicated mix of relief and disappointment as she secretly wanted to hear “Mom” but knew it was too soon and out of place. Dr. Patel nodded, satisfied. He then moved to the metallic brace encasing Avery's dominant right hand. “This little piece of high tech is protecting your reconstruction. You're lucky to have such a prototype. We need to check the structural integrity before we decide on your next steps.” He picked up a small, hand-held electronic device—a sophisticated, custom-built electromagnetic scanner—and began passing it slowly over the surface of the cast. The device emitted a series of rapid, nearly inaudible clicks, instantly generating a 3D structural image on a small embedded screen. The doctor was looking for any internal shifts or complications in the complex wiring and plates supporting the shattered bones. He then plugged it into a small port and also gathered some additional data. “The hardware looks stable,” Dr. Patel confirmed, turning the screen slightly to let Darlene and Laurisa see the skeletal images. “No signs of shift or localized inflammation in the hand, which we can’t manage. The bone is where it needs to be, and the micro pins are holding. That’s excellent news. The surrounding hand tissue is also taking to the new hardware fine.” He turned back to Avery, his expression thoughtful. "We've reviewed your progress, Avery, and everything is looking good given what you have gone through. Given the stability of your hand, the management of your other injuries, and your improving status..." He paused, turning to the nurse and Darlene. A brief discussion followed between the medical professionals. “Nurse Maya and I have confirmed that, pending a final consultation tomorrow morning, and good pain management through the day,” Dr. Patel paused, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment as he looked from Darlene to Avery. He then concluded with a warm, professional smile gracing his lips. “We feel you’ve progressed well enough that we can transition your care. We can remove the head and mouth gauze now and have you set up for discharge tomorrow morning.” A powerful wave of relief washed over Darlene. The hospital felt like a cage, and the thought of having Avery safe and sound under her own roof was a balm to her soul. This immediate relief, however, was followed immediately by a spike of intense anxiety. Avery is coming home. The true weight of the commitment—the long-term care, the constant vigilance, the responsibility for his emotional and physical recovery—settled heavily on her shoulders. She met Laurisa's gaze across the room. Laurisa, who had seen Darlene through so much in her life, gave a small, unwavering nod of reassurance, a silent message that said, We are in this together. Avery, sitting propped up in his bed, seemed to have missed the entire undercurrent of hope and anxiety. He just looked confused, his eyes wide and uncertain. "Go home? But... I can't do anything with this," he said, holding up his hand encased in a metal brace that stretched from his fingers to just past his wrist. He gestured with his chin towards the IV pole near his bed. "And John is still out there." His voice cracked with genuine fear, the underlying panic over the man who had put him here suddenly palpable and overriding any excitement about leaving. Darlene immediately reached out, taking his uninjured left hand, her grip firm and grounded. "You’re not going home to your apartment, Avery," she stated clearly, leaving no room for argument or negotiation. "You’re coming home with me. Laurisa, Ashley, and I have already worked out a plan for your recovery. We are going to have a nice room set up for you, and someone will be with you all the time. You’ll be safe with me, I promise." She squeezed his hand again, trying to pour her own resolve into him. "You just focus on resting, okay? We’ll handle everything else." “I... I don’t want to leave,” Avery started to stutter, his eyes darting from Darlene to the calm, white-coated figure of the doctor. His breathing became shallow, and a wave of raw terror washed over him, momentarily paralyzing his nerves. The fear was so intense that his bladder betrayed him, involuntarily letting loose a warm, shameful gush. A deep blush crept up his neck as he felt the immediate warmth spread across his crotch, followed by the surprisingly soft and absorbent sensation of his diaper rapidly taking in the liquid. “I am not well enough. I can’t... I need to stay here.” The hospital, with its locked doors and constant presence of security and staff, represented a physical barrier that John could not breach in his mind. His apartment, and even Darlene's house, felt dangerously exposed in comparison. Avery, looking so desperately nervous, wasn’t something Laurisa had fully thought about. In his mind, the hospital offered him a tangible, physical sort of security that protected him from John—a fortress. The clean, sterile environment, the rules, the nurses constantly coming and going—all of it contributed to a sense of order and safety. Darlene’s place, no matter how loving and secure, might not offer that same feeling of invulnerability. He wasn't just afraid of pain management or logistical issues; he was afraid of being an easy target again. The trauma of the attack was still a raw, open wound. Laurisa quickly stepped in. “Avery, look at me,” Laurisa said, kneeling beside his bed, her voice soft but firm. “We hear you. We understand that this feels like losing your shield. But we’re not going to let anything happen to you. We won't leave you unprotected.” Avery’s eyes, wide with fear and tears running down as he clutched his stuffed dragon subconsiously, flickered to Darlene, then back to Laurisa. “But… It’s a hospital. There are cameras and security guards. At Darlene’s house, it’ll just be… open. I have been there, and you can’t lie to me.” He said in a panicked voice. “It won’t be ‘just open,’ Avery,” Darlene interjected gently, stepping closer. “My place might not have flashing police lights, but it has us. And we’re going to be smart about this. We'll set up a plan. We’ll make it as safe, or safer, than this room. I promise” “She’s right, Avery,” Laurisa affirmed, taking his hand. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll find a way to make you feel safe, truly safe. We can put alarms on the doors, a tight security system in, keep the blinds closed, have a code word—whatever you need. This isn't a final decision, it's a transition, and we’ll manage it one step at a time. It’s okay to be scared. But it’s going to be okay because we are all in this together, and we won’t stop until you feel secure.” Darlene quickly replied. “I already have a security system, but I will send someone out today and have it reviewed and beefed up.” The doctor, who had been quietly observing, nodded. “That’s a very important point, Avery. We can ensure all medical safeguards are in place, but your emotional security is paramount to your recovery. A supportive environment can sometimes be the best medicine. We’ll coordinate with your loved ones to ensure all safety measures are addressed before you’re discharged. I can talk to the local police department to see what we can do.” Avery looked at the faces around him—Laurisa’s steady compassion, the doctor’s professional concern, and Darlene’s fierce, protective love. A tiny, almost imperceptible knot of tension eased in his shoulders. “You really think we can?” He said softly, not looking all that confident about it, but accepting their response as he kept the dragon close to his chest, his heart still racing in fear. “I know we can,” Laurisa whispered, squeezing his hand. “No one is getting near you. We promise.” A powerful wave of emotion washed over Avery, the news of discharge being an unexpected, overwhelming relief that broke through his remaining defenses. He leaned into Darlene, burying his face against her side and crying for a while, clutching the stuffed animal to his chest. His voice was muffled when he finally spoke, "I'm scared, Darlene, but I trust you. I feel your warmth." Avery looked at her, his eyes wide and vulnerable, a silent question passing between them. He simply nodded, the fear in his eyes slowly receding as the absolute promise of safety Darlene represented settled over him once more. Dr. Patel offered a final, reassuring nod. “We’ll see you tomorrow morning, Avery. Keep up the good work.” With a respectful inclination of his head to Laurisa and Darlene, he exited the room, leaving Ashley, the nurse, to manage the immediate next steps. “Alright, all the big decisions are made,” Nurse Maya said, her tone professional but warm, as she pulled up a rolling stool next to Avery’s bed. “Now for the part that will make you feel a bit more like yourself.” She gently began to snip the tape holding the thick, sterile gauze in place around the crown of his head. “This is coming off, and then we’re going to get this awful gauze out of your mouth.” Darlene watched, holding Avery’s hand tightly as Maya meticulously unwound the layers. The removal of the head bandage revealed a clean scar that arced along his forehead and disappeared into his hairline. It was healing now. It was a stark reminder of how close he had come to a different, more permanent kind of injury. Next, Maya carefully began to remove the wads of gauze from the inside of his mouth, a necessary precaution following the surgery, but one that made talking agonizing. Avery flinched, biting down instinctively on the last piece before letting Maya coax it out. The instant it was free, he took a deep, shuddering breath, the first truly unencumbered breath he’d taken in days. “Better?” Maya asked, handing him a cup of water with a straw. He nodded, managing a small, pained smile. “So much better. Thank you.” He took a slow, deliberate sip of water, the liquid feeling cool and foreign. Maya rested a gentle hand on his arm, her expression softening with genuine concern. She let a moment of quiet settle, giving him space to adjust to the physical change. “Just sit with that for a minute, Avery. I know we’ve thrown a lot at you—surgery, discharge plans, and a lot of conversation. How does all of this actually sit with you right now? No need to be brave, just tell me how you’re feeling, talking to Darlene and Dr. Malaise.” Avery looked from Darlene, who squeezed his hand, to Laurisa, who gave him a supportive, clinician’s smile. “I’m… relieved about going to Darlene’s. It’s hard to think about going back to my apartment with John still out there.” He swallowed hard, his eyes briefly flicking to the empty spot where the gauze had been. “And I’m just trying to keep up. My head is still ringing, but… I feel safe. Having them here makes it feel less… jagged.” He met Darlene’s eyes. “It feels right.” “That’s exactly what we need to hear, honey,” Darlene whispered, stroking his hand. After Nurse Maya left, the room fell into a tense, anticipatory silence. Darlene and Laurisa exchanged a brief, weighted glance—a silent agreement that the time for difficult honesty had arrived. Avery clicked the morphine buttons a few times as he felt relieved to have the cotton out of his mouth. Avery, now feeling the first subtle waves of his morning pain medication, looked more settled, but the vulnerability in his eyes remained. He had just adjusted to the news of his discharge and the unexpected comfort of staying with Darlene, and a small, hopeful smile had just touched his lips. Darlene gently settled onto the edge of the mattress beside him, and Laurisa pulled her chair closer on the opposite side, forming a protective, inescapable triangle around him. Darlene gently stroked Avery's hair, her touch a comforting anchor in the storm of his anxiety. “I will do absolutely anything and everything you need to feel completely safe and secure in my home. I know, I truly know, that leaving this place is terrifying. It's a massive, frightening step, but it is a necessary first step on the path to recovery, a step we absolutely have to take.” She paused, looking into his eyes with deep empathy. “You can’t stay here forever, my dear. And I understand that going back to your apartment alone right now is not just scary—it’s unthinkable. I would never, ever expect you to face that kind of fear on your own. I wouldn't want you to, even for a moment. Please, let me be your shelter. I want you to come home with me. We will face this transition together, at your pace. My house will be a sanctuary, Avery. I'll put locks on the doors you choose, we can keep the lights on all night—anything. Just say the word. Just say you’ll come.” A powerful wave of emotion washed over Avery, the news of discharge being an unexpected, overwhelming relief that broke through his remaining defenses. He leaned into Darlene, burying his face against her side and crying for a while, clutching the stuffed animal to his chest. His voice was muffled when he finally spoke, "I'm scared, Darlene, but I trust you.” Laurisa watched the embrace for a while as she sat there close by, ready to say something if needed to. Once the calm came back to the room after about 30 minutes of silence. Darlene finally spoke, her voice hushed and cautious, the words difficult to force out as she struggled to keep her composure. "Avery, honey, we have something we need to talk to you about," she started, while Avery was still leaning against her chest, clutching the stuffed dragon. Avery looked at the two of them, sensing the shift in the atmosphere—the sudden, focused gravity—and his nervous system immediately went into high alert. “What is it?” he asked, the newly ungauzed voice shaking slightly. “Did something happen with John? Did they find him?” Laurisa leaned forward, her expression moving from sisterly warmth to clinical seriousness, ready to anchor the truth. “It’s not about John, Avery, but it’s about someone else, too. Someone you know from work. Christy.” Avery blinked, his confusion deepening. “Christy? She’s okay, isn’t she? She’s the nicest person. Is she coming to see me… is she worried about me?” Darlene took a shaky breath, her fingers stroking the back of his head. “Avery, John did something terrible. He didn’t just attack you. Before he got to you, he attacked Christy to get to her security badge to get to you.” The words hung in the air, heavy and lethal. Avery’s mind, already overloaded from trauma, seemed to stutter. He stared at Darlene, a tiny, disbelieving laugh bubbling up, quickly extinguished by the terror in their faces. “No. No, you’re lying,” he shouted, the words tearing through his throat. He tried to pull his hand from Darlene’s grip, but she held firm. “He wouldn’t! Christy? Why? She never did anything to anyone!” “He did, Avery,” Laurisa confirmed, her voice staying level, a steady drone against the rising panic. “He found her in the garage in her car before anyone arrived at work, and he attacked her. She’s in the hospital. She’s in a coma.” The word 'coma' detonated in the small room. Avery’s face drained of all color, going stark white against the dark bruises that still marked his jaw. A low, wounded sound, not quite a cry, escaped him, and he violently kicked the covers off his legs, a furious, helpless gesture of rejection. He scrambled backward against the headboard of the hospital bed, as far from their truth as he could get. “No! It’s my fault! It has to be my fault!” Avery was shaking uncontrollably, his nineteen-year-old body dissolving into a child’s tantrum of pure grief and fury. “He was coming for me! He did this because of me! If I had just stayed quiet! If I had just left my job! If I hadn't made him mad! I should have quit.” Tears, thick and hot, finally broke, streaming down his cheeks and soaking into the pillow. He screamed a raw, incoherent syllable of rage, slamming his brace onto the mattress with a heavy thud. Pain shivered up from his hand through his shoulder from this, but it still did not stop him as he cried out in pain. He kicked off the thin hospital covers with a sudden, restless movement, as if trying to free himself from a heavy weight. The action immediately exposed the thin, pale blue hospital gown, which had ridden up past his stomach. The material clung damply to his skin, revealing far more than intended, including the full outline of a large, soaked diaper beneath. The plastic backing of the incontinence brief was visibly strained and swollen with moisture, a stark, humiliating testament to his current vulnerability and lack of control. “Avery, stop. Listen to me,” Laurisa commanded, cutting through his distress with the sharp, professional clarity she reserved for acute crisis. “This is not your fault. John is a predator. He made his choices. You are his victim, Avery, not his accomplice. Do you hear me? You are a victim!” “No, you’re wrong—it was my fault!” Avery shouted back at Laurisa, the raw frustration in his voice echoing off the sterile hospital walls. He shoved the bedside tray table with an unnecessary amount of force, the plastic wheels squealing in protest as it rolled rapidly away from him, clattering against the door frame of his private room near the ICU wing. The sound was sharp and jarring, a perfect accompaniment to the storm brewing inside him. "Everywhere I go, I cause problems. It is me. I am the problem!" he roared, the final words cracking with a pain that went far deeper than his physical injuries. He threw his head back against the pillow, his jaw locked tight, every muscle in his body rigid. The tantrum, fueled by fear, guilt, and the crushing weight of his near-fatal accident, was escalating rapidly, pushing him to the brink of hysteria. Tears of furious self-pity stung the corners of his eyes, blurring the edges of the brightly lit room and making Laurisa's heartbroken face an agonizing smear of color. He just wanted to be left alone with his self-hatred, but his body was betraying him with this pathetic, uncontrolled outburst. Laurisa took a slow, steadying breath, her clinical training kicking in to override the personal pain his words inflicted. His current state was a classic defense mechanism, a desperate attempt to regain a sense of control by assuming all the blame. "I understand you feel that way right now," she said, her voice low and even, cutting through his roar without fighting it. She took a step closer, maintaining a non-threatening distance, and kept her hands visible and relaxed. "But I need you to listen to me for a moment. You are safe. What you are experiencing—this guilt and fear—is a completely normal psychological response to trauma. It's called catastrophic thinking. Your mind is trying to make sense of something terrible by assigning a reason, and right now, it's chosen you. It's not the truth, but it is how your brain is trying to protect you." He didn't open his eyes, but his rigid posture softened infinitesimally. "Don't... don't give me your textbook bullshit diagnosis, Laurisa," he ground out, the words laced with exhaustion. "It's not just a textbook diagnosis," she countered gently. "It's a lifeline. It means what you're feeling is temporary and treatable. You didn't cause the storm, and you're not a problem. You're a patient who went through a terrible accident, and now you are healing. Physical wounds and emotional ones. Can you just breathe with me? Just one deep breath, right now." She waited, her own breath deepening in an exaggerated, calming rhythm. She knew that meeting his emotional outburst with calm, factual reassurance was the only way to pull him back from the edge. The words struck him with a sickening, audible force. Avery made a small, choked sound, a low, keening noise of pure devastation. His body tensed, a full-body tremor shaking him violently against Darlene. He wasn’t just upset; he was emotionally shattered, the news compounding the existing trauma and tearing the fragile sense of safety he’d just found. The rhythmic beeping of the monitoring machines suddenly seemed too loud, too insistent. As he recoiled from the news, a new, sharp wave of distress hit him, a deep-seated shame that manifested as a desperate, childish thrashing. “No! No, no, no, no!” he cried out, his voice raw and strangled, the denial a desperate scream against reality. The physical motion, combined with the spike of fear, forced a hot flush of immediate, crushing shame through him as the hospital bed's sheet quickly darkened beneath his hips. He was in a wet diaper, and the adult Avery, the one who was supposed to be a genius and an independent man, was fully present for the humiliation, compounding the agony of the news about Christy. He tried to pull away from Darlene, his face contorting in an effort to hide the evidence of his regression and his distress. Darlene, however, did not flinch, not even for a fraction of a second. The sight of the wet patch and the smell of the urine were completely irrelevant, lost against the monumental pain in his eyes. Her love and fierce protectiveness, a feeling she had just decided to fully embrace, superseded all other concerns. She simply held him tighter, cradling his head against her shoulder, shielding his panicked face from the world. Her own heart was a tight, agonizing fist of worry, but she knew she had to be the immovable anchor. He is safe, and I will not leave him, she repeated in her mind, adopting Laurisa’s protocol. Laurisa acted instantly, her voice cutting through the noise with calm, steady precision—the voice of a regulator. She leaned in, focusing only on him, blocking out all else. “Avery. Look at me. Avery, look at my eyes,” she commanded, not harshly, but with a deep, non-negotiable authority. When his terrified eyes flickered up to meet hers, she continued, her voice dropping to a low, rhythmic murmur. “Your body is betraying you right now, and that’s terrifying. But I need you to focus. We are going to breathe. Only breathe. You are safe. You are right here.” She held up one hand, demonstrating. “Follow my hand, Avery. Deep, slow, long breath in through your nose for four seconds.” She moved her hand up, slow and steady. “And hold it for one second… and let it out slow, slow, slow through your mouth, pushing all the dark, scary air out for six seconds.” Her hand moved down, a languid, guiding motion. Avery, his logic-driven mind desperately seeking any kind of external control, was involuntarily captured by the rhythm. His breath was ragged, hitching on residual sobs, but he obeyed. In… two… three… four… Darlene, holding him, felt the tremors in his body gradually lessen. She took her own breath, mirroring the rhythm, her hand stroking his hair, her own panic subsiding as she focused entirely on being his calm, warm presence. The image of the soaked diaper, the messy reality, vanished under the absolute purity of her protective instinct. He needs me. That is all that matters. The fear for him was still immense, but it was now a focused energy—the resolve of a mother, not the paralysis of a friend. Laurisa kept the hypnotic rhythm going, her voice unwavering. “Good, Avery. You are doing so well. Feel Darlene’s warmth. Anchor to her. She is your safety. Again. In, two, three, four…” Slowly, agonizingly, Avery’s breathing smoothed out, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of Laurisa’s voice. He was still pressed into Darlene’s side, the wetness an unspoken, accepted reality, but the screaming denial was gone. The genius was quiet, the child was exhausted, and all that remained was a nineteen-year-old man, psychologically regressed, whose deepest comfort was the undeniable, physical presence of his mother-figure. He rested his cheek against her shirt near her breast, his small, shaky breaths falling into a new, safe cadence. He was calm, anchored, and utterly dependent. “But… but she was so kind to me,” he choked out, his voice now a desperate, raw whisper that broke Darlene’s heart. “She’s the one person who… who always talked to me. She was nice. And now she’s… alone?” He looked at Darlene, his eyes wide and pleading. “I have to see her! I need to see her right now! I need to tell her I’m sorry. I have to tell her… I have to tell her I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Darlene immediately placed a stabilizing hand on his chest. “Whoa, whoa, hold on, Avery. You are not going anywhere right now. We are not apologizing for being a victim. And you are not seeing her yet.” “But you said… You said she’s alone! We can’t let her be alone!” he pleaded, his breathing ragged, fighting against her hand. “I need to go! Now!” “You will see her, Avery, I promise you, but not right now,” Darlene insisted gently but firmly, meeting his panicked gaze. “First, we need to clean you up, and you need to eat breakfast, and then we will talk about the best, safest way for you to go. You need strength, not panic, to be there for Christy. We are going to put a safety plan around this, and that starts with you eating something.” Laurisa backed her up, her voice calm and absolute. “She is stable, Avery. A few more hours will not change her condition, but it will change your state. We are doing this our way: with control, not chaos. You need to process this first. We will go after breakfast. That is the final decision.” Avery sank back into Darlene’s chest, defeated, his chest heaving with sobs. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling as the full, awful reality of Christy’s fate—and his supposed role in it—washed over him. The immediate urgency to move was gone, replaced by a profound, agonizing grief. He lay there, his fragile mind struggling to integrate this new, horrific trauma. "Now, let's get you out of that old diaper and into a nice, fresh one," Darlene announced, her voice cheerful but firm. She was careful to say it right in front of Laurisa, trying to normalize the situation for Avery, as he was going to get changes more regularly around her. The goal was to help him grow accustomed to the fact that both she and her sister were fully aware of his need for diapers, and she may need her help handling his changes on occasion. Avery, still feeling the deep embarrassment of the situation, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, wishing the floor would swallow him whole. Laurisa stood quietly nearby, offering a supportive presence, hoping her calm demeanor would help ease the awkwardness for the young man. Avery, still feeling the deep embarrassment of the situation, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, wishing the floor would swallow him whole. Laurisa stood quietly nearby, offering a supportive presence, hoping her calm demeanor would help ease the awkwardness for Avery. As Darlene efficiently unfastened the sides of the wet diaper, a profound wave of heat washed over Avery's face. His body was a cage of tension, his muscles rigid as he lay utterly exposed. It was one thing for Darlene, his rescuer, to see him like this, but another entirely for Laurisa, a professional stranger, to be a silent witness. The sound of the plastic backing crinkling, the gentle, swift slide of the soaked padding being removed, and the immediate rush of cool air on his sensitive skin made him feel smaller and more helpless than he had since his ordeal began. Every part of him screamed to disappear. Darlene, ignoring his silent distress, began the meticulous cleaning process. With practiced, gentle movements, she took several soft cloths and thoroughly wiped him down, ensuring every patch of irritated skin was clean. She then carefully applied a small, thick layer of rash cream to a few sensitive areas, a cool, soothing sensation that offered him a fleeting moment of relief. Following the cream, she picked up the container of baby powder, its scent instantly familiar, and carefully shook a small cloud onto him, delicately smoothing the excess into his skin. Laurisa, meanwhile, focused intensely on the corner of the room, on a small crack in the ceiling tile, anywhere but the bed. She kept her hands clasped in front of her, her expression intentionally blank and professional, a fortress of calm. This is a clinical observation. He is a patient. He is a child in this moment, she thought, repeating the mantra in her mind to maintain her sisterly support without causing him further shame. She needed to convey, through her deliberate lack of focus, that this was simply a routine, unemotional procedure—a necessary part of his healing that held no judgment for her. But even as she tried to detach, she couldn't help but register the soft sound of Darlene wiping him down, the faint, clean scent of the baby powder that followed, and the palpable tension radiating from Avery. It was a stark, humbling image of absolute dependency, and a powerful confirmation of the profound psychological work they were about to undertake. Darlene, oblivious to the silent battle of wills and shame, finished the task with a loving, decisive pat to the new, thick padding. “All done, sweetie. Now, wasn't that better?” she cooed, her tone light and affirming. Avery finally dropped his gaze from the ceiling, meeting Darlene's eyes for a fleeting second, the vulnerability and a flicker of gratitude a secret exchange between them. He offered a minuscule, almost imperceptible nod, still unable to speak, and let his head sink back onto the pillow, the clean, dry feeling a small, immediate relief he couldn't deny. A short while later, breakfast finally arrived. It was the same fare as before: a nutrient-packed smoothie and a small cup of smooth applesauce. Darlene carefully unpacked the tray and immediately began to assist Avery with the meal. The straw provided for the smoothie was notably large, designed to allow a substantial amount of the thick, fruity drink to pass through easily when he began to suck it. Avery, though still mortified by his lack of control and the need for constant assistance, was growing hungry. He reluctantly took the straw. Darlene watched him, gently encouraging him with soft words. Once the smoothie was mostly gone, she picked up the small plastic spoon and began to feed him the applesauce, offering each spoonful with a patience that was both comforting and, for Avery, a stark reminder of his current helplessness. After the simple, comforting food had settled in his stomach, a sense of quiet anticipation filled the small hospital room. Laurisa, who had momentarily stepped out, returned pushing a standard hospital wheelchair. Its metallic frame and padded seat seemed to signal the next, pivotal step. “You ready to go see Christy?” she asked gently, her voice low and encouraging. Darelen moved closer to Avery’s bedside, offering a steady hand to help him transition. “Let’s get you up, slow and easy,” she murmured. Avery nodded, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination. Every movement had to be executed with careful precision to avoid snagging or kinking the tubing connected to his IV bag, which hung innocuously on its stand, a silent, essential companion. They helped him pivot and slide into the wheelchair, a small wince escaping his lips as he adjusted to the shift in position. Once he was settled, he gripped the armrests, his knuckles white. The reality of what they were about to do—to face Christy in her current, fragile state—hit him fully. A wave of nervous dread washed over him, making his voice shaky as he looked up at them. “What if I say the wrong things?” he asked, the anxiety palpable. “She’s been through so much. I don’t want to upset her or make things worse. What do I even say? You said she could possibly hear me in her coma.” His worry was understandable. The gravity of Christy’s situation was a heavy shadow in the hospital halls, and the simple act of speaking to someone so broken felt like navigating a treacherous minefield. He was terrified of causing more pain with a clumsy word or an ill-timed silence. Darlene leaned close to his ear. “Just look at me, Avery. Just look at my face. You are safe. We are on a mission to help a friend. We’ve got this.” Darlene swiftly pulled the bottom of his thin hospital gown down, smoothing the fabric over his lower body. Her action was quick, efficient, and wholly protective, aimed at ensuring that the thick, tell-tale bulk of the adult diaper remained completely concealed. It was the least she could do to preserve a sliver of his dignity. “Just look at me, Avery. Just look at my face. You are safe.” Her grip on his shoulder was firm, a small anchor in the storm of his panic. "We are on a mission to help a friend. We’ve got this." Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were serious, filled only with unwavering focus and reassurance, mirroring the strength he so desperately needed to borrow. “We’re right here, Avery,” Laurisa affirmed, her voice a steady balm. “And we are so proud of you for having the courage to do this for her.” They moved slowly down the silent hallway, Avery’s head resting back against the headrest, his eyes fixed on Darlene's profile. He was utterly terrified, but anchored, moving through a world that was suddenly and violently jagged, but held steady by the two women at his side.

Chapter Sixty Five John slowly came into the waking state, finding himself splayed out on top of Mommy with his head propped up on her left breast. With a little stretch of all his limbs, he scooted his head side to side a bit until he found exactly the right spot in the middle of them. Only when he yawned did he even realize that she had apparently put the pacifier in his mouth. Or at least she put it at some point, and apparently he had kept it there in his sleep. Trying to squirm out from under her arm wasn’t working out, since it was locked in place over the small of his back. How does she do that? Once he finally gave up on squirming free, he gave up and laid his head back down to doze off. Only, as he started to drift back off to dreamland did she wake up with a slight stretch herself and start to sit up. Figures. With a groan, he tried to articulate that he already started to go back to sleep,and had just gotten comfortably. But since all he got out was “Uuuuuuhhhhhssssleeeppp” his point may have been a bit lost. All he got was a kiss on top of the head and he felt himself being transferred to the playmat and the waiting dog that smelled all over his face before settling down. Yawning now while rubbing his face with his left hand, John spent a moment getting comfortable to try and drift back off to sleep. Until the nipple of a bottle poked his lips. Opening one eye to peek, he could see Mommy kneeling down and offering him a bottle of coffee milk. So begrudgingly he put one hand on it and when she didn’t move her hand away, he took the hint and accepted the nipple of the bottle and started drinking it. After he instinctively started sucking down the milk more enthusiastically his body went to auto pilot, demanding the incredibly addictive milk and took the bottle with both hands did Mommy let go and let him have it. Completely out of control of his own movements for several minutes, John eventually found himself sucking air out of the bottle as if his taste buds were still demanding more. Mommy took the bottle and lifted him up onto her shoulder and started patting his back. ‘So this is how this day is going to go’ he thought to himself as he let out a series of small burps. Not allowed to be grumpy about it, he felt a kiss on the left side of his head and was carried to the table and slid down into his booster seat. There was already a plate with a couple of scrambled eggs and a big piece of toast waiting for him, with a bit of steam still coming off of the eggs. Looking over the bounty, John simply said “Huh. Okay.” before one last big stretch and picking up the little-sized plastic fork and started scooping egg onto the buttered toast. Before making it even halfway through the breakfast he started to run out of steam. And despite having nothing on his hands of face, Mommy was there with a napkin to give him a wipe down. As she unbuckled the lap belt on the booster seat, Mommy had to lean him side to side a bit to pull his slightly swollen diaper out of the seat made to keep a little stuck in place. “John?” Amanda asked while holding him up on her left arm. With a look up he simply asked “Yes?” “Do you want to … try to go in the potty? I know you like to try that so you still feel like an adult. I’m willing to respect that, but we need to act fast …” John didn’t even let her finish the sentence “Yes!” As she started carrying him toward the bathroom and opening the child gate, he started to feel the familiar bubbles that started almost exactly the same time after having coffee milk. ‘Oh crap!’ John thought to himself. He held onto her arm as she took a moment to balance him on the rim of the toilet before using her free hand to rip the tapes open one and then the other, and then he felt himself being lifted and the diaper being quickly tugged out from underneath him before it could flop into the water. (THAT would have made things more complicated) And then she just stayed there with one hand around his left shoulder, waiting patiently. “Umm… Mo… could … you look away?” He stammered. Seriously, how do you go when someone is not only holding you, but watc… By the time Amanda even turned her head John wound up with his hands gripping the toilet seat so hard his knuckles turned white. And for a full minute John stayed balanced there with his abdomen cramping HARD to expel stuff it wanted out more than he wanted to not be embarrassed. By the time it was done and Amanda was wiping him clean, he was honestly sort of in shock about how embarrassing the entire moment had been. And when he was laid on the changing table and being wiped down more and powdered, she finally chimed in while he was laying there on the changing table with an open diaper under him. Waving a hand over his face she asked “Hello? Are you still in there?” “Oh!” He said, snapping out of his own headspace. “Yes. Yeah. I’m here. Yeah.” The questioning look she gave him with one eyebrow up, with him pinned to the changing table, wearing just a onesie bunched up to his chest, an open diaper under him and his knees up and spread wide, baby powder on his nethers, and having just experience what he had … John almost felt like something inside him mentally cracked a little. “Sweety?” She asked simply. “I umm…” and after a pause, he mumbled before finally admitting “That was embarrassing.” With a nod she set back to getting the diaper adjusted under him while she spoke softly. “Sweety, we don’t have to do that anymore if you don’t want to. I want to be supportive of you, and if that means trying the potty sometimes, we can do that. And if that’s hard for you, then it’s perfectly fine to just use your diapers. That’s what they’re for.” By the time she was done talking, she’d closed the little-proof snaps on the onesie and was holding him up against her chest. Between the effects of the milk and the feeling like he was giving up on something, John didn’t even notice the pacy being poked into his mouth. He just absentmindedly suckled on it as she wormed a pair of shorts onto him without even having to put him down. She was getting more proficient at this mommy thing. In fact, he was so lost in his own headspace trying to figure out how he was supposed to feel in this moment that he didn’t even notice that she put socks on him. Not that they would last, but he was ‘off in la-la land’ as the saying goes. Being carried into the living room, Rupert was waggled at him. Instinctively reaching for the stuffie, he held Rupert to his chest with his left arm and immediately felt a bit more relaxed in that moment. She even started to pat him idly on the padded bottom as she walked toward the couch. He was being carried by his Mommy, he had his pacy, and he was holding his stuffie. This was the exact circumstance where he was being trained to be the happiest, calmest, and most comfortable. Before either of them could enjoy the moment for long, Xerxes stood bolt upright and stared at the door. John could see that the dog had one paw slightly raised and he gave one low bark to get their attention. Not bothering to put him down, Amanda simply walked over to the door and opened the door and child gate. As soon as she opened the screen door Xerxes slipped right past her and stood on the stairs. Despite how serious he was being as he did his job, his tail started wagging back and forth excitedly. Pausing only to step into her boots, Mommy went ahead down the stairs and John found himself deposited on the edge of the porch with a crinkle. The crinkling continued as she moved him slightly to put his shoes onto his feet. As she was finishing with his shoes, the gate opened and a tall man with short brown hair stepped into it. John looked over to see that he was wearing jeans and a long sleeve flannel shirt over a T-shirt. The man did stop as Xerxes ran over to him and sat up between him and his people on the porch. “Well!” The man exclaimed with a smile aimed down at the dog. “You must be Xerxes! You’re famous where I work!” At the mention of his name, the dogs tail started moving, but his butt stayed parked. Finally, as John was picked up and hoisted back onto what he had come to feel like was ‘his spot’ on a left arm, the two giants were close enough that he could see them shaking hands. As they shook, he said “Miss Taylor, I’m Diano. I work for your father. We have some lumber to deliver, and Mr Taylor said that it should be placed along the fence behind your shed. Would you care to show us just so that we are certain?” “Absolutely!” Amanda said before they cruised out of the gate casually faster than John could jog. Once outside, John could see a large work truck with a pipe rack on the top backing a trailer piled high with lumber down the driveway toward the fence. When Mr Diano gave one loud whistle the truck stopped. Moments later they were being joined by a tall blonde man with a well trimmed beard. John missed the introductions because he was spaced out looking at all of the lumber on the trailer. There was a pretty good amount of it. What brought his attention back around was hearing “So is this the little guy that rides the dog?” He couldn’t help but laugh as he rolled his eyes. Apparently he was developing a reputation among people that he’d never met. Mommy leaned down and whispered “Do you want to ride Xerxes for a few minutes?” Why would that even be a question? So of course he nodded up at her. “Xerxes: Heel.” was all she said and moments later he was being lowered onto the dogs back and she took Rupert from him so that he could hold onto the dog with both hands. Mr. Diano and the other man took turns leaning down to give John a high five before they put on gloves and set to work by placing long square shaped 8x8 boards spaced out on the ground. As they started unloading the boards onto them and working together without any words, it was obvious that they had been doing this for quite a long time. Without any way of steering the dog, Xerxes followed Mommy back into the yard and he insisted on holding onto his collar to see if he could ride up the stairs on Xerxes. Mommy insisted on staying right beside him to catch him if he fell, but he made it up onto the porch still on the dog. It was a bit treacherous and she was probably never going to let him do it again, but it was good to know that he could do it. He was told “Stay put for a moment.” before the dog was told “Xerxes: Keep.” and he knew that he wasn’t leaving that porch one way or the other. He was tempted to see what the dog would do if he climbed down off the front of the porch, but he was certain enough that he would get dragged back onto the porch by his shorts, so he didn’t even try. To entertain himself, he tried walking as normally as he could manage to the corner of the porch where his now almost forgotten tent had been shoved against the wall. Before he could even start setting it up, Mommy came back out and held his toddler cup out to him. He took it and started drinking from it without waiting to be told to, since that was what was expected of him anyway. He was left to his own devices as she brought two mugs of coffee out to the men working, so he decided he was going to set the tent up. After he took off his socks and shoes. The tent had been packed away with the poles perfectly untangled. So naturally they were tangled up again when he tried to use them. John spent so much time untangling the poles and trying to get them back through the canvas loops that by the time he was almost done, he had apparently been almost an hour and he was being picked up again before he could finish. As he was carried away, the poles slid out of the tent and the entire thing returned to the crumpled mess that all tents strive to return to. Pausing to put his socks and shoes back onto him in the never ending back and forth, Mommy then carried him out through the gate where he saw that the trailer of lumber was gone and a large truck with a big tank was backing in. Apparently today was busy. Soon they were greeted by an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair who held out his hand to Amanda to shake, and then he gave John a little wave with a smile that made it immediately obvious that this man was the stereotypical Grandpa of this dimension. Amanda put him down for a moment so that she could take a piece of paper and pull out her phone. John hadn’t really paid attention to see if there was an introduction, but they didn’t exchange names so apparently they had done this before. He did get to stand there and watch as the man used a little tool to pull some sort of ring off of a connector bigger than his fist. Now watching in fascination, John could see the veins in the giant hands for a moment as he worked the connector in small circles until it came out. It was immediately obvious to John that he would never have been strong enough to do that without tools. And this older man just casually did it like he’s been doing this for years. Noticing that John was watching, the man waved again and asked “You been good for your new Momma?” Not really sure how to respond to that, John just nodded a yes. Now with a smile, he was asked “Do you want to help?” Of course John nodded again! “Okay!” the kind grandfatherly man knelt down as he held out a little metal can with a lid. “This sealant has to be shaken up until it’s time to use it. Can you shake this for me?” Feeling a bit silly, John took the 12 oz can that looked tiny in the hands that offered it, and started to shake it up and down awkwardly. “That’s the spirit, but it has to be well shaken!” The big man said with a chuckle. So John started shaking it harder. While John was standing there starting to laugh at how ridiculous this felt, he watched the man take a tool out of his pocket to scrape the inside of the hose out and then slide some sort of ring down over the outside of it. That same welcoming smile beamed down at him “Okay little man, now I need someone to brush that compound into the hose while I hold it still, do you think you’re up for it?” Once John nodded, the big man reached down and opened the can to reveal a cloth ball attached to the bottom of the lid. As he pulled it out, the adhesive inside was the brightest blue color he had ever seen in his life. At the mans directions, John then carefully smeared it inside the end of the hose and onto the very end. With a quick point, the man this asked “Okay, now can you hand me that connector?” Quickly waddling over to grab the heavy, round metal connector and hold it up, John found himself fascinated as it was taken from both of his hands with just the fingertips of one large hand. The man immediately lined it up into the hose and started working it in small circles to press it back into the hose. By the time the man had pulled the ring up into place and hammered a U-Shaped piece of metal in place to hold it all together, Mommy had come and picked him up again. Once the nice man had finally put the hose back onto the tank, he hooked it up to his truck and carried the small* tank (*still bigger than John) to the storage shed for Mommy. After it was all said and done, the man was able to get Mommy a total and she used her phone to pay the bill with one hand, while using the other arm to hold John up. Finally, before he left, the man waved at John and asked “Does he talk?” Only then was John realizing that he hadn’t even bothered to talk. Post-milk he was just sort of on autopilot and kind of relaxed and happy. And apparently soggy. … just like a toddler. He would have frowned more at that if he weren’t idly sucking on a pacifier. Amanda laughed “He definitely knows how to talk! He’s just shy around new people. John, do you want to say thank you to the nice man?” Biting down on the pacy in his mouth, it took more willpower than he was happy about to keep from just burying his head against Mommy’s chest. But after a moment of indecision he finally let the pacy fall out of his mouth to dangle on the strap and spoke. “Thank you.” was all he really got out. Why was he feeling like this? Either way, the nice man reached out to offer a high five, which John leaned to return with his left hand before putting his pacy back in his mouth and burying his face in Mommy’s chest, still completely oblivious to whatever was making him act a bit more like a shy child around bigs he didn’t know. Before they even made it to the porch, Mommy stopped and lifted him up and squished his diaper a bit through his shorts and onesie, mumbled “It’ll last until nap time.” and ultimately sat him down on the playmat, sans shoes, with his toddler cup full of water. His socks were off of his feet by the time she turned around. With a ruffle of his hair, he was left to his own devices, so he wound up crawling over to the edge of the playmat, grabbing a couch pillow, and dragging it back to the playmat. Getting himself comfortably propped up comfortably, he tapped his thumb against the tablet and started up his pipe game. Only to find out that the pipe game had a prompt asking him to repeat the first levels to see how he would do on them. It gave him the option to continue where he left off, but he didn’t see the harm in starting again. At first he was just zipping through the levels as fast as they would load onto the screen, but after five minutes he started to sort of zone out. Which turned out to be a nonissue as Mommy came over and picked him up again. Briefly going limp out of frustration, John gave up as the socks were put back onto his feet, he was carried outside and his shoes were put back into him, and they walked out of the gate to see yet another truck hauling a trailer full of equipment. Okay, this trailer was cooler than the others, because it had a tractor on it. Tractors make everything cooler. Perking up a bit, he watched as four people, all wearing jeans and loose fitting plaid shirts, got out of the truck and started unloading equipment. He couldn’t help but notice that two of them were men with brown hair, and two were women, one blonde and one brunette. And the blonde woman was TALL. Almost a full head taller than the others. One of the two men walked across the field and came up to Mommy and held out his hand. As she shook his hand, Mommy greeted him “Welcome back Mr Operarius. Is the field okay for you to work now?” Without even looking, Mr Operarius nodded “It looks great, we will be able to make a pathway today and line it all out, then fill it in tomorrow. Hopefully the weather holds.” When she chuckled, John looked up at her just in time to see her smirk “According to Mr Tempes, the weather will be clear until Tuesday.” Looking back over now, he saw Mr Operarius’ eyebrows go up as he asked “Didn’t Mr Tempes retire?” Pivoting his head almost comically now was makign him dizzy so he flopped his head back against her chest as the conversation went on. Apparently Mommy knows the weatherman. Which is neat, but not something John found entertaining in that moment. No, John just wanted to drive the tractor. Actually … John looked parked up and when they had a break in conversation, John chimed in. “Hey, can I drive the tractor?” he asked with a completely straight face. “Oh! He -can- talk! Hello little guy!” Mr Operarius exclaimed, yet another Big surprised to learn that he wasn’t completely nonverbal. That was starting to feel weird. With a nod, John continued “I can also drive!” That got a laugh from both Bigs. “Well … Maybe Linda will let you ride on her lap while she drives it for a bit. If your Mommy will allow it. It’s not really dangerous or anything.” John looked up, grin practically splitting his face enough to hurt. “I don’t know …” Mommy didn’t seem certain of the idea. “Mommy, I promise to be good. I’ll leave my shoes on. I’ll … I’ll eat one carrot.” He stammered trying to think of a way to convince her. The offer to even eat a carrot definitely caught her off guard. He went straight to his version of the nuclear option. After a moment of John looking up at her with a big smile, she finally spoke up. “You will eat one -serving- of carrots? I’ll slow cook them in butter to help with the texture?” she half said/half asked. John involuntarily made a face as his right eyebrow came down and scrunched up and he did a full body shudder… but finally he managed to nod. “Okay, but you have to go over and ask her yourself. Are you brave enough to do that?” Of course he nodded! Mr Operarius pointed over to the gigantic Blonde woman that was busy undoing straps holding the tractor down. Mommy carried him over there and put him down teen feet from the large blonde woman. After noticing them, the woman turned around and asked “Yes? Do you need something?” Mommy reached down and patted john on the padded butt, whispering “Go ask.” Taking a few waddling steps in the more than half full rough pup was embarrassing, but it had to be done. When he got halfway to he, he looked up. And he had to look UP. He was used to being thigh height on Mommy. He was level with this giants knee cap. Between having to look up and realizing how small he felt, John instinctively reached for the pacy hanging from the strap on his top and squeezed it. He immediately wished he had Rupert with him. “Ummmmm…” He froze up. The tall woman looked from him, to Mr Operarius, to Mommy, then back down to him expectantly. She didn’t exactly seem ready to gush over a little standing there looking like he was going to pee himself. Well, pee himself more. Mr Operarius came to the rescue, sort of, by saying “This little one was hoping to ask you something.” The woman leaned down, but only a bit and asked “What did you want to ask?” It was impossible to ignore the suspicion that he had just peed a little, but he finally stammered out as he tried pointing with his right hand. “I umm… Can … Can I … ride on the … ummmm on the tractor?” he struggled to ask, so nervous that he felt his eyes starting to water. “Hmm.” The woman said as she stood up to look around. She watched the man and woman off in the field marking out a path with stakes and bright orange rope. Then looked way over John to his Mommy and asked “I guess it’s okay if I take him for a lap or two around the field while they mark out my path. Mommy, are you okay with this?” Spinning to look, he saw Mommy as she explained “He was so interested in the tractor that he offered to eat carrots on his own.” Turning back, he watched the tall woman as she pursed her lips for a moment. She finally went down to kneel on one knee and looked at John appraisingly. “Carrots, huh?” she said simply. All he could manage was a nervous nod. After a moment, she finally said “Yeah, I don’t like them either. Arms up.” As her hands came over to him he held his arms up. When she picked him up, it was hard not to notice the different between her hands and Mommy’s. Where Mommy picked him up and felt soft and familiar (unless he made her mad) this woman had hands like they were chiseled out of marble. As she got him up onto her left forearm like he weighed no more than an ounce, he held onto her upper arm and it, too, felt almost rock hard. John looked in awe. This woman didn’t seem to have grown up, so much as had been chiseled. Looking down at him she spoke frankly “I’m going to be honest, I’m not too fond of littles. You aren’t a screamer, are you?” John simply shook his head no. “No tantrums?” Again, shaking his head no. “If I let you ride, you are going to keep your hands off of anything I do not tell you to touch?” Now he nodded a yes. Seemingly begrudgingly, the giantess finally took a deep breath and sighed. “You get two laps around the field. If you’re good you can pull a lever. Understood?” Now John was nodding enthusiastically! Rolling her eyes, she pointed “Wave to your Mommy and we’ll do this.” John waved to Mommy as he was carried to the tractor by a thirteen foot tall stone golem of a woman. As she climbed the tractor with just one single large step and sat down, she stopped and felt his diaper mid air. Holding him there she tapped her finger on his hip as she thought. “You aren’t going to leak on me, are you?” She asked, fairly given the circumstances. John shook his head and managed to say quietly “No Ma’am. Mommy says I’m good til’ … uhh… nap time.” Finally she lowered him onto her thigh and loosened up the lap belt to wrap around both him and herself. Pulling a comically large hard hat out of a compartment to her right, she looked down at him as she tapped the side of it thoughtfully. She tried to put it on his head, but gave up as she said out loud “You look like a ridiculous turtle.” and the hard had went back into the storage box on her right. With her left hand on the steering wheel, she said very firmly as she pointed “Hold onto my arm, I’ll hold you. You get squirmy, you get off.” Johns left arm immediately wrapped around her left arm just below her elbow and he gave her a thumbs up. Finally, she reached out and turned the key. John jumped a bit at the loud sound of the tractor starting up as she held the key for several seconds to bring the engine to life, but after a minute the sound died down to a somewhat quiet rumble. Her right hand came down to a lever by her thigh and her foot came up off of a clutch as she moved her right hand up to slowly pull a throttle lever under the steering wheel and the steel Tuboka beast eased backwards down the ramp of the trailer. It seemed like just a few seconds and she was moving the lever by her right thigh again and they started to roll forward. From up high where he was, even being at armpit height on the giantess, he could look around and even see the porch over the fenceline. He could even see his tent that had collapsed into a tangled mess. A Tentularity, if you would. The Tractor wasn’t going fast, and he could tell that she was trying to go nice and slow because she had a passenger that she thought was fragile. Which was true compared to her. After one big lap of the field, he started asking questions “So what does that lever do?” “That’s the throttle.” “It doesn’t have a gas pedal?” “No, it doesn’t have a gas pedal.” “I guess the lever is cool too.” That got a chuckle and she reached out to pull the throttle back just a bit more. On the second lap, she actually turned and let the tractor lumber along by the stream for a little ways before turning it around, giving him a bit more of a ride. Which he definitely appreciated in the moment! Pointing now at the machine at the front that had two big arms and some metal drum shaped thing between them, he had to ask “What does that thing do?” Lowering the throttle back down to quiet the tractor some, she tried to explain “It’s like a peeler for the yard. I call it the scalper, so let’s go with that. It makes a roll of the sod that we can move out of the way.” Looking back and forth between her and the machine, he asked more pointedly “So it makes it into a roll?” She simply nodded “Yep!” Unable to keep from blurting out what he was thinking, he said out loud: “So you’re telling me that machine makes a roll of single ply yard?” After a moment of blinking, her left foot came down on the clutch and she pushed the throttle lever all the way up. The tractor chugged to a halt as the engine quieted. She didn’t even look at him, she just looked off in the distance toward the stream. Finally, after almost a minute, she mumbled “I can never unhear that.” It was another half a minute before she looked down at him and said “That’s the smartest and dumbest way I’ve ever heard that described.” With a nod John explained “That’s my specialty.” and he held up a hand for a high five. She looked at his hand and shook her head. So he switched to a fist. She begrudgingly returned the fist bump as she said “Your Mommy must have the patience of a saint.” before putting the tractor back in gear and driving the rest of the way back to Mommy and the man from the company. Once she had the tractor turned off, and before she even unbuckled him, she waved over both of the people waiting. “Before I hand you back, why don’t you go ahead and tell Mr Operarius what the machine attached to the front of the tractor does?” she insisted. With a shrug, John looked over at the large brown haired man and said “It makes a roll of single ply yard.” Mr Operarius stood completely still and blinked for a moment before saying quietly “He’s not technically wrong.” Ms Linda said from above him. “I hate it. I’m going to write Charmin on the side with a marker, but I hate it so much.” With a nod, they finally got the lap belt unwrapped from the two of them and before he could be passed back, he made sure to mind his manners and said “Thank you Miss Linda!” With a sort of neutral look for a moment, she finally smirked and said “I still don’t like littles. But you get one point.” and she held up a hand for a high five. Which of course John returned happily. Once he was passed down to Mommy, he instantly appreciated the feeling of her hands and body against his. He felt safe on Miss Linda’s lap, like he was being held by a statue. But not comfortable. Finally free to put his pacy back in his mouth, he was able to sort of tune out a bit. He was pretty thrilled with how that turned out. Yes, everyone today treated him like he was a toddler. No, he wasn’t allowed to actually drive the tractor or pull any levers, but it was still fun. It was a tiny bit demeaning, but since his coffee milk this morning he hadn’t minded the treatment quite as much. It still sort of bubbled under the surface, but he just couldn’t quite seem to grab at the reason why it would make him angry otherwise. Once his shoes were off, he had his socks off before they made it into the house. Mommy gave him a big kiss on his right temple and said “I’m so proud of you! Now, let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll fix you a chicken tender and some buttery carrots for lunch before your nap. … Oh right, he had agreed to that. He looked up at her. “You still plan to keep your promise?” she asked. He simply nodded. “… you’re not going to complain about them, are you?” “Oh.” he said plainly, letting the pacy fall out of his mouth. “I’m absolutely going to complain.”

Thank you, butters11. That is an awesome compliment. Here is the next chapter. Sorry, I wanted to get it out sooner, but I got sidetracked on a few other projects. Chapter 57 - The Hardest Choice Avery’s eyelids fluttered open, the transition from sleep to wakefulness slow and sticky. For a moment, the room was just a blur of soft light and unfamiliar shapes, but then his surroundings swam into focus. He was in his familiar hospital bed, tucked tightly in with the white hospital sheets. The air was quiet, almost unnervingly so. His first thought, a sharp, cold jab of anxiety, was for Darlene. His eyes immediately scanned the small, tastefully decorated sitting room. Darlene wasn’t there. The realization was immediate, a sudden spike of anxiety sent a jolt through his tired body. He sat up straighter, the blanket pushing away just past his waist, his hospital gown bunched up, exposing the outline of his diaper. Then, his gaze landed on the woman sitting opposite him. Laurisa. She was perched on a chair next to the railing of the bed, a book resting closed in her lap. Her expression was calm, almost serene, a stark contrast to the frantic beat of Avery's heart. “Where… Where did Darlene go?” Avery asked, his voice rough and laced with a confusion that bordered on panic. He pushed himself up on the hospital bed, the sudden movement tugging painfully at his arm where an IV line disappeared into a vein. The plastic tubing snaked from his arm up to a clear bag of fluid hanging from a metal pole, which now swayed precariously next to him. Swaying slightly, he kept his eyes wide and darting toward the only door in the room. He felt a deep nervousness settle in his stomach. He wasn’t expecting her to be gone. Laurisa closed her book and set it carefully on a table beside her. She offered him a small smile, though her eyes held a serious, assessing glint. “Please, Avery, try to relax. Everything is fine,” she said, her voice a low, steady murmur. “She left for lunch. She insisted on going herself, actually. Needed a little time out of the hospital room to take care of a few things.” She paused, gesturing to the hospital bed he had just vacated. “Why don’t you sit back or lie down? I thought, while she was out, we could talk a little. There are a few things I think you need to understand.” Laurisa pulled the chair close to Avery’s bedside, facing him. The room was quiet save for the soft rhythmic drip-drip-drip of his IV and the steady, electronic beep...beep...beep of the heart monitor. Avery, looking smaller than ever in the wide hospital bed, his right hand encased in a metal brace, kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Avery,” Laurisa began, her voice low and professionally gentle, designed to soothe his agitated nervous system. “What we need to discuss has something that is about you, your healing, and your past, and recent trauma. As your therapist, I think you need to hear this from me.” Avery finally shifted his eyes to her. “If this is about going back to the apartment, Darlene already told me it’s a no-go. I get it. I’m—I’m a wreck, I can’t even use the bathroom or eat by myself. I’m a mess.” He said the word mess with a bitterness that belied the soft, child-like posture of his body. “It’s not about the apartment,” Laurisa corrected, her voice firm yet warm. “It’s about what comes next. Some observations about you recently. About how you’ve been feeling. About calling her ‘Mom’ and the comfort you’ve found in your... in your stuffed animals.” She used the words deliberately, removing the shame from the clinical facts. Avery’s pale face flushed crimson. He immediately tensed, curling his legs up defensively. “I was joking,” he mumbled, turning his face away towards the wall. “The drugs—they make you say stupid things. I don’t—I don’t want to talk about that.” “Avery, look at me,” Laurisa insisted gently, waiting until his eyes, sharp even with fatigue, met hers. “This is not a failure, and it’s not a joke. What you’re experiencing is a profound, expected defense mechanism called age regression. Your adult mind has been and was exposed to a level of trauma it couldn’t process, so it’s retreating to a time when you felt safe and protected—a time you never actually had, except maybe with your real parents. We believe the only way to heal the deep, foundational wounds is to intentionally work with that regression.” “No, not this again..” He said as he shifted in the bed and could feel the wet diaper between his crotch as he grabbed the sheets and pulled them up. “I know we have discussed this before, but I think you really need to take a second look at this therapy.” Laurisa sat by Avery’s bedside, her hand resting gently on his uninjured arm as Avery tensed up. Laurisa took a deep breath, meeting Avery's tired gaze. “Avery, what happened with John was a horror, a nightmare, and it is going to kill you if you do not address it based on your past. You're a brilliant man, but you’ve been trying to prove your worth to a world that took everything from you, and it’s finally breaking you.” She squeezed his arm gently. “Darlene told me how you are at work—how you'd isolate yourself, how you worked yourself with the exception of Christy, who basically forced herself to work with you in the beginning, and how you were so scared to speak up to John or others. And the… the fear you carry with you, the kind that makes your body physically fail you, like with the stress and your bladder. That wasn't just a quirk, Avery. That was your trauma screaming for help because your voice couldn’t.” Laurisa leaned closer. “That constant, gnawing anxiety—it’s a leftover from being that terrified kid in foster care, always waiting for the next person to abandon you, which they did. You earned your degrees early, you made that breakthrough, you wear the pull-ups when you go out—it’s all the same thing. It’s your brilliant mind trying to engineer a defense mechanism against a world you feel you can’t control, or a world that keeps telling you you’re not worthy unless you're perfect.” “What Darlene did for you, what happened in that office and her home, is the universe finally forcing a break, a reckoning. You couldn't fight John off alone, and Darlene had to step in and put her life and her career on the line for you. She made you realize you're not invisible, and that you are worth fighting for.” Laurisa's words hit Avery with the blunt force of an inescapable truth, shattering the carefully constructed emotional armor she'd worn for years. The realization of Darlene's monumental sacrifice—putting her life —was a staggering acknowledgment of possibly being "worth fighting for," forcing a deeply painful "reckoning." This crisis point, "when everything is broken," left Avery overwhelmed, standing at the precipice of a terrifying, life-altering shift. Yet, the old, ingrained instinct to "do it alone" fiercely resisted Laurisa's words to put down the armor and "learn to be vulnerable," plunging Avery into a state of internal conflict—an intense, difficult realization being forced upon the very person who was instinctively fighting the help she needed to begin the healing process. Laurisa’s voice softened. “This—this healing process, this is the only way you’re going to be able to overcome everything. It’s not just about getting your hand fixed. It's about accepting the love and help Darlene is giving you, and the fact that you have to stop doing it alone. You need to use this moment—when everything is broken—to finally put down the armor. Stop trying to prove your worth and start accepting it. The real therapy isn't in a doctor's office; it’s in letting yourself be seen, being protected, learning to be vulnerable, and letting other people carry the weight with you for once. You’ve been carrying the consequences of your past trauma on your shoulders for so long. It’s time to let Darlene and people who care about you in.” There was a long pause as a few tears slid down Avery’s face as he listened to Laurisa. “Work with it?” Avery’s voice cracked. “You mean... what? You want me to just... be a child? That’s what you’re suggesting? That I stop fighting this and become some kind of... project?” Laurisa finally leaned forward in her chair. “No, Avery. We want you to stop fighting the process your mind has already started. You’re already regressing. We want to put a safety net underneath you so you don’t fall, and we want to control the process so it doesn’t control you.” “A safety net of what, Laurisa? Diapers and being held like a baby?” Avery’s voice rose, wavering with a desperate, suppressed terror. “I’m nineteen years old! I am working on groundbreaking work for cancer. I have a job! I don’t need to... to be a child! I need to get back to my life! This is insane. I will not—I can not do this.” “The genius mind, the coping mechanisms, the adult walls—John broke all of it, and you're going down a spiral without intervention,” Laurisa countered, her tone unwavering. “That adult, brilliant mind is currently a broken system, Avery. The only path forward is to systematically go back and fix the original, foundational cracks. We call it Regression Therapy, but in your case, we will be structuring it more like Reparenting Therapy.” Avery stared at her, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and intellectual curiosity, a hallmark of his fight for control. “Reparenting... Therapy?” “Yes. We are talking about a temporary, highly structured methodology where you consciously agree to surrender your adult autonomy to Darlene. She won’t be your friend or your coworker; she will be your surrogate Primary Attachment Figure—your temporary ‘Mom’ in a therapeutic sense. You will allow her to care for you entirely—bedtime, bathing, food, and emotional regulation. You will be giving her total control over your life because, right now, your own internal regulator is broken.” A shudder ran through Avery’s body. “Total control... That’s what John had.” “No, Avery, that is the crucial difference. John’s control was forced, shaming, and degrading. This control is consensual, therapeutic, and rooted in unconditional safety and love. It is not about submission; it is about trust. You trust Darlene with your life, literally. We are asking you to trust her with your healing.” “What if I never come back?” he whispered, the question betraying his true, deepest fear. “What if I become... this... permanently?” “You will come back,” Laurisa stated with absolute conviction. “Done correctly, with constant professional guidance, this is the best way you will fully come back. We are not indulging a fantasy; we are giving your shattered mind permission to feel safe enough to put down the survival shield and begin to heal your inner child. That neglected, hurt child is the source of all your anxiety, your trust issues, your social difficulties, and yes, your lifelong problem with enuresis. We are fixing the source, not the symptom.” The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the medical equipment. Avery was torn between the desperate need for safety he felt when he called her 'Mom' and the intense shame of giving up his identity as a brilliant adult. The terror of his past captivity warred with the undeniable biological need for a safe haven. Finally, he let out a shaky breath, the tension leaving his shoulders. “I... I don’t like it. But I don’t think I have a choice. What... what do I need to know about this Reparenting Therapy?” Laurisa smiled, a professional victory mixed with sisterly relief. “Thank you, Avery. That is the bravest decision you could make right now. Understanding Reparenting Therapy “The goal is simple: to systematically heal the trauma of your past, which manifests in your present. The mechanism is a therapeutic regression to address the developmental needs that were never met.” “What about... what about my work? The recognition? My research?” Avery asked, the thought of losing his intellectual identity sparking a new wave of panic. “It will all be waiting for you,” Laurisa assured him. “But you cannot go back to being the brilliant adult until the hurt child is healed. Think of it as a necessary sabbatical. The adult Avery is still in there, waiting for the foundation to be rebuilt. You are taking a year or two—maybe less—to focus entirely on yourself. And maybe if you allow yourself to really regress, we can bring back work in some small way for you. I know it is important to you while you heal the rest of the way. But when you're through with the therapy, you will be the same brilliant man, but you will also be whole. You won’t need to fight yourself or the world anymore. You will be grounded.” Avery closed his eyes. The thought of surrendering everything, even his own physical needs, was terrifying, a raw, desperate fear that clawed at his throat. He shook his head, a small, barely perceptible movement. "I don't know if I can," he whispered, the sound thick with unshed tears. "It's... It's too much. I don’t think I can let go." But the thought of letting Darlene be his rock, his mother, the safety he never had, the unconditional love he’d always craved... that was the best promise of hope he had ever heard. It shimmered in the darkness behind his eyelids, a bright, warm light against the cold terror. He could feel her hand on his cheek, solid and warm in his mind. He knew he was standing on a crossroad, and the only way forward was to fall—to fall into her care. A long, shuddering breath escaped him, a sound of surrender and deep, painful relief. His resistance crumbled, washing away in a wave of exhaustion and need. He opened his eyes, meeting Laurisa’s gaze. "Okay," he croaked, the word barely audible. His voice was laced with both despair and the first faint stirrings of hope. "Okay, I will do it and.. “ there was another pause.. “Let Darlene be my mother." —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Darlene received a text saying she could come back and that he had accepted the therapy. She was anxious about this. This meant everything was set up and going as planned so far. The door to Avery’s private room was closed as she slid it open, and Darlene stepped in, bringing a quiet warmth with her. She approached the bed and sat on the side of the bed she had lain on that night, taking a moment to simply look at him. Avery was propped up high on the pillows, his bandaged hand resting on a cushion. He was awake, but the anxiety in his eyes made his face look small and utterly lost. He gripped the sheet with his good hand, visibly trembling from his decision. Darlene, without a word, reached out to gently cover his hand with hers. She didn't squeeze hard, just offered a steady, warm weight. “Hi, there,” she murmured, her voice soft and rich with a maternal tenderness she hadn’t even known she possessed. “Did you have a good nap?” Avery stared at their hands, then up at her face. His voice was a thin, hesitant thread. “I guess, but Darlene… I told Laurisa I’ll do it. The therapy. But I’m terrified. What does this mean now? Being… being in your care? I know I’m not a child, but it feels like you’re taking me in. And I’m worried you’ll get tired of it.” Darlene leaned in, brushing a stray lock of hair back from his pale forehead—a purely instinctive, loving gesture. “Listen to me, Avery,” she said firmly, her eyes holding his. “I am not going to tire of you. I am not leaving. Being in my care means you are safe. You are coming home with me tomorrow, as planned, when we leave this hospital. I will handle the world—the company, the bills, your apartment, your needs. You only have one job, and that is to heal and enjoy trying to be a little boy. You are going to be loved unconditionally, Avery. Like my own child. The love you didn't get when you were a small boy, the certainty that someone will always choose you—you are going to get it now. This I promise.” She kept her hand on his, anchoring him. “That little boy who was shuffled around, who felt he had to be brilliant and perfect just to earn a place? He lost his secure home and his peace. We’re going to help you get those back.” Avery’s eyes welled up, and he quickly blinked the tears away. “But the regression… what will that make me do? Will it force me to remember the foster homes? Or John?” “I don’t know, but we will be there to guide and be with you, dear, and that is key. It might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done because you are going to go back and face that terror that made you feel like you had to carry the world all alone. You’ll be feeling what that little, frightened boy felt.” She paused, making sure her next words landed. “But here is the absolute truth, Avery: you are not that little boy anymore, and this time, you are not alone. You get to step out of that past and into a present where you are loved, no matter what. We are going to teach that small boy inside you that he has a home now, he is safe now, and he doesn’t have to fight to be worthy. That’s what’s waiting on the other side of this, my dear heart. Freedom, a safe place, and me. Always.” Just as Darlene finished, there was a soft click of the hospital room door, which brought Darlene and Avery’s heads up simultaneously. Standing in the doorway, escorted by Margaret, was Tilly. Margaret had a look like she was ready-to-work competence, dressed in perfectly fitting dark-wash jeans and a crisp, light-colored T-shirt with her sleeves rolled up. Her hair was pulled back efficiently in a sleek ponytail, and a pair of worn tennis shoes was on her feet. It wasn’t what she normally wore when she worked at her place of business, Mama B’s AB and Medical Supplies. She even had a cotton bag around her shoulders with a couple of notebooks/catalogues for Darlene to review. In tow was Tilly, who, as before, possessed a vibrant, almost excited energy. However, her choice of attire for today's gathering was a masterstroke of cute style, instantly creating an arresting, ageless impression that defined her youthful spirit. The moment she stepped across the hospital floor, the room's atmosphere seemed to shift—a sudden, collective intake of breath—as it was caught off guard by the sheer, unapologetic, dazzling energy of her outfit. She didn't just wear the whimsical dress; she carried it with a confident ease that transformed its inherently playful, "kawaii" print into a bold, childish fashion statement. The dress was a marvel of construction: a fitted bodice flawlessly highlighted her trim silhouette before flaring dramatically into a crisp, voluminous pleated skirt that seemed to possess a kinetic life of its own, bouncing lightly and rhythmically with every deliberate step she took. Her deliberately, charmingly childish aesthetic was meticulously completed with accessories that were less an afterthought and more a declaration. Her legs were bare and perfectly tanned, leading down to pristine white ankle socks that contrasted sharply with the bright, patent red of her classic Mary Jane shoes. The final touch was a small, bright-pink backpack, a playful yet functional accessory, its zipper pull and straps adorned with a jingling constellation of little unicorn keychains, each one adding a tiny, metallic chime to the atmosphere as she moved. The entire look was a carefully curated symphony of irreverence and confidence. "Tilly! You made it," Darlene said, rising with a genuine smile. Tilly beamed, her eyes sparkling with a playful mischief that immediately lightened the room’s heavy atmosphere “of course I did I took the day of from work to help”. She walked past Margaret, her focus immediately on Avery. "Hi, Avery!" Tilly chirped, her voice light and friendly. "I brought a surprise, and Mom says you’re coming home tomorrow! That’s so exciting!" Avery, propped up in bed, managed a small, tired smile. "Hi, Tilly. Yeah, tomorrow. That’s the plan." He watched her carefully, his analytical mind trying to process the cognitive dissonance of her appearance. Margaret stepped forward, addressing Darlene. "Darlene, thank you for letting us come. I just wanted to quickly give you the final update on the house setup. Can we step out for two minutes? Tilly is perfectly fine to visit with Avery alone." "Of course, Margaret. Thank you," Darlene agreed, giving Avery a reassuring look. "We’ll be right outside, honey." As the door clicked shut behind the two older women, a quiet, almost awkward silence settled over the room. Avery kept his gaze fixed on Tilly, trying to figure out how to react. Tilly didn't hesitate. She quickly pulled the rolling tray table closer to the bed, placing her pink backpack on it. Then, she walked to the side of the hospital bed, her face radiating a casual warmth. "Scoot over, Avery. I’m going to sit with you, okay?" Avery, too surprised to object, shifted slightly. Tilly carefully climbed onto the bed, settling down against the headboard beside him, her legs tucked to one side. As she sat, the hem of her sundress rode up slightly, revealing the thick, white material beneath. There was no mistaking the item: a high-rise adult diaper, patterned brightly with pink castles and smiling princesses. Avery’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but he immediately masked the reaction, forcing himself to look at her face. He feigned casual interest in the IV pole, a profound wave of heat rising in his neck. He was wearing a diaper too, hidden by his thin gown, and the exposed sight of hers was both a confirmation of what he saw the other day and a bizarre, mortifying mirror. Tilly, however, was completely unconcerned. She unzipped her pink backpack and pulled out two things: a large, intricate coloring book filled with geometric patterns, and a brand-new box of colored pencils. She nudged him playfully with her elbow. "Ready to get creative? I’m terrible at staying inside the lines, but that’s half the fun." Avery stared at the vibrant box of color pencils in Tilly’s outstretched hand, his expression a mixture of longing and frustration. "I can’t," he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper, as he gestured stiffly with his good arm toward the imposing, metallic cast encasing his entire right hand up just past his wrist. The heavy, silver-gray material felt like a permanent, immovable fixture, a cruel reminder of his recent accident. "I can't draw with my right hand," he explained, the simple statement heavy with disappointment. He looked down at the floor, expecting Tilly to understand and perhaps offer a less challenging activity. But Tilly didn't falter. A wide, encouraging smile spread across her face, lighting up her eyes with mischief and determination. She knew exactly what Avery needed. She gently nudged the box of pencils closer. "So, use your other hand," she said, her tone light and matter-of-fact, as if she were suggesting the most obvious solution in the world. "Who cares if you can’t color as perfectly with it? That's not the point. We are here to have fun." She reached over, picked out a brilliant sapphire blue pencil, and pressed it into his left hand. "Start with this. Let’s see what kind of wobbly, wild things your left hand can create!" "Oh, and before we start," Tilly said, looking him directly in the eye, her tone matter-of-fact and disarmingly open. She touched the front of her patterned diaper, a small, genuine smile on her lips. "Yes, I’m wearing a diaper. Princesses and castles today, obviously, for maximum fun." Avery blinked, completely taken aback by her frankness. He stammered slightly. "I… I didn’t… I mean, it’s fine. Why… why are you wearing one?" Tilly picked a bright violet colored pencil and began to lightly shade a complex mandala pattern. "It’s about control, Avery. Or, well, giving up the bad kind of control to gain the good kind." She paused, letting the silence settle between them, a heavy, velvet thing. "I’ve had a tough time with anxiety and depression since I was a teenager. Like, really tough. It wasn't just a mood; it was a constant state of being, a dark filter over everything I saw, every decision I made." Tilly twisted the thin silver ring on her thumb, her gaze fixed on the movement. "My adult brain gets so incredibly loud and worried. It’s an endless, hostile monologue—about work, about whether I’m performing well enough, about being good enough as a person, a friend, a partner... about all the things I have to do and all the things I know I’m failing at." A deep, shaky breath escaped her. "It’s exhausting. It used to be paralyzing. That ceaseless pressure cooker of worry would eventually make me completely shut down. I wouldn't just feel sad; I would lose the ability to function. Sometimes, I’d regress on my own, just curl up under a weighted blanket or in a dark corner and feel utterly broken—a child trying to escape the unbearable weight of adult responsibilities." She swallowed, the admission tasting like ash. "The truth is, it got so bad when I was younger that I even tried to commit suicide twice when I was a teenager. The darkness felt like the only relief from the noise." Avery's eyes dropped from Tilly's face, noticing the faint, thin, and almost silvery-white scars tracing lines on Tilly's left wrist, remnants of a long-ago desperation where she must have tried to cut herself, a silent testament to the pain she had fought to survive. She handed him the violet pencil. "But regression, when it’s safe and deliberate, is a tool. When I put on a dress like this, and when I put on my diaper, I’m giving myself permission to feel safe. The diaper is the biggest part. It’s total surrender. It says, ‘Tilly, you don’t have to worry about this one thing. You don’t have to worry about running to the bathroom, or being perfect, or being in control of your adult body for just a little while.’ It lets my brain relax. It lets me put down all the adult responsibilities that are crushing me, and I can just focus on being safe, playing, and healing my inner kid." Avery stared at the coloring book, finally picking a dark blue pencil. He began to trace the outline of a large star shape, the best he could with his left hand, as it was wobbling out of the lines. "But… doesn’t it make you feel more out of control? Or childish? The shame… isn’t that bad?" Tilly shook her head slowly, her attention split between the coloring and his face. "The shame only wins if you let it, Avery. My mom understands that sometimes, the only way forward is to take a step back developmentally. It’s like breaking a bone, Avery," she said, pointing to his metal cast on his hand. "You can’t just tape it up and pretend it’s fine. You have to put a brace on it, stop using it completely, and let the bone heal in a cast before you can use it again. My brain is my bone, and this is my brace." "Does it… does it help?" Avery asked, his voice barely a whisper, the question revealing his intense vulnerability and his fear of the Reparenting Therapy he had just agreed to. "It saved me," Tilly replied, her voice soft but absolute. "It helps me process things in a simpler, less catastrophic way. When I’m little, the scary thing is just a scary thing, not a world-ending event. It helps me trust the people who care for me—like Darlene and my mom. It creates a space where I can receive unconditional love without all the adult baggage and expectations." She looked at the blue star he had just drawn. "So, when Darlene becomes your ‘Mom,’ and you wear your diaper and let her take care of you, you’re not failing. You’re brave enough to put on your emotional brace. You’re accepting the safest form of healing there is. It’s the highest form of trust, really. It means you trust her to catch you when you fall, literally and emotionally." Avery looked down at the dark blue star he had colored in and how messy it looked, and out of the lines using his left hand. He then looked at the bright, non-judgmental pattern of castles and princesses right beside him. The sight, combined with Tilly’s calm, honest words, took the edge off his humiliation and replaced it with a flicker of hope. He finally picked up a green pencil and began to fill in a leaf on the pattern, the first truly relaxed movement he’d made all day. She crossed the waiting room in long, fast strides, her hands cle… After about an hour, Darlene and Margaret opened the door and walked in. The lively sounds of conversation drifted from the room, dominated by Tilly's excited chatter, punctuated by Avery’s quieter but firm responses. Both women could see the two completely engrossed in their activity. They were seated on Avery's hospital bed, a small tray table set up between them, covered with various shades of colored pencils and a riot of half-finished drawings. Tilly, perched near the foot of the bed, was passionately explaining the proper technique for shading a cartoon unicorn. "No, Avery, you have to press lighter on the edges to make it look like the sun is shining on it," she instructed, her own face scrunched up in concentration as she demonstrated with a bright yellow pencil. Avery, leaning against the pillows, offered a quiet but resolute defense of her own artistic style. "But I like my unicorn to be all bright yellow," she countered, pushing a dark blue pencil back into the box. "It's my healing light unicorn." Darlene paused just inside the doorway, a soft smile touching her lips as she took in the scene. The noise, the easy back-and-forth, was a welcome relief from the sterile quiet of the hallway and the past two days. Margaret followed her in, her initial focus on the two girls. As Darlene finally approached the bedside, she nudged Tilly gently on the shoulder, a silent plea to be included in the artistic enterprise. “Tilly, we have to go now,” Margaret said, her voice soft but firm, already sounding too grown-up for her nine years. “Mom said we have to leave to help her get everything ready for tomorrow.” Tilly’s lower lip jutted out. She gripped her emerald crayon tightly, her brow furrowed in a deep, theatrical pout. “But I didn’t even color the castle yet! And I haven't picked a color for the knight’s armor.” She looked up at Margaret, eyes wide and pleading. “Mom, five more minutes? Please?” Margaret knelt by the hospital bed and the table, running a thumb over Tilly’s messy, ink-stained cheek. “I know, sweetie. But I need your help.” She smoothed Tilly's hair back. “We have to make Avery’s room at Darlene’s house ready for when he comes home. It needs to be the safest, quietest, best room ever, and your mom needs your special touch.” The word "mission" seemed to work. Tilly slowly released her crayon, her sadness melting into a look of fierce, renewed purpose. She looked at Margaret and then back at Darlene, a spark lighting in her eyes. “Avery’s coming home to your house?” she whispered, as if the news itself was fragile. “Yes, he is,” Darlene confirmed, a lump forming in her throat. She had made a promise, and now the logistics—and the terrifying reality of his condition—were catching up with her. “And it’s a big job. Your mom needs your help to make sure he has everything he needs.” Tilly’s melancholy vanished entirely, replaced by a soldierly posture. She scrambled off the chair, bumping the table. “Okay! I’m ready!” she announced, grabbing Margaret’s hand and pulling her toward Darlene. “Come on, Mom. We have to go get Avery’s room ready!” Margaret gathered the crayons and neatly stacked the coloring books with a practiced air. She gave Darlene a quick, earnest hug, a moment of silent communication that conveyed more worry and resolve than any adult conversation could have. “We’ll make it perfect, Darlene,” Margaret promised, her voice a beacon of hope and strength. “He’s going to be so surprised.” Darlene watched them go, Tilly’s childish excitement for the "mission" already eclipsing her. The rest of the afternoon settled into a rhythm of quiet, almost soothing normalcy. The intense emotional drainage from the visit with Christy and the subsequent difficult conversation with Laurisa had left Avery profoundly spent. The agreement to embark on the Regression / Reparenting Therapy, while terrifying, had also unlocked a deep well of exhaustion that finally allowed him to rest. Darlene, taking her cue from his quietude, ensured the remaining hours were devoid of stress. She stayed close by, occupying herself with a book and occasionally sending hushed texts related to the home preparations, careful not to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over him. The nurses came and went with predictable regularity, their visits routine and professional. Nurse Maya returned, her hands moving with efficient speed as she performed the evening round of checks. She monitored the drip of the IV, ensuring the fluid was flowing correctly, and checked the dressing on Avery's head wound, noting its clean, dry state. The most significant part of her check was an inspection of his right arm, encased in its heavy metal cast. She checked the circulation in his exposed fingertips, pressing lightly to ensure the color returned quickly, and gently palpated the skin just above the cast's edge to check for swelling, murmuring a satisfied "Good, everything is stable," before moving on. Nurse Maya looked at Avery with a gentle smile and then at Darlene, “Everything looks good for tomorrow’s early discharge.” She smiled. “Before you leave tomorrow, we need to talk about food. The most important thing for healing is proper nutrition, especially for that poor jaw.” She picked up her clipboard. “I’ve already ordered you some basic applesauce and smoothie for today, but this is your game plan for the next two weeks: absolutely no solid foods. Your jaw and mouth need to heal without any stress. That means everything—and I mean everything—has to be puree or liquid consistency. Think milkshakes, blended soups, puddings, yogurt, and baby food. Get creative, but stick to purees. That timeline is non-negotiable for a full two weeks.” Avery's face fell a little. “Two weeks of baby food?” “It will fly by, I promise. We’re going to heal you up completely,” Darlene interjected quickly, determined to keep his spirits up. “Exactly,” Maya affirmed. “And then, when Dr. Renko gives you the all-clear to reintroduce soft, solid foods—a week or two from now—you have one critical rule for the first week or two of that phase: you must chew only on your left side. We need to take it incredibly easy on your right side for a good while. Small, easy-to-chew bites on the left only, until we can confirm that the jaw is completely stable. Any pain, any issue, and we immediately revert to the puree diet. Got it?” Avery nodded. “Puree for two weeks. Left side only after that.” “Perfect. I’ll make a note of that for your discharge papers and call in a few more options to the kitchen. You’ll have a few choices of pureed food for dinner tonight.” Maya patted his foot and pushed her stool back. “You can rest now. Call if you need anything.” She gave a slight nod to Darlene and Laurisa before leaving the room, leaving Darlene with Avery—and the newly quiet, vulnerable reality of their next steps. The only real conversation after words was simple, mundane, and centered entirely on Avery's immediate, physical needs. "Time for another smoothie," Darlene would murmur, appearing with the pre-approved liquid dinner, assisting him with the straw until he’d consumed the required amount. "Comfortable?" was the question posed by a night nurse as she adjusted his pillows. "Yes, thank you," Avery would reply, his voice thick with drowsiness. Later, as the hospital lights dimmed and the quiet settled in for the night, Darlene was there to assist him with one final, necessary act of care. With the same gentle, non-judgmental efficiency she had shown earlier, she changed his diaper. The brief, necessary ritual was completed in silence, with Avery offering only a small, almost imperceptible nod of gratitude as the clean, soft padding was secured. Darlene then crawled into the hospital bed, letting Avery lean on her neck near her breast while he held his stuffed dragon tightly. By the time the room was bathed in the soft glow of the night light, Avery was sinking deep into medicated sleep, the day finally giving way to rest. Darlene settled into leaned back more into the hospital, watching his chest rise and fall steadily. Tomorrow was the beginning of everything—a terrifying, hopeful future. But for now, they were simply here, anchored in the present, safe in the quiet of the night.

Chapter 22 is below. Like I said above however I start a new job tomorrow and have a fair bit of training to do for it so unlikely to be able to add to the story before the end of February. As always feedback and criticism welcome. But most importantly Happy New Year. Chapter 22 Katie woke up and immediately checked for any signs of wetness. Relief washed over her—her bed was dry, and so was her nappy. Two dry nights in a row. Maybe, just maybe, she could be done with nappies altogether by the end of the holiday. All she had to do was keep her pull-ups dry during the day and avoid wetting the bed for the next five nights. When Sophie woke, she helped Katie out of her dry nappy, and Katie used the toilet before getting dressed. Her mum had laid out clothes again, with a pull-up placed neatly on top. Katie slipped into the training pants, then examined the outfit: a bright pink top with multicoloured writing that read “Today is a good day”, flowers replacing the o’s, and sports-style shorts patterned with colourful squares and oversized flowers. Once again, it felt like something meant for a much younger child. She pulled the top on and tugged the shorts over her pull-up. They did little to disguise the padding underneath, and Katie felt self-conscious as she walked to breakfast. She ate two bowls of cereal, a strawberry yoghurt, and drank three glasses of apple juice before the family headed to the sunbeds and then on to kids club. In the queue, Sophie asked if Katie’s pull-up was still dry. Katie nodded, though she added quietly, “I do need a wee though, Mum.” “Once you’re inside, go straight away,” Sophie instructed. Signed in quickly, Katie went straight to the toilet. Sitting there with her shorts at her ankles and the white padding of her pull-up visible at her knees, she felt like an overgrown toddler. She rejoined the group, trying to shake off the feeling. The session passed without incident, though Jenny muttered “potty training” under her breath a couple of times—just loud enough for Katie to hear. Peter kept close by to Katie, as if to shield her from any nastiness coming from the others. Afterwards, Sophie collected Katie and James, and they met Stuart at the sunbeds before heading to lunch. Katie piled her plate with mac and cheese, ribs, and salad, then helped herself to ice cream three times before Sophie gently cut her off. After lunch and back in the room, Sophie checked Katie’s pull-up and was pleased to find it still dry. Katie used the toilet, then changed into her pastel yellow bikini, and soon the family was back at the pool. Katie and James played with sinkies and balls, laughing together. Katie noticed Peter watching from his sunbed as she dived down to retrieve a sinky. When she surfaced, holding it aloft like a trophy, he smiled. Katie glanced back at him before tossing the toy to James. Peter caught her look and decided to join in. The three of them played piggy in the middle, chase, races, and catch. Katie felt a few stomach twinges but ignored them—she didn’t want to leave the fun. Twenty minutes later, a sharper cramp hit. She nearly doubled over as she threw the ball to Peter. She knew she was running out of time. She was about to climb out when James shouted, “Katie’s IT!” and both boys swam away, daring her to chase them. Not wanting to spoil the game, Katie ignored her body’s warning and swam after Peter. She was fast, closing the gap quickly. Stretching out to tag him, she strained every muscle—and disaster struck. Her body betrayed her, forcing a mess into her bikini bottoms. Panic surged. She dove under, swam to the pool’s edge, and tried to climb out. As she pushed herself up, another wave hit, leaving her bikini stained and bulging, the pastel yellow fabric now marked with unmistakable evidence of her accident. Katie froze. In her panic, she had surfaced on the wrong side of the pool. Her parents were sitting directly opposite, watching from their sunbeds. To reach them, she would have to walk the long way around the pool—her accident visible to everyone. Peter, still in the middle of the pool, looked around in confusion, wondering where Katie had gone. Then he spotted her on the poolside and quickly realised why she had left so suddenly. Not wanting to add to her embarrassment, he steered James back into their game, keeping him occupied and away from Katie. Katie’s walk around the pool was more of a waddle, the mess in her bikini bottoms making every step feel unbearable. She was certain everyone was staring, pointing, laughing. She held herself together until she reached her parents—then the tears she had been holding back spilled over. Startled, Sophie looked up from her book. “Katie?” she said, her voice confused. She glanced her daughter up and down, and then the realisation hit. At that moment, whistles shrilled across the pool. Lifeguards rushed to clear the water, ordering everyone out. Sophie wrapped an arm around Katie and quickly led her toward the toilets, snatching up her bag as they went. “This is so embarrassing!” Sophie hissed. “You’ve shut down the whole pool! You’re meant to be starting secondary school in a few weeks—right now it feels like I should be looking at nurseries instead!” Her anger only deepened Katie’s shame. They reached the toilet block, faced with three doors: gents, ladies, and baby change. Katie’s head dropped as Sophie, without hesitation, pushed open the baby change door. Inside, Sophie grabbed a mat from one of the trolleys and spread it on the floor. “Lie down,” she said sharply. Katie obeyed, wincing as her accident shifted against her skin when she lowered herself onto the hard ground. Sophie pulled out one of Katie’s night-time nappies—a plain white Tesco junior plus, marked only with two wetness indicator lines—along with wipes and powder from her bag. Kneeling beside her daughter, Sophie produced something Katie hadn’t expected: her pink dummy. She held it just above Katie’s lips. Utterly defeated, Katie accepted it, focusing on the rhythmic comfort as she suckled, trying to block out the humiliation. She lay still, offering no resistance as Sophie lifted her legs and began cleaning her. Katie stared up at the ceiling, tears streaming down her cheeks, while the cold wipes worked across her skin. Katie let her legs drop back to the floor as Sophie released them and turned to the folded nappy beside her. She stretched it out, pressed the padding flat, then lifted Katie’s legs again to slide it underneath. A quick dusting of powder, and Sophie pulled the front panel up, fastening the tapes firmly into place. “Sit up,” Sophie ordered. Katie obeyed, glancing down at the bulky nappy now secured around her waist. Her first thought surprised her. She wasn’t upset about being back in nappies—she couldn’t deny the need after what had happened—but she was disappointed by how plain and clinical it looked. The thought vanished as Sophie’s voice cut through. “Right, young lady,” Sophie said, her tone leaving no room for interruption. “You’ll be in nappies for the rest of this holiday, at least. You’ll use them like the little girl you’ve proved yourself to be today. You won’t tell me when you’re wet or messy—I’ll check you when I decide, and my word will be final. You’ll wear whatever I choose and do exactly as I say. If you break these rules or give me backchat, you’ll earn another week in nappies. Do I make myself clear?” Katie, dummy still in her mouth, nodded silently as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Now stand up. We’re going to meet your brother and father by what’s left of the pool.” Katie’s eyes dropped to the floor. Was her mum really going to make her walk outside with nothing covering her nappy? Sophie answered the unspoken question almost immediately. “Wrap the towel around you, and let’s go. And throw those bottoms in the bin,” she added, pointing at the soiled bikini. Just before leaving the baby change room, Sophie removed the dummy from Katie’s mouth and tucked it back into her bag. Katie took a deep breath, bracing herself to return to the scene of her accident—her nappy concealed only by the towel wrapped tightly around her waist. Her mum grabbed her hand and pulled her briskly out the door, showing little sympathy for Katie’s inner turmoil. Katie felt every eye on her as she was marched back toward the sunbeds. The pool lay deserted now, whistles still echoing faintly in her mind, and most families had already drifted away to other pools or back to their rooms. Katie scanned the area for Peter, hoping for a glimpse of him, but he was nowhere to be seen. James and Stuart sat waiting on the sunbeds, both in T-shirts and swim shorts. Stuart had clearly gathered up the family’s belongings, ready to retreat quickly to their room. On the walk back, Katie felt her towel loosening. Panic surged as it began to slip, but she quickly tightened the knot around her waist. She and James walked ahead, while behind them Sophie filled Stuart in on what had happened—and the strict rules she had set. Katie caught fragments of their conversation, and at one point Sophie’s voice rose sharply: “It’s so embarrassing what she’s done.” Back in the room, Katie was told to go straight to her bedroom and wait. She hadn’t been waiting long when Sophie stormed in, her mood still dark. “Towel and bikini top off!” she snapped, not even meeting Katie’s eyes. Katie obeyed, slipping off her bikini top and letting the towel fall to the floor. Sophie strode to the chest of drawers and pulled out a bright pink top decorated with cartoon cats and dogs. “Arms up,” she instructed firmly. Katie raised her arms, and Sophie slipped the top over her head. As the fabric fell into place, it was obvious the shirt stopped at her waist, leaving her nappy fully exposed. “You’ll stay like this until I get you ready for dinner. Now go watch TV in the main room.” Katie turned toward the door, catching sight of herself in the mirror. The plain, clinical nappy clashed starkly with the colourful, childish top. She dropped her head, shame pressing down on her, and walked slowly out to the living room. The rest of the family didn’t mention the incident at the pool, nor the fact that Katie was sitting in just a T-shirt and nappy. She let the television wash over her, eyelids heavy, the weight of the afternoon pressing down until she drifted into sleep. In her dream, she was back in the pool with James and Peter, chasing each other and playing tag. Sophie called her out to use the toilet, but as Katie climbed from the water she froze—and began wetting herself. Her yellow bikini bottoms darkened as the fabric filled, and suddenly everyone stopped to stare. Fingers pointed, laughter rang out—even James and Peter joined in. Katie jolted awake, startled. She was back on the sofa, still in her nappy and T-shirt. A quick prod confirmed the heavy padding: part of her dream had been real. She had wet herself in her sleep. She thought about finding her mum, but remembered the new rules. So she sat quietly in her wet nappy, the TV flickering in front of her, lost in her thoughts. Sophie emerged from her bedroom dressed for the evening—a plain black dress, half-heeled shoes, and a gold necklace. “Right, let’s get you ready,” she said briskly. Katie stood and headed to her room. Sophie followed, patting the back of her nappy. “Already wet, I see. Still plenty of room in there though.” In Katie’s room, Sophie told her to raise her arms. She slipped off Katie’s top, folded it neatly, and placed it on the dresser. “Come here. I want to show you something.” Katie stepped closer. Sophie opened the drawer where pull-ups and swimsuits had once been. Now it was stacked wall-to-wall with nappies. Only one corner showed colour—the swim nappies decorated with Baby Shark. “Just in case you thought I wasn’t serious,” Sophie said firmly. “It’ll be a while before you see a potty or a pull-up. Now let’s find a cute outfit to match that nappy of yours.” She closed the drawer and opened another. After rummaging for a moment, she pulled out a lilac dress with a shiny skirt and a unicorn head printed on the top. The unicorn’s mane shimmered in purple, blue, and yellow, with a pink spot on its cheek. “Age nine—might be a tight fit. Let’s see.” She pulled it over Katie’s head and smoothed it down. The skirt fell just short of thigh length. Sophie admired how it looked, while Katie felt exposed—her nappy impossible to hide beneath the short hem. “Sit down. I’ll do your hair.” Katie sat on the edge of the bed as Sophie brushed her hair, tying it into a ponytail with a pink scrunchy covered in unicorns. Together they joined James and Stuart in the living room, both dressed neatly in shirts and jean shorts. Katie looked like the youngest member of the family—an overgrown toddler, especially with her wet nappy beneath the childish dress. At the restaurant, Katie felt eyes on her as they walked in. They chose a quieter area with empty tables. James and Stuart went with her to the buffet while Sophie stayed behind to reserve the table. Katie carefully considered her options, choosing chicken curry with rice, and decided she might return later for chicken nuggets and chips. But when she came back, her heart sank. At the next table sat Peter and his family. He caught her eye and offered a warm smile, trying to reassure her. Katie immediately dropped her head and sat as far from him as possible. The wet padding pressed against her, a constant reminder of her new status. She couldn’t help but wonder how much worse this holiday might become.

“How do you get underpants gnomes to stop stealing your underwear? That’s easy… wear diapers!” Hi, Diapered Drow here (a.k.a. Diapered Dark Elf), and this piece is my love letter to South Park—specifically the wonderfully ridiculous episode titled “Gnomes.” In it, a jittery kid named Tweek becomes convinced that gnomes are stealing his underpants. As it turns out, his paranoia is completely justified: the Underpants Gnomes are real, and their entire business plan begins and ends with collecting underwear. I’ve always adored South Park for its absurdity and cleverness, and I have a particular soft spot for the early seasons. The more whimsical, off-the-rails episodes really stuck with me, and “Gnomes” was one of the first I remember seeing that leaned fully into that kind of surreal humor. I’ve wanted to do this visual gag—this ABDL take on the episode—for a long time, and finally nailing the show’s style was something I was genuinely proud of. I also had a lot of fun with the background art of her room, blending the world of South Park with my own interests and aesthetics. I won’t point out every detail, but I do feel like I succeeded in merging my dark elf persona with the show’s universe—this is exactly what her room would look like if she lived in that world. I hope you enjoy this piece. And remember: if all your underpants go missing, it’s either because of the gnomes… or because you’re an ABDL. 😉

Sorry all, I've been sick. Coming out of both ends on Christmas day sucks!!! I'm feeling better now, hope to get back to it more regularly. Chapter 20 Falling deeper We got up again and she got dressed. Well, pants and a top, no panties or bra underneath. She explained it as, “Around the house, sometimes I just like to relax.” I was still worried though. I’d been having more dreams about being her baby, and this time I’d soaked myself. Was it the scary part of the dream? The part where I thought she was about to… what’s the word? “Peg” me? I’d never tried anything back there. In fact, that day at Miss Beth’s was the first time I even had a finger back there. Isn’t that what guys are supposed to do to girls? Or only gay guys? Definitely something only submissive… Oh yeah… that’s me now… submissive. She walked out of the bedroom and returned in under a minute with the large tote bag. As she set it on the bed and reached inside, she spoke rather casually, “Okay sweetie, let’s get that tushie of yours in a clean diaper.” I just lay there as she unfolded another diaper and then reached to yank open the tapes of the one I had on. She just smiled as she peeled down the front of it and looked at my limp cock. She turned and grabbed the baby wipes from the bag and popped a couple out. As she started to clean me off, she commented, “Getting more used to it Tommy? Having Mommy wipe around your little weewee? It’s not all hard this time.” I found myself spreading my legs without her asking as she reached to wipe my balls. All I could manage to say was, “I… I guess so. And we did have sex just before naptime. Sort of.” She smiled and reached for an ankle, just saying, “Yes, we did, didn’t we. Now lift your feet sweetie, so I can wipe your cute tushie.” I did as she asked but felt my face blushing. One thing to have a woman play with my junk, but now she was wiping my puckered hole. Her hand gently held my ankle as a way of letting me know to keep holding my feet up as she pulled the wet diaper away and pushed the new one under. At least I’m not messy, not like that time at Miss Beth’s. But that time I was so upset, I was just grateful to be clean again. My eyes widened a little as Mommy wriggled the baby wipe against my back hole. I bit my lip but couldn’t help but grunt a little when her finger penetrated me and then slipped out again. Before I could say anything, she was guiding my legs back down and saying, “There… all clean.” I lay there, secured in a fresh diaper as she handed me one of my own T-shirts. She must have packed it in my suitcase. All she said was, “Here sweetie, so you don’t catch cold. You won’t need pants tonight; I’ll just order some delivery.” Then she picked up the wet diaper and walked out of the bedroom. I sat up and slipped the T-shirt on. Then I sat there on the side of her bed and looked down at my bare, hairless legs, the white plastic cover of my diaper and thought. It’s obvious she’s manipulating me. Using her body and sex to get me to do things. But I’ve been going along with it. I can’t really say it’s against my will. Is this who I really am? Am I just a big baby? What did she call it, ‘Adult Baby’? But it’s more than just the sex. It’s… comforting… safety… knowing she’ll take care of me. And even though she spanks, she seems to really care about me. She truly enjoys taking care of me, changing my diapers. Having me…. Having me ‘play with my peepee’ in them. I heard her voice calling, “Tommy? Would Chinese food be all right? We’ve got drinks, how about some beef and broccoli?” Her voice broke my revery and I stood up. I heard my diaper crinkling as I waddled my way towards her voice. When I found her, sitting on the couch in the living room, phone in hand, I said meekly, “Can I have sweet and sour chicken instead? Would that be okay Mommy?” She looked up and smiled, then patted the cushion next to her. She simply said, “Of course pumpkin, come sit with me and I’ll order anything you’d like.” Then she looked back at her phone as her fingers tapped on it. I sat next to her and watched as she finished the order. She put down her phone and both of her hands took one of my hands as she snuggled a little closer. She kissed my cheek as she explained, “Don’t you worry, some night I’ll cook dinner for you myself. I’m really not that bad at it and I’ll prove it to you.” I smiled and replied, “Oh really? Like what?” She giggled and started rambling a little, “Oh, I don’t know. I have my mom’s meatloaf recipe. And I make a wicked chili. When I’m in the right mood I can make a scrumptious pot roast. Or some stuffed pork chops. I even made a nice leg of lamb once.” I chuckled, “What? No Italian?” She wrinkled her nose, “Eww…. Well, I suppose if I HAVE TO, I could make you some spaghetti. But no parmesan… That always smells yucky to me.” I winked and answered with, “Just as well. I HATE Italian.” She pushed away a little, then playfully balled her fist to softly punch my shoulder, “You little STINKER! You just asked to see if I liked it!” Then she was quiet for a moment as she looked into my eyes. Her voice was a whisper as she spoke, “Tommy… I think I’m falling in love with you.” I blinked a moment. I wasn’t sure I could say the same, but I was having strong feelings for her. After barely five seconds of silence, she leaned forward and put her arms around me again. She just whispered, “It’s okay, we’ll get there… together.” … After dinner, we cuddled on the couch, and she turned on the tv. She seemed to get interested in some movie. I tried to start a conversation, “So, if we moved in together, would I be in diapers all the time?” She gently swatted my thigh, “Shh… Mommy’s watching…” I sulked for a couple minutes. She’s the one that said the ‘L’ word, now she’s engrossed in some romance movie. I tried to pay attention to it, but it seemed like just another ‘Hallmark’ movie. Predictable plot, man and woman go back to their hometown, meet up after high school reunion, blah blah blah. A commercial came on and I tried again, “Maybe I could put my work computer in that other bedroom?” She glanced at me, then stood up. She went to her kitchen, and I heard the refrigerator open and close. When she walked back, both hands were full. A glass of wine, a tea towel, and a baby bottle. She set her wine on the end table as she sat. Then she put a small pillow on her lap and patted it. I hesitated, saying, “Carole… Can’t we…” Big mistake. Big BIG mistake! HUGE!!! Her eyes flashed like lightning as her hand reached for my arm and yanked hard. As I fell over, my head landing on the pillow, I heard her voice angrily say, “Do as mommy says! Or do you need a spanking?” I rolled onto my back and looked up at her as her hand shoved the tea towel around my neck like a bib. I felt my cheeks blushing as she pushed the nipple of the bottle into my mouth. Her brow was furrowed as she glared down at me; she lowered her voice to barely whisper. But it had an icy hardness to it as she said, “Call me Carole again and you won’t be able to sit for the rest of the weekend. Is that clear?” The vanilla flavored milk trickled into my mouth, and I gulped as I stared into her eyes. After a swallow I managed to talk around the nipple a little, lisping out an answer, “yeth mummy…” The commercial break was over, and I heard the movie coming back on. Mommy’s eyes shifted to the tv as her hand held the bottle in my mouth. For the next fifteen or so minutes, it was clear that for once, I was NOT the center of her universe. I was just, “something she had to take care of”. Like some other chore around the house, ‘feeding the baby’ was just something that she was doing while watching tv. I guess I can’t be the center of her world all the time. Or is this because I didn’t respond when she said she’s falling in love with me? Is this what life would be like sometimes with her? Taking care of her baby is sometimes just another bit of housework? I do care for her, she’s wonderful. Do I love her though? Growing up my family never used that word. Is it some hangup of mine? Not able to say it? As I remained quiet and suckled, she reached for her glass of wine and took a sip. She set it down and her other hand wiggled the bottle as she glanced at it. All she said was, “Keep going, you’ve got about a third left.” Then she looked up at the tv again. I closed my eyes and pouted a little as I managed to suckle some more. I suddenly felt a pang of loneliness. Even though I was laying in her lap, I felt isolated and I wanted her arms to hug me. I turned my head a little and squirmed to press my ear and cheek against her tummy. I kept sucking, it helped a little. But soon the bottle was empty and I heard the sound of air being sucked through the nipple. She heard it, and maybe she sensed my anxiety. She tugged the bottle from my lips and I felt her reaching for something. Then the nipple of my pacifier pressed against my lips as I heard her voice again. This time more like the tender, loving woman that I had grown so attached with. She whispered, “Good job… here you go sweetie, suck your pacifier, it’ll make you feel better.” And this time her hand gently stroked my cheek and pulled me against her tummy. I nuzzled against her and felt better. I may not be her entire world again, but she’s over being mad. I lay against her as I started to feel drowsy. I wasn’t sure, but maybe she had dosed my bottle with that sleep aid again. I was feeling calm and relaxed. And I have to admit, sucking my pacifier was part of it. I was developing quite an ‘oral fixation’ at times. I drifted a while, trying to follow some dialog on the tv. Then I heard, “Coming up next on the ten o’clock news….” But it stopped as Mommy moved her arm, apparently shutting off the tv with the remote. Then I felt her fingers in my hair. I didn’t open my eyes, but wriggled a little, pushing half my face deeper against her belly. I heard a whisper, “that’s my good little baby.” I felt a warmth wash over me at her words. I was her world again. For about three seconds. Then her phone went off. I wished for her to ignore it as I felt her reaching. There was a pause, maybe she was about to send it to voicemail? Nope. “Hi, kind of late, what’s up?” I heard her answering the ring. “Yeah, I was just about to tuck the little guy into bed. He just finished his bedtime bottle.” I blushed and squirmed, who was she talking to? Telling them I had my… my bottle. Before I could protest though, she continued, “Okay, I’m on speaker now, Tommy can hear.” The voice from the phone was Miss Beth’s, “Good. Now, I had a thought about Thursday. I thought it might be nice if after Tommy looks at my web server, we have a bit of a dinner party.” I was fully awake again and my nervousness was obvious in the way I was sucking my pacifier again. The shield of it was bobbing against my lips as my eyes looked up at Mommy. It was clear that Mommy was intrigued, but wary. She answered cautiously, “A dinner party? How many guests did you have in mind? You know Tommy isn’t exactly up for public games.” Miss Beth seemed already ahead of Mommy. Her reply started before Mommy even finished, “Now don’t worry, just one other couple. You remember Sarah and Mikey? I thought it might help Tommy explore his sissy side if he could see Mikey as little Shelly.” Mommy glanced at me and bit her lip. Then she replied, “Yeah, I remember them. But I don’t have anything like that for Tommy. And I’m not sure if…” Again, Miss Beth was the one in charge, she kept going as if what my mommy said didn’t matter, “Oh don’t worry I have plenty of cute dresses and the like. You can bring him over, he can look at things, and then we can get him all dolled up. Who knows? Maybe he’ll enjoy being a little girl as much as Shelly. Won’t know until he tries it.” I started to say something, the pacifier falling from my lips, “Mommy? But… but what if I…” Mommy gently pulled me close, pulling my face into her chest and murmuring, “shh… let me handle this sweetie.” But Miss Beth was talking again, “Tommy? Do you remember last time? You can use your two words. Colorado for slow down, and Denver for stop. Do you remember those sweetie?” The phone was silent and Mommy was looking down at me. I nodded and whispered, “Yes… I remember Miss Beth.” Her response was warm and immediate, “Good BOY!! So, all you have to remember is those two words. And your mommy will be with you the whole time.” I wasn’t sure what I was letting myself in for, but knowing I had a lifeline, a way to get out, was calming. I looked up at Mommy and asked, “You’ll be with me? The whole time?” The effect on Mommy was instant. She smiled and pulled me against her chest again, “Of course I will sweetie. The whole time.” Then she spoke a little louder to Miss Beth, “Okay, we’ll give it a try. But don’t expect miracles Beth.” I heard the reply, “Great! Now, Katherine will serve dinner at six. And it might take a little while to get your cutie ready. So maybe come a little earlier? Say about three? My afternoon on Thursday is completely free. See you then.” And before Mommy or I could say another word, the phone beeped as Miss Beth hung up. I felt a little scared as I looked up at Mommy. I felt my voice crack a little as I asked, “Three more people? To see me as your …. Your little sissy now?” She tilted her head a little, “Three?” Then she giggled a little, “No sweetie… Mikey and Shelly are the same person. Mikey is Sarah’s husband. But sometimes he likes to dress up as a baby girl. Then he likes to be called ‘Shelly’.” I blinked trying to understand, “So… so he’s not a little boy like me?” Mommy smiled and tilted her head back a moment. Then she smiled again, “No, that’s not quite right either. You see, Mikey is a baby boy for Sarah just like you and me. But sometimes… well sometimes he plays… well, plays dress-up.” I felt my brow furrow a little, “So he’s not transitioning. Not like a girl trapped in a boy’s body.” Mommy smiled and nodded, “Exactly. Just because someone likes to role play and play dress-up, it doesn’t mean that’s what they want all the time. It just means they like to play.” I was starting to get it, “So, if you… You put me in a dress and stuff, it doesn’t mean you’re trying to turn me into a sissy, you just want to play like that for a little while?” Mommy grinned and nodded. Then she praised me with, “Exactly! We’d just be playing a little game for a while, then it can go back to you being my baby boy. Beth probably just thinks you might like to try it. And seeing how little Shelly has fun with her Sarah, might give you an idea what it can be like.” I thought for a moment. Then I felt Mommy’s hand slide down my tummy and cup the front of my diaper. As she gently squeezed she said softly, “And just think how embarrassing it might be for you, showing off your cute little diapered bottom with some frilly panties and a baby dress too short to cover things.” Between her hand and the thought of a roomful of grownups looking at me, bare legs exposed under some baby dress, my dick was starting to get hard. Mommy could feel it as she grinned at me, which just made me blush even more. She let go and patted my thigh as she said, “Thought so. Now come to bed, it’s getting late.” … I was lying in her bed, one hand on my crotch, as she came from the bathroom. She had on a long nightgown. She must have seen the disappointment in my eyes. After she climbed into bed with me, she smiled and reached for her breast. As her hand moved over the front of her nightgown she said, “Don’t worry sweetie… it’s a maternity gown, you still can have my titties to suck on.” And with that, sure enough, there was some folds she pushed aside and out came her breast. She leaned closer and gently put her nipple to my lips and whispered, “You go ahead and play with your peepee if you want darling. But Mommy’s a little sore from the huge toy she used this afternoon.” I rolled to face her and latched on. My cock was tingly, but I was also tired. Her hand stroked my hair as we snuggled. I let her shift her thigh between my legs and put my arm over her to hold her close. After a couple minutes and I wasn’t dry humping her leg or anything, she whispered in the dark, “There’s something else I should warn you about… About little Shelly.” “mmm?” I hummed as my lips stayed gently latched to her breast. She sounded a little nervous as she spoke, “Now I’m not saying I want this. And Sarah doesn’t make him wear it at home. But Shelly has this thing about being devoted to her and all.” I listened but I was starting to feel drowsy again. Looking back, maybe Mommy did put a sleep aid in my bottle. She went on, “So when he’s dressed up as a little girl, he likes to pretend he doesn’t have a cock and he puts on a chastity cage.” I stopped and my lips came away from her breast. She quickly added, “No… no… I’m not saying that you have to do that. Just… I just thought you should know because… because that’s just something they do.” I opened my eyes in the dark to look up at her from her chest and asked, “She keeps his cock locked up? As in… no sex?” She took a breath, “No… not like that. The way Sarah explained it to me is… well he’s got a premature ejaculation problem. Sometimes just a little flirting and he goes off. And he feels really bad if it’s in front of anyone but his wife. So, it’s more… more like a ‘marital aid’, then some punishment or control thing. He puts it on, not her. And it’s just so he feels… safe. He knows he won’t, you know, nut in front of somebody besides his wife.” I thought for a moment and asked warily, “So… you’re not saying…” “Nope. I told you before. I may make threats, but I like when my little boy gets his rocks off.” And to prove it, her hand slid between us and fussed with the front of the diaper I was wearing. Then I felt her cool fingers grip and pull my cock into position and started slowly stroking. Her fingers felt nice as she leaned to kiss the top of my head. She whispered, “Not every kink is for us sweetie. Just because someone else does something, we don’t have to. Now be a good baby, suck on mommy’s other tit while I help you make ickies in your diaper.” I felt her roll away a little and managed to find the other hole in the folds of her nightgown. Her fingers didn’t let go as I latched on. Her voice was in my ear, “That’s Mommy’s little boy… now let’s get those ickies out… make your little cummies for mommy.” My mind was flitting from one idea to another. She loves me, my diaper on display under a short baby dress, her nipple, sucking and sex… sucking and… and it makes me feel safe… I’m Mommy’s little boy… Is Mommy going to peg me …. Mommy spanks when I’m…N..nnnaughtyyyy….I grunted as I felt myself cumming. To Be Continued

Sometimes, it takes someone else to help us admit something about ourselves. Chapter 22 Admit it! Just admit it you stubborn little boy! When I woke up, the game was over. My head was still on the pillow, but Mommy was not there. My lips were latched onto a pacifier. I rolled over and looked around. The tv was off and the sun was obviously lower in the sky outside. As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I started thinking. She may be right, nursing from a bottle, or her breast, certainly calms me down and relaxes me. Having a nice nap on a Sunday afternoon, safe and comfy like this? I think I WOULD like to live with her. And if… mind you IF, I’m enjoying wearing diapers, she certainly wouldn’t complain. Being her little boy… Maybe this isn’t for everyone, but her and me? She loves taking care of me and… and I have to admit it. I’m enjoying it too. I heard the oven door open and close in the kitchen. That’s why she got up, she’s fixing dinner for us. I sniffed the air, I think I smelled something but wasn’t quite sure. What can I do for her? Something to make her smile… I smiled to myself in an instant. I knew just what it was. I rolled a little further and landed on the carpet on all fours. I sucked my pacifier some more as I crawled. Most of the way was carpet, so that was easy. But the kitchen tile was harder. I raised my chin as I looked for her, crawling further into the kitchen. She was at the counter next to the oven, a knife in her hand, cutting something up. I watched for a moment as she worked, apparently not noticing me yet. I lisped around my pacifier, “ma ma.” She turned and saw me. Her face broke into that wonderful smile as she stopped what she was doing. “THERE’s my precious little Mama’s Boy!!!” she exclaimed. I giggled as she put down the knife and grabbed a small kitchen towel to wipe her hands. She took three steps towards me and bent at the waist, reaching with one finger extended from her hand. As she put it under my chin and lifted, she cooed, “Did my widdle Tommy-Wommy have a nice nap?” Tommy-Wommy?? Full on baby mode! And look at that smile!!! I lisped and giggled as I stared into her eyes. The pacifier made it hard to talk anyway, so I just burbled, “pbbt ggg ma ma” The effect on her was to have her giggle a little. She moved her hand and caressed my cheek as I kept staring up at her. She whispered, “Oh yes you did. Mommy can tell when you’re such a happy little baby for me.” Her fingers ran through my hair a moment as she said, “Who’s my precious little boy? Hmm? Is Tommy-Wommy my precious little mama’s boy?” I nodded and squealed, then squirmed to sit, bringing my legs in front of me. I was getting into the role more as I bounced a little on my bottom and brought my hands together in a single clap. I let the pacifier fall out as I giggled and said loudly, “DIN DIN!! DIN DIN TIMES” She put a hand to cover her mouth and not laugh too much at my performance. When she regained some composure, she nodded and managed, “Just sit right there sweetie… Dindin isn’t quite ready yet. Can you do that for Mommy? Just stay just like that for Mommy?” I nodded and sat back on my bottom again and nodded. I put my hands on my knees and lisped again for her, “Tommy waitsis… Tommy a goods boy.” She just smiled and turned back to the counter scooping whatever she was preparing into a bowl. As I watched her move about the kitchen, getting a few other things, my hand somehow drifted between my legs. In a moment or two I realized it was on my diaper and gently rubbing. And my cock was straining, getting hard for Mommy as I sat on the floor, looking up at the woman that I was falling in love with. I watched and gently rubbed my diaper as she put a few things in the dishwasher. Then she got some dishes from the cabinet and stepped past me as she went to set the table. When she came back by me, she patted my head and casually said, “Little Tommy likes rubbing his peepee doesn’t he. Just sit right there now… Mommy has to open the oven. Oven HOT!!” I blushed a little, yes, I was just like any little boy, sitting on the floor in my diaper, rubbing my peepee. But my hand kept moving slowly, not desperate to climax, but not willing to stop. When she pulled the roast chicken from the oven and set it on the stovetop, I instinctively just said, “Hot!” She moved the chicken to a server and took a small cup with white liquid and slowly poured it into the pan, stirring it with a spoon. She spoke to no one in particular, “Hope the gravy comes out okay. Sometimes it gets lumpy.” Homemade gravy? And that chicken smells pretty good now. I watched as she reached into the oven again, pulling out a tray of roasted potatoes. Everything smelled delicious and my hand seemed to slow. But it was still holding on as I watched her make several trips to the dining room table. Potatoes, salad, green beans, gravy boat, somehow while I was napping, she managed all this. The last trip was the chicken itself. As she carried it past me, she said in a sweet voice, “Okay darling, time to let go of your peepee and come have dindin.” I let go of my diaper and crawled a few paces. She was standing next to a chair, holding it for me to sit. She simply said, “I don’t have a highchair darling, and it might save your knees if you just walk. Now come have a seat.” I was a little grateful to stand, the tile floor of the kitchen and dining room were HARD!! As I sat in the proffered chair, she reached for a terry cloth towel and tied it around my neck. A bib! All she said was, “If you would like a highchair sweetie, I can ask Miss Beth where she gets hers.” I blushed as she fastened my ‘bib’, thinking: Would I like a high chair? Be trapped in it all helpless like at Miss Beth’s? My thoughts were broken as she reached and picked up my plate. She had a knife and was carving some chicken, then putting potatoes and green beans on my plate. She set it back in front of me, saying in that sing-song loving voice, “Here you go babykins, can you eat all that for Mommy? There’s plenty more if you want seconds.” I picked up my fork and then realized I didn’t have a knife to cut my meat. Mommy was just finishing up serving herself when she looked over. She exclaimed, “Oh silly me. Here sweetie, let me cut that for you.” She leaned over a little with her knife and fork and proceeded to cut up all my chicken into bite-size pieces. As she finished and sat back in her chair, she mentioned, “Little Tommy’s too little to use a knife. You might get hurt, so Mommy does it.” I stabbed at a piece and popped it in my mouth. Cutting my meat for me… too little to use a knife… Well, I guess I put the idea in her head, crawling and saying baby words. I know I did that to make her smile, still… having her fuss over me, caring for me… Wonderful! It tasted wonderful. Just a hint of spice, not overly dry, but not underdone. That’s a small pet-peeve of my own, chicken that is tough because it isn’t cooked properly. I was about to tell her how great it was, but then I didn’t want to break the moment. So, I stuffed another bite in my mouth and spoke with my mouth full, “IS GOODS MOMMY!!!” She looked at me and giggled. Her smile was infectious. She swallowed and paused to say, “I’m glad my baby likes it. But try not to talk with your mouth full sweetie.” I nodded, shoveled in a fork load of roasted potato, and mumbled with my mouth again full, “Yeth Mommy.” Then I swallowed and added, “Mommy cooks the bestest!!” She sat back and laughed, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. My ‘little act’ was making her happy and smiling. And that made me happy. I grinned at her as she pointed towards my plate and told me, “Don’t forget your green beans sweetie.” I looked at them for a moment. I love green beans, but a part of me thought: Should little boys balk at eating vegetables? Would she expect that? Should I be all fussy and not want to eat them? Nope! Not me, I’m a ‘good boy’. I stabbed my fork into them and popped them in my mouth like candy. My reward was a tender, “That’s Mommy’s good little boy…” … After dinner I helped clear the table, waddling back and forth in just my shirt and diaper. As I put the last dish in the dishwasher and stood up, I felt a hand on my bottom. Mommy gently turned me towards her and put her arms around me kissing my cheek. With a hug she said, “If we’re going to start living together, let’s start tonight. Why don’t you spend the night again; I’ll take you back to your place in the morning so you can work tomorrow." The adult world crashed in on me for a moment. I sighed and told her, “I have a teleconference every Monday at 8 in the morning. I can’t miss that.” She probably saw a hint of my disappointment in my expression. With a quick kiss on my lips, she made it better by simply saying, “You just let Mommy worry about that. I’ll take care of things; you just be my adorable little baby boy for tonight.” It’s hard to explain it. Just by saying that she would take care of it, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. A moment ago, the realities of the world were pressing down on me, the end of the weekend looming over me. The anxiety of getting ready for the dreaded ‘MONDAY’. And with just a kiss and a few words, I didn’t have a care in the world again. Mommy was here, and Mommy was taking care of things. … The rest of the evening, I was her little boy. We watched the Sunday night game, but this time I laid my head in her lap the whole game. Her fingers stroked my head occasionally, tenderly, lovingly. Once, when her team got caught with a 35-yard pass-interference call, I said, “Serves them right for cheating!” Her reaction was a playful THUMP on my diapered bottom. We both giggled. By the end of the game, it was late. Mommy urged me to get up, and we went to her bedroom. She checked my diaper and I was still dry, so she tucked me in. I almost said something though, because I knew my bladder wasn’t going to last through the night. But I also knew that Mommy wouldn’t care if I used my diaper. It was late and we both needed to get some sleep. For the first time I think, neither of us seemed interested in sex. After she put on a nightgown, she crawled in and lay behind me, spooning against my back. I felt her breasts warm against my back as she gently kissed my neck. Then her hand reached over and was between my legs, cupping my diaper as she whispered, “Sweet dreams darling.” I lay quiet for a few minutes. Her hand wasn’t letting go, but it wasn’t rubbing or squeezing. But sleep wouldn’t come to me. Finally, I started to roll over towards her and whispered, “Mommy? Can I suckle?” She moved her hand and rolled on her back for a moment. At first, I thought she was going to offer me her breast but then her arm swung back towards me and I felt the silicon nipple of a pacifier push between my lips. Without a word, her hand gently pushed my shoulder to roll me over to face away from her again. Her hand slipped between my legs and held my crotch as she snuggled against my back again. I was disappointed, and my lips started to pout. But soon I was sucking on my pacifier, and she kissed my neck again. For whatever reason, it was clear. Baby doesn’t always get what he wants, sometimes a pacifier has to be enough. No use arguing. I finally drifted off. … Sometime in the night, my bladder woke me up. I couldn’t see the clock from my side. Mommy had rolled to face the other way in her sleep. My pacifier was still in my mouth, but I wanted a hug. I rolled towards her and put my arm over her. She rolled onto her back and I cuddled against her, sucking my pacifier. I slipped my leg over hers, gently pushing my diapered crotch against her. I’m not sure if she woke, but her arm reached and held my shoulder. I suckled on my pacifier and relaxed my bladder. Warm pee flooded my diaper, and I squirmed to cuddle closer. I heard a whisper, “… Mommy’s baby…” … “Tommy sweetie, time to wake up darling.” The voice was accompanied by a gentle touch. I blinked and opened my eyes. Mommy was smiling at me. She was fully dressed and stood back up. She was tossing my clothes onto the foot of the bed. As I sat up, she came back and reached to tug my T-shirt off. As she helped me into my shirt she rambled, “I promised you Mommy will get you to work on time so we need to get a move on.” I reached down and buttoned up my shirt as she shook open my pants. She knelt in front of me, holding them open. She said rather plainly, “Come on sweetie, one foot at a time.” I lifted my foot and she slipped one leg of my pants up. Then the other. She helped me stand and pulled them up over my soggy diaper and tugged them to fit over it. Then just as easily she pushed me to sit back down and she was tugging my socks and shoes on as she kept talking, “I had a great time sweetie, just think when you move in, you won’t have to worry about this.” I was still yawning as she tugged my hand and we were heading out the door. In the car I finally found my voice, “I’m still wet.” She looked both ways as she pulled out into traffic. She answered, “I know dear. You cuddled with me in the night and wet yourself while hugging me.” I blushed a little. So, she did wake up. She knew exactly what I did and just let me fall back to sleep. When she pulled into my apartment complex, she parked and turned to me. She leaned in and kissed me gently and said, “See? Just like I promised. You’ve got seven minutes until your meeting. After that, sometime today you should go online, shop for a second computer for work.” I didn’t want to get out of the car, but she gently pushed my shoulder, urging me to get moving. As I was about to close the door I climbed from, I asked, “Will I see you tonight?” She smiled and shifted her car into reverse and said, “Probably not sweetheart. I’m probably going to be working late tonight.” I closed the door, disappointed. As I turned to head inside, I heard her voice call one last time, “Don’t forget to get Thursday afternoon off. I’ll come by around two to get you ready for our visit to Beth’s.” And she was gone. I watched her drive off. I had forgotten about Miss Beth. She wants me to look over her web site stuff. But instead of getting paid… My phone beeped. My five-minute alarm for the meeting. I hurried inside and didn’t have time to change so I sat down at the computer, wearing my soggy bedtime diaper under my pants and logged on. … Following the meeting I was in ‘programmer’ head space and started working on stuff. I answered an email, typed code, and kept working. About mid-morning my bladder emptied into my diaper and I just kept going. At lunch when I stood up, I realized my diaper could not hold anymore. I stripped, took a quick shower, tugged on some sweats, grabbed a bite to eat and was back at it. I didn’t bother with another diaper, like I said I was in ‘programmer’ head space. I knocked off work about six and since Mommy wasn’t coming over, I ‘nuked’ a frozen meal in the microwave. A little tv and then the Monday night game was on. It was a close game and ended in regulation still tied, so went into overtime. Having sat all day at my computer, and then all evening in front of the tv, I groaned a bit as I got up. I peed, brushed my teeth and crashed into bed. As I closed my eyes, I remembered that I had promised to wear diapers to bed. But I was tired, it was late. I rolled over and went out like a light. … I had some sort of dream but I’m not sure what. One thing was for sure, I woke up with a rock hard cock. I reached into my sweatpants and felt how smooth my crotch was. I gripped myself and tugged a few times. Looking back, that was a mistake. But I was still a bit groggy and I was horny. The soft cotton of my sweats felt nice as it jiggled over my smooth balls and I started tugging in earnest. In just a few minutes, the inevitable happened and I came in my sweatpants, leaving a large wet spot. I lay back thinking for a moment, but then my alarm went off. Another day. No video meeting today, so I got up, shucked down my pants and wadded them up, tossing them in the laundry basket. I walked bottomless to the bathroom, peed, and found some boxers to put on. Sipping my first cup of coffee, I got to thinking: She said not to do that without a diaper. She made me promise and I did it anyway. She never needs to know. Just like she doesn’t need to know I went to bed without a diaper. I did my best to rationalize things as I poured another cup and sat down at my work desk. But I knew. Not two hours into work, it came back to haunt me. I broke my promise. Maybe if I… yeah she wants me to find a second computer. I eased my consciousness a little bit by shopping. I found a nice setup, added two monitors and saved it to a shopping cart. I saved it and sent the link to Mommy’s email. But it kept coming back into my thoughts. I broke my promise to her. I emailed Susan about knocking off early on Thursday. That's something Mommy wanted me to do. But the more I thought about this morning, the more I felt guilty about it. Looking back, it’s interesting I wasn’t afraid of what she might do, but I knew I had failed. I let her down by not keeping my promise. That's the part that made my tummy ache. … After lunch, she texted. ///// “That’s pretty expensive babe. But a deal is a deal. Order it.” “Sorry, but that’s the same as my current setup.” “Having a good day? How about I bring over some Mexican for dinner?” “Doing good. Mexican sounds great. What time?” “I should be there about six. How’s your diaper holding up?” GULP! Should I admit I’m not wearing? I can’t bring myself to outright lie… “Not wearing just now. Took a break while working.” “Okay sweetie, just don’t tinkle on the furniture though.” “Yes Mommy… Maybe I should put one on before dinner.” “*shiver* Ooo… there’s my good little boy!! See you then.” “Yeth mummy…” ///// I got up and did just that. I dropped my boxers and put on a diaper and the baby pants with little bottles. I also grabbed a pacifier. I went back to work, but it took a while to really get back into it. I wanted to be a ‘good boy’ for Mommy. But I wasn’t a good boy. I had done something I promised I wouldn’t do. Work seemed to move along, but every once in a while, my hand reached and squeezed my diaper. And my ‘sin’ haunted me. But I needed two hands to type, so that never amounted to much. But I didn’t get much work done either, my guilt constantly coming back to the surface. ... I heard the front door open and heard her, “Hey sweetie… Dinner time. Come give Mommy a hand.” My hand was a blur as it grabbed the mouse and logged out. I went quickly to her, my diaper and baby pants crinkling. When I hugged her, she couldn’t hug back very well, her hands were full of takeout food. But she kissed my cheek, saying, “How’s my little baby? I see you put on your diaper all by yourself!! And such cute baby pants!! Aren’t you the clever little boy! Let’s get this on the table so we can have dindins.” I was grinning as I took the two bags and carried them to the table. As I looked for her, she was getting out plates and silverware. Soon, both our plates were loaded down with food and I had a bottle of beer while she had a glass of water. She talked a bit about work and her day. I mentioned that I ordered the computer system. She seemed so happy, and I felt so guilty. She asked about my getting off early Thursday and I nodded quietly. “Is something bothering you sweetie? You can tell me. After all, I’ve seen you naked,” she inquired, winking at that last part. It was bothering me. But I didn’t want her to get mad. She doesn’t HAVE to know… Maybe if I just don’t say anything… But I was never very good at keeping secrets. I looked down at my plate of half-eaten food and confessed in a whisper, “I… I played with my peepee this morning.” She didn’t really understand. All she said was, ”So? I’ve told you before sweetie, all little boys do that. It’s perfectly natural.” I kept staring at my plate. I started to actually squirm in my chair which made my plastic pants crinkle in the silence. I shook my head and whispered, “But… But I did it in my sweatpants…. Not a diaper.” There was silence for a minute. Then she whispered back, “So you took off your diaper, put on sweatpants and jerked off?” I felt my eyes starting to water as I shook my head again. I still couldn’t look her in the eye as I said, “I… didn’t wear a diaper to bed last night. I woke up with a hardon and… And did it.” She was quiet. I still couldn’t look at her. Then I heard her chair moving and I looked. As she stood up and picked up her plate, all she said was, “Tom, you gave me your word, and you went and broke it.” I watched as she carried her plate to the trash and scraped all the food left on it into the trash and turned to put her dishes in the sink. I felt like SHIT! I mean, I’ve never felt so… so low. I whimpered and asked, “Are you mad Mommy?” She came back to the table, gathered the leftovers and started for the refrigerator as she said, “No… but I AM disappointed. Your word Tom… And here I thought we were doing so well together.” She reached for a dishtowel and wiped her hands. Then she turned, picked up her purse, and started towards the door. I started to panic. She was leaving? Didn’t even finish dinner and… But all she said was, “Can I still count on you being ready by two o’clock Thursday?” “WAIT!” I practically shouted in my panic. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Please… don’t leave!” I felt tears welling up. I got up, went quickly to the kitchen and opened the drawer where I knew it would be. I walked to her and held out the wooden spoon I had grabbed. She stared at it, then looked at me. All I could think of to say was, “Please?” Please Mommy? I know I screwed up, but I’d rather have a sore bottom than have you leave… She took it from me and pointed, saying quietly, not an order, not a tease, just a simple statement, “Bend over the back of the couch.” The tears started trickling down my face as I turned to do as she said. Once bent over, her voice again. The same calm, quiet voice, “Bare your bottom Tom.” I’m doing this… This is all on me. I don’t HAVE to, but I need this. I’ve been feeling guilty all day. Worse than just guilty, I felt rotten. I disappointed the one person that means more to me than anyone else. And I deserve this. I’m a grown man, but I deserve… I whimpered as I reached back, first with one hand and then shifting to the other to work the back of my diaper down. I got it to the tops of my thighs, the bulk of it still cradling my privates. Then I used both hands in front of me on the cushion to support my upper body. I didn’t have to wait long. THWACK! THWACK! “Tom, do you feel guilty for what you did?” “Oww… Yes Mommy… I’m… I’m sorry.” THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! “Why do you want a spanking Tom?” THWACK! THWACK! “I…. I was naughty…” THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! “Nope. I’m not talking about baby games Tom. Why do you want a spanking?” “I I… I broke my promise…” THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! “So? You slipped up and forgot other things in your life. Do you want a spanking every time you make a mistake? Try again.” “N…no…. but… but this time it hurt you…” THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! “You’re getting warmer. But I’m sure you’ve hurt people’s feelings before.” THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! I was sobbing, it stung so much! But I stayed right there, taking it. Each swat now was making my hips jerk from the sting. And still I was bent over, not trying to stand up. Not reaching with my hand to protect myself. I realized I deserved this, I earned it. “B…but this time it was your feelings… Ow Mommy it HURTS!!!” THWACK! THWACK! “Yes, it hurts. And you’ll probably be black and blue at the rate you’re going.” There was a pause and she moved around to the other side of me. Was her arm getting tired? THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Her aim was definitely not as good with her left hand. One came so close it grazed my nuts. “Come on Tom, you’re a smart guy, you can figure it out. Why does a grown man want his bottom paddled.” THWACK! THWACK! “Because I… I… I….” it was hard to talk, my chest was convulsing with sobs. “Because I feel guilty… I need to not feel guilty any more…” THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! “All about Tom’s feelings? Why Tom? Most people don’t ask to have their bottom paddled when they screw up. Why do you want me to paddle you Tom?” THWACK! “No!! I mean…Yes…. No… I … I just want Mommy to stay” “I… I disappointed Mommy and… and I feel so bad, I want to cry.” She shifted again, her right hand…. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! I was howling. Probably all the neighbors could hear, but I howled anyway. I was being punished for what I had done, and I knew I deserved it. A part of me NEEDED to be punished. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! “Oh you’re crying Tom. You’re blubbering like a two-year-old. Now say it Tom… Say what you really feel…… What does Tom REALLY need??” “AHHHHHHH…PLEASE!!!!! MOMMY!!!!!” THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! “I SAID SAY IT!!!!” “PLEASE MOMMY!!! PLEASE DONT GO!!! I LOVE YOU MOMMY!!!! PLEASE… I NEED YOU!!! I WAS NAUGHTY AND I NEED A SPANKING!!! I NEED MOMMY TO SPANK ME FOR BEING BAD!!! PLEASE!!!” THWACK! My ass was on fire! My chest was heaving with sobs. My mouth was contorted into a sobbing frown. My arms were shaking, barely able to hold myself. First one foot, then the other lifted and kicked helplessly. The clatter of the spoon on the floor barely registered. But then I felt a tenderness. I couldn’t tell for sure… then… yes. She was tenderly kissing my burning ass. She reached and helped me to stand up. Her arms pulled me into the hug that I so desperately needed. A whisper, “about time you admitted it to yourself. My arm was getting tired.” I just clung to her. I felt her fingers tugging up my diaper. It stung against my burning bottom, but I didn’t’ care. I was hugging Mommy. She gently kissed my ear, “You cried for Miss Beth so easily… Was it that hard to admit to me what you really need?” After I caught my breath and calmed down some, she gently took my hand and led me to the kitchen. She got some paper towels and wiped my face. Then held one to my nose as she gently said, “blow.” She hugged me again, gently whispering, “There there now… it’s all better. Have a good cry.” I barely nodded but held on tight. My bottom was sore, but I felt the guilt from earlier slowly seep away. I had confessed my ‘sin’ and paid the penance. And Mommy was still there, holding me in her arms. Then she led me to my bedroom and had me sit on the edge of the bed and lie down. I jerked when my tender butt touched the mattress. I watched as she pulled off her clothes, everything but her panties. As she undressed, she explained, “that’s going to sting for a few days. Each time you feel it, remember why you asked to be paddled. And it’s NOT because you jerked off. It’s because you NEED a mommy but couldn’t admit it to yourself.” She climbed into bed from the other side, pulled me close to her and kept hugging me. She didn’t stop me as I shifted and moved down a little to latch onto her nipple. Her hand gently palmed my head and I closed my eyes. Yes… it’s all true. I genuinely asked for it. By handing her that spoon, I asked for it. I could have let her leave; we might have worked things out. Or I could have kept quiet in the first place. But I didn’t, I told her the truth, I told her I felt guilty, I told her I NEEDED a spanking. And that I need a mommy… Someone to care for me, love me, and yes, even spank me when I deserve it. And now I have one. Despite my stinging bottom, I fell into a deep sleep, Mommy holding me all through the night. To Be Continued

Chapter 35: Interactions Bound – LittleFallenPrincess ------------------------------- Chloe A few days ago, the day after Sam invited me to the event, the one being held tonight, Becks sent me a text, telling me she’d happily help me explore my submissive side, if that’s what I want. Her messages were a lot more drawn out than my brief explanation, but most of it was her making sure I was okay with Sam being there with Cassie, and I think she kept implying that I’d prefer to have Sam do it, as Becks may be a bit too rough sometimes. Honestly I think she was just trying to get me to play with Sam instead at the event. And believe me… I wish I could. I would love nothing more than to be in her arms once again. To be teased… touched… held… ugh, no, Chloe… you need to stop this thinking. Ever since you broke it off with Nat, you’ve been wanting desperately to get back with Sam. But she has Cassie. Even if Cassie is… …Umm… Okay, she’s a little shit, but Sam seems happy with her. I can’t get in the middle of that. So maybe getting some of this frustration beat out of me by Becks tonight will help. And as I stood there, in my sluttiest lingerie… which by my standards is slutty, but by Becks’ standards is probably quite prudish… I imagined what kind of things Becks will do to me tonight. Bend me over one of those bench things? Use one of those floggers? Oooooh maybe she’ll throw me over her lap. Aaaaaand now I’m thinking about Sam’s lap. And her soft… squeezable thighs… Sighing heavily, I grabbed my dress, slipped it on over my lingerie, grabbed my coat and my bag, as well as my keys and ID and stuff, and headed out of my apartment, suppressing my overwhelming anxiety that had been building up all afternoon, leading up to this event. Loud music. Thumping. Barely lit corridors. Tinsel and various Christmas decorations hung on the walls. I don’t remember it being like this the last time (obviously the decorations were new, but more so the rest of it just felt… different), so it was all a bit overwhelming when I got past the front desk, paid for my ticket and walked into the main corridor. It was… busy. Very busy. So busy that my first instincts were to rush back the way I came in, go home, and curl up in bed in silence for a decade or so. But no. I need to do this. I need to get over this fear, this anxiety… What helped push me the most was the fact people were waiting for me. Expecting me. So if I went home now… I’d just let them down, right? Becks would be disappointed… yeah… that’s why I’ll stay. Because I hate disappointing people. So I smiled awkwardly as I passed people on the way down the corridor, each person dressed up in various fetishwear. There was a pup being led on a collar by her Mistress, a guy in a full gimp suit, a straight couple who looked just like they jumped out of a 00’s vampire movie. You know the ones… the ones with the long coats, latex bodysuits… unf… I do love her in that movie… I wonder what I’d look like in… wait… Fuck. Did I just discover a new kink? Oh well, future me can figure that out later, right now I’m probably running late to get my ass beaten. And as I walked past a door, I heard someone calling out my name from that room. “Chlo! In here!” I turned to see my friends all hanging out in one of the side rooms. Seems like they’ve claimed it as our own already, so I quickly dodged the crowds and slipped into the room as quickly as possible, closing the door behind me. But I don’t know what’s worse. Being out there, surrounded by kinky strangers, all of whom don’t even recognise my existence, being in their own little kinky world where they are the main actors of their scene and everyone else is just a background character… or being in here, in private… being stared at by a number of people all grinning and licking their lips as if I’m next on the menu. “You scrub up well, toy,” Becks said as soon as I closed the door. I. Melted. It took every ounce of willpower to prevent my legs from giving in and dropping me to the floor. But a heavy price was paid… my cheeks showed the full result of her words as they grew hotter and hotter. “That didn’t take long to make her blush!” Steph said, sitting on Daniel’s lap, swinging her legs back and forth. So it turns out I was going to have an audience to my little ‘Baby’s intro to being dominated’ session… as not only were Becks and Craig here, as well as Sam and… Cassie… but also those two friends who I met at the pub months ago, back when Sam and I were together, Daniel and Steph. I remember them because of the whole ‘I’m his little fuckbunny’ comment she made or something. Daniel was wearing a suit, just like last time. Well not a full suit, but a waistcoat, shirt, smart pants… you know the type, the stereotypical ‘Daddy dom’ that I’ve seen online all the time. His beard was well trimmed, and I know I’m gay but he looked like he smelled amazing. God. That’s so weird to think about. Steph was in a purple corset, which looked amazing by the way, and was barely holding her boobs in, along with some matching panties and some absolutely gorgeous stockings clipped on to the corset. I had never gotten a proper look at those kinds of things, I’d only ever seen them in movies and up close they really hit a few buttons of mine. Guess I know I’m going to be researching a lot of things this weekend. Craig was dressed up in a rather skimpy black vest and skin-tight shorts… and a really cool looking dog mask. Though I think he’d probably prefer to call it a ‘pup’ mask, as it sounds cuter. He was cuddled up on a sofa with Becks, who looked… intimidating. Similar corset to Steph, but in all black, along with a pair of tight leather pants, and boots that just screamed ‘worship me’. The heels alone made them look intimidating, but the straps and the buckles and the way she had her legs crossed made me picture Craig at her feet, worshipping her boots… oh god… is that something I may have to do tonight? Cassie was here too, and it looked like Daniel and Steph were actively avoiding eye contact with the girl, so it seems like there’s a bit of a rift within their friendship group in regards to Sam’s romantic interests, because they were so lovely with me… but they can’t even stand looking at Cassie right now. Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this, wishing for something that maybe isn’t even there… Cassie… ugh, I hate to even think this, let alone admit it, but Cassie looked fucking adorable. And I was so jealous that she was getting to dress up like that at a place like this. Kinda like me the first time… when I broke her heart… ugh. Fuck. No. Chloe. Do not ruin tonight just because you fucked everything up months ago. Move on. You’re going to get all the attention tonight, that’s something to look forward to! Stop dwelling on how adorable Cassie looks in her bra and thick, babyish nappy… God, even her tits are fucking perfect. “Toy… pay attention.” How was being called that so hot? How did Becks have this amazing ability to make me melt on command with only a few words? Was it her outfit? Her voice? Her body language? Whatever it is, it is fucking working and I’m already close to dropping to my knees and worshipping her boots. “Sorry.” “Sorry, what?” “Umm… Sorry… Mistress?” I replied, nervously, stuttering slightly. “Mistress is reserved for good little toys who belong to me. You may call me Miss.” “Yes Miss. Sorry Miss.” “Good girl…” Unf. She used those two forbidden words. Forbidden, rightly so, for making me a quivering ooze of submissiveness if uttered by the right people. “Now… Let me see what I’m working with tonight…” Becks stood up from the sofa, with Craig instantly releasing his grip on her arm like a good little pup, before she began leisurely walking around me, inspecting me, as if she was looking at the goods before she purchased them. I… I just hope she likes what she sees… “I can work with this…” “This is why Becks is so respected in here… she can make anyone behave,” Steph said, grinning up at me. “Don’t worry, she won’t break you… too much.” My anxiety said ‘please don’t let her break me’, but my quivering body and rapidly deteriorating mind said ‘Oh god please break me, you beautiful Goddess…’. Or it would if I could string two sentences together in this increasingly hornier mind… “On your knees. Now.” I did as I was told and dropped to my knees. That was a big mistake, as I felt a jolt of pain shoot through me after landing on the floor too hard. Thankfully, the floor wasn’t as hard as it looked, there was a slight bounce to the flooring, but it still hurt a lot. Still… I’m a good toy. I won’t yelp. I want to enjoy this tonight. I want to experience being a proper submissive, to see if this is something I’d really like in a relationship… and most importantly… to get my mind off the happy couple sitting on one of the many sofas, the ones giggling at each other and kissing each other… Maybe this was a mistake… But before I could go down that rabbit hole, Becks bent over and whispered in my ear, “Are you okay, love? Be careful dropping to your knees, hun, I’m here to tease you, not damage you.” I nodded at her, appreciating the check in. This… this is why I wanted an empathetic, kind, understanding person to try this with for my first time. Someone who was clearly a pro at all this, but also did all the things you hear about online that apparently a lot of Dom(me)s ignore, like aftercare and check ins. Look, I’ve done my research, and I know what I want. And Becks… Becks is giving me everything I want. Well… not everything. If this was my ideal scene… it wouldn’t be her. It’d be the Mummy currently on the sofa, teasing her girlfriend’s tits as her friend kneels in the centre of the private room, regretting fucking everything up. “Right. Let’s see how well you obey commands…” Becks barked at me, making me straighten my back and pose, ready for her orders. This… was going to be an interesting evening… --------------------------------------------- Okay… Maybe I enjoy all this after all. Especially when Becks said ‘she even gives Craig a run for his money when it comes to being a good little pet’ to the rest of the group, making Craig look at me, frustration in his eyes (I assume his whole face, but I could only see his eyes through the holes in the dog mask. But yes, we were having a lot of fun, and my mind was mostly off the happy couple in front of me. Mostly. This was definitely something I’d like to explore more though, turns out I’m kinkier than I thought I was. First the ageplay thing, now BDSM… like… what next? Will I end up a pup like Craig or something? I guess I still have a lot to learn about kink… and myself. Becks also had a lot of fun, you can tell by the look on her exhausted face. She had made me pose in various different positions, she had me worship her boots (called it!), at one point she had me take my dress off, leaving me in just my lingerie… and then she had me crawl around on my hands and knees in front of everyone, sitting in front of each person, barking for a headpat from each person. It was humiliating. And I loved every second of it. Except for when I had to kneel in front of Cassie and bark for a headpat. But hey, that was quickly forgotten about when Becks brought out the spanking bench thingy and set it directly in the middle of the room. Look, I don’t know the exact names of these things, I just know I was lying on top of the top part, with my hands and legs tied to the sides, with my backside on full display. At least I wasn’t completely naked, I think that may have been a bit too much for me to handle this early on. This was an introduction, after all. Becks did give me a good introduction to everything… including pain. Only light pain, mind you, but it was still new to me… as she used a flogger on me, or at least I think that’s what she called it. She even got Craig and Steph to come up and use it on my bum too… which didn’t hurt as much as Becks’ swings. And even then, apparently she went easy on me! And as I was taking a breather, letting the pain on my backside settle, feeling… good about it all… I heard the door open behind us. “Hi…” I heard a familiar voice call out. “Sorry, this is a private room, we booked it for the night,” Becks replied to her. “I’m just looking for Chloe.” That brought me out of my blissful haze in an instant, as I tried to turn my head so I could see the door. Thankfully, Steph had seen that I was trying to get up, so she quickly uncuffed me whilst Becks and this woman who had intruded were chatting. That’s when I saw her. Natasha. “What… are you doing here?” I asked, nervously. I didn’t want to start shit in here, on my first proper night at this place, and get kicked out all because of my abusive ex. “Who is this woman?” Becks asked me, pointing at the woman wearing a black halter dress and matching heels. “This… is Nat.” “Nat? Wait… your shitty ex?” Way to play it cool, Becks… “Shitty? What have you been telling her about me, you little bitch? I came here to ask for an apology, as I was told you were here,” Nat asked me, instantly going on the offensive. “Wait… you want an apology from me?” I asked. “Of course. You broke up with me. Over text. Then whilst I was here I heard you were also attending…” Sam was about to get up, no doubt to defend me alongside Becks, when a large woman came up behind Nat, towering over the woman. “Sup Becks. Is this one bothering you?” the woman replied, with a slightly deep voice. And when I say deep… I mean that in a hot way. Like… a husky voice. Commanding. Like Becks’ but with a little more resonance… that oozes charm. If I wasn’t stuck in the worst situation imaginable, I would melt listening to that voice of hers. With her scruffy tank top, heavy silver chain necklace, and baggy black cargo pants… along with her gorgeous face and thick black hair that was tied into an extremely scruffy ponytail… look… I know I’ve just used the word scruffy to describe most parts about her… but that’s what she looked like. It was the best word to describe her whole aesthetic… What some people may refer to it as ‘grunge’, I call ‘scruffy’. Either way, it works for her. Really well, in fact. “She’s harassing our friend, her ex,” Becks replied. “Harassing, eh?” the woman said, looking at my ex, raising her eyebrow. “She’s also apparently a pretty shitty abusive domme…” “Is that so?” the woman replied. Nat looked at the two women, her head dashing back and forth between them, trying to get a word in edgeways. “Hey!” she said, finally breaking their conversation. “I am not abusive! That little bitch over there is the abusive one!” Everyone looked at me, timidly sitting there on the spanking bench or whatever it’s called, eyes wide open like a deer in headlights. “That little cutie? I doubt it. Especially if she’s friends with Becks and Sam. You… on the other hand… I’ve been keeping an eye on, and you’ve been pushing one too many boundaries here. So effective immediately… you’re banned.” “Banned?” Nat sounded like she had never been spoken to like that in her life. “How dare you!” “Claire?” the woman called out behind her, rather loudly. It was then that the woman who I had paid my entry fee to, the large blonde woman who looked like she could bench press a car, walked over, and began escorting Nat out of our room… and off the premises, with Nat loudly complaining and trying to make a scene. But my mind was not on any of this. My mind was on the fact that that gorgeous mysterious woman in the doorway just called me cute… ====================================================== Ruh roh. Chloe is smitten. Again. Also I'm glad someone else noticed the Glitch in Nanny easter egg :3 Don't forget I'm on Subscribestar! Subscribers get 2 weeks early access to chapters, and exclusive short stories (Nessa's Tale is currently the only available one). The next four chapters of my stories are posted on my Subscribestar! ======================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! If you want to read the next 4 chapters, thanks to two weeks early access to my main story and also soon-to-be exclusive access to short stories, why don't you check out my SubscribeStar! Thank you to all my subscribers for their support over the past few years! Seriously, your support means the world to me. New chapters of my latest story every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post. And it goes without saying, my story is not to be used in any way to create AI work. Thanks!

Chapter 33: Toxic Bound – LittleFallenPrincess ------------------------------- Chloe ‘I missed you…’ What kind of fucking statement was that to the woman that I still haven’t lost feelings for? And after this utterly shit day too… I just wanted to bury my face in her chest like I used to, to escape all the stresses and worries I was dealing with as an adult, and embrace her warmth… her smell… her aura. But no. She’s found someone. Of course she’s found someone. So don’t mind me whilst I proceed to finish off this bottle of wine along with the takeaway food that cost me way too much and is way too greasy and unhealthy. Because tonight I’m not making sensible choices. I’m going to ignore my phone, and all the mean messages from Nat, and watch something. The problem is… I’m not even in the mood to watch my favourite stuff. Because it just makes me think of how much Nat hated everything I liked… and how Sam shared the same interests… and WHY IS LOVE SO FUCKING COMPLICATED? My phone buzzed, making my head buzz a little more after I had finished the last drop of wine not that long ago. Doesn’t help that I’m a bit of a lightweight. And as I scanned my phone to see who was texting me, all I saw were the words ‘Nat’ and ‘you’re a bitch’. I’m sure the full message is a lot longer than that, contains a lot more swearing, and accuses me of all sorts of horrible things. All because… I broke up with her. Because, as it took my friends to make it clear… She's toxic. So controlling and demanding and then gets insulted when I break up with her. I originally broke up with her last night, but she was too busy with her friends yet again to pick up the phone, so I left her a text. And yes… break ups by text aren’t great, but given how she’s reacting now and how anxious I am on the phone anyway… I think I can be given a pass… right? But yes, when I woke up, I had like twenty text messages and thirteen missed calls from her. It started off with the ones I expected, the ‘sweetie, are you joking?’ to the ‘I thought things were going well?’ but over time you could see her start to blame me for everything, making me out to be the villain. I won’t repeat what she said, mostly because if I think about those messages one more time I’m going to burst into tears. Again. So all day at work I’ve been dealing with texts and phone calls from her, with her being honestly pretty fucking vile towards me just because I had the gall to break up with her. I think she just wanted to be the one to break up with me, not the other way around. But that’s just who she is. She never truly liked me. She saw me as this cute plaything, this cute baby, ignoring my personality and my likes and dislikes, my anxiety and my depression, ignoring everything that makes me me… outside of my obedient nature and my outward appearance. Which she tried so hard to change. From ‘I think we should get your hair cut’ or ‘you’d look cuter ginger’, all the way to wanting to replace my entire wardrobe because my style just wasn’t her preferred style. I can’t believe it took me so long to realise how selfish that woman is. And that I fucked up a perfectly good relationship because of her. It was Nat that was pushing me all that time in the background that what Sam did was unforgivable, that I deserved better, that Sam is an evil person… when she’s not. I’m just easily influenced it seems. And what a sucker I’ve been. I let that b… bitch… ruin my life. All because she was jealous. I just went with her when she was spouting all that stuff about how ‘Mummies shouldn’t do this’ and ‘Mummies shouldn’t do that’. All of it painting Sam in some evil light. And being the dumb fuck I am… I ate it all up. I accepted it all. I let her turn me against my own girlfriend. Sure, Sam wasn’t perfect and yes she did fuck up by keeping things from me, but I overreacted… all because of Nat, who was pushing and prodding all my fears and anxieties about my relationship. Maybe it’s good that Sam has someone else. If I’m that easily influenced… Do I even deserve her? Who is to say that I wouldn’t find some other reason and get influenced to break her heart again? No. I’m not going to do that to her again. Because… I just won’t let myself get that close to her again. I’m better off just being friends with her anyway. I also don’t want to complicate things with her girlfriend. Who seems pretty cute… albeit a bit nasty. Those comments she made made me feel really shit, and if Sam hadn’t come out to comfort me at the bus stop, I would’ve internalised it even more than I have and already be on my second, maybe even third, bottle of wine… and crying into a stuffie. Then my phone beeped again, although this time it was a distinctly different beep. See, sober me had realised that maybe other people would want to text me or call me… so I had the clever forethought to change Nat’s text and call sounds to something different than my usual. So I grabbed my phone with my free hand, the other holding the glass of wine I had nearly finished, and checked who was messaging me. I only glanced at the messages from Nat on my notifications, and they seemed pretty cruel, so I sighed and swiped them away, before focusing my attention on the message notification I had from Sam. Sam: Hey sweetie. How are you holding up? I giggled to myself before browsing my image gallery for a reply… Chloe: *drunk_anime_wine.gif* Okay… so sensible me is not here right now. Just this idiot who has way too many reaction gifs saved on her phone and way too much alcohol in her system. Sam: How much have you had? Chloe: This many! I quickly snapped a pic of myself and sent it to her. Chloe: *Chlo_twofingers.jpg* Sam: Two bottles or two glasses? Chloe: One bottle. Two very big glasses. Sam: What’s up, petal? Chloe: Hahaahahahahaaispndkfnkffknnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn Sam: … Chloe: SOrry! Ianm Iiii I like wine. Wine gooooo0ood! Maybe I’ve had a bit too much, I’m way too giddy right now… Sam: Do I need to come look after you? I will, you know… Chloe: No! I wanted to say yes, but even drunk me can’t allow myself to ruin her relationship, apparently. I can’t even be selfish. But there’s being selfish… and actively ruining someone’s relationship just because you miss her and want her to tuck you into bed, read you a story… change your nappy… fuck, why did drunk me have to start thinking about little stuff now? Sam: Right, I’m coming over. Fuck. Chloe: No! I’m finannefn fin fine! Dopnt let me screaw your night with ur gf! Sam: I’ll be over in 10 minutes. Fuck. Fuck fuck fucking fuck. Fuck fuckety fuck fuck fuck. FUCK. Way to go, Chloe. If her girlfriend hates you even more now… that’s on you. Sam turned up fifteen minutes later, and I had to get up off the sofa where I was currently drooling, and answer the door to let her in… which was a lot more effort than you’d think. “You look adorably tipsy,” was the first thing she said to me. “Hey! I’m like… super duper drink!” She giggled. Adorably. “You mean drunk?” “That’s what I said…” I growled at her. “Sure, kiddo. Right. I’m here to make sure you don’t die or hurt yourself.” “Buh… wha about Cas… Cath… what was her name?” “Cassie. And it’s fine, she got bored part way through the pizza and went out to drink with her friends. It’s what she does.” “That’s… not fair on you!” “Sweetie, it’s fine. Just… don’t tell her I’m here.” “She doesn’t like me, does she?” I sighed. “She doesn’t like anyone who may be a threat to her. That… can be anyone. Me included.” “I’m a threat?” I didn’t know whether to be insulted or happy about that… so instead I chose to let my face meet the sofa once again, as I flung myself over the arm of it, my face thudding against the fabric where my little drool spot was. Eww. Future Chloe is going to hate me tomorrow. “I brought more of the tea you like. That may help sober you up. Cups still in the same cupboard?” Sam asked, patting her shoulder bag, before walking off towards the direction of the kitchen. I groaned, trying my best to indicate to her that yes, the cups are still in the same place as the last time she was here. “Oh look at this mess, Chloe! Did you manage this in one evening?” she called out from the kitchen. Oops. “Right. Here… water first,” she called back to me, as I heard the tap running and something filling up, followed by heavy footsteps heading right towards me… when suddenly a pair of legs stood before me. They were nice legs too. “Drink this, slowly. Small sips, sweetie…” she said, holding out a tall glass of water. I swung myself up, using my momentum to sit up on the sofa in one big swooping motion, before looking up at the extremely pretty lady who didn’t look too impressed right now. “Fank yoooooooooooo…ooo…ooo….ooooo” “Sip that, I’m going to go clean your kitchen, you mucky pup.” I couldn’t help but giggle at her calling me that… whilst also trying to take a sip of the water… and I nearly choked. “Careful! Wow, you really do need an adult, don’t you?” she said, rolling her eyes at me. The problem is… I couldn’t tell if she was playfully joking or if she was criticising me. At least I couldn’t in this current state I’m in with my head all over the place. “Are you mad at me?” I said, quietly, as she began to walk away back to the kitchen. This caused her to stop instantly, and turn around to face me. “No sweetie. I just think you need some help whilst you’re going through some tough things. It’s okay, we all stumble. We all have times when we’re struggling. My friends have helped me in the past…” I felt guilty, because if it’s worse than how Craig was describing (which I have a strong feeling he was making her out to be a lot better than it actually was after I broke up with her)... then I’m the cause of her needing her friend’s help, she’s just being too nice to say so. “...and I’m here for my friends. And you’re one of my friends.” Her emphasis on ‘friend’ was loud and clear, despite how messed up my head is from anxiety and alcohol right now. There is no ‘me and her’ anymore. There’s Chloe and Sam, close friends… but there’s no… us. I fucked up everything. I fucked up the best thing I’ve had in a long time. And… I just began sobbing my heart out, tears streaming down my face, as I ugly cried, wailing out like… well… like a baby. “Oh sweetie, it’s okay…” Sam said, turning back to me once again, sitting beside me and wrapping her arms around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug, kissing the top of my head. I wanted to cry more, because I knew this is the most I’ll ever get from this perfect… well not perfect, but still pretty fucking amazing woman… but there was also something about her embrace that just settled my soul, and my crying started dying down instantly. After she had consoled me, and made sure I had stopped crying and was stable enough to keep sipping the water she got me, she went back into my kitchen and continued cleaning up the mess I made when preparing my takeaway food earlier. She’s an angel. And I’m a fucking monster. I don’t deserve her. But I need her, at least in my life. I can learn to be happy with that. I don’t want to ruin things between her and Cassie. So I’ll continue being her friend, but I’ll keep my distance and not get too attached again. It’s the least I can do to make it up for breaking her heart in the first place. I awoke with the biggest hangover I had ever had the misfortune of feeling… finding myself in my bed of all places, with the morning sun shining through the bedroom blinds. “Wha?” I called out. But… nothing. No answer. Then as I looked over to my bedside table to see what time it was, I saw a glass of water and a small note… with what looked like a couple of pills. So I ignored the pills and quickly opened the beautifully handwritten note. Chloe Had to go open up the shop, so make sure you take these painkillers with this water and try to grab a shower when you can. Also send me a text to let me know you’re awake and okay. I’m glad you’re back in my life again, I missed you and I’m so happy we can be friends again. P.s. Don’t tell Cassie I was here, she’s still getting used to me being friends with you. P.p.s You may want to change yourself. I didn’t want to push boundaries, but I noticed you were padded when I put you to bed, and you were already soaked. So provided you’ve not leaked already, make sure you change soon, otherwise you’ll get a rash. I could feel my cheeks burning as I realised what she must have seen whilst putting me to bed… and as I looked down, I thanked whatever higher power that I hadn’t leaked… though it was very close to being a problem… ====================================================== :3 Don't forget I'm on Subscribestar! Subscribers get 2 weeks early access to chapters, and exclusive short stories (Nessa's Tale is currently the only available one). The next four chapters of my stories are posted on my Subscribestar! ======================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! If you want to read the next 4 chapters, thanks to two weeks early access to my main story and also soon-to-be exclusive access to short stories, why don't you check out my SubscribeStar! Thank you to all my subscribers for their support over the past few years! Seriously, your support means the world to me. New chapters of my latest story every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post. And it goes without saying, my story is not to be used in any way to create AI work. Thanks!

Chapter 40: Storm Bound – LittleFallenPrincess ------------------------------- Samantha “PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?” “No.” “PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE MAMA?” “No.” “PLEEEEE-” “NO!” Cassie looked at me as if I had kicked her non-existent dog, before she stormed off upstairs to my apartment. My apartment. Which has been her main residence for the past month, ever since that amazing night at the event. And no, I didn’t ask her to move in with me, she just… did. Kinda. She still has her own apartment, but she chooses to stay here more often than not… especially since Chloe started visiting the shop more often, although Chloe is usually here to talk to Becks now that she’s gotten into much heavier kinks. And this wasn’t the first time Cassie has stormed off up to her (I mean our… though more accurately my) room. Ever since I had her drooling and humping my boot, turning her backside a beautiful shade of purple, and much more degrading things in that private room at the event… she’s been wanting more and more attention, and more and more ‘Mistress’. Begging every other day for me to throw her over my lap right there and then… often when I’m running the shop… and every time I have to turn her down, promising to do it later. But no… she doesn’t like the dreaded ‘no’ word. She sees it as a challenge. So I’ve figured out a way to deal with this attitude… I don’t. I’m not giving her what she wants if she acts like this. I don’t deal with brats. I hate playing with brats. Playful brats that give in with the slightest pressure and then are the most obedient, adorable little toys… those I like. A little bit of fight at first is fun to play with and corrupt... But the ones that just want to push buttons and want to challenge authority? Fuck those. I’m not playing her games. She knows this. So I’ll leave her to have her little tantrum upstairs whilst I carry on watching the shop and serving customers. I’m enjoying my book anyway. “Sam!” Chloe said, taking me by surprise, as I was half way through my latest book later in the day. I swear her ninja skills have been improving… I didn’t even hear the bell above the door ring. “Chloe! Hey! Umm… Becks isn’t in this afternoon,” I replied, half-hearted, not really wanting to deal with the sadness of this girl no longer coming to me for advice or help. “I know.” “Then… Do you want to order something?” Things between Chloe and I… have been awkward. We’re still friends. We’re still friendly to each other… but we’ve become more… acquaintances rather than close friends. She’s in here most days to talk all things kink with Becks, as she’s the one who Chloe deems most knowledgeable about all things ‘domme’. Not that I’m not… I’m just as kinky as Becks is, I’m just not outwardly kinky like her. I don’t let people know exactly how kinky I am. And so they think I’m just this soft domme who likes soft things like ageplay and a bit of light bondage. But no… if only they knew the thoughts running through my head when I look at Chloe… That’s why I keep my distance. I’m still having thoughts about her. They’re rare these days, but they still happen. She has Lydia, they seem really happy together, and I have Cassie. And me and Cass… well we’re a lot better than we were the first time we got together at least. I’ve been more romantic with her, took her out on a few dates… she even bought me flowers once! But yes, thoughts of Chloe are still there. But then I guess of course they are, we didn’t have that long where we had a bit of separation with neither of us in each other’s lives… and then suddenly she was part of our friend circle again. But over time she’s become less of a thought and more of a… passing fancy. Like how I think about other friends of mine and how I would domme them. I don’t want her back anymore, I just… she’s an attractive, lovely girl. I’m a domme. I’m allowed to have brief fantasies in my head, okay? “I’ll have…” “Usual?” I asked. “I… like that I have a place where I can just be like ‘my usual please’... I didn’t think you noticed I basically order the same thing every time.” Cup of her favourite tea and a slice of cherry bakewell. Every time. She isn’t very adventurous when it comes to most aspects of her life, it’s only kink in which she shows any kind of adventure, which was what surprised me when she started talking about various different kinks to Becks. Look, I overheard a lot of it. I didn’t actively try to listen in… I was just nearby a lot of the time and I overheard stuff. I’m not prying! “Well you’re predictable, hun,” I replied, smiling at her. Her and her stupidly adorable face. “Really? I’m not mysterious and sexy?” Sexy… yes. Mysterious… no. “Sorry hun…” I replied, not wanting to make things extra awkward by letting the thoughts come out of my mouth. “One of these days…” “You’re adorable, that’s what you are. Play to your strengths.” “Huh? How so? What does being adorable get me?” I laughed, turning around to prepare her tea, and as I did so I kept the conversation going. “Everything, hun. Being mysterious and sexy gets people interested in you. Being adorable makes people do anything for you…” “Really? So if I asked you in a really cutesy voice…” and that’s when she turned on her adorable little voice… “Can I pwease have an extra slice of cake today?” “You may… For the regular price.” “See! It doesn’t work!” she whined. “I’m immune to little’s charms and puppy eyes,” I replied, turning back and smiling at her. That is the biggest lie I have ever told in my life. Even more so than when I told Becks she looked good when she tried cutting her hair herself that one time… Not everyone can do it as well as I do. I am NOT immune to a little’s charms or puppy dog eyes… I was this close to giving her the whole damn cake… but I think the fact that she’s my ex and I’m actively trying not to get close to her again means that I have added defence against her cuteness. If I was trying to get close again… I’d be powerless to resist her. “Fine. Didn’t want an extra slice anyway…” “What if I said you can have it for half price?” “You’re evil!” “And why is that, cutie?” “Cus… cus… cus you know I can’t resist that!” I smiled at the adorable little munchkin who began rummaging around her purse for any spare change. The thing is… I wanted to give it to her for free. But I already nearly lost this business, I can’t go around giving free cake to everyone I like, I’d be bankrupt in no time! Plus… if word got back to either Becks or Cassie that I was giving Chloe free cake… heads would roll. Namely mine. Once she paid for her order, she went and sat down at her favourite table whilst I finished preparing her tea and picking out the best slices of cake for her on a little plate, before bringing it all over to her table on a tray and placing it in front of her. That’s when I heard a sigh coming from behind me. And when I turned around, I saw Cassie standing there at the doorway to my apartment, arms crossed, clearly annoyed for some reason. What made it worse was the fact that she still dresses like she’s a teen, with her long sleeves and short skirt and fishnets, and she just looked like she was having a teenage tantrum. Which made her look even more adorable. “What’s up, cutie?” I asked my girlfriend as I wandered over to her, before leaning close to her and whispering to her. “Need a change?” “Can we talk?” Cassie said, looking more upset than I had seen her in a while. “Sure.” “In private.” “Well I have to watch the shop, but we could go talk in the room behind the counter?” Even her steps sounded angry as she stomped her way across the shop, heading to the little private room behind the counter. “What’s up? You seem annoyed. Did I do something?” I asked, once we were in the privacy of the back room, with a little glass window in the door that allowed me to keep an eye on the shop, whilst affording us the soundproofing that we needed to have a private conversation without worrying about anyone overhearing us. “Of course you did, idiot!” Sadly… I had no idea what I had done to earn myself such scorn… which just made me feel even guiltier. “What? What did I do?” “You and Chloe…” “What about me and Chloe?” “You still have feelings for her. I saw you flirting…” “Hun, I don’t. I didn’t-” “Stop lying to me. You were one step away from making out with her…” “Don’t be stupid.” “I’m not the one trying to jump into another’s pants…” Then I said something that in hindsight, I might regret… but right now was all that was on my mind. “Not this time, no…” I snapped back at her. “What does that mean?” “Cass, you know full well what it means. Or did you forget the reason you broke my heart the last time we dated.” That’s when the cheeks inflated and she was going full brat mode. “I knew you hadn’t forgiven me for that!” “I forgave you. I didn’t say I never forgot it.” “Same thing.” “No it’s not.” “Yes it is! You didn’t forgive me for cheating on you that one time.” “And that other time… and that time in the hot tub… and the weekend away you spent all the time flirting with the waiter…” You could see her getting more visibly annoyed with me, as she realised she didn’t have a leg to stand on. I could’ve listed off a dozen or so times where she’s cheated or flirted with people when I was only mere feet away. “I want you to stop talking to Chloe.” “Why? There’s nothing going on. My feelings for the girl have gone. I’m just being as nice and playful as I am with all our kinky friends.” “Your kinky friends.” “Same thing…” I joked, realised I had fucked up again. “They can’t stand being with me, they all hate me, because they were all turned against me because of you!” “I never said a thing. They formed their own opinions based on how much you flirted with other people and slept around whilst you dated me. I never said one bad thing about you in the time we dated…” “But you did aft-” “OR after we broke up. Cass, you broke my heart. And you never said sorry.” “If I say sorry for ‘breaking your heart’, will you cut Chloe out of your life? I don’t trust that woman. She’s just after you to annoy me…” That’s when the dam burst. The lightbulb in my head lit up. The fog dissipated. Everything was so clear now and I knew just what I had to do. This, it seems, was the final nail in the coffin. “If you need to offer that deal… then you’re just as bad as you used to be. I had hoped you had changed.” “What does that mean?” Cassie barked at me. “It means, Cassie… it means we’re done.” A few seconds of silence afforded me a moment of relief. The biggest, but shortest, moment of relief I have ever experienced. One that was way overdue. “What?” “It means I can’t trust you. I never will. You started to show signs of becoming a better girlfriend… heck, even a better person… but then this just proves you’re just as insecure and bitter and selfish as you were back then.” “You can’t break up with me!” “I think she just did…” I turned to see Becks standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed and one leg folded over the other, like she had been watching the whole fight. That woman is a damn ninja too… or maybe we were just too embroiled in our fight to notice Becks had opened the door and was standing there, listening. For how long… I have no idea. “You can shut up too!” Cassie said, lashing out at my best friend. “Cass. Collect your things later. Get out. Now…” Becks growled. “Fine!” she screamed. Cassie stormed out of the shop, slamming the front door, causing the glass in it to crack due to the force she used. “I’ll get that fixed…” Becks said, as we stood there, transfixed on the entrance to the shop, still in disbelief that I had just stood up for myself against her. “I…” “Proud of you hun. I never thought you’d get rid of her,” Becks sighed heavily, laughing awkwardly. “...What?” “It’s clear she was just using you. But you being you… there was no chance you’d want to break her heart. I knew she’d probably want Chloe out of your life eventually, but I was worried you’d actually go along with it…” Shit. “Chloe…” With Becks holding open the door during all that… that meant Chloe (and the rest of the customers) probably heard the argument… So I turned quickly to check if Chloe was okay… but the only remaining presence of her at her table was a half empty cup of tea and two bites of one of the slices of cake. “Fuck.” “I’ll talk to her, I don’t think you talking to her right now is the best course of action. You go upstairs and lay down. You’re going to crash soon after all this drama, and you’re going to need comfort food and a good movie. So go on, I’ll go check on Chloe, I’ll look after the shop, and call a repair guy for the door, and I’ll bring you some Chinese food in a couple of hours, along with a bottle of wine for us to share. And because you did good standing up for yourself… I’ll even watch that nerdy movie series you like. But for now, I need to go chase down a scared little girl.” I was on autopilot at this point, so I nodded and turned to my apartment, heading off in the direction of my sofa, where I could wait for the realisation of what just happened to hit me like a freight train. ====================================================== There you go. Finally happened. You all happy now? 🤭 Don't forget I'm on Subscribestar! Subscribers get 2 weeks early access to chapters, and exclusive short stories (Nessa's Tale is currently the only available one). The next four chapters of my stories are posted on my Subscribestar! ======================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! If you want to read the next 4 chapters, thanks to two weeks early access to my main story and also soon-to-be exclusive access to short stories, why don't you check out my SubscribeStar! Thank you to all my subscribers for their support over the past few years! Seriously, your support means the world to me. New chapters of my latest story every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post. And it goes without saying, my story is not to be used in any way to create AI work. Thanks!

Introduction The waiting room of the Riverside Fertility Clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and old magazines. Emily sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, knuckles pale, while Mark rested a steady arm around her shoulders. They had come expecting hope—perhaps a simple fix, a round of treatment, a timeline. Instead, the doctor’s quiet, measured words had landed between them like a stone dropped into still water. “I’m sorry,” Dr. Harlan had said, eyes soft behind wire-rimmed glasses. “The scarring from the childhood injury is too extensive. Natural conception isn’t possible, and even with intervention the chances are effectively zero.” Emily had nodded once, politely, as though someone had merely informed her that rain was expected later. Mark had asked the appropriate follow-up questions—his voice calm, practical, the way it always became in emergencies—but inside he felt the floor tilt. When they stood to leave, Emily’s legs carried her out of the office without a tremor, down the elevator, across the parking lot, and into the passenger seat of their sensible gray sedan. Only when Mark turned the key in the ignition did she finally speak. “I’m never going to be a mother,” she said, staring straight ahead at the windshield wipers that weren’t moving. Mark reached for her hand. “We’ll find another way. Adoption, surrogacy—whatever you want. We’ll figure it out together.” Emily turned to him then, and for a moment her eyes were bright with something fierce and brittle. “Together,” she repeated, as if tasting the word. Then she smiled—a small, careful smile that didn’t quite reach the rest of her face—and squeezed his fingers. “Thank you.” In the weeks that followed, Mark told himself the smile was progress. Emily went back to work at the library, kept the house tidy, cooked their favorite meals. She listened to his suggestions about counseling, nodded thoughtfully at articles on foster care, and even bookmarked a few adoption agencies. To anyone watching from the outside, they were a young couple bravely navigating disappointment. But in the quiet hours after Mark fell asleep, Emily lay awake staring at the ceiling, her mind circling the same unyielding truth: there would be no tiny fingers wrapped around hers, no first steps across the living-room floor, no sleepy midnight feedings. The future she had carried inside her since girlhood had been quietly, permanently erased. One night, deep into November, she found herself at the computer long after midnight. A search that began with “coping with infertility” led her down quieter, stranger paths. Forums filled with soft pastel icons. Stories of healing through pretend. Photographs of grown men in oversized cribs, eyes closed in something that looked disturbingly like peace. Emily read until the sky outside turned the color of weak tea. Then she closed the laptop, pressed her palms to her aching chest, and made a decision. If the world would not give her a child, she would find another way to become the mother she was meant to be. And Mark—kind, steady Mark, who had promised they would figure it out together—would help her. He just didn’t know it yet. Chapter 1: The Devastating Diagnosis The fluorescent lights in the Riverside Fertility Clinic hummed softly overhead, casting a sterile glow on the beige walls and the rows of outdated parenting magazines no one ever read. Emily Harper sat rigid in the molded plastic chair, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her wedding band pressed a pale ring into her finger. Beside her, Mark rested one arm along the back of her seat, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles on her shoulder. They had been married seven years—long enough to know each other’s silences—and today the silence between them felt heavier than any words. Dr. Harlan entered with a thin manila folder and a practiced expression of sympathy. He was kind, silver-haired, and spoke in the measured cadence of someone who had delivered this particular news far too often. “I’ve reviewed the latest tests,” he began, settling behind the desk. “The imaging confirms extensive scarring on both fallopian tubes and significant endometrial damage. The injury you sustained as a child—when you fell from that treehouse, I believe—has left irreversible effects.” Emily’s breath caught, a small, involuntary sound. Mark leaned forward, his free hand finding hers. “Is there any chance at all?” he asked. “IVF? Surgery?” Dr. Harlan shook his head gently. “The scarring is too severe. Even with aggressive intervention, the probability of successful implantation is effectively zero. I’m truly sorry.” The words landed like a quiet detonation. Emily heard them, understood them, and still felt them echo inside her chest as though someone else were being told. She managed a nod—polite, composed—while Mark asked the practical questions: timelines, second opinions, alternative paths. His voice was steady, the same tone he used when negotiating contracts at work or calming a panicked client. Emily watched his mouth move and marveled at how calm he appeared, how capable. Inside, she was already coming apart. In the parking lot, the late-autumn wind whipped dead leaves across the asphalt. Mark opened the passenger door for her, and Emily slid into the seat without a word. The engine turned over, the heater began to blow cool air, and only then did she speak. “I’m never going to be a mother.” The sentence hung between them, flat and irrevocable. Mark reached across the console and took her hand again. “We don’t know that yet,” he said softly. “There’s adoption, surrogacy—” “I wanted to carry a baby,” she interrupted, her voice cracking on the last word. “I wanted to feel it move inside me. I wanted the midnight feedings and the first steps and the scraped knees. I wanted all of it, Mark.” He pulled out of the lot and onto the main road, eyes fixed ahead. “I know,” he said. “I wanted it too. But we’ll find another way. Whatever you need, Em. We’ll figure it out together.” She turned to look at him then, and for the briefest moment something flickered behind her eyes—gratitude, yes, but also a raw, desperate hunger that Mark mistook for simple grief. Emily squeezed his hand and offered a small, tremulous smile. “Together,” she echoed. That night, after Mark had fallen asleep, Emily lay awake staring at the dark ceiling. The house was quiet except for the occasional creak of old beams settling. Down the hall, the spare bedroom they had once painted a soft butter yellow—intending it for a nursery—sat empty, its door closed like a sealed tomb. She thought of the treehouse fall at age nine: the snap of branches, the breathless drop, the searing pain that had sent her to the hospital for weeks. No one had realized then how completely it would rewrite her future. She had recovered, run and played and grown into a woman who dreamed of lullabies and tiny socks. And now the dream was over. Silent tears slipped down her temples and into her hair. She pressed a fist to her mouth to muffle the sound, but the ache inside her chest expanded until it felt large enough to swallow the entire room. Somewhere in the dark, an idea began to form—fragile at first, then insistent. A way to fill the unbearable emptiness. A way to mother, even if the world insisted she could not. Emily dried her eyes, rolled onto her side, and watched Mark’s sleeping profile in the glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds. He had promised anything. He had said together. She would hold him to that promise. And in the weeks to come, she would discover just how far love—and grief—could carry a person willing to blur every line between healing and obsession. Chapter 2: Cracks in the Facade The days after the clinic visit passed in a muted blur, as though someone had turned down the color on the world. Mark threw himself into research—adoption agencies, surrogacy costs, support groups—printing pages and leaving them neatly stacked on the kitchen counter like offerings. Emily nodded at each new discovery, murmured “thank you,” and let the papers sit untouched. At work, Mark’s colleagues noticed little. He arrived on time, finished reports, smiled during meetings. Inside, however, he carried a constant low hum of worry. He watched Emily for signs of collapse—tears, rage, withdrawal—but she gave him none. She rose each morning, showered, dressed in her usual cardigans and sensible skirts, and drove to the public library where she catalogued returns and helped children find picture books. She even baked banana bread one Sunday, filling the house with the comforting smell of browning sugar. Only Mark, who knew her better than anyone, saw the small fissures. The way her gaze sometimes drifted to mothers pushing strollers on the sidewalk and lingered too long. The way she folded the yellow nursery blanket they had bought on impulse two years earlier and placed it at the very back of the linen closet, out of sight. The way she no longer reached for him in bed at night, turning instead onto her side, her breathing slow and deliberate until sleep finally took her. Emily, for her part, felt the grief like a second heartbeat—constant, insistent, impossible to ignore. During quiet moments at the library circulation desk, she found herself staring at toddlers waddling between the stacks, their padded bottoms swaying under overalls or leggings. She noticed the easy confidence of young mothers who lifted those children onto hips without thinking, who kissed sticky cheeks and wiped runny noses with casual tenderness. Each observation was a fresh twist of the knife. At night, when Mark’s breathing evened out beside her, Emily lay awake and listened to the house settle. She thought of the empty yellow room down the hall. She thought of the word irreversible. And slowly, carefully, she began to search. It started innocently enough: articles on coping with infertility, forums for childless couples, blogs about living a full life without parenthood. But the internet is a labyrinth, and one click led to another. A thread about alternative healing. A private message board for women grieving motherhood. A locked subreddit whose title made her pause, then click anyway. There, in the glow of the screen at two in the morning, Emily discovered stories she had never imagined existed. Grown men in cribs. Pastel nurseries hidden behind ordinary suburban doors. Women who spoke of caregiving as salvation, of healing through pretend. Photographs—carefully cropped, always consensual in the telling—showed thick diapers printed with childish patterns, oversized pacifiers, bottles filled with milk. The language was soft, intimate, laced with words like comfort and surrender and little one. Emily read until her eyes burned. She told herself it was curiosity, nothing more. She told herself she was simply desperate for anything that might ease the ache. But deep inside, in a place she did not yet acknowledge, something stirred—an idea, fragile and dangerous, taking root. Mark noticed the late nights. He found her asleep at the computer one morning, the screen still open to a minimized browser window. When he gently woke her, she smiled up at him with tired eyes and said she’d been looking at adoption profiles. He kissed her forehead, relieved, and thought nothing more of it. During the day, Emily functioned perfectly. She helped a six-year-old boy find every book about dinosaurs in the children’s section. She recommended cozy mysteries to an elderly regular. She ate the lunch Mark had packed—turkey sandwich, apple slices, a handwritten note that read I love you always. She smiled at the note, folded it carefully, and slipped it into her pocket. But in quiet moments, her mind returned to the forums. To the women who described the peace they found in nurturing someone who needed them completely. To the photographs of grown men curled in laps, eyes closed, faces slack with trust. One evening, as Mark washed dishes after dinner, Emily stood at the kitchen window watching the neighbor’s porch light flicker on. The young couple next door had just brought home their newborn; she could see the soft glow of a night-light through their curtains. “Mark,” she said quietly, not turning around. He glanced over his shoulder, hands still in soapy water. “Yeah?” “Do you ever think about… what we’ll do with all the extra time?” Her voice was careful, almost casual. “No school plays, no soccer games, no college funds.” Mark dried his hands and came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “We’ll travel,” he said. “See places we’ve always talked about. Maybe get a dog. We’ll be okay, Em.” She leaned back against him, eyes fixed on the neighbor’s window. “I know,” she whispered. But in her mind, she was already imagining something else entirely. Something that would fill the yellow room. Something that would let her be the mother she was meant to be. And Mark—loyal, loving Mark—would help her. He just didn’t know how yet. Chapter 3: A Desperate Proposal December settled over the house like a heavy quilt. The neighbors strung Christmas lights along their eaves, and the young couple next door brought home a tiny, decorated tree that glowed softly in their front window each evening. Emily watched it from the kitchen while washing dishes, her hands moving automatically through the warm water. Inside her chest, the ache had grown sharper, more insistent, as though grief itself were a living thing pacing the corridors of her heart. Mark tried everything he could think of. He booked a weekend getaway to a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains, hoping crisp air and quiet trails might lift her spirits. He suggested they volunteer at the children’s hospital, reasoning that giving love to other babies might ease the loss of their own. He even printed adoption paperwork and left it on the nightstand with a hopeful note. Emily thanked him for each gesture, kissed his cheek, and carried on as though nothing had changed. But everything had changed. The late-night searches had become a ritual. After Mark fell asleep, Emily slipped downstairs in her robe and opened the laptop. What began as cautious curiosity hardened into something closer to hunger. She read stories of couples who had found solace in unusual ways. She studied photographs of nurseries built for adults—cribs wide enough for a grown man, changing tables sturdy and high. She learned new words: caregiver, little, regression, surrender. Each term lodged in her mind like a small, bright seed. She told herself it was research. She told herself she was simply looking for anything that might quiet the endless, circling pain. But in the privacy of those glowing hours, Emily began to imagine. She pictured Mark—broad-shouldered, capable Mark—curled against her, trusting and small. She pictured herself rocking him, feeding him, soothing him the way she would never soothe their own child. The fantasy brought a rush of warmth so intense it frightened her, followed immediately by a wave of guilt. Yet the image returned night after night, growing clearer, more detailed, until it felt less like fantasy and more like necessity. By mid-December, Emily had made her decision. It would be temporary. It would be private. It would heal her. And Mark, because he loved her, would understand. She chose a Tuesday evening for the conversation—ordinary enough that it wouldn’t feel staged, close enough to the weekend that they could begin gently. She cooked his favorite meal: roast chicken with rosemary potatoes, green beans almondine, the smells filling the house with familiar comfort. Mark came home tired from work, kissed her hello, and loosened his tie as he set the table. They ate in near silence at first, the clink of silverware loud against the quiet. Mark talked about a project deadline; Emily nodded in the right places. When the plates were cleared and they sat with cups of tea, she reached across the table and took his hand. “Mark,” she said, her voice soft but steady, “I need to ask you something. Something important.” He looked up, immediately alert to the tremor beneath her calm. “Anything. You know that.” Emily drew a slow breath. Tears welled quickly—she had practiced this moment in the mirror and knew they would come. “I can’t stop thinking about the baby we’ll never have. It’s eating me alive. I’ve been reading about ways people cope—different kinds of therapy, role-playing, things that let you grieve by… by experiencing what you’ve lost, even in pretend.” Mark’s brow furrowed, but he stayed silent, letting her continue. “I know it sounds strange,” she went on, a tear slipping down her cheek, “but I think… I think if we could pretend, just for a little while, that you were our baby—if I could take care of you the way I’ve always wanted to take care of a child—it might help me let go. Just temporarily. Just until the worst of it passes.” Mark stared at her, processing. The word baby hung oddly in the air between them. He waited for her to laugh, to say she was joking, but her eyes remained earnest, glistening with fresh tears. “Em,” he said carefully, “what exactly do you mean by… pretend?” She squeezed his hand. “Nothing extreme. Just at home. Maybe you wear… special clothes at night. Diapers, onesies—things like that. I’d feed you a bottle, rock you, take care of you. Only after work and on weekends. We’d set rules. We could stop anytime.” Mark’s mind raced. He had heard of role-playing in bedrooms, but this felt different—deeper, sadder. Yet the desperation in her voice was unmistakable. He thought of the nights he’d held her while she cried silently into her pillow. He thought of the yellow room gathering dust. He thought of his promise: whatever you need. He swallowed. “If you think it will help you heal… I’ll do it. For you.” Relief flooded Emily’s face, bright and sudden. She stood, came around the table, and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, pressing her wet cheek to his. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It’s only temporary. Just until I’m okay again.” Mark reached up and covered her hands with his. “We’ll set boundaries,” he said firmly. “Nights after work, weekends only. And if either of us wants to stop, we stop—no questions.” “Of course,” she agreed quickly, kissing the top of his head. “I’ll order some things tomorrow. Plain ones, medical ones—nothing too childish. We’ll keep it simple.” That night, as they lay in bed, Mark stared at the ceiling and wondered what he had just agreed to. It felt surreal, slightly embarrassing, but harmless enough if it eased her pain. Beside him, Emily curled against his side, her breathing deep and even for the first time in weeks. In the dark, she allowed herself a small, private smile. It would be temporary, she told herself. Just long enough. Chapter 4: First Steps into Fantasy The package arrived on a Thursday afternoon, discreet brown cardboard with no logos, no hints of what lay inside. Emily signed for it at the door, her pulse quickening as the delivery driver handed over the box. She carried it upstairs to the spare bedroom—the yellow one—and set it on the dresser that had once been intended for tiny folded clothes. With careful fingers, she sliced the tape and unfolded the flaps. Inside were two packs of plain white medical diapers, thick but unprinted, and three soft cotton onesies in neutral gray and pale blue. Nothing overtly childish—no cartoons, no bright colors—just functional, adult-sized items that could pass for medical necessity if anyone ever saw them. Emily had chosen them deliberately, telling herself it was for Mark’s comfort, for realism, for keeping things gentle. She ran her hand over the crinkly plastic of a diaper, feeling the padded bulk, and a shiver of something—anticipation, guilt, relief—passed through her. This was only pretend, she reminded herself. Only temporary. Mark came home at six-thirty, loosening his tie as he stepped through the door. The house smelled of simmering tomato sauce; Emily had made spaghetti, his favorite comfort food. He kissed her hello, asked about her day, and noticed the faint flush in her cheeks but attributed it to the stove’s heat. After dinner, they lingered at the table with cups of tea. Emily’s fingers toyed with the handle of her mug. “The things came today,” she said quietly. Mark nodded, a small smile tugging at his mouth despite the flutter of nerves in his stomach. “Okay. So… tonight?” “If you’re ready,” she answered. Her voice was soft, hopeful. “We can take it slow.” He reached across and covered her hand with his. “I’m ready.” Upstairs, Emily had laid everything out on their bed: one diaper unfolded, a plain gray onesie beside it, a bottle of baby powder, wipes, and a simple glass bottle filled with warm milk mixed with a mild adult nutritional formula she had ordered online. Nothing fancy—just whole milk with a scoop of vanilla-flavored supplement to make it richer, creamier. Mark stood in the doorway, feeling suddenly awkward in his work shirt and slacks. Emily turned to him, eyes bright. “You can undress in the bathroom if you want privacy,” she offered. He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. We’re in this together, right?” She smiled, grateful, and watched as he stripped down to his boxers. The room was warm; the radiator clanked softly. Mark’s skin prickled with self-consciousness as he stepped out of his underwear and stood naked in the lamplight. He was thirty-four, fit from weekend hikes, but in this moment he felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with nudity. Emily patted the bed. “Lie down for me?” He did, stretching out on his back, arms at his sides. The mattress dipped as she sat beside him. She unfolded the diaper with a soft crinkle that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. Mark stared at the ceiling, feeling heat rise in his face as she lifted his legs gently, slid the padding beneath him, sprinkled powder with careful shakes, and brought the front up between his thighs. The tapes fastened with small, decisive rips. It felt thick. Bulky. Foreign. He shifted slightly and heard the unmistakable rustle of plastic. Emily smoothed the tapes, checking the fit, then helped him sit up and guided his arms through the onesie. The soft cotton stretched over his shoulders and snapped closed between his legs with a row of metal snaps. She adjusted the fabric so it lay flat over the diaper’s bulge, then sat back to look at him. Mark glanced down at himself—gray cotton, obvious padding beneath—and felt a rush of embarrassment so acute he almost laughed. Almost. “You look…” Emily searched for the right word. “Safe,” she finished, her voice catching. Mark met her eyes and saw the truth there: gratitude, wonder, a fragile kind of peace. Whatever this was doing to his pride, it was doing something far more important for her. He reached for her hand. “Come here,” he said. She crawled onto the bed and settled beside him, pulling him gently until his head rested against her chest. The bottle appeared in her hand—warm, the nipple soft latex. Mark hesitated only a second before opening his mouth and accepting it. The milk was sweet, creamy, comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. He suckled slowly, eyes closing, one hand resting on her waist. Emily cradled him, rocking slightly, her fingers stroking through his hair. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks—not from sadness this time, but from a sudden, overwhelming sense of fullness. For the first time since the clinic, the ache inside her quieted. She was holding someone who needed her completely. She was nurturing. She was, in this small, strange way, a mother. They stayed like that for nearly an hour. When the bottle was empty, Emily set it aside and simply held him, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing against her. Mark, warm and drowsy from the milk, felt the diaper’s bulk between his legs and the soft press of the onesie, and told himself it was bearable—more than bearable—if it gave her this peace. Eventually, she kissed his forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered. He looked up at her, cheeks faintly flushed. “We’ll keep it light, yeah? Just nights and weekends. Temporary.” “Temporary,” she agreed, smiling softly. But even as she said it, Emily felt the idea settle deeper inside her, warm and certain. This was only the beginning. Chapter 5: Weekend Baby Time Saturday morning arrived with pale winter sunlight filtering through the bedroom curtains. Mark woke slowly, aware first of the unfamiliar bulk between his legs and the soft press of cotton against his skin. For a disoriented second he thought he had dreamed the previous nights, but the faint crinkle when he shifted confirmed it was real. Emily lay beside him, already awake, watching him with a quiet, tender smile. “Good morning,” she whispered, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. Mark cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious in the gray onesie. “Morning.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “How did you sleep?” “Fine,” he said, which was mostly true. The diaper had felt strange at first, but the warmth of her body curled against his had lulled him into deeper sleep than he’d had in weeks. “You?” “Better than I have in months,” she answered honestly. They lingered in bed a little longer, talking softly about nothing important—the frost on the windows, the coffee she would make. Then Emily sat up, enthusiasm brightening her face. “It’s the weekend,” she said. “We can take our time.” Mark nodded, pushing down the flutter of nerves. He had agreed to this—nights and weekends only—and he meant to see it through. Emily’s happiness was worth a little discomfort. Downstairs, she prepared breakfast while Mark showered and changed into a fresh diaper and a clean blue onesie. The routine already felt less awkward than the first night, though the thickness between his thighs still forced a slight waddle that made his cheeks warm. When he appeared in the kitchen, Emily turned from the stove with a delighted smile. “There’s my sweet boy,” she said softly, opening her arms. Mark stepped into the embrace, letting her hold him. She smelled of vanilla and coffee, and for a moment he simply rested his head against her shoulder, allowing himself to be held. They ate pancakes at the table—Emily cutting his into small pieces without asking, and Mark discovering he didn’t mind. Afterward, she led him to the living room where she had arranged a nest of blankets and pillows on the rug in front of the fireplace. A stack of children’s books waited on the coffee table—simple stories with bright illustrations that she had borrowed from the library “for inspiration.” Mark hesitated, then lowered himself carefully onto the blankets, the diaper crinkling loudly. Emily settled beside him, pulling him gently until his head rested in her lap. She opened the first book—The Velveteen Rabbit—and began to read in a low, soothing voice. He listened, eyes half-closed, surprised by how relaxing it was. Her fingers combed slowly through his hair; the fire crackled softly. The story’s gentle melancholy about love and becoming real touched something in him he hadn’t expected. When she finished, she closed the book and simply held him, rocking slightly. Later, they played quiet games—stacking soft blocks she had found in the attic from her own childhood, rolling a large rubber ball back and forth. Emily praised every small accomplishment with warm enthusiasm, and Mark found himself smiling despite the absurdity of it all. The day unfolded slowly, unhurried. Lunch was grilled cheese cut into triangles, eaten on the rug with sippy cups of apple juice. Emily prepared another bottle for his afternoon nap, warming the enriched milk just as she had the night before. Mark lay on the blankets while she fed him, the nipple familiar now. The milk was sweet and filling; drowsiness crept in quickly. Emily stroked his cheek, humming a lullaby she half-remembered from her own mother. Within minutes, he was asleep. He woke an hour later to an odd, warm sensation. Disoriented, he shifted—and felt the unmistakable heaviness of a soaked diaper. Heat flooded his face. He had wet in his sleep without realizing it. The accident was small, but undeniable. Emily was reading nearby. She looked up immediately, reading his expression. “It’s okay,” she said gently, setting her book aside. “That’s what the diaper is for.” Mark sat up, mortified. “I didn’t even… I didn’t feel it happen.” She moved to him, cupping his cheek. “That’s normal when you’re relaxed. Come on, let’s get you changed.” She led him upstairs to their bedroom, where she had laid a towel over the comforter. Mark lay down without protest, staring at the ceiling while she unsnapped the onesie and peeled away the wet diaper. The air felt cool against his skin; the wipes were gentle, the powder lightly scented. Emily worked with calm efficiency, her touch tender and unhurried. When she taped the fresh diaper in place and fastened the snaps, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Better?” He nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. Thanks.” They returned downstairs, and Emily pulled him into another cuddle. “You have no idea how much this is helping me,” she murmured against his hair. “I feel… useful again. Needed.” Mark wrapped his arms around her, pushing down the twinge of unease. It was only temporary, he reminded himself. And she was happier than she had been in months. That was worth it. That evening, after Mark had fallen asleep in a fresh diaper and onesie, Emily slipped downstairs to the laptop once more. The forums welcomed her back with new posts, new ideas. She bookmarked pages about thicker diapers, about cribs that could be built discreetly, about formulas designed to encourage deeper regression. She told herself she was only gathering information—just in case. After all, it was still early days. And Mark was being so good for her. She closed the laptop, turned off the light, and went upstairs to watch him sleep, her heart full of a fierce, protective love she had never known before. Temporary, she thought again. But the word felt thinner now, less certain. Chapter 6: The Workplace Accident January arrived with a sharp, biting cold that turned the sidewalks into sheets of ice. Mark had kept to their agreed boundaries through the holidays—diapers and onesies only after work and on weekends, removed promptly Monday morning before he dressed for the office. The routine had settled into something almost manageable: a private ritual that brought Emily visible calm and cost him only a few hours of mild embarrassment each day. He told himself it was working; her smiles came more easily, her sleep seemed deeper. Temporary, he reminded himself whenever the crinkle of plastic felt too loud. On a Tuesday morning in the second week of January, the warehouse at Mark’s construction supply company was busier than usual. A large shipment of lumber had arrived overnight, and the crew hurried to unload it before the forecasted snow. Mark, in steel-toed boots and a heavy Carhartt jacket, helped guide a forklift carrying stacked pallets. The concrete floor was slick from melted snow tracked in on boots, and in a moment of distraction—thinking about whether Emily had remembered to order more of the plain onesies—he stepped onto a patch of ice hidden beneath sawdust. His foot slid out from under him. He twisted instinctively to catch his balance, but his ankle rolled with a sickening pop. Pain flared hot and immediate. By the time his coworkers reached him, he was sitting on the cold floor clutching his leg, face pale. An hour later, the urgent-care doctor confirmed a moderate sprain: swollen ligaments, no fracture, but strict orders to stay off it for at least two weeks. Crutches, ice, elevation, and a note excusing him from work. Mark texted Emily from the waiting room: Sprained ankle at work. Coming home early. All okay, just sore. Emily read the message twice, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with worry. When Mark hobbled through the front door that afternoon, leaning heavily on the crutches, Emily was waiting with an ice pack and a look of practiced concern. She helped him to the couch, propped his foot on pillows, and fussed over him with kisses and gentle scolding for not being careful. “It’s not too bad,” he assured her, wincing as he shifted. “Two weeks off, then back to normal.” Emily smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “You’ll need rest. Lots of it. And help getting around.” He nodded, grateful for her care. “Yeah. I’ll mostly stay on the couch. Maybe work remotely a little if they need me.” She hesitated, then spoke softly. “Mark… while you’re home recovering, what if we kept the… special time going all day? It would be so much easier—no rushing to change before bed, no worrying about leaks at night when you’re uncomfortable. The diapers are already absorbent, and with you stuck on the couch or in bed, it would just be more comfortable. Practical, even.” Mark blinked, caught off guard. They had agreed on boundaries—nights and weekends only. But her eyes were pleading, and the pain in his ankle throbbed with every small movement. He didn’t want to argue, not when she looked so hopeful. “I guess… for the two weeks,” he said slowly. “Since I’m not going anywhere. It’ll make things easier on both of us.” Emily’s face lit with relief and something deeper—satisfaction. She kissed him warmly. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means.” That evening, she helped him upstairs on the crutches, then settled him on the bed then helped him upstairs on the crutches, then settled him on the bed for a proper change into a fresh diaper and onesie. The routine felt familiar now, almost comforting in its predictability. But tonight she added something new. From the nightstand she produced a larger bottle—plastic this time, with a wider silicone nipple—and a canister of powder she had ordered days earlier. The label read “Adult Nutritional Meal Replacement—Vanilla Crème.” She had told Mark it was simply a protein shake to help him heal faster; she had not mentioned the added ingredients listed in fine print: natural bowel deodorizers, gentle digestive enzymes, and a mild laxative fiber blend designed to keep things “moving comfortably” for those with limited mobility. “I made this special for you,” she said, warming the bottle under hot water. “It’s got everything you need—calories, vitamins, even stuff to keep your tummy happy while you’re resting.” Mark, propped against pillows with his bandaged ankle elevated, accepted the bottle without suspicion. The formula was thicker than the plain milk, sweetly vanilla, and surprisingly filling. He drank steadily while Emily sat beside him, one hand resting lightly on his padded hip. The warmth spread through him, easing the ache in his ankle and the lingering tension from the day. Emily watched him with quiet intensity, noting how readily he accepted the nipple now, how his eyes grew heavy as the bottle emptied. When it was done, she set it aside and pulled him into her arms, cradling his head against her chest. “You’re being so good for me,” she murmured. “Rest now. Mommy’s here.” Mark drifted off without protest, the word Mommy slipping past his defenses in his half-asleep state. Emily stayed awake long after, listening to his breathing, feeling the solid weight of him against her. Two weeks, she thought. Two whole weeks of full-time care. It was only practical. Only temporary. And already, in the quiet of the bedroom, she was planning how to make the most of every single day. Chapter 7: Enforced Dependency Begins Mark woke to the soft glow of morning light and the immediate awareness of the thick diaper taped around his waist. His ankle throbbed dully beneath the ace bandage, but it was the padded bulk between his legs that dominated his thoughts. For the first time, he had slept in a diaper without the promise of removing it come morning. The onesie snaps pressed lightly against his skin, a constant reminder that today there would be no return to adult clothes, no commute, no hiding. Emily was already up. He could hear her moving quietly downstairs, the clink of dishes, the low hum of the kettle. The smell of coffee drifted up the stairs, ordinary and comforting. Mark lay still for a moment, listening to the faint crinkle when he shifted, and felt a wave of unease. Two weeks, he reminded himself. Just until the ankle heals. He reached for the crutches propped against the nightstand and maneuvered himself out of bed. The diaper forced an awkward waddle as he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Emily appeared in the doorway, smiling softly. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said, leaning against the frame. “How’s my boy feeling?” Mark managed a small smile around the toothbrush. “Ankle’s sore. Everything else is… weird.” She stepped closer, smoothing his hair. “You’ll get used to it. It’s just us here. No one else to worry about.” She kissed his temple. “Breakfast is ready when you are.” Downstairs, she had arranged the living-room couch into a nest of pillows so he could keep his foot elevated. A tray waited on the coffee table: scrambled eggs, toast cut into triangles, and a large bottle of the vanilla formula warmed to body temperature. Mark eyed the bottle. “Coffee too?” “Of course,” she said, producing a mug. “But the formula has protein and vitamins to help you heal faster. Doctor’s orders—well, almost.” She winked. He drank the coffee gratefully, then tackled the eggs while Emily sat beside him, one hand resting lightly on his padded thigh. The normalcy of the moment—the quiet domesticity—almost made the diaper feel incidental. Almost. By mid-morning, the pressure in his bladder began to build. Mark shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore it. Emily noticed immediately. “It’s okay to use the diaper,” she said gently. “That’s why it’s there. You’re not supposed to be hobbling to the bathroom on those crutches.” He flushed. “I can make it.” She stroked his arm. “But you don’t have to. Let me take care of you.” The encouragement in her voice—soft, loving—chipped away at his resistance. After another ten minutes of squirming, he closed his eyes and let go. The warmth spread slowly, the diaper swelling beneath him. He waited for shame to flood in, but instead he felt only a strange relief, followed by Emily’s quiet praise. “Good boy,” she murmured, kissing his forehead. “See? Nothing bad happened.” Mark managed a sheepish smile. The sensation was humiliating, yes, but her approval soothed the sting. Lunch was chicken soup and crustless sandwiches, eaten on the couch with another bottle of formula. Emily had prepared it lovingly, blending in an extra scoop of the powder—and, unseen, a measured dose of a mild over-the-counter laxative she had purchased online. The label promised “gentle relief for occasional constipation,” perfect for someone with limited mobility. She told herself it was for his health; immobility could cause issues, after all. The afternoon passed slowly. They watched an old movie, Emily’s head on his shoulder, her hand idly patting the front of his diaper from time to time. Mark dozed off once, waking to find himself wet again. Emily changed him without comment, treating it as the most natural thing in the world. By late afternoon, a different pressure began to build—low in his abdomen, insistent. Mark recognized it and tensed. Messing was a line he had not intended to cross. Wetting was one thing; this was another entirely. He shifted on the couch, trying to hold it. Emily noticed the strain in his face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just… adjusting.” She studied him, then seemed to understand. “If you need to go, it’s okay. The diaper can handle it. I’ll clean you up.” Mark shook his head. “I’d rather not.” Her expression softened into something almost pleading. “But it would help me so much. Taking care of all your needs… it makes me feel like the mother I was supposed to be.” The words landed heavily. Mark looked away, guilt twisting in his gut. The pressure mounted; the laxative was doing its gentle work. He clenched, fought, shifted again—but his body, relaxed from days of limited movement and the warm formula, betrayed him. It happened suddenly and uncontrollably. The mess filled the back of his diaper, warm and undeniable. Mortification crashed over him in a hot wave. He froze, face burning, unable to meet her eyes. Emily moved immediately, calm and reassuring. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby. Accidents happen.” She helped him upstairs on the crutches, laid him on the bed, and began the cleanup with steady, loving hands—wipes, powder, a fresh diaper taped snugly into place. Throughout it all she spoke softly, telling him how proud she was that he had let go, how complete it made her feel to care for him this way. When it was done, she pulled him into her arms and held him tightly. “You have no idea what this means to me,” she whispered against his hair. “Changing you, feeding you, holding you—it’s healing something inside me I thought was broken forever.” Mark, still flushed with shame, felt tears prick his own eyes. He loved her too much to deny her this comfort, even if it cost him pieces of his dignity. “I’ll keep trying,” he said quietly. “For you.” Emily kissed him, gratitude and something deeper shining in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “My sweet boy.” That night, as she fed him another bottle and rocked him to sleep, Emily’s mind was already moving ahead. Two weeks was a gift. And gifts, she thought, should be used wisely. Chapter 8: Bottles and Bonding The second day of Mark’s recovery dawned quiet and gray, snow tapping softly against the windows. His ankle still ached when he put weight on it, but the pain had dulled to a manageable throb. What dominated his awareness now was the ever-present diaper—thicker than the medical ones he had worn to work, softer, more absorbent. Emily had changed him first thing that morning, humming as she powdered and taped, and dressed him in a fresh pale-blue onesie that snapped snugly over the padding. Breakfast was no longer eaten at the table. Emily carried a tray to the couch: oatmeal sweetened with honey, cut-up pieces of banana, and two large bottles of the vanilla formula. Mark eyed the bottles warily. “Two?” he asked. She smiled, settling beside him with the tray on her lap. “You’re healing. You need the calories and nutrients. And it’s easier than getting up for meals when you’re resting.” He couldn’t argue with the logic. The formula was filling, almost decadently rich, and the warmth of it sliding down his throat was undeniably soothing. He drank the first bottle while she fed him spoonfuls of oatmeal, her free hand resting lightly on his padded hip. The second bottle followed without protest; by the end he felt pleasantly full and drowsy. Emily gathered the dishes and returned with the TV remote. She chose a gentle nature documentary—slow pans over forests, soft narration about animal mothers and their young—and pulled Mark’s head into her lap. He lay there, ankle propped on pillows, watching sunlight reflect off snow through the window while her fingers traced idle patterns through his hair. Mid-morning brought the first wetting. It happened without warning, a sudden warm release that spread through the diaper as he watched a mother bear teach her cub to fish. He tensed, embarrassed, but Emily only patted his thigh. “Good boy,” she murmured. “Just let it happen.” The praise eased the sting, and he relaxed again. By lunchtime he was wet enough to sag noticeably. Emily changed him efficiently, cooing over him, powdering and taping with practiced tenderness. Lunch was more formula—this time three bottles—accompanied by mashed sweet potato fed from a spoon. Mark noticed how easily he accepted the nipple now, how naturally he suckled while she held the bottle. The formula was doing something to him. He felt it in the subtle looseness of his digestion, the way his stomach gurgled softly after each feeding. The canister had mentioned “gentle detox support,” and he supposed that explained the calm, almost floaty feeling that settled over him in the afternoons. His body felt lighter, cleaner somehow, and the constant warmth of the bottles left him relaxed in a way he hadn’t been in years. Emily noticed the changes too. Her eyes were brighter, her movements lighter. She laughed more easily—at the otters playing on screen, at Mark’s sleepy yawn after his third bottle. When he dozed off mid-afternoon, she watched him with quiet wonder, brushing her fingers over the soft cotton covering his diapered bottom. Caring for him—feeding, changing, holding—filled the hollow places inside her with something warm and solid. She felt needed in a way she had never been before. Late afternoon brought another accident—this one messier. The laxative fibers in the formula, combined with days of limited movement, produced a soft, uncontrollable release while Mark watched a documentary on penguins. He froze, mortified, as the warmth spread. Tears pricked his eyes. Emily was there instantly, gathering him close despite the smell. “Shh, it’s all right,” she whispered. “Mommy’s got you.” She carried him upstairs—crutches abandoned for the moment—and laid him on the changing mat she had spread over the bed. The cleanup was thorough, gentle, loving. She spoke softly the entire time, telling him how proud she was, how perfect he was, how this was exactly what she needed to feel whole again. When he was clean and freshly diapered, she pulled him into her arms and rocked him. Mark clung to her, shame and gratitude tangled together. “You’re helping me so much,” she said against his hair. “I feel… alive again. Like I have purpose.” He nodded into her shoulder, throat tight. The sacrifice felt worthwhile when he saw the light in her eyes, the softness in her smile. The odd relaxation from the formula helped too—everything felt distant, manageable. That evening, dinner was skipped in favor of more bottles—four this time, spaced throughout a quiet movie. Mark drank them all, belly rounding slightly under the onesie, body heavy with contentment. When bedtime came, Emily changed him once more, tucked him into bed with his ankle elevated, and curled around him protectively. In the dark, Mark noticed how easily he had accepted the day—bottles, changes, accidents, all of it. The formula left him deeply relaxed, almost floating, and the constant care from Emily felt… safe. Emily lay awake longer, listening to his breathing even out. The detox effects were working beautifully—his body adjusting, becoming accustomed. She had ordered a larger supply of the formula, along with a few other items she hadn’t yet mentioned. Two weeks, she thought, stroking his hair. Plenty of time to deepen the bond. Plenty of time to make this feel natural. After all, he was being such a good boy for her. Chapter 9: Resistance and Acceptance The first week of Mark’s recovery slipped by in a haze of bottles, changes, and quiet days on the couch. His ankle improved steadily—swelling down, pain reduced to a dull ache—but the rest of him adjusted in ways he hadn’t anticipated. The constant feedings of Emily’s special formula left him full and drowsy, his digestion soft and predictable. Wetting happened without thought now; he barely registered the warmth spreading before it was done. Messing, though, still carried a sharp edge of shame. Midway through the second week, on a quiet Thursday afternoon, the pressure built again while they watched an old sitcom rerun. Mark tensed, clenching against the inevitable. The laxative fibers Emily continued to mix into his bottles and soft meals worked gently but relentlessly, and his body—relaxed from immobility and the soothing routine—offered little resistance. He managed to hold it until Emily left the room to warm another bottle. When she returned, he was sitting stiffly, face flushed. “Em,” he said, voice low, “we need to talk.” She paused in the doorway, bottle in hand, reading his expression. Concern creased her brow as she crossed to him and sat close. “What is it, sweetheart?” He shifted, the diaper crinkling loudly. “The… messing. It’s happening too often. I don’t like it. It feels… wrong.” Emily’s eyes filled instantly with tears. She set the bottle aside and took both his hands in hers. “Oh, baby,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I know it’s hard for you. I know it’s embarrassing. But please try to understand—this is the part that helps me the most.” Mark frowned, confused. “What do you mean?” She looked down at their joined hands, tears slipping free. “When I clean you afterward… when I take care of every single need… it’s the closest I’ll ever come to being a real mother. The feeding, the cuddling—it’s wonderful—but the full care, the messes, the total dependency… that’s what heals the deepest part of me. The part that grieves never changing my own baby’s diaper, never soothing them after an accident.” Her voice broke. She pressed his hands to her cheek. “If we stop that part… if you hold back… it feels like I’m losing the only motherhood I’ll ever have.” Mark’s throat tightened. He had known this was helping her, but he hadn’t realized how completely. The sight of her tears—of genuine pain returning to her eyes—twisted something inside him. “I didn’t know it meant that much,” he said quietly. “It means everything,” she whispered. “Just until you’re better. Please.” He looked at her for a long moment, seeing the fragility beneath her calm caregiving. Guilt and love warred within him, but love won—as it always did. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll try not to fight it.” Relief flooded her face. She leaned in and kissed him softly, tears still wet on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she breathed. “You’re giving me more than you’ll ever know.” That evening, the pressure returned—stronger this time, inevitable. Mark didn’t clench. He closed his eyes and let it happen, face burning as the mess filled the seat of his diaper. When it was over, he sat very still, waiting. Emily was there in moments, as though she had sensed it. She didn’t scold or tease; she simply gathered him close. “There’s my brave boy,” she cooed, voice warm with pride. “Let Mommy take care of you.” The change was slow and thorough, her hands gentle, her words softer than ever. She began using baby talk without thinking—simple, lilting phrases that slipped out naturally. “Who’s Mommy’s good wittle boy? Yes, you are. All clean now, all fresh and comfy.” Mark’s cheeks flamed, but he didn’t protest. The warmth of her approval, the tenderness in her touch, dulled the humiliation. When she finished, she pulled him into her lap—awkward with his size but determined—and offered the bottle. He took it without hesitation, suckling steadily while she rocked him. The formula flowed warm and sweet, and the day’s tension ebbed away. More accidents followed over the next days—frequent, soft, uncontrollable. Each time, Emily responded with the same loving efficiency, the same gentle baby talk, the same deep cuddles afterward. Mark’s body learned quickly; resistance became pointless. The routine—accident, change, bottle, cuddle—wove itself into the fabric of his days. He noticed how relaxed he felt, how the constant care left him floating in a strange, soft space. The formula’s detox effects kept him calm, almost dreamy. He told himself it was temporary. Two weeks would end soon, his ankle would heal, and they would scale back. But watching Emily’s face—seeing the light in her eyes, the new softness in her smile, the way she hummed lullabies without thinking—made the sacrifice feel bearable. Worth it, even. She was healing. And for now, that was enough. Chapter 10: End of Recovery, New Normal The two weeks ended on a deceptively ordinary Friday. Mark woke to find his ankle almost pain-free; he could bear weight without crutches, flex it without wincing. The swelling had vanished, leaving only faint bruising. He stood in the bedroom, testing it gingerly, and felt a rush of relief. Normal life was waiting just outside the door—work clothes, adult underwear, the familiar rhythm of commuting and meetings. Emily watched from the bed, propped on one elbow, her expression carefully neutral. “Looks like you’re healed,” she said softly. “Yeah,” Mark answered, smiling. “Back to the real world on Monday.” He expected her to share his relief. Instead, her eyes filled with sudden tears. Mark’s heart sank. He crossed to the bed and sat beside her. “Em, what’s wrong?” She wiped her cheeks, voice trembling. “I know it’s selfish, but… these two weeks have been the happiest I’ve felt since the diagnosis. Taking care of you full-time, having you need me… it’s kept the worst of the grief away. I’m scared that when you go back—when everything returns to normal—it’ll all come rushing back.” Mark took her hand. “We can still do the role-play nights and weekends, like we originally planned.” She nodded, but the tears kept coming. “I know. It’s just… your accidents the last couple of weeks were so frequent. The doctor said stress and changes in routine can affect bladder control for a while after an injury. What if you have one at work? You’d be mortified. And I’d feel awful knowing I could have prevented it.” He shifted uncomfortably. The accidents had been frequent—too frequent—but he had chalked it up to the formula and immobility. Surely things would settle once he was active again. Emily seemed to read his doubt. “Just for a little while longer,” she pleaded. “Wear the thinner medical ones under your work clothes. No one will know. If nothing happens, we stop. But if you do have an accident… you’ll be protected. And I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe.” Mark looked at her tear-streaked face and felt the familiar pull of love and guilt. He didn’t want to risk embarrassing leaks at work either—not really. And if it eased her mind during the day… “Okay,” he said quietly. “For a little while. Just in case.” Relief flooded her features. She hugged him tightly. “Thank you. You’re the best husband in the world.” That weekend, Emily prepared him carefully. She ordered a pack of discreet, thin adult incontinence briefs—medical-looking, quiet, designed to be worn under regular clothes. She showed him how to tape them securely, how slacks hid any outline. On Sunday night, she mixed one last scoop of the vanilla formula into his bedtime bottle, telling him it would help him sleep deeply before the big return to work. Monday morning arrived crisp and bright. Mark dressed in his usual button-down and khakis, the thin brief snug beneath. It felt strange—less bulky than the thick diapers, but still undeniably there. Emily kissed him goodbye at the door, pressing a travel mug into his hand. “Morning coffee,” she said with a smile. “Extra creamy, just how you like it.” He drank it on the commute, grateful for the warmth. The formula—now a familiar taste—blended seamlessly with the coffee. By the time he reached his desk, he felt calm, almost relaxed. The day unfolded normally at first: emails, meetings, catching up on two weeks of backlog. But midway through a conference call, the pressure began—subtle at first, then urgent. Mark shifted in his chair, trying to focus on the speakerphone. The formula’s effects, combined with weeks of conditioned response, were stronger than he expected. He clenched, held as long as he could, but the warmth came anyway—a slow, unstoppable release that soaked the brief beneath his khakis. No one in the meeting noticed; the padding held everything discreetly. But Mark felt it—the spreading wetness, the faint crinkle when he moved. Heat flooded his face. He muted his microphone and sat very still, heart pounding. When the call ended, he escaped to the restroom. The damage was contained—no leaks, no smell—but the reality hit him hard. He had wet himself at work. Like a child. He texted Emily from a stall: Had a small accident. You were right. Her reply came instantly: I’m so sorry, baby. But I’m glad you’re protected. Come home to me after work—I’ll take care of you. Mark stared at the message, a tangle of embarrassment and gratitude tightening his chest. He loved her for worrying, for preparing him. And beneath the anxiety, a small part of him felt… relieved. Safe. He returned to his desk, adjusted his posture to minimize crinkling, and finished the day. That evening, Emily greeted him at the door with open arms and a fresh, thicker diaper waiting upstairs. She changed him slowly, cooing reassurance, feeding him a bottle while he decompressed against her. “See?” she murmured, stroking his hair. “It’s just a little extra security. We’ll keep it up a bit longer—until you’re sure everything’s back to normal.” Mark nodded against her shoulder, the nipple of the bottle still in his mouth. Just a little longer, he told himself. For her sake. And the new normal settled over them, quiet and inevitable, like snow covering the ground. Chapter 11: Workplace Woes The first full week back at the office felt like walking a tightrope over a pit Mark could not see the bottom of. He had grown skilled at the morning routine: shower, thin medical brief taped snugly, loose-fit khakis that hid any slight bulge, an extra brief and wipes tucked into his laptop bag “just in case.” Emily kissed him goodbye each day with the same soft encouragement—You’ll be fine, baby. I’m proud of you—and handed him his travel mug of “special” coffee. The vanilla-creamy taste had become comforting, familiar. He drank it without question on the commute, unaware that every mug contained a careful measure of the formula that kept his system soft and his bladder responsive. At his desk, Mark threw himself into work to distract from the constant low-level awareness of the padding beneath his clothes. Meetings, emails, project timelines—anything to keep his mind off the slow, inevitable filling of the brief. Wetting happened three, sometimes four times a day now. The releases came with little warning: a sudden warmth spreading while he typed, or mid-conversation with a coworker. The thin briefs held it all discreetly—no leaks, no odor thanks to the deodorizers Emily chose—but the knowledge that he was sitting in a soaked diaper at his professional workstation gnawed at him. He developed small rituals to cope. Every hour or so he stood, stretched, and casually walked the long way to the printer or break room, feeling the swollen padding shift heavily between his legs. No one seemed to notice the faint rustle or the careful way he lowered himself back into his chair. Or if they did, they were too polite to comment. Messing was the line he still fought to hold. The formula’s gentle laxative effect made it a daily battle, but sheer willpower—and strategic bathroom breaks where he removed the brief just long enough—kept accidents at bay. Until Thursday. It happened during a late-afternoon budget review in the conference room. Mark sat at the long table with six colleagues and his boss, Tom Reynolds, discussing projected costs for the next quarter. The pressure had been building all morning; he had ignored it, focusing on the spreadsheets. But halfway through Tom’s questions about material overruns, Mark felt the familiar, unstoppable cramp. He clenched, shifted in his seat, tried to breathe steadily. The room was warm; someone had closed the blinds against the winter glare. Sweat pricked his forehead. He prayed for a break, a pause, anything—but the discussion rolled on. It slipped out in a soft, warm rush. Not dramatic, not loud, but unmistakable to him. The mess filled the seat of the brief, spreading with humiliating certainty. Mark kept his face neutral, nodding at Tom’s points as though nothing was wrong, but inside panic flared hot and sharp. When the meeting finally ended, he waited until the others filed out before standing—slowly, carefully—and gathering his notebook. The squish beneath him was mortifying. He walked stiffly to the farthest restroom, locked himself in the accessible stall, and stripped down with shaking hands. The cleanup was rushed and imperfect—wipes from his emergency kit, a fresh brief from the bag, khakis pulled up quickly. He washed his hands twice, checked for any trace of odor, and returned to his desk pale and quiet. That evening he told Emily everything, voice low with shame. She listened without judgment, pulling him into her lap on the couch despite his size. “My poor boy,” she murmured, rocking him. “You did so well holding it as long as you did.” He buried his face in her neck. “It was awful, Em.” “I know,” she soothed, fingers stroking his back. “But you were protected. No one knew. And now we know the thinner ones can handle it.” He nodded against her, exhausted. She changed him into a thick nighttime diaper, fed him a bottle, and held him until he slept. What Mark did not know was that earlier that afternoon—while he sat frozen in the conference room—Emily had made a phone call. She had dialed the main office line, asked for Tom Reynolds, and introduced herself calmly as Mark’s wife. Her voice trembled just enough to sound genuine. “I’m so sorry to bother you at work,” she began. “Mark didn’t want me to call, but I’m worried. The ankle sprain triggered a stress-related incontinence issue. The doctor says it’s temporary, but it’s been… difficult for him. He’s embarrassed, but he’s wearing protection. I just wanted you to understand if he seems distracted or needs extra breaks.” Tom Reynolds, a kind-hearted man in his fifties with grown children of his own, listened with growing sympathy. He had noticed Mark’s odd behavior lately—the stiff way he walked sometimes, the sudden restroom trips, the flushed cheeks during meetings. “Of course,” Tom assured her. “We’ll be accommodating. Whatever he needs—flexible hours, remote options if it helps. He’s a valuable part of the team. Tell him not to worry.” Emily thanked him profusely, tears in her voice that were not entirely feigned. When she hung up, she sat for a long moment staring at the phone. It was only to protect him, she told herself. Only to make things easier. And if it kept him closer to home—closer to her—where she could care for him properly… Well. That was just an unexpected benefit. For now. Chapter 12: Accommodations and Deception Friday afternoon brought an unexpected email from Tom Reynolds. Mark was at his desk, pretending to focus on a spreadsheet while discreetly shifting against the swollen brief beneath his khakis, when the notification chimed. The subject line read: Confidential – Accommodation Discussion. He opened it with a knot in his stomach. Mark, Your wife called earlier this week and explained the medical situation you’re dealing with. I want you to know we fully support you here. Stress-related incontinence is more common than people realize, and we’re happy to make whatever adjustments you need. Effective immediately, you’re approved for full-time remote work until you and your doctor feel it’s no longer necessary. No need to use PTO for the transition—consider this a formal accommodation. Take the pressure off yourself. Your work is excellent, and we want you healthy and focused. Let me know if there’s anything else HR or I can do. Best, Tom Mark stared at the screen, a confusing rush of emotions flooding him. Relief first—no more conference-room panics, no more praying the brief would hold during client calls. But beneath it, a prickling suspicion. Emily had called Tom? Without telling him? He forwarded the email to her with a simple question mark. Her reply came within minutes: Isn’t it wonderful? Tom called me back today to confirm. I didn’t want to get your hopes up until it was official. This will make everything so much easier, baby. You can heal properly now—no stress. Mark sat back in his chair, the damp padding shifting uncomfortably. Part of him was grateful; the office had become a minefield. But another part—the part that still clung to independence—felt a quiet alarm. Remote work meant more time at home. More time under Emily’s gentle, relentless care. He left early that day, citing a headache. On the drive home, he rehearsed questions—why she hadn’t mentioned the call, how much she had told Tom—but when he walked through the door and saw her waiting with shining eyes and open arms, the words dissolved. “You’re home!” she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “Permanent remote. It’s perfect.” Mark hugged her back, voice muffled against her hair. “You talked to Tom without telling me?” She pulled away just enough to meet his eyes, expression soft and apologetic. “I was going to tell you, I promise. But I wanted it to be a done deal first—no disappointment if it didn’t work out. He was so understanding, Mark. He said you’ve seemed distracted lately and just wants what’s best for you.” Mark felt heat rise in his cheeks. Distracted. Odd behavior. The messing incident from earlier in the week flashed through his mind. “I’m relieved,” he admitted. “But… it feels a little like losing control.” Emily cupped his face. “You’re not losing anything. You’re gaining peace. And time with me.” She kissed him gently. “Let me take care of the rest.” That weekend, the transition began. With no commute and no coworkers to see, Emily gently suggested small changes “for comfort.” Adult underwear disappeared from his dresser drawers, replaced by stacks of thicker diapers—still plain white, but noticeably more absorbent than the office briefs. She encouraged onesies under his work shirts during the day. “It’ll keep everything secure,” she said, helping him into a soft gray one Monday morning before his first remote workday. “No tapes shifting while you’re sitting at the desk. And if you have an accident, it’ll hold better.” Mark stood in front of the mirror, shirt unbuttoned over the onesie, feeling the familiar bulk between his legs. He opened his mouth to protest, then saw her hopeful, almost pleading expression and closed it again. “Okay,” he said. “For now.” The onesie snapped closed with a soft row of clicks. Over it, a plain button-down and sweater vest looked perfectly professional from the waist up—perfect for video calls. Wetting became constant. Without the structure of office bathroom breaks, and with Emily refilling his bottle—now openly, no longer hidden in coffee—several times a day, accidents happened whenever his body decided. He accepted changes as routine now, barely blushing when she led him to the bedroom mid-afternoon to tape on a fresh diaper and resnap the onesie. Messing still embarrassed him, but even that grew harder to avoid. The formula’s effects were thorough; his body had learned new rhythms. Emily handled each incident with calm love, cleaning him, powdering him, cooing soft reassurances until the shame ebbed. Mark told himself it was temporary. Remote work would reduce stress, and soon his control would return. They could scale back. But as the days blurred into a soft routine of bottles, changes, and Emily’s constant, nurturing presence, suspicion faded beneath gratitude and exhaustion. He was home. He was safe. And Emily—radiant, purposeful Emily—was happier than she had been in years. For now, that was enough. Chapter 13: Thick Diapers and Helplessness The first full week of permanent remote work passed in a rhythm that felt deceptively normal from the waist up. Mark sat at the desk Emily had set up in the spare bedroom—once intended as a nursery—wearing a crisp button-down shirt and tie for video calls. His camera framed him neatly from the chest up: professional, focused, nodding at the right moments during team meetings. No one could see the onesie beneath the shirt, or the swollen diaper that sagged heavily between his legs by midday. Below the desk, the reality was very different. Emily had phased out the thin medical briefs entirely. In their place were thicker, crinkling diapers—plain white still, but noticeably more absorbent, with taller leak guards and a softer, quilted inner layer. She introduced them one morning while helping him dress for work. “These will hold more,” she explained, unfolding one with a loud rustle. “You’ve been so wet lately, and the thinner ones were getting close to leaking. This way you won’t have to worry all day.” Mark stood in his pajama bottoms, staring at the diaper in her hands. It was visibly bulkier than anything he’d worn to the office. “Em, those are… really thick. I can’t sit at the desk in those. They’ll spread my legs too far.” She looked up at him, eyes soft and pleading. “Just try them for one day. If they’re too much, we’ll go back. But you’ve had so many heavy wettings this week—I’m worried about rashes, about you being uncomfortable. Please, for me?” He hesitated, then sighed. Her concern was genuine; the constant wetness had left his skin sensitive despite frequent changes. And the truth was, he no longer had full control. The formula’s effects lingered. “Fine,” he said quietly. “One day.” The difference was immediate. The thicker padding forced his thighs apart, making him waddle slightly as he walked to the desk. Sitting was awkward—the bulk pushed him forward in the chair, and every shift produced a loud crinkle that made him freeze, terrified the microphone would pick it up during a call. He spent the morning hyper-aware of every movement, every warm release that swelled the diaper further. By lunch, it sagged heavily. Emily changed him with practiced tenderness, praising him for “holding everything so well.” She taped on a fresh thick diaper, then surprised him with something new. “I ordered these for playtime therapy,” she said brightly, holding up a pair of soft leather booties lined with fleece. The soles were dotted with small, blunt plastic spikes—enough to make walking painful and unsteady, but not harmful. “They’ll encourage you to crawl instead of putting weight on your legs when you’re resting. It’s good for relaxation, and it’ll be fun for our special time.” Mark stared at the booties. “Em, I don’t need—” “Please?” she interrupted softly, eyes glistening. “It would mean so much. Just around the house in the evenings and weekends. Crawling is soothing—it lowers stress, helps you let go. And I love taking care of you when you’re little like that.” He looked at her earnest face and felt the familiar pull. One more step. One more concession for her happiness. “Okay,” he said. “Evenings and weekends.” She beamed and knelt to fit the booties over his feet, lacing them snugly. The spikes pressed lightly against his soles when he tried to stand, an uncomfortable prickle that made balance difficult. On all fours, however, the pressure eased. That evening, after his last work call, Emily gently removed his shirt and tie, leaving him in just the onesie and thick diaper. She encouraged him to the living-room floor. “Try crawling to the kitchen for your bottle,” she said, holding it just out of reach with a playful smile. Mark lowered himself awkwardly, the diaper forcing his knees wide. The booties made standing impossible without pain, so he crawled—slow, waddling movements that emphasized the heavy padding between his legs. The crinkle was constant, loud in the quiet house. His face burned with humiliation as he made his way across the rug, onesie riding up slightly to expose the diaper’s waistband. Emily followed, cooing encouragement. “Look at my sweet boy go! So cute.” When he reached her, she scooped him up into her lap on the couch, offered the bottle, and rocked him while he drank. The position—helpless, cradled, dependent—stirred a confusing mix of shame and comfort. He wet again without noticing, the thick diaper swelling further. Later, as she changed him for bed, Emily kissed his forehead. “You were perfect today,” she whispered. “I’m so proud.” Mark lay still under her hands, the booties still on his feet, the thick diaper taped snugly. Humiliation lingered, sharp and hot, but beneath it was the undeniable warmth of her love. It was only temporary, he told himself. Just until things settled. And Emily, watching him drift toward sleep, felt her heart swell with quiet triumph. One more step taken. One more step closer. Chapter 14: Mittens and Chastity The weeks of full-time remote work blurred into a soft, predictable rhythm. Mark’s days revolved around the desk in the spare bedroom: video calls in the morning, emails and reports in the afternoon, all conducted from the chest up in neat shirts and ties. Below the camera’s view, the thick diapers and onesies had become standard. Crawling in the evenings with the spiked booties was now routine; he no longer fought the prickle that forced him onto hands and knees. Emily’s happiness was palpable. She hummed as she moved through the house, planned meals around the formula, and changed him with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. Mark watched the light in her eyes and told himself the deepening immersion was worth it. She was healing. That was all that mattered. One quiet Tuesday evening, after a long day of virtual meetings, Emily led him to the bedroom for his usual change. The routine was familiar: thick diaper off, wipes, powder, fresh diaper taped snugly. But tonight she had something new laid out on the dresser. “Close your eyes for a surprise,” she said, voice playful. Mark obeyed, standing in just his diaper while she worked. He felt soft, padded fabric slide over his hands—thick mittens, fleece-lined with padded palms and short thumbs that rendered his fingers useless. Velcro straps tightened around his wrists, securing them firmly. “There,” she said, stepping back. “Open.” He looked down. The mittens were pale blue, matching his onesie, and ballooned around his hands like oversized paws. He flexed experimentally; he could make a loose fist, but grasping anything precise was impossible. “What are these for?” he asked, a note of unease creeping in. Emily’s smile was gentle. “Safety and comfort. Your hands get so fidgety when you’re working or watching TV—picking at the diaper tapes, rubbing your eyes too hard when you’re tired. These will keep you from accidentally undoing anything, and they’ll help you relax more deeply. Plus,” she added with a small laugh, “they’re adorable on you.” Mark lifted his padded hands, turning them awkwardly. Buttons, zippers, even holding a bottle properly—everything would require her help now. “Em, I still have to type for work.” “You can take them off during calls,” she assured him quickly. “But the rest of the time… let me take care of everything. It’ll be good for both of us.” He hesitated, resistance flickering. But her eyes were bright with hope, and the memory of her tears weeks ago still lingered. He nodded slowly. “Okay. We’ll try them.” She hugged him tightly, murmuring thanks into his hair. The mittens changed everything. Simple tasks—opening a water bottle, scrolling on his phone, even scratching an itch—became impossible without her. Emily fed him every meal now, holding the bottle or spooning soft foods into his mouth. She dressed and undressed him, wiped his face, adjusted his onesie snaps. Total reliance settled over him like a blanket, heavy and inescapable. The formula and its subtle additives continued their work. Messes came daily, sometimes twice, soft and uncontrollable. Mark barely registered the shame anymore; Emily’s loving cleanups and soft baby talk soothed it away. One evening, after a particularly messy accident and thorough change, Emily sat beside him on the bed, tracing gentle circles on his padded thigh. “I have one more little game,” she said softly. “Something to make our special time even closer.” From the nightstand drawer she produced a small, clear plastic device—a chastity cage, simple and beginner-sized, with a soft ring and short tube. Mark’s eyes widened. “Em…” “It’s just a game,” she reassured him quickly, voice warm. “A way to focus all your pleasure on me—on cuddles and closeness instead of… other things. It’ll heighten everything when we’re intimate. And it’ll keep you from any accidental touching down there that might cause irritation with all the wetness.” He stared at the device, a flush rising in his cheeks. Resistance flared—stronger this time—but her expression was so earnest, so full of love. “It’s small steps,” she coaxed. “We’ll start with the largest size. You can take it off anytime you say the word. But I think… I think it would make me feel even more needed. Like I’m in charge of every part of you.” Mark swallowed. The mittens already made him helpless; this would deepen it immeasurably. Yet seeing the joy in her face—the way her eyes sparkled at the thought of caring for him completely—chipped away at his resolve. He loved her. He had promised anything. “Okay,” he whispered. “We’ll try it.” Emily’s smile was radiant. She fitted the cage carefully, gently, locking it with a soft click and tucking the key on a chain around her neck. The plastic was cool and snug, a constant, undeniable presence. “There,” she murmured, pulling him into her arms. “My perfect boy. All mine.” Mark rested his mittened hands against her, the cage a strange, firm reminder between his legs. Resistance waned, washed away by the warmth of her embrace and the quiet happiness radiating from her. He was helpless now—truly, deeply helpless. And Emily, holding him close, felt her heart swell with a fierce, protective joy. Every step brought him closer. Every concession made him more perfectly hers. And she was only getting started. Chapter 15: Inducing Lactation Spring crept in slowly, bringing longer days and the faint scent of lilacs through open windows. Six months had passed since the devastating diagnosis—six months since Mark had first agreed to the temporary role-play that was supposed to help Emily grieve. The house had changed in subtle, irreversible ways: the spare bedroom now held a proper changing table, stacks of thick diapers lined the closet, and bottles waited on a small warming station in the kitchen. Emily’s happiness had deepened into something steady and radiant. She moved through her days with quiet purpose, caring for Mark with a devotion that bordered on reverence. And in the privacy of her late-night searches, she had found one more way to make the fantasy complete. It began with discreet online orders: domperidone tablets shipped from an overseas pharmacy, fenugreek capsules, blessed thistle, a hospital-grade breast pump hidden in the back of her closet. She read forums obsessively—women who had induced lactation without pregnancy, timelines, dosages, techniques. She told herself it was the final piece: real milk, real nursing, the closest she would ever come to the motherhood stolen from her. She started the regimen in secret. Pills with breakfast, herbal tea throughout the day, pumping sessions scheduled when Mark was deep in work calls. The changes were gradual: breasts fuller and tender, a faint tingling that grew into a persistent ache. She wore looser tops, blamed spring allergies for any mood shifts. Mark noticed, of course. How could he not? Emily had always been beautiful, but now there was a new softness to her curves, a gentle swell beneath her sweaters that drew his eyes. He asked once, carefully, if everything was okay. “Just putting on a little winter weight,” she said with a laugh, kissing his forehead. “Nothing to worry about.” He accepted it. There were so many changes to adjust to already; questioning her body felt like one bridge too far. The babying escalated naturally, almost imperceptibly. Adult food disappeared from his plate. Breakfast became bottles of thickened formula with mashed banana blended in. Lunch was pureed vegetables and oatmeal fed from a spoon while he sat in her lap. Dinner was more bottles, sometimes with soft fruits mashed into the mix. Snacks were nursing bottles of warm milk sipped during movie nights on the couch. Mark’s body adapted. The constant liquid diet and formula kept him full but soft, his digestion predictable and frequent. Messes came without warning now—daily, sometimes twice. He no longer fought them; the mittens made resistance futile anyway. Emily changed him with loving efficiency, cooing and cuddling afterward until the shame dissolved into quiet acceptance. Work suffered in small ways. Video calls found him distracted, staring at the bottle Emily sometimes held just off-camera to encourage him between tasks. Reports took longer; his mittened hands required her help to type anything complex. He missed deadlines by hours, not days, and attributed it to “adjusting to remote life.” His boss remained sympathetic, checking in occasionally with gentle emails about taking whatever time he needed. Emily read those emails over his shoulder and smiled. One evening in late April, after a particularly fussy day—three messy changes and constant wetting—Emily sat beside him on the couch, pumping discreetly under a nursing cover while he drank his bottle. The pump’s soft rhythm filled the quiet room. Mark, drowsy and compliant in his thick diaper and mittens, rested his head against her shoulder without questioning the new routine. Her breasts ached, heavy with the first hints of milk. A few precious drops had appeared that morning—clear at first, then faintly white. She had tasted one, tears springing to her eyes at the sweetness. Soon, she thought, stroking his hair. Soon he would nurse from her directly. Soon the bond would be unbreakable. Mark finished the bottle with a small sigh, eyes half-closed. The formula and constant care left him in a perpetual soft haze—relaxed, dependent, strangely content. He noticed Emily’s fuller figure, the way she sometimes winced when hugging him too tightly, but the questions never fully formed. She was happy. She was glowing. And that, more than anything, kept him quiet. Emily set the empty bottle aside and pulled him closer, guiding his mittened hand to rest against her chest. Beneath the fabric, her heart beat steady and strong. Just a little longer, she thought. Just until everything is perfect. Chapter 16: The Turning Point May arrived warm and fragrant, the backyard lilacs blooming in full purple glory. Nearly seven months had passed since Emily’s world had cracked open at the fertility clinic, and in that time the house had quietly, irrevocably transformed into something between a home and a nursery. The spare bedroom now held a sturdy adult-sized crib, a rocking chair, and shelves lined with diapers, onesies, and bottles. Mark’s work wardrobe had shrunk to a handful of button-down shirts for video calls; everything else was soft cotton and thick padding. Emily’s body had changed too. The hormones and pumping had done their work. Her breasts, once tender and heavy, now ached with real fullness. For weeks she had expressed small amounts into bottles—clear at first, then cloudy, then unmistakably white and sweet. She tasted it herself in secret, tears springing to her eyes at the miracle of it. She was producing milk. Real milk. The final, perfect piece. She waited for the right moment. It came on a quiet Saturday afternoon. Mark had finished his last work task early, a short weekly team check-in that required only a shirt and tie over his onesie. Afterward, Emily removed the shirt, leaving him in the pale-yellow onesie she had chosen that morning—thickly diapered beneath, mittens on his hands, booties on his feet. He crawled to the living room as usual, the routine now second nature. Emily waited on the couch with a nursing pillow across her lap and a light blanket draped over her shoulders. She wore a loose button-down shirt, the top few buttons undone. Her heart pounded with nervous excitement. “Come here, sweetheart,” she called softly. “Cuddle time.” Mark crawled to her, knees wide from the diaper’s bulk, and let her guide him up into her lap. He settled against her with a small sigh, head resting naturally in the crook of her arm. The position was familiar—countless bottles had been taken this way—but today felt different. Emily’s breathing was quicker, her body warm and slightly trembling. She shifted the blanket, unbuttoned her shirt further, and gently guided his head lower. Mark felt soft skin against his cheek, the faint scent of her lotion and something new—warm, sweet, almost milky. “Open for Mommy,” she whispered. Confused but trusting, he parted his lips. She guided him to her breast, and the moment his mouth closed around her nipple, warm milk flowed—sweet, rich, utterly real. Mark froze for a heartbeat, eyes widening. Then instinct took over. He latched properly and suckled, the milk coming in gentle, steady pulls. The taste was indescribable—comfort and love distilled into liquid warmth. It filled his mouth, slid down his throat, spread through his chest like sunlight. Emily exhaled a shaky breath, tears slipping down her cheeks. She cradled his head, fingers threading through his hair, and rocked him slowly. “That’s it,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Drink from Mommy. You’re safe. You’re loved.” Mark’s eyes fluttered closed. The intimacy overwhelmed him—the warmth of her skin, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his cheek, the sweet flow of milk that seemed to reach straight into the deepest parts of him. Weeks of formula had prepared his body for this; the real thing was infinitely better. A profound sense of safety washed over him, deeper than anything he had felt since childhood. He drank greedily, mittened hands resting against her side, diapered bottom heavy and warm in her lap. Without thinking, he wet—copiously, the thick padding swelling beneath him. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the milk and the woman giving it to him. Emily felt the warmth spread and smiled through her tears. She shifted him slightly to the other breast when the first slowed, and he latched again without hesitation. Her body responded, milk letting down in a rush that made her gasp softly. They stayed like that for nearly an hour—Mark nursing steadily, Emily rocking and stroking his hair, whispering soft endearments. When he finally drifted off, still latched, milk dribbling from the corner of his mouth, Emily held him close and let her own tears fall freely. This was it. The turning point. Mark woke later in the crib, changed and dressed in a fresh diaper and onesie, but the craving was already there—deep, insistent, like hunger but warmer. When Emily came to get him for evening cuddle time, he crawled to her eagerly, eyes fixed on her chest. She smiled, understanding completely, and settled on the couch to nurse him again. From that day forward, breastfeeding became the center of their world. Bottles of formula were phased out almost entirely; Mark nursed multiple times a day, cradled in her arms or lying across her lap. The milk was abundant now, sweet and nourishing, and he sought it with quiet desperation. Diapers, mittens, booties, crawling—all of it began to feel not like concessions but like natural extensions of the safety he found at her breast. Wetting and messing happened constantly, without shame. The thick padding, the helpless reliance, the baby clothes—they became associated with love, with comfort, with the warm flow of milk that quieted every doubt. Mark still worked—remotely, distractedly—but the regression had solidified. He no longer questioned the depth of it. He craved her care, her milk, her control. Emily watched the change with quiet triumph and fierce love. Her baby boy was hers completely now. And the world outside their nursery felt farther away than ever. Chapter 17: Shrinking Cage and Crawling Life Summer heat settled over the house like a heavy blanket, the air thick with the hum of cicadas and the scent of cut grass from the neighbor’s yard. Eight months had passed since the clinic visit that changed everything. Mark’s world had shrunk to the walls of their home, to the soft crinkle of diapers and the warm comfort of Emily’s arms. The chastity cage had become a constant companion. It started large enough to be tolerable—a gentle reminder, Emily called it. But every few weeks she presented a smaller size, always with the same loving explanation: “It’ll help you focus on me, on us. Less distraction, more closeness.” Mark protested weakly each time, but her tears—or the threat of them—always won. The ring stayed the same; only the tube shortened, the bars closed in. By July the cage was small enough that erections were impossible, arousal a dull, frustrating ache that resolved only in her touch or the warmth of nursing. Dependency deepened; pleasure belonged entirely to her now. Walking had become a memory. The spiked booties were no longer just for evenings. Emily declared them permanent “for safety and therapy.” Standing without permission brought an uncomfortable prickle against his soles; crawling was painless, natural. She enforced the rule gently but firmly: “Babies crawl, sweetheart. It keeps you low and safe, close to Mommy.” Mark’s days were spent on all fours. From crib to changing table, from playpen in the living room to the desk for work calls—he crawled. The thick diapers forced his knees wide, the onesie riding up to expose padded hips with every movement. The mittens made balance tricky; he often paused to rest, forehead against the cool floor, breathing through the humiliation. Work calls were managed carefully. Emily dressed him in a neat shirt and tie from the waist up, hair combed, expression composed. Below the camera—out of view to his colleagues—he wore only the onesie, diaper, mittens, booties, and the tiny cage locked snugly in place. Emily sat just off-screen, sometimes holding a bottle for him to sip between responses, her presence a silent reminder of who truly controlled the meeting. Incontinence had worsened to completeness. Wetting happened constantly, without thought or warning. Messing came several times a day—soft, sudden, unstoppable. The formula had been tapered off months ago, but habits formed over half a year held firm. His body no longer asked permission. One humid afternoon in early August, Mark crawled from the living room toward the kitchen for his midday nursing. The diaper beneath his onesie sagged heavily, warm and full from multiple accidents. Halfway across the hallway, a familiar cramp gripped him. He paused, mittened hands on the floor, but there was no fighting it. The mess pushed out in a warm rush, filling the seat of his diaper with soft weight. He stayed there on hands and knees for a moment, face burning, breathing shallow. Shame flickered—faint now, almost habitual—but was quickly overtaken by resignation. Emily would clean him. Emily would hold him. Emily would make it okay. She appeared in the doorway as if summoned, eyes soft with understanding. “Oh, my poor baby,” she cooed, kneeling to stroke his back. “Come to Mommy.” He crawled the rest of the way, diaper squishing beneath him. She lifted him onto the changing table with practiced ease, unsnapped the onesie, and began the cleanup—wipes, powder, a fresh, even thicker diaper taped snugly. All the while she murmured praise and love, her voice a soothing balm. When he was clean, she carried him to the rocking chair in the nursery—the one she had ordered months ago—and unbuttoned her shirt. Her breasts, full and heavy with milk, waited. Mark latched eagerly, the tiny cage straining uselessly as milk flowed warm and sweet. He nursed long and deep, eyes closed, mittened hands resting against her. The frustration of the cage, the helplessness of crawling, the constant messes—all of it faded beneath the overwhelming comfort of her milk, her arms, her love. This was safety. This was home. Emily rocked him gently, fingers in his hair, feeling the weight of him against her—the weight of her baby boy, dependent and perfect. The cage would shrink again soon. The crawling would stay forever. And Mark, lost in the warm haze of nursing, no longer minded. He was exactly where he belonged. Chapter 18: Full-Time Baby Routine Autumn painted the trees outside in fiery reds and golds, but inside the house time seemed to have slowed to the gentle rhythm of a nursery clock. Nine months had passed since the clinic visit—six months since Mark’s world had fully narrowed to the soft, padded confines of babyhood. His days now followed a structure as predictable as a toddler’s: wake in the crib to Emily’s smiling face, morning nursing while she rocked him, a slow crawl to the changing table for a fresh diaper and onesie. Breakfast was nursing again, followed by playtime in the large pen she had built in the living room—soft mats, stuffed animals, colorful blocks he could only nudge clumsily with his mittened hands. Naps came twice a day: one mid-morning, one mid-afternoon, always in the crib with the rails raised and a pacifier clipped to his onesie. Emily tucked him in with a blanket, kissed his forehead, and dimmed the lights. He slept deeply, the constant warmth of diapers and the lingering taste of her milk pulling him under. Afternoons brought more play, sometimes gentle tummy time on a quilt while she read aloud from picture books. Nursing happened whenever he fussed—four, five, six times a day. He sought it now with quiet urgency, crawling to her and nuzzling against her chest until she lifted her shirt and guided him to her breast. The milk flowed sweet and abundant; he drank until drowsy, then drifted in her arms while she hummed lullabies. Evenings were for cuddling on the couch, nursing again before bed, a final change into an overnight diaper thick enough to handle anything. Emily carried him to the crib—his legs no longer attempted to walk—and tucked him in with his favorite stuffed bear. She stayed until his eyes closed, one hand resting on his padded hip through the bars. Emily had quit her library job three months earlier. Savings, careful investments, and Mark’s remaining income covered them comfortably. She told friends she wanted to focus on “supporting Mark through his health challenges.” No one pressed for details; her radiant happiness seemed explanation enough. Mark’s work had dwindled to nothing. Meetings became rare, then nonexistent. He missed deadlines, forgot tasks, stared blankly at emails while waiting for Emily to bring his next bottle. When his boss finally suggested a formal leave of absence, Emily took over the call. “It’s been a progressive condition,” she explained calmly, citing fabricated doctor’s notes she had carefully prepared—stress-induced neurological issues, chronic fatigue, loss of fine motor control. “He’s applied for disability. We’re hoping for approval soon.” The paperwork went through smoothly. Disability payments began in early fall, steady and sufficient. Mark signed where Emily guided his mittened hand, no longer questioning. He craved her milk constantly now. It was comfort, nourishment, love in its purest form. When she was busy, he fussed softly until she lifted him to nurse. The act grounded him, quieted every lingering whisper of the man he used to be. Incontinence was absolute. Wetting was background noise; messing came without warning, several times daily. He felt it happen, registered it dimly, and waited for her to notice. Shame had faded to a faint echo, replaced by trust. Emily would care for him. Emily always did. One crisp October afternoon, as leaves swirled past the window, Mark lay in his playpen stacking soft blocks with clumsy mittened nudges. Emily sat nearby, pumping the last of a session into a bottle for later. He looked up at her—his Mommy—and felt a wave of pure contentment. She met his gaze and smiled, eyes shining with tears she no longer bothered to hide. “My perfect baby boy,” she whispered. Mark babbled softly around the pacifier she had clipped to his onesie, crawling to the edge of the pen and reaching for her. She lifted him immediately, settling him against her chest. He latched eagerly, milk flowing warm and sweet. Outside, the adult world spun on—deadlines, traffic, ambition. Inside, there was only the quiet rhythm of nursing, the crinkle of diapers, the steady beat of her heart against his ear. Mark’s old life felt like a dream he no longer remembered. This was real. And in Emily’s arms, drinking deeply from the mother he had given her, he wanted nothing else. Chapter 19: Total Incontinence Achieved November’s chill crept through the cracks around the windows, but inside the house it was always warm—warm with central heating, warm with the scent of baby powder and Emily’s milk, warm with the quiet certainty of routine. Ten months had passed since the diagnosis. Mark’s body had completed its surrender. The change was gradual, then absolute. Wetting had been constant for months; now even the faintest awareness of a full bladder was gone. He simply released whenever the need arose—multiple times a day, sometimes every hour—without thought or warning. Messing followed the same path. The laxatives Emily had once carefully measured into his bottles were tapered away weeks ago, unnecessary now. His body had learned new habits too thoroughly to unlearn them. Soft, sudden messes came three, four, sometimes five times daily, warm and effortless. He felt them happen, registered the spreading weight in his diaper, and waited calmly for Emily to notice. There was no shame left—only trust. Emily watched the final barriers fall with quiet awe. She changed him lovingly each time, cooing praise, kissing his forehead, nursing him afterward until he drifted in her arms. The thicker diapers she used now held everything comfortably; leaks were rare. Rashes were prevented with diligent care and ointment. His skin stayed soft, his disposition content. Resistance to exposure had vanished too. Mark no longer flinched when the doorbell rang or tugged at his onesie to hide the obvious bulge. The diapers—printed now with subtle pastel patterns she had chosen—were simply part of him, like the mittens that kept his hands useless or the booties that enforced his crawling. One crisp Saturday in late November, Emily decided it was time. She invited Sarah—her closest friend from the library days, the only person who knew fragments of the truth—for afternoon tea. Sarah had always been discreet, kind, and curiously supportive when Emily mentioned “taking care of Mark full-time.” She arrived at two o’clock with a tin of homemade shortbread and a warm smile. Mark was in his playpen when the doorbell rang, stacking oversized foam blocks with clumsy mittened nudges. He looked up as Emily greeted Sarah at the door, voices drifting in from the hall. A flicker of old self-consciousness stirred—he was in a thick, printed diaper under a short yellow onesie that barely covered it, pacifier clipped to the collar, hair tousled from his morning nap—but the feeling passed quickly. Emily wanted this. Emily was happy. That was enough. Emily led Sarah into the living room. “And this,” she said proudly, gesturing to the pen, “is my baby boy.” Sarah’s eyes widened briefly, but she recovered with a soft smile. “Hello, Mark,” she said gently. Mark babbled around the pacifier—a soft, nonsensical sound—and waved a mittened hand. No attempt to hide, no flush of embarrassment. He crawled to the edge of the pen and reached up toward Emily. Emily lifted him out effortlessly, settling him on her hip. The diaper’s bulk was unmistakable beneath the onesie; the faint scent of powder and recent use hung in the air. Sarah took it in without judgment. “He’s beautiful,” she said sincerely. “You both look so happy.” Emily’s eyes shone. “We are.” They sat on the couch—Emily with Mark in her lap, Sarah beside them—and talked over tea and shortbread. Mark nursed quietly while the women chatted, latching and unlatching as he drifted in contentment. Halfway through, he wet heavily; the diaper swelled beneath him with a soft hiss only Emily noticed. A few minutes later, a mess followed—warm, effortless. He sighed around her breast and kept nursing. Emily felt it happen and smiled down at him, stroking his hair. Sarah watched with quiet understanding. “He’s completely relaxed with you.” “He trusts me completely,” Emily answered, voice thick with emotion. “I take care of everything.” When Sarah left an hour later, she hugged Emily tightly at the door. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” she whispered. “You’ve built something beautiful.” After the door closed, Emily carried Mark to the changing table. He lay placidly while she cleaned him, powdered him, taped on a fresh diaper. Then she nursed him again, rocking slowly. That same week, the disability approval letter arrived—official, generous, permanent. Combined with savings, it freed them financially. Mark signed the acknowledgment form with Emily guiding his mittened hand, no longer working at all. The last threads of his adult life had quietly dissolved. Total incontinence was simply fact now: wetting constant, messing frequent and uncontrolled. He felt the accidents happen, accepted them, and waited for her care. Exposure no longer mattered. He crawled openly in his diapers, nursed in her lap without hiding, babbled and cooed without self-consciousness. Emily held him that night in the rocking chair, milk flowing steady and warm. “My perfect baby,” she whispered, tears of joy on her cheeks. Mark nursed deeper, eyes closed, body heavy and safe in her arms. This was everything. Chapter 20: A New Life as Baby Boy December 31, 2025. Exactly one year had passed since the day Emily and Mark sat in Dr. Harlan’s office and heard the word irreversible. Outside, snow fell in thick, silent flakes, blanketing the neighborhood in hush. Inside, the house glowed with soft lamplight and the faint scent of warm milk and baby powder. Mark lay in his crib, eyes half-open, watching the mobile turn slowly overhead: pastel stars and moons that had once seemed childish and strange, now as familiar as breathing. He wore a thick overnight diaper printed with tiny rockets, the tapes snug beneath a sleeper printed with the same pattern. His mittened hands rested on his tummy; the small chastity cage—now permanently tiny—pressed gently against the padding. He felt the familiar heaviness of a fresh wetting from moments ago, but it no longer registered as anything but normal. Emily stood beside the crib in a soft robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her breasts, still full a year into lactation, ached gently with the need to nurse. She reached through the bars and stroked his cheek. “Happy New Year, my sweet boy,” she whispered. Mark turned toward her touch, making the small, eager sound he had learned she loved. She smiled—radiant, whole—and lowered the side rail. With practiced ease she lifted him, settling into the rocking chair with him cradled against her chest. He latched immediately, nursing with the deep, steady pulls that had become the center of his world. The milk was warm, sweet, endlessly comforting. It flowed freely; her body had adjusted perfectly to his demand. As he drank, his eyes fluttered closed, one mittened hand resting against her skin. Emily rocked slowly, tears of quiet joy slipping down her cheeks. The grief that had once threatened to swallow her whole was gone—healed, transformed into this fierce, protective love. She was a mother in every way that mattered. Her baby needed her completely, and she needed him just as much. Mark’s thoughts drifted in the warm haze of nursing. He remembered fragments of the man he had been: suits and ties, deadlines and commutes, the weight of adult decisions. They felt distant now, like a story about someone else. The descent had been slow—love-fueled, guilt-soothed, step by careful step—but he no longer questioned it. He had given her everything. And in return, she had given him peace. The shame that once burned so hot had cooled into acceptance, then into something deeper: pride in belonging to her, safety in surrender. Diapers were simply part of him now—thick, crinkling, constant. He wet and messed without control, without care. Exposure no longer embarrassed him. When Sarah visited again last month, he had crawled to her happily, sat in her lap for story time, and nursed openly while the women talked. The world saw what it saw; he only saw Mommy. Disability payments and savings kept them comfortable. The yellow room down the hall—the one once meant for a different baby—was now a fully equipped nursery: crib, changing table, rocking chair, shelves of supplies that would never run low. Emily shifted him to her other breast. He latched again, drinking deeply, feeling the cage press uselessly as arousal stirred and went nowhere. Pleasure belonged to her now; his body knew it. She stroked his hair, humming the lullaby she sang every night. In the quiet, her mind turned to the future. Sarah had mentioned a friend—another woman caring for her own “little one.” A playdate, perhaps. A chance to share, to connect, to let Mark experience the joy of others like him. The idea warmed her. There would be more chapters to their story. More love. More care. More surrender. Mark finished nursing with a small, satisfied sigh. Emily lifted him to her shoulder, patting gently until a soft burp escaped. Then she carried him to the changing table for his bedtime change—thick diaper, fresh onesie, pacifier clipped to the collar. She laid him in the crib, raised the rail, and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Sleep tight, my perfect baby boy,” she whispered. “Mommy loves you more than anything.” Mark’s eyes met hers in the dim light. He babbled softly around the pacifier—a sound of pure contentment—and reached a mittened hand toward her. She took it, held it until his breathing deepened and his fingers relaxed. Outside, snow continued to fall, covering the world in quiet white. Inside, Emily turned off the lamp and stood for a long moment watching him sleep. One year. A lifetime. And the beginning of forever. The End… for now.

Chapter 38: Selfish Bound – LittleFallenPrincess ------------------------------- Samantha Okay. So maybe I fucked up by letting them get close. It has been a month since their first date, and they are so… disgustingly cute together. Like we were when we first dated. And I was more jealous than ever, but at least that was balanced with the feeling of happiness for two friends finding their own happiness, especially Lydia, as she’s not had anyone to play with in a long time. Okay maybe not evenly balanced… more akin to an elephant being weighed against a kitten… but still… I’m happy for them. I did worry for Chloe though, as the longer they date, the more she’s stepping away from her little side. But maybe I was just wrong about her little side, maybe she just likes playing submissive roles and isn’t actually a little, maybe she was just playing the role for me… At least she seems happy to be Lydia’s sub. This has had an added side effect of making my Cassie act a lot more… clingy. She’s almost a whole half-decent girlfriend at this point! Though I fear that if Chloe and Lydia suddenly disappeared from my life… Cassie would return to her old ways within seconds. Gotta say… I am enjoying her actually enjoying her little side more, and not just being a brat for the sake of it. She’s actually being a good girl for me and I’m enjoying being a Mummy for her for the first time in a long time. This was surprising, as I thought that if she saw Chloe was no longer single or with an abusive Mummy, that she’d be less intimidated and return to being typical Cassie… but no, it’s continued. Maybe she still thinks there’s a chance Chloe and I could end up together. It’ll never happen, but if it makes Cassie act like a decent person… great. “What’s up with you, mopeyguts?” Becks asked, whilst we had a bit of a lull in business, having dealt with the usual weekday lunch rush, and we prepared for the increase in business in a few hours when everyone gets off work. It was supposed to be my day off, but I was bored and thought I’d help Becks out in the shop. “Chloe and Lydia are going to the event this weekend,” I sighed. “And?” I didn’t reply to her, I just gave her that one look. She can normally read me so well. “Look, they’re probably going to go off and play somewhere else, probably privately. Why don’t you book a room for you and Cass?” Becks suggested. “Maybe. She’s been acting a lot more little lately, her behaviour has improved, so maybe she’ll be more open to the idea of actually being submissive. It actually feels like I’m dating her now… which is scary.” Then Becks said something that took me by surprise. “To be fair, you’ve been just as bad as her,” she said, rolling her eyes at me as she neatly arranged the cups. “No I haven’t! Since when? How?” Okay… maybe I sounded a little too defensive in my hasty reply… “You’ve been treating that poor girl like she’s going to bolt at any moment. You’re avoiding getting close because you’re using her. You’re using her to not feel lonely whilst your ex, the one you’re actually in love with, goes gallivanting off with our hot goth friend. You’ve been treating Cassie like she’s disposable. Sure, I still hate her for what she did to you the first time… but she’s trying to be better, and now you’re treating her the same way she treated you.” “I… no I haven’t! It’s totally different!” “Is it now? Tell me… when was the last time you did anything romantic for the girl? And don’t say ‘getting her into littlespace’… you do that all the time just to keep her occupied and to keep your brain occupied.” “There was that one time that… umm… ” I tried thinking of something as I was saying those words… hoping I could remember something just to prove her wrong. Because how dare she… How dare… “Fuck…” “There it is. You haven’t once cooked a romantic meal for her, have you? Have you been on a single date that wasn’t a kink evening or a visit to the pub with us? Have you ever done anything that she’s interested in?” “I… but…” “But what?” I wasn’t expecting my best friend to stab me in the back like this, so I was caught a little off guard. “She doesn’t do anything I’m into!” “Have you asked her to try since she started changing her attitude?” “No…” “Sam… I love you. But you’re a selfish bitch sometimes.” I’d had enough at this point. “I’m not spending my day off listening to my bestie slag me off all day… I’m going to go watch something in my apartment.” “Fine. Run from your problems. I’m sure that won’t come back around to bite you in the arse…” As I sat there on the sofa, hours later… watching some random shit on TV, I couldn’t get what Becks said earlier to me out of my head. Am I really that much of a bitch? I know I was keeping Cassie at a distance but that was for my own mental wellbeing. To prevent Cassie from treating me like shit again, cheating on me and dumping me the moment she got bored with me. Becks is right though… Cassie has changed. And I’ve been treating her the same, as if she was still the same, shitty girlfriend she used to be. I… FUCK. I’ve been fucking horrible, haven’t I? Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. I’m so glad that not only are these thoughts internal, but also that I’m the domme and not a little… because if it was Cassie or Chloe swearing like I was, they’d be in big trouble. “How do I remedy this?” I asked Smudge, who was sitting on his little spot of the sofa, the spot that I dare not disturb or occupy. “Meow,” he replied. “Dinner. Movie. At the very least. I have to be better. But then what movie? What food? We have such different tastes.” “MAMA!” Cassie yelled as she burst through my apartment door, causing it to swing open with a good amount of force. “Hey babygirl, how was work?” I asked, trying my best to bury all the shitty feelings inside for the time being. “Boooooooring. But I got to finish early, so I’m here with my favourite Mama…” “You have other Mamas?” I asked, wondering if I was being a bit too on the nose and sounding nasty, or if she would get the joke. “No, silly! Just the one!” “Then come sit on your Mama’s lap and tell me all about work.” She looked a bit surprised by this. Did… Do I just not ask about her day at all? Becky was going easy on me earlier, it seems. “...Okay!” she said, skipping over, practically pouncing on my lap, her landing cushioned by my thighs and… padding. “Are you already padded, silly girl?” “Umm…” she blushed, looking around nervously, avoiding eye contact with me. “Did you go to work in a nappy?” “I… was feeling ickle… buh I had to go be a grown up…” “Poor baby, come here!” I said, pulling her closely for cuddles, kissing her gently on the top of her head as she wiggled her little legs. Right… I need to be not only a better Mummy, but also a better girlfriend… so I wonder if… “Sweetie?” I asked, sweetly. “Yes Mama?” Cassie replied, sounding like she was already suspicious. “If you want Mama to control how often you wear your nappies… she’s happy to do that…” “Weally?” She sounds really surprised. Pleasantly surprised. I really have been a shit girlfriend. “Yes sweetie. Mama can start forcing you to go to work all padded like that if that’s something you’d want?” I left it open to her, not just because I’m big on consent (which I am), but because if I just ordered her, she’s likely to resist it. By giving her the choice, I’m easing her into submission gradually over time. She’s less likely to fight back with her usually bratty attitude. “Umm… uh huh!” “How about… every night I expect you to be padded, whether you’re staying here or not.” “What about the days?” “Why don’t we leave that up to how dry you are in the morning? If you’re soaked when you say ‘Good morning Mama’, then you’re in padding for the rest of the day. If you’re dry… you can go in either panties or pullups… depending on if you were wet the previous day or not.” “Dat sounds fun!” See, doing it this way I allow her to take some control in whether she’s padded or not. True, I’ll technically be ‘ordering’ her to be padded, but we all know she’s the one with all the control, as she could easily stay dry in the morning to quickly send a text if she wants to wear grown up underwear, or if she really feels little and wants to be padded more… she can flood her nappy in the morning and then send the text. She’s got no issues with control, so this method allows her to decide if she’s padded and little or not, and I’m just here to provide the roleplay she needs to go along with. “Then as of tomorrow, that’s what we’ll do, okay poppet? Every morning I want a wakeup text from you if you’re not staying over, and I’ll ask how your nappy is. If it’s wet… nappies for you. If it’s dry, then you get to be a big girl unless the previous day you were wet, in which case you’re in pullups.” She looked so genuinely happy… and that just made me feel so much guiltier. But no, not going to wallow in that. Becks called me out, I realised I was being shit, and now I’m going to be better for Cassie. If she can improve, I’m not letting myself be as bad as she used to be. She deserves better. So all my focus will be on being the best Mummy and girlfriend for her. “Now, sweetie… how about we watch a movie or two tonight and get some yummy Indian takeaway food?” “Uh huh! What movies?” “How about… I pick one and you pick one?” I could tell there was still a part of her that still didn’t want to watch my nerdy stuff, but if it meant me watching her stuff with her, I was pretty sure she’d make the sacrifice. And the very enthusiastic head nodding that followed confirmed it. Another month, another kink event at the club. February’s theme at the club was obviously Valentine’s day… so there were hearts and various Valentine’s day decorations up around the place. Daniel and Steph were here, with Daniel in his usual smart attire, albeit with a little dash of red to go along with the theme, and Steph sat beside him, going all in on some absolutely gorgeous red lingerie that matched the red pocket square and tie Daniel was wearing. God, those two are so perfectly made for each other. Like two halves of a jigsaw that slotted together perfectly. Not like Cassie and I. Though despite our differences, we make it work. We just have to use some scissors and a hammer to make the pieces fit, tis all. Becks had two subs to play with at this month’s event, as Lucy was finally available to attend, having been gone for a few months due to working on thesis or something. I can’t remember what she said, other than she’s at University working on something much more advanced than I could understand. It’s always the nerds who are the freakiest. Gotta say… I admire how Craig manages to not be jealous all the time when he isn’t the only sub Becks is teasing. Most of the time it’s just the two of them, but occasionally Becks’ other partners are available and Craig is so patient and understanding. You can see a little bit of jealousy when he’s not her centre of attention, but you can also see the happiness on his face when he sees Rebecca happy. But both pets were on all fours, in their usual leather pup gear, sat on the floor at her feet like the goodest girl and boy ever, with Becks sitting on the sofa in a red shirt and black waistcoat. Even I was a bit flustered at how hot she looked tonight. I really wanted to catch up with Lucy, having not seen her in a while, but she was deep in her pup headspace, and I didn’t want to ruin that, because by the sounds of it she really needs the break from thinking as an adult human. But Cassie… Cassie takes the cake tonight. She wins when it comes to best and most adequately dressed… and I only had a small say in it. She decided most of it, which surprised me, and she was currently sitting on my lap, bouncing up and down, firing little plastic sucker arrows at Craig. Because, you see, she decided to dress as Cupid for the evening, seeing as she was already going to be in the nappy… “Isn’t Chloe coming tonight?” Steph asked, drawing Cassie’s attention… and ire. “Oh she’s not coming tonight, is she?” Cassie whined. “She is, babygirl,” I replied, making her sigh heavily. “But don’t worry, they’ve got their own room. Speaking of…” “Huh?” “I got us a room. You’ve been enjoying getting subbier with me, so I figured we’d try a few things. That’s if you want to, of course…” And in typical little fashion… she responded by sticking a sucker arrow to my forehead as she bounced happily on my lap, giggling. ====================================================== Don't forget I'm on Subscribestar! Subscribers get 2 weeks early access to chapters, and exclusive short stories (Nessa's Tale is currently the only available one). The next four chapters of my stories are posted on my Subscribestar! ======================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! If you want to read the next 4 chapters, thanks to two weeks early access to my main story and also soon-to-be exclusive access to short stories, why don't you check out my SubscribeStar! Thank you to all my subscribers for their support over the past few years! Seriously, your support means the world to me. New chapters of my latest story every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post. And it goes without saying, my story is not to be used in any way to create AI work. Thanks!

Chapter 34: Jealousy Bound – LittleFallenPrincess ------------------------------- Samantha As I rolled over in bed, comfy and warm within the embrace of my nice thick winter duvet, I found something barring my path. “Morning, beautiful.” “Morning, baby,” I replied, still barely awake at this time in the morning. My eyes hadn’t even had a chance to open properly yet. “Wake up then!” Cassie groaned at me, in her usual brattish way. “Why? It’s Becks’ turn to open the shop. She said she didn’t need me for the first couple of hours.” “Because… I’ve got a surprise for you!” Okay… that got my eyes to open instantly. I… I’ve never received a surprise from Cassie. Like… ever. And what lay in front of me looked amazing. “You did this for me?” “Uh huh! I wanted to treat the bestest Mama with the bestest breakfast in bed.” “But you can’t cook…” I replied, raising my eyebrow at my girlfriend. “That’s why… I went down to the cafe down the road and got it to take out, then put it all on plates and stuff…” “You got dressed… and went out… to bring me breakfast?” “Yes, why are you sounding so surprised?” she replied, sounding all huffy. It was actually kinda adorable. “Who are you, and what have you done with Cassie?” I laughed. “Shuuuush! I just wanted to make it up for you for not being the bestest girlfriend…” “You mean like… when you cheated on me last time?” “...Yes.” “Well it’s a good start, it looks absolutely delicious!” What has gotten into Cassie lately? First she’s getting clingier than ever towards the end of November, then once Christmas started and all the decorations went up everywhere, she got extra clingy and even became less bratty. I even caught her cleaning up after herself a few times… and now this. Breakfast in bed. She has never got anyone breakfast in bed. Not even herself, as she expects others to get it for her. But hey, I’m not going to turn down an amazing-looking full English breakfast. I’ll try to figure out what she wants later, as my stomach was growling too much for me to work anything out right now. “Morning sleepyhead,” Becks said as I came down the stairs, my vision and senses being invaded by Christmas decorations once again, just like every morning since December began. Becks had gone all out in making the shop feel festive. We even had little festive treats and special festive teas on the menu, which the few customers we had in the shop this morning seemed to be enjoying. Cassie had headed out just before I came down to help run the shop, as she’s got ‘errands’ to run… which is weird… leaving me to get dressed and stumble down the stairs slowly, being greeted by my bestie, who was wearing a nice crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and her smartest black pants, looking rather sapphic if I’m honest. “Why are you all dressed up?” I asked. “Meeting with David.” “David?” “Why do you never remember who he is? David, from the club.” “Ah yes. Bank guy David. What’s he want?” “Well I’m catching up with him mostly, but I’m also giving him our sales numbers and whatnot, making sure we’re on track to pay off all the previous debts and then those that were added from the renovations.” “Do you need me?” “I’d have woken you up earlier if I did. You need to run the shop whilst I’m out. I called Craig, as it’s his day off from his main job, to come help in a bit, he should be here soon, but until then… you’re on your own.” “Poor Craig. Being roped in because his Mistress ordered him to,” I giggled. “I did no such thing!” replied Becks, sounding rather defensive. “It was Craig that offered, actually. He’s bored at home, and with me busy in the meeting he has to entertain himself, and when I said you were running the place alone today, he jumped at the chance to do something.” “Fair enough then. I’ll be happy for his company.” “How was breakfast in bed?” Becks asked. “You know?” “Cassie wouldn’t stop bragging about it when she came in earlier, just before she went up with it to give it to you. That’s… a big step for her, thinking about someone else for a change.” “She… seems to be trying to be a better person. For what reason, I have no idea. She probably wants something.” “Or she’s jealous…” Becks replied, in her best teasing voice. “Jealous? Of whom? And for what reason?” I asked, confused. “Sam. You are such a strong, intelligent woman… but you are a fucking idiot sometimes. Chloe. That’s who. And I would’ve thought it’s obvious as to what reason she has…” “Cassie is jealous of Chloe? But I’m not dating-” “She sees the chemistry between the two of you, you and Chloe. The way you talk about that girl… Cassie is getting defensive, claiming you as hers. She didn’t have any competition the first time you dated.” “That’s…” Then I thought back to all the times she’s been extra clingy… and they tend to be around the times Chloe comes to the cafe… “Ah fuck.” ------------------------------------------------------------------ A couple of weeks later, I was sitting in the shop, enjoying a nice hot cup of tea whilst reading a book. Customers were sat around the cafe area all doing the exact same thing, and everything felt at peace with the world, even if it was just in this store for this limited amount of time. Things were going well in my life. Cassie was clingier than ever, more romantic… and more attentive. She had never acted like this during our previous relationship, mostly because she never felt threatened back then, so she could afford to sleep around and treat me like a disposable domme. But now… she brought me little gifts (only stuff like sweets or treats or whatever, but considering who it's from… It meant the world to me), she asked about my day, she would be clingy physically and not in a selfish way. Hell, she even made sure I… umm… got to… you know… during our ‘grown up’ time. Which she never cared about before. Usually she’d just lovebomb me up front and then forget I even exist, but this was a while into this relationship now and she hadn’t drifted away… yet. Maybe that’s because Chloe still visits the shop a couple of times a week, every week. Sometimes Cassie is at the shop when she does, or sometimes Cassie just hears about Chloe coming in… but either way, I think Chloe’s presence is improving my relationship with Cassie, which is nice. And that’s not to say I’m using Chloe to improve Cassie or my relationship! I still love my time with my friend whenever she visits the shop, we talk nerdy stuff whilst Becks and Cassie roll their eyes, and we have a nice chat, keeping up with each other’s lives. I’m there for her whenever she needs me, needs to vent, needs advice, whatever. We’re just as close as we used to be, but without the romantic connection we used to have. Well… The weaker romantic connection. Because I don’t know her feelings when it comes to me… but that girl is pretty unforgettable. And a part of me still wonders what would happen if I dumped Cassie and asked Chloe out. But no. That’s not fair on Cassie. She’s trying so hard to be a better girlfriend. She’s being so much better than her old self. I’m happy with her, for the first time. We’re doing okay, and I’m focusing all my love and attention on her. So why can’t I stop thinking about Chloe? That’s when I realised I had been staring at the same page for the past ten minutes or so, as I was lost in my own thoughts, and had only been brought out of it when the bell above the door rang, indicating we had someone come in. Expecting Craig, I was pleasantly surprised to see the cute little grin on Chloe’s face as she walked down the centre aisle, stopping half way and waving at me. I waved back and returned the smile, before she began looking through the science fiction section. “Morning, cupcake.” “Morning. And yes please,” she responded, placing a book I instantly recognised, one about these two women who fall for each other in some oceanic dystopia that involved robots. “I mean, I was calling you cupcake, but which one would you like?” I giggled. “Oh! Sorry… I’m dumb.” “You’re adorable.” “Thanks. I… just not thinking straight much these days.” “What about gay thinking? Doing much of that?” I asked, trying to sound as deadpan as possible. Yes. Bad joke. I know. But… umm… I don’t care! “Actually… yes.” “Oh?” “So… I’m putting myself out there again. Oh, also I’ll have the one with sprinkles, please! And my usual.” I got out of my comfortable position and stood up, grabbing the last of the sprinkle cupcakes as I began preparing her usual order, but didn’t let that stop me from having a conversation with my friend. “Oh? Looking for a Mummy again?” She looked around to check that no one had heard me talk so openly about our lifestyle, before whispering to me. “I… umm… maybe…” “Maybe?” “I was thinking of… umm… finding… umm…” “Use your words, poppet…” “You know that doesn’t help! That just makes me melt more!” Then came a familiar voice from the front door of the shop. “BABE!” Worst. Timing. Ever. Cassie had burst into the shop, saw Chloe and me talking, then yelled out in my rather peaceful, relaxing shop. “Cassie… indoor voice, please. Sorry everyone!” I said, apologising to my customers, who had all looked up to see the disturbance, realised it was nothing, then went back to their books/laptops. And so she skipped down the aisle, towards the counter, standing next to Chloe and placing her arms on the counter in the exact same way Chloe was positioned. “So what are we talking aboooout?” Cassie asked, sounding rather excited. “Chloe is looking for a new Mummy,” I replied. “Oh good!” Cassie sounded a little too happy with her reply, so I chose to ignore her and continue talking to Chloe. “So what were you looking for in a Mummy, hun? You were going to say before someone rudely interrupted…” I said, emphasising the word rudely to get it into Cassie’s skull that she needs to be better. “I… was thinking… I was going… umm…” Chloe seemed really nervous about this, but eventually she got her words out. I think Cassie’s presence wasn’t helping, but it’d be really shitty of me to ask Cass to go away now, given how she’s apparently jealous of my friendship with Chloe. “I was thinking… of finding a domme…” “A Mummy domme?” “I… kinda. Maybe. I dunno. Not really been feeling the little thing lately. Nat kinda ruined it for me.” “Understandable, but don’t think it’s gone for good hun, so don’t give up on it or it’ll come back and bite you. Always does.” Too many times have I seen people go through the ‘purge cycle’ with this kink. Throwing away all their onesies and nappies and everything, then a few months later they have to rebuy everything because the urge came back even stronger. “I just… I always admired what Becks did. And your domme side.” Cassie started laughing. “What domme side? She’s a pushover!” What Cassie doesn’t know is that I never go domme for her, because she’s just a brat. And not one of those fun brats who give in with only the slightest bit of dominance… no, she’s unstoppable. The only thing that works on her to make her obey is the soft Mummy act I put on, and even then that’s only when she’s wanting attention. You can’t make someone submit who doesn’t want to submit in the first place. “Cassie, why don’t you go upstairs and look for somewhere to order dinner tonight from?” Her adorable face lit up. “I can pick tonight?” “Yes. But just gimme a bit to have a chat with Chloe, then I’ll be up to help, okay poppet? Oh and grab Mr Stuffie, you’re being little tonight.” That was all she needed to forget Chloe even existed, as her smile grew twice as large and she dashed for the apartment stairs, disappearing like a speedster from a comic book. “Mr Stuffie?” Chloe asked. “Her fave stuffie.” “Ah.” “Anyway, back to what you were here to talk about. Hun, if you want some more dominance in your life, go for it. Just don’t forget about your little side.” “I don’t even know what I want.” “Well why don’t you come to the Christmas event at the club?” I suggested. “I… I haven’t been since…” Since you broke my heart and left me? Since I last got excited about going to events again? Of course I won’t tell her these things… I’m trying not to hold it against her. “Shush. Ancient history. And Becks can give you a bit of an intro, maybe a taster session?” I suggested. “She… she’d do that? Wouldn’t it be awkward?” “Not at all. Look, Saturday, arrive with your sluttiest dress on. Becks will take care of you. Then you can see if this is something you’ll want or not. And don’t worry about limits being broken, Becks will honour all of them, and you’ll have a safe word and everything. So if there’s some things you’re not into or okay with, or change your mind about, you can stop it at any time and Becks won’t be insulted. It’s probably your best opportunity to try new things with someone you can trust.” “I… I mean… that does sound fun. Sure. I’ll come.” It was at that point that I realised that during our conversation all our customers had finished up their drinks and headed out, leaving just Chloe and I alone in the shop together, with Craig of course, who was collecting the dishes to be washed. He’s a star. I must remind myself later to tell Becks to give him a treat. I’d do it myself, but I don’t want to step on Rebecca’s toes… “Good girl. Now, are you going to be okay? I need to close up the shop, then make sure this little brat upstairs isn’t ordering lobster or something ridiculous tonight…” “Yeah, thanks. Go ahead, have a good evening!” she said, smiling awkwardly and waving at me as she headed towards the door. And once she had gone, I let out the biggest sigh, the one I had been holding in the entire time. “Not going to say anything…” Craig said out loud as he was collecting a cup from a table. “Look, it’s easier for me to accept it if it’s Becks playing with her.” “Becks will happily play with her, but are you going to be okay with it?” “I’ll have Cassie.” “Ugh, Cassie is coming to the event too?” “I assume so.” “Well good luck, because by the sounds of it… you’re gonna need it.” The worst part… he wasn’t wrong. Saturday is going to suck. ====================================================== Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and all that! I hope you all have a fantastic time, and I hope 2026 is even better for all of you! Don't forget I'm on Subscribestar! Subscribers get 2 weeks early access to chapters, and exclusive short stories (Nessa's Tale is currently the only available one). The next four chapters of my stories are posted on my Subscribestar! ======================================================== I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! If you want to read the next 4 chapters, thanks to two weeks early access to my main story and also soon-to-be exclusive access to short stories, why don't you check out my SubscribeStar! Thank you to all my subscribers for their support over the past few years! Seriously, your support means the world to me. New chapters of my latest story every Wednesday/Sunday! Also just a quick note: I don't mind people saving this story for personal reading. But I'd appreciate it if people didn't post it elsewhere, even if you're just suggesting it to other people. If you want to show others, please send them a link to the first page of this post. And it goes without saying, my story is not to be used in any way to create AI work. Thanks!

Chapter 19 Keeping house This was taking some getting used to. Not an hour ago I was her bawling little boy, being spanked for not behaving. And now she’s kneeling on the bathroom floor cleaning around the toilet while I’m making my bed with fresh sheets. She had said, “I’m not some lazy bitch, I’ll help you with this stuff. Then we can maybe rearrange your kitchen some.” I thought the kitchen was fine the way it is, but I was still feeling a sting on my backside, so I wasn’t about to argue. Just as I finished putting the last pillowcase on the last pillow, she emerged from my bathroom. She commented rather casually, “Not too bad. I knew a guy that seemed to always miss. At least your aim is a lot better.” She reached and fluffed a pillow a little, then just asked, “Do you have a vacuum? Tell me where it is and you go empty the dishwasher.” As I put the last of the dishes away, she was still vacuuming the carpet in the living room. I took a moment to open the cabinets and try to understand what was wrong with the way things were. I mean, everything fit inside the cabinets, what more is there? The vacuum stopped and I heard her wrapping the cord. Then the hall closet door closed and she appeared. She softly patted my padded bottom and said, “Why don’t you do the dusting, let me take care of the kitchen.” The pat had once again reminded me of who’s in charge and all I could manage was a meek, “Yes Mommy.” I got the duster from the laundry area and went about my Saturday chores as I heard the clatter of dishes and pans being moved about. By the time I finished and returned to the kitchen, every cabinet was empty and every dish I owned was on the counter. When she saw me, she just asked, “All done sweetie? Any other chores you can think of?” I shook my head and mumbled, “That’s about it. I don’t wash the windows every week. And I can’t mop the kitchen floor until you’re finished.” She nodded and smiled, “Right then. Now, you might want to pay attention, so you’ll know where to find things.” She glanced around the counter and picked up the set of mixing bowls as she explained, “Just think about how you work in a kitchen. You start with food from the fridge or this pantry cabinet. Then you need bowls and pans to put the food in, so they go next to that.” As she put them away, she moved to the drawers next to the stove, “And since this is where you need spoons, ladles, measuring things… They go here.” I watched as she put everything back into a cabinet, just not the one they had come out of. She kept explaining, “Things should flow around… food preparation, cooking, then serving dishes…” In just a few minutes, she had put everything away in its new home. She paused, took a breath and asked, “Now… where’s the mop? In the laundry?” When I nodded, she went off to find it. She returned with the spray-mop gadget I had and gently pushed me aside, “One side sweetie, and don’t track on the wet floor. Mommy can do this quicker if you just stay out of the way.” With only the one chore left, I stood out of the way and watched as she quickly mopped the vinyl flooring and rinsed the mop pad in the sink before hanging it over the faucet to drain. She came to me and smiled. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. With a grin she said, “See? Some mommies know how to keep house and take care of things. I don’t need a housemaid in a frilly apron like Beth. Now, how’s your diaper sweetie? Need a change before we go to lunch?” Before I could even register what she had asked, her hand was brushing against the front of my crotch. Satisfied that I wasn’t soggy, she gave me a peck on the cheek and turned to grab the diaper bag she had brought. She took my hand, saying, “How about just something casual for lunch? I feel like Mexican.” … She was rather cheerful as we placed our order. After the waitress left, she put her elbows on the table and asked, “So… what sort of movie would you like to see? I hear the new Marvel one is good. Or maybe that animation from Pixar? You don’t strike me as the type that would want to see any slasher flick.” I smiled and nodded, “No, I’m not one for blood and gore. I can’t sleep after seeing one of those.” She smiled and teased a little, “Well if you get too scared, just remember you can always cuddle up with Mommy. Somehow the idea of you as a scared little boy needing his mommy… Seems to fit you.” I blushed and looked around to see if anyone overheard. There didn't seem to be, so I calmed down a bit. Then I tried to ask in a delicate way, “You said no more probation?” Just as casually as if discussing last quarters sales figures, she explained, “That’s right dear. You’ve had time to see what everything is all about. And not once have you used the safe word. You know what I expect from you and how things are between us.” She paused and looked at me for a moment before going on, “Beth may be right, there might be more buried deep down in your psyche, but you’re DEFINITELY a cute little subby. Don’t worry, we’ll explore a few more things together. But you should know by now that I’m not going to hurt you. Well, you know what I mean. You’ll get punished when you’re naughty and that will hurt your bottom, but if we try something and you can’t handle it, I expect you to speak up and say Denver.” … Mommy decided we should see the Pixar animation. Being a Saturday matinee, it was pretty crowded with plenty of kids, and it got a bit noisy at times. Mommy got us a tub of popcorn and a large soft drink. About halfway through the movie though, she leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything in front of all these kids. But if you have to tinkle, just go ahead, that’s what diapers are for.” We just munched popcorn and watched the movie, it was pretty funny for the most part. One part where the monster jumped out, I heard several in the audience squeal and scream, but it was all in good fun. As we walked out, she gently put her arm in mine as we strolled to the car together. She asked, “Did you enjoy that? Sometimes it’s nice to just be a kid again, unwind and not worry about anything grown up.” I nodded a little, “Yeah, I did. I mean, some kid stuff is so… so juvenile. But then there is some of it, like Pixar, that keep it entertaining.” “Yeah, like some of the old Looney Tunes cartoons,” she replied. Then she added, “May seem childish with falling anvils and cartoonish explosions of dynamite, but it’s just fun and a few jokes or puns for adults to laugh at.” As we got to her car, she opened my door and said, “Let’s get you home for a nap. Then later maybe have a nice dinner at home.” And by ‘home’ you mean… your place? … Yes, that’s what she meant. When we arrived, she took a moment to kick off her shoes and put down her purse and the large tote bag that she used as a diaper bag for me. She opened the fridge and asked, “Care for a beer? I’m having a glass of wine.” I declined and she just shrugged and poured herself a glass. She sipped it as she walked towards me. Without saying a word, her hand gripped my crotch and squeezed. She took another sip and put down her glass on the counter. From casual talk of movies, to offering me a beer, to holding my cock in its diaper, the change was smooth and direct. She smiled and her other hand slid up behind my neck to pull my lips to hers. As her tongue darted in to dance with my own, her grip started to rub up and down and I wrapped my arms around her to pull her close. After a few moments, we parted and she whispered, “nap time little boy…” She smiled and her hand let go of my crotch. She took my wrist and I followed her like an obedient little boy to the bedroom. When we got there, she paused and tugged her top over her head and removed her bra. She grinned at me as she cupped her bare breasts and whispered, “Does my little boy want these? Want to suck on Mommy’s titties?” I felt my cock straining against the padding of my diaper as I nodded and whispered back, “Yes Mommy… Can I? Please?” She got a wicked grin on her face as she giggled a little. “Well…” she said, “Only little babies suck on these… Are you my little baby?” Of course I am.. Since almost the moment I met you. I stared as her fingers fondled a nipple to make it stiffen. Her voice was husky as she spoke softly, “Of course, little babies are kept in diapers… aren’t they Tommy? Is little Tommy a good baby and wears his diapee?” Without thinking, my hand was on my crotch as I nodded and whispered, “Yes Mommy… I’m a good baby… I wears diapees like Mommy says.” Her hands released her breasts and reached for her jeans as she said, “Take off your clothes sweetie… but keep your diaper on like a good little boy.” I fumbled with my shirt and kicked off my shoes as I stared, watching her strip naked in front of me. As I pushed down my jeans and stepped out of them, my cock was throbbing in my diaper. But instead of watching me, she had turned and reached into one of her drawers. I froze when her hand came out with a good-sized dildo. She turned and smiled for a moment as she held it up for me to see. When she saw me frozen with my pants only halfway off she giggled and spoke, “Mommy likes to play sometimes too. Now hurry up and get those pants off little boy.” She turned and pulled back the covers of the bed and lay down. I stared as her hand put the dildo against her own crotch. I managed to step out of my pants and approached the other side of the bed as she spread her legs and began to slide the tip up and down her pussy. As I lay close, she simply said, “Now suck Mommy’s titties sweetie. If your little peepee is bothering you, you can play with it in your diaper while Mommy has her fun.” I leaned to her breast and took her nipple in my mouth. I heard a gasp as she seemed to spread her legs wider. Then I heard her say softly, “Oh yeah… “ Her arm started to jiggle as she was undoubtedly starting to fuck herself with the dildo. I whined a little, my cock straining. My lips parted as I whispered, “Mommy? Can I put my peepee inside you now?” Her response was soft spoken, but surprised me, “If you take that diaper off, this cock is going up your ass…. Now keep sucking.” I blushed and latched onto her nipple again. She purred and replied, “Good baby… now play with your little peepee while Mommy has her fun.” I pushed my own hand into the front of my diaper and gripped myself. Once I grabbed my cock, I was committed. I wasn’t about to stop as my lips suckled and my hand tugged. The padding rubbed against the tip of my cock as I heard Mommy whispering, “That’s a good baby… You do just what Mommy says….” I could feel her arm moving faster as her breathing got harder. Here I am, jerking, er…. ‘playing with my peepee’ while Mommy would rather use a dildo than me? But she’s having me suckle…. Sucking and sex are fusing together… Would she really put that thing up my…??? I whimpered as I was getting closer and closer to climaxing. She suddenly rolled towards me, growling softly, “Suck the other one now… both tits…” I switched to latch onto her other nipple as she raised her leg and laid it over my hip. Her hand was bumping against my diaper as she kept thrusting, fucking herself. The extra touch against my diaper and hand and I shivered, squirting cum into my diaper. Her only response to my climax was to command me to, “Keep sucking… baby needs to suck…” I did as she wanted, even as my cock was softening and oozing its last into my diaper, I held her nipple in my lips. Suddenly her leg pulled my hips closer as she shivered and cried out, “YESS!!! THAT’S IT!!!! OH GOD!!!!” I felt her arm move and hold me close as she gasped for air. Her hips pushed against me and I felt the silicone of her toy nudge against my thigh as she held me quietly. Her lips touched my head in a kiss as she whispered, “sleep now… Mommy’s precious little boy.” With her leg and arm draped over me, I wasn’t going anywhere, I closed my eyes and we fell asleep. … I knew it was a dream. Somehow you just know. I was bent over the end of the sofa with the back of my diaper pulled down. But I wasn’t being spanked, I heard Mommy say, “That’s a good sissy… now just relax…” I couldn’t feel anything, but I knew she was about to fuck my ass. I was scared, sucking on my pacifier, and suddenly I felt my bladder let go… I jerked as I suddenly woke up. Mommy was lying next to me, awake and watching me. She whispered, “Are you all right? Have a bad dream?” I blinked and looked at her, then reached under the covers and felt the front of my diaper. It was soggy and heavy. It may have been a dream, but one part of it was real. The adrenaline was still flowing, and I opened my mouth to answer. I barely noticed the pacifier falling from my lips as I said, “I… I wet myself in my dream.” She reached and put a hand on my cheek. She spoke softly as she gently pushed my hair back a little, “Shh… shh… it’s okay. It was just a dream.” I tried to explain, “No… no you don’t… I’m really wet. I’m… I’m wetting myself in my sleep…” All she did was gently smile and pulled me closer, gently holding my head to her chest. I was scared and I told her so, “I’m scared. Am I really turning into… into a little baby that has to wear diapers all the time? Mommy? Make it better Mommy.” She hugged me and kissed my hair, “Shh… shh… don’t be scared. Mommy’s right here.” She held me close until I settled down. I couldn’t see her face, but her voice seemed to have a certain tone, the same tone she had when she was caring for me, as if she were smiling as she said, “Don’t you worry, there’s nothing to be afraid of, Mommy will always be here to make it better.” To Be Continued

The Regression Protocol: How to Pacify Your Professor Formerly The Littlest Professor By Lionsheart Disclaimer: This story features consensual adult ABDL roleplay. All characters are 18+, no minors and all dynamics are negotiated between adults. Chapter 1: The Literary Dictator Claire Grimmer walked through the aisles of the Thorne Hall's tiered rows, delivering her graded and red marked papers, as if it were a new art form. She could hear a mix of groans, whispers, sniffles and sighs as she delivered each essay to its respective student. “Jasmine Patel, impeccable work on your analysis. It’s rare to see a thesis so well thought out.” Professor Grimmer praised the student who was only a few years younger than Claire. Surprisingly enough to most students on the campus, Professor Grimmer had been one of the youngest professors hired in recent years, yet, debatably, the strictest. Claire excelled in her baccalaureate work and had gotten early entry into a PhD program that led to her graduating at 23. Her job came by on luck and timing alone when one of the existing Advanced Writing & Rhetorical Analysis professors suddenly passed away at Westridge University. During that time, she had been substitute teaching and tutoring, awaiting for a permanent spot to open up and apply for to start her real teaching career and pay off her debt. Unfortunately for her, the professor she had the most admiration and utmost respect for during her own studies at Westridge had been the professor she'd have to replace. When Professor Walsh had passed, her heart had seemingly cracked and she'd cried for days, remembering their conversations and discussions that made her feel like she had been seen and was capable of bigger things in her life. It was something that her parents never could do and the reason why she enjoyed her professors company, even if it was only a professional relationship. They'd met for coffee to discuss contemporary rhetoric theory and, during her studies, she'd basically had her own standing seat in his office during his office hours. All this to say, he'd been a close mentor and then colleague after she graduated. They even got to the point of sending professor memes and funny rhetorical quotes they saw to each other when Claire had been hired on to tutor and substitute teach. His position opened up mid semester when Claire was working with him at the campus as a tutor for his class. It was the luck of time and place that she was able to get into such a prestigious role at a well-known college so quickly after graduating. Claire didn't take her role lightly, as the meaning of her job was now carrying on a legacy of someone who taught her everything she knew. From the moment she began her first lecture, she knew she had big shoes to fill, in which she did and had made a name for herself in the few years she had already taught. Given, that name may have had curse words and profanity following it, but her colleagues praised her work through her PhD work and published papers. She won several awards during academia and had a known reputation among the professors for her excellence even prior to being hired into the university’s faculty. At the age of 26, she now walked her hall with an uptight confidence and prowl that no student near her age truly understood, which was okay for Claire since that's how she always had been: simply misunderstood. She'd heard the names people called her and comments about how she'd just graduated and it made 'no sense' why it didn't seem like she had a sympathetic bone in her body. From giving her infamous berating lectures to students who questioned her to her notorious red marked papers, she had built her reputation in record breaking time of 3 years as one of the toughest professors in the English department. That was a title she held gladly, knowing it was only following in Professor Walsh's footsteps of pushing students to their own excellence in academia. Professor Grimmer’s heels clicked the stairs as she walked up, passing out her last exam, “Kevin Marshall." Claire passed back a paper heavily marked with red. "Your thesis was unclear and you failed to provide adequate textual support for your claims. This reads more like a book report than critical analysis." The ginger headed student’s face flushed red as he rested his forehead on his hands in stress of the C- grade. She walked back to her podium, lecturing on like she did after every essay delivery day like a nail in the coffin for her students, "As I mentioned last week, these analytical essays fell significantly short of senior level expectations." Her voice carried through the room without needing to rise above a measured tone. The century old walls of Thorne Hall seemed to amplify her words, bouncing them back at the students with authority. "The most common issues I encountered," she continued, returning to the front of the class, "were imprecise language, failure to engage critically with the text and arguments that lacked sufficient evidence." She pulled out three anonymous excerpts she'd prepared, projecting them onto the whiteboard. "For example, this sentence: 'The author really shows how society is bad.' This tells us nothing specific about the text or the argument being made and is vague." A few students shifted uncomfortably, recognizing their own words dissected before their peers. Claire paced slowly, her shoes marking a steady rhythm against the floor, "Your analysis should demonstrate precision, clarity, and original thinking. These are not arbitrary requirements but are the foundations of effective communication in any profession you might pursue." As she spoke, Claire noticed movement in her peripheral vision, Kade Prescott slouching further in his seat in the back row, his athletic frame somehow managing to look both relaxed and defiant at the same time. His dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead, and the smirk playing at his lips set her teeth on edge. From day 1 of this semester, he was, admittedly, a problem child in her class and always having an argument on her grading of his papers, although he never bothered to visit during her office hours to learn how to improve his writing skills. "Mr. Prescott." She held the last paper she deliberately didn’t deliver between two fingers as if it might contaminate her, "Would you care to explain how an AI generated essay meets the requirements of this assignment?" The classroom fell silent as Kade's smirk faltered, then returned with double the intensity. His green eyes flickering almost in mockery that set Claire’s irritation to a new level. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, "I'm not sure what you mean, Professor Grimmer." His voice carried a practiced innocence that made her eye twitch in annoyance. "Then allow me to clarify." Claire walked toward him, feeling almost the 32 pairs of eyes following her movement. "This essay contains tell-tale markers of AI generation with inconsistent arguments, quotations without real references and unnatural vocabularly in certain parts. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Heat climbed up her neck, not from embarrassment but from the controlled anger she refused to fully show. Kade held her gaze, challenge flickering in his eyes, "With all due respect, Professor, not everyone can meet your impossible standards without some... assistance." His tone suggested he found nothing important in her lecture nor statement, "Some of us have real world priorities beyond comma splices and thesis statements." The tension in the room shifted, students glancing between them like they were watching a tennis match. Claire felt a boost of confidence when several students frowned at Kade's response, as if they were surprised he'd even use AI, yet alone admit to it. Some genuine and others she could tell were probably just trying to remain on her good side for favorable grading outcomes. Little did they know, Claire would always grade without bias, no matter how many office hours or compliments they could give her. "Your 'real world priorities' won't exempt you from the consequences of academic dishonesty, Mr. Prescott. See me after class." She placed his unmarked paper on her desk and turned away for a drink of water to the side of her before he could respond, refusing to give him the satisfaction of witnessing her irritation. Claire resumed her critique, her voice never betraying the quickened beat of her heart from the confrontation and Mr. Prescott's audacity to openly argue her in front of her class, "As we move toward your midterm research papers, remember that clear writing reflects clear thinking. I expect significant improvement from many of you." Her eyes slowly glanced around the circular tiered seating of the hall, eyes flicking to Kade’s darkened ones before she went back to her lecture. The room filed out after her lecture slowly, until one student at the top of the tiered rows in the corner got up. Claire ignored the stare of her student approaching and the way he was much larger, taller than her by the time he appeared at her podium as she was exiting out of her PowerPoint and logging out. Claire squared her shoulders and raised her chin, grateful for the extra three inches her heels provided as he approached. Even so, Kade still towered over her, his broad shoulders filling out his university sweatshirt in a way that made the classroom suddenly feel smaller. She ignored the thought, recognizing that she would not allow herself to be intimidated by anyone, let alone, an arrogant student in her class. “Mr. Prescott.” She drawled in acknowledgement, moss green eyes flicking up as his eyes stared down to his paper in her hand as she passed it to him, “You’re lucky I felt merciful enough to give this a chance to be rewritten and didn’t send this to the dean for cheating." She said, almost regretting her decision to let this slip. She shouldn't have, yet she did because that's what Professor Walsh would have done... give a failing student a chance to redeem themselves, as he always said. Claire continued as he opened them, eyes scanning her highlights, "I highlighted all the AI phrasing and unsupported references.” She nodded to the papers as he flipped through the pages and pausing by her words. Kade's green eyes narrowed, "It's a tool, Professor. I wrote most of the paper and the AI just helped me organize my thoughts and polish the language." "A tool that won't help you develop critical thinking skills or your own analytical voice." Claire kept her tone measured, professional, though her heart rate had quickened slightly. She refused to be intimidated by his proximity or the intensity of his gaze as she crossed her arms and held firm in her position, "In the real world, employers won't be impressed by your ability to prompt a chatbot." "The real world?" Kade scoffed, running a hand through his dark hair. "In the real world, efficiency matters. Nobody cares how you get results as long as you deliver them." The audacity of his statement made her blood simmer beneath her composed exterior. Claire straightened a stack of papers, deliberately taking her time before responding, “Perhaps in your future business ventures, Mr. Prescott, but in my classroom, the journey matters as much as the destination." She met his stare directly now, "If I see evidence of AI use in your work again, you'll need to consider summer classes to fulfill your writing requirement for graduation." Something dangerous flashed across Kade's expression. His shoulders tensed, jaw clenching as he fell silent. The classroom air grew thick with tension, punctuated only by the distant sound of students in the hallway outside. Claire should have felt only professional annoyance with his attitude, but an unwelcome heat crept up her neck as she observed him. Kade Prescott was undeniably handsome. He was tall with almost perfectly disheveled dark hair that suggested he'd just rolled out of bed, yet somehow made it look intentional. His green eyes held a sharpness that betrayed his intelligence, despite his failing grade in her course she could imagine he still was adept in other areas. All things considered, he did have a strong grade point average before he took her class. "Summer classes?" He finally broke the silence, his voice lower now, "You'd really derail my graduation over this?" She blinked, eyes narrowing at his insinuation that it was suddenly her fault he was failed a class because of his own AI usage. Arrogance at it's finest, she thought to herself. "I don't set the graduation requirements, Mr. Prescott. The university does." Claire tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, annoyed at herself for noticing how his tone made a part of her think thoughts she shouldn’t in professional setting, "And yes, academic integrity matters enough to 'derail' things when necessary." His prolonged silence made her increasingly uncomfortable. It wasn’t with fear but with an inappropriate awareness of him as a man rather than just a difficult student. The way he studied her face made her wonder what he was searching for. Weakness? A hint that she might bend her academic standards? "You know," he said finally, his tone shifted to something almost intimate that made her pulse jump, "most professors would be impressed that I found a way to work smarter, not harder." Did he think he could persuade her with his charm instead? She blinked in annoyance of this student's audacity yet again. Claire swallowed, fighting the urge to step back from the podium, "Well, I'm not most professors." "No," Kade agreed, his eyes traveling over her face thoughtfully, "You're definitely not." The way he spoke softly and not in a defensive way now hung in the air between them. Claire clutched the podium tighter, using it as a shield between them. The intellectual frustration she felt toward him twisted with something else, an irritating awareness that under different circumstances, she might have found his confidence attractive rather than aggravating. "Is there anything else, Mr. Prescott? I have another class to prepare for." She didn't, but the lie gave her an escape route she’d gladly take. Kade blinked in annoyance, coldly pulling back and walking away, "I'll rewrite the paper." he said, the words clipped, "Thanks, Professor." He turned and strode toward the door, shoulders back and head high. Claire hated that her eyes followed him, tracking the confident swagger in his step. Claire blinked in annoyance at the confrontation and the ‘thanks’ that was not a thank you at all but an insult wrapped in an arrogant undertone. She hated even more the conflicted feelings swirling in her stomach, professional irritation tangled with an appreciation for his defiant confidence. When the door closed behind him, Claire released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She pressed her palms flat against the podium, steadying herself before gathering her items and leaving. Later that night Claire drove home after a long day of grading her second class’s essays and an office hours visit from Kevin who had been struggling in her Advanced Writing course. Claire didn’t know why but the conversation with Kade and the classrooms responses to her lectures made her more exhausted than usual. When she got home, she decided to let go of the work stress as soon as humanely possible and unwind into her self-care routine, which involved a glass of wine, a diaper and her online ABDL and CGL community forum of people with similar interests as her. After getting into her diaper and onesie, she drank a few sips from her glass and logged into the website while she rested onto her couch. She blushed and grinned in excitement behind her pacifier, seeing DaddyDom24 online and already had sent her a message: Hey little baby writer, I see you’re online. What are you up to tonight? She felt her heart skip, seeing his words and how his phrases and words always elicited a warmth and tingling of humiliation within her that not many people possessed. Sure, she had dated on Fetlife and other online communities with other daddies; however, all the relationships prior lacked the intellectual stimulation she required. She found that the power dynamics and the words that could make her heart skip a beat was the true humiliation high she was attracted too. Claire hadn’t came across it until DaddyDom24 and they met through their stories. She came across him initially reading a story called The Control Protocol written by DaddyDom24. That’s where they began almost 4 months ago, when LittleScribbler, Claire’s online persona, began commenting on his stories. It was a story about a man regressing his hardworking wife through psychological games, daily checks and rules. In the story, his wife had been the breadwinner and held the keys in their house, so to speak. She was going through a series of challenges and high workload that caused her stress that bled into their love life. Then, the husband gave her an ultimatum: either stay in the relationship and follow his ‘control protocol’ to give up certain responsibilities to cope and become a better wife or they would divorce, no other options left. She agreed, hesitantly, and the story deliciously picked up in psychological role play and sweet but slow regression of the female lead character that bled into her workdays and life. As well known as DaddyDom24 was in the online community, so was LittleScribbler and she became known for her slow burn DDLG romance stories. After a few weeks of her commenting on his posts, he began commenting on her stories and they developed an online friendship publicly. Slowly, that migrated into private messaging and eventually roleplay where he’d ask her questions about her taking care of herself with water check-ins or self-care like in his story The Control Protocol. Then, he transcended into a more stricter and direct role play of asking her to drink only from her sippy cup afterwork and send a picture of proof. After that, it escalated further into asking her to wear her diapers on the weekends and to send him pictures to prove she was properly padded. Claire blinked back to his message, eyeing his thirst trap profile icon of his toned abs on display and holding a belt in front of him casually like a threat for a spanking. She bit her lip, typing: Drinking wine after a long week at work and working on a new story. How about you? She saw his typing bubble as she felt flushed from her neck up, having an idea what he’d say next but awaiting the response. Is that so? It better be from your sippy cup or else I may just make you do something as a punishment for not following my rules we set out. Her eyebrows raised, surprised of the frisky and more dominant tone he was taking on that night which was unlike him. He usually was on the side of caring and kind, yet today she could already tell he was coming in hotter than usual. Yes, he was dominant and his stories showed a darker, more shadow-daddy side to him but he’d not enforced any punishments… yet at least. She blinked when his next message came through: Send me a picture in the next 30 seconds, I want proof, little girl. Claire mischievously giggled, taking a picture by laptop screenshot from her chin down to her exposed diaper and wine glass in hand, sending it quickly in his required time frame. She didn’t type anything, knowing she was in trouble already. Her heart rate sped up as she awaited his response, his typing bubble appearing and disappearing a few times before a response came through: Hm. That’s not what babies should drink from, you’re going to make a mess and that’s unacceptable. She felt her fingers tingle, awaiting whatever punishment he thought would be appropriate for her misbehavior. Since you disobeyed me tonight, how about you drink two full glasses of water before bed while you’re on chat with me and no diaper change until 3PM tomorrow. I want a picture before you take it off to make sure you didn’t make any accidents overnight. Is that understood? Claire blushed deeper red, feeling embarrassed of him knowing she’d wet tonight and sleep in it. Usually she didn’t sleep in a wet diaper and stay in it that long. She was used to changing herself in the morning if she slept overnight and didn’t like the idea of a cold diaper in the morning. Luckily, she hadn’t had any plans for tomorrow and could afford a good portion of her day in her diaper. Claire and DaddyDom24 kept chatting the rest of the night about story ideas whilst he asked for updates on her water intake every now and then. That night, Claire had slowly calmed down from her day of responsibilities, being able to feel like she offloaded it with her online Daddy. The power, strictness and strength she had to carry was no more and she could relax into a peaceful state. She was simply happy to feel taken care of between her high workload of the week, even if it was all virtually. ________________________________ Hey everyone! After a hiatus, I'm back with a new story that I have 17 chapters written now for that I decided to start posting. I've been between writing a story like this for some time in a 'professor's pet' premise but with a twist and roles... reversed perhaps. Let me know your thoughts, theories and comments, I can't wait to hear what you all think of this story as it progresses! 😊

Chapter Twenty-Three: New Bonds “Stop it,” Boja warned. “What?” Adam defensively replied, slapping his arms at his sides as he took a backward step towards the edge of the play mat. “I’m not doing anything!” “Just like you weren’t doing anything in the fort,” the tiger licked his lips and slapped his tail against the ground. “Correct,” the blonde pointed to him, turned, and took a step off the mat, peering down the aisle to where his mother had walked away about ten minutes ago. “Cub,” the tiger warned again, getting up to his feet, and Adam spun around, stomping both feet on the mat. “I’m not going anywhere!” he huffed as he crossed his arms. “You’re taking this job way too seriously.” “I take my responsibilities seriously,” he grumbled in reply as he circled the mat, stopping at the point Adam had previously stepped off the mat and sat. “As should you.” “And what would those be?” Adam snorted, rolling his eyes. “Hourly diaper reports?” When the tiger didn’t reply, he grinned, taking that for a victory. He spun around to look at his play mat area, where Little Boja was sitting diligently at the desk. He sucked on a canine tooth, his eyes flickering over to the much larger desk where he had been reading from the monitor not thirty minutes ago, before Joomi reached out to her “experts” on “maturosis”. With a potential diagnostic meeting pending, she had told him she wanted to get something and then vanished, leaving him bored with Mr. Assiduous. Taking in a breath, he looked over his shoulder and up at the tiger. “Where did she go?” he asked, both wondering out loud and hoping to get an answer. “Home.” Adam narrowed his eyes, and the tiger chuffed, bobbing his head up and down. The blonde groaned as he walked over to the diaper bag, “Of all times for you to develop a sense of humor.” “I’ve always had a sense of humor,” the tiger grumped, adding quietly, “She thinks I’m funny.” The blonde barely responded with a hum as he began circling the bag, looking for his water. “Wait… what do you call her?” Adam suddenly thought as he perked up at the comment, looking over at him as he grabbed the sippy cup from the outer pocket. The tiger tilted his head to the side, which the blonde took as not understanding. “You only ever say ‘she’ or ‘her’. If you had to refer to her to someone else, what would you say?” “Depends on who I’m talking to,” the tiger replied as he flicked his tail. “Okay, fine, fair,” the blonde sighed, scooting Little Boja over as he shared the seat at the desk. “But what do you call her in …like… your head?” Adam briefly looked down at the bottle, trying to figure out where the latch was to unscrew the top so he could drink from it like a normal cup. He got around halfway around the rim when he realized Boja had fallen silent, and his blue eyes gazed over at the unmoving tiger; he raised a blonde eyebrow. “Boja… What do you call her?” “That’s not your business.” “Ohhhh,” Adam gasped, jumping to his feet, suddenly very interested. “Well, now I have to know.” “It’s not your business,” the tiger repeated, turning his head to look down the aisle. “Do you call her Joomi?” Silence. “Ma-nim?” Silence. “Ma Joomi-nim?” Silence. Adam grinned. “Eomma?” “No,” Boja replied hastily, and Adam gasped, pointing to him. “Holy shit, you do! You call her Mommy!!” he cheered. “I do not,” the tiger growled, his tail flickering several times as his ears flattened. He quickly and quietly followed it up, “Emonim.” Adam took in a breath, his eyebrows raising high up as he quieted down. He had learned that word and heard it a few times at the reception. It was the adult version of eomma, so mother; the pair stared at each other for a beat. “That’s… really sweet,” the blonde smiled. “Shut up,” Boja grumbled. “No, I mean it,” Adam insisted as he put a hand over his heart to emphasize his point. “It makes sense. She made you… she is your mother.” The tail flickering calmed down, now just sliding across the floor gently, and his ears slowly returned to their regular position. Adam blinked in thought, and his mouth gaped. “Does that mean… we’re brothers?” The tiger turned his massive head to stare at Adam straight on, and they stared at each other for a long moment. “Yes,” Boja finally replied as he nodded his head. “And I’m older.” “Bullshit!” Adam laughed immediately. “Not likely!” “Doesn’t matter,” the tiger lowered his head and bared his teeth, somehow managing to make it look like a smile rather than threatening. “I’m not the one in diapers.” “OOOHHHHKAY!” Adam burst out into a laugh as he dropped the bottle and ran at the tiger, who let out a playful growl as he collapsed onto his side and rolled slightly, letting the blonde collide into his stomach. He lifted a paw and put it on the back of Adam’s head, pinning him down, who flailed under the immense strength of the tiger. “Accept it, cub,” the tiger demanded. Adam flailed and yelled into the fur, smacking his fists against him pointlessly. He punched a few times before he sighed, slapping his arms against him and relaxing, nodding. The paw lifted, and the blonde gasped for fresh air, his face red from the exertion and laughing as he slid down to a seated position, leaning against Boja’s stomach. He let out a contented sigh after a few more chuckles escaped. “So… what do we call each other?” he asked, tilting his head up to look at him. “The older sibling typically calls the younger by their name,” Boja explained. “It is for the younger to respect the older and use titles. Therefore, you would call me Hyeong.” “Hee-yaw-ng,” Adam sounded out exaggeratedly. “But I prefer Boja,” the tiger added. Adam blinked in surprise, looking back up to him. “Really? Why?” “Because your Goryeoan is terrible.” Adam’s lips puckered as he stared at the tiger – then burst out laughing, and Boja chuffed, lifting his head proudly. Once his laughter died down, the blonde let out a contented sigh and put his hands behind his head, staring up and watching the little orbs fly back and forth. He tapped on his chest as a smile lingered on his face. He opened his mouth to ask Boja a question, but as he turned his head, he saw Joomi approaching, and eagerly he sat up. She giggled at the sight before her, putting a hand up to her mouth. “Am I interrupting naptime?” “No,” both he and Boja replied simultaneously, which only made her laugh more. Adam’s eyes moved to her other hand, which she put behind her back as soon as she noticed him looking. “What’s that?” he asked immediately, pointing to where he had seen a manila envelope. “Hmm?” she attempted to fake misunderstanding as she stopped in front of Boja. “In your hand, Eomma,” Adam snorted as he got to his feet. “Nothing,” she said as she showed him her empty hand, and Adam crossed his arms over his chest, causing a crack in her facade. Her shoulders quivered as she giggled again and brought out the envelope, presenting it to him with both her hands. He frowned curiously, stepping forward as there was something familiar about it. She had her thumb stuck in it so he could lift the cover, and he did, his eyes immediately flying open wide. “It… It’s mine!” he gasped, his hands lifting off of it, flanking his face for a moment. “These are my projects!” “Yes,” she purred, her shoulders lifting as she beamed. “Ka–uhhh, Grandpa didn’t throw it away?” he caught himself, flipping through some of the papers in awe. He had been certain this, alongside everything in his backpack, had been confiscated and tossed. Boja let out a tiny laugh at the correction. “No,” she warmly replied as she knelt, giving a slight tilt of her head as she playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he would have, if he had seen it. But Boja hid it before anyone searched the room.” “Thank you…” he whispered, his eyes briefly shooting over to Boja, who gave a small nod. “So,” she started as she handed him his folder, she placed her hands in her lap. “I thought we could go through them while we wait for responses to your testing. See what we can plan to work on. Or –” She looked up in thought, tapping on her lip, genuinely recalling something. “I suppose we could start on that earpiece…” “Yes!” Adam nearly jumped, his grip tightening on his project folder. It wasn’t until he had been in this lab that he had really come to understand how limited his resources had been back home, and how overly ambitious his plans had been. Though he was now in the presence of both the resources and expertise to achieve them, he didn’t want to jump into the deep end only to prove to himself and Joomi that he wasn’t ready. “These are – this is amazing and I … I’m really thankful you kept these… but they’re really ambitious and I… I think I’d like to start small.” “I suppose an earpiece for you is going to be very small,” she crooned as she rubbed her thumb on the outer edge of his right ear, and he flushed. “Well, I didn’t mean it like that, but… yeah,” he flustered. “It was a joke, agaya,” she winked, slipping her hands under his armpits and pulling him with her as she stood. Adam flashed a look down at Boja, starting to see how their senses of humor aligned. “I think that is a very sensible idea.” “Thanks,” he mumbled quietly, running his finger over the edge of the folder. He pressed his lips together, glanced to Boja, then up to Joomi, dropping his volume, “Did he tell you about… today?” “What about it?” she asked curiously, carrying him over to the desk. “Nothing…” he trailed off as he stared at the project folder; he had wondered if she knew today was the day he would originally fly home, and that’s why she was putting in so much effort. But he didn’t know how to ask that without sounding ungrateful. Or perhaps he just preferred to think she would have done this either way. Joomi set him down on the tabletop in front of her and reached her arms around him, her arms acting like a barrier to his flanks. She reached out to tap the massive glass wall that looked into a white lab. Adam set the folder down to block his view of the bulging diaper in his reflection, but as her finger collided with the glass, it sprang to life with colorful, transparent menus; his eyes widened. “Have you worked in bioengineering?” she asked gently, glancing down at him before selecting anything. “No,” he shook his head, leaning against her to look up. “Okay, we’re going to start with the band,” she explained as she tapped on a menu option, and the lit options vanished, making way for a semi-transparent empty square surrounded by icons and options at the outer edges. She then touched another button, and the language shifted to Albionic; he smiled. “What do you think should be the power source?” “I figured the quantum power would be…” he paused, sheepishly grinning. “I was going to say easiest, but easiest for you…” “That’s fair,” she smiled, brushing her hand over the top of his head. “What happens when you’re out of range of a power source?” His eyebrows furrowed as he considered the question; he hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t considered he would ever be too far from Boja again, which was a far more comforting idea than he had realized. He pulled in his lower lip in thought, feeling a little self-conscious at the time he was taking, so he shrugged, looking up at her. “Maybe a small battery?” he suggested, lifting a hand to his ear and gesturing behind it. “They have those for hearing aids.” “True,” she nodded, but it was clear from her tone that it was not the answer she was looking for. “But that would be visible and might be uncomfortable. And it would need charging.” “Right…” Adam mumbled as he looked down in thought. He could tell she knew the answer, and he was both glad she wanted him to figure it out and self-conscious to be struggling. All of his previous brainstorming sessions had been in private, without the oversight of someone watching and expecting an answer. It felt like school all over again, though with an admittedly much nicer teacher. He closed his eyes as he tried to ignore the world around him and picture himself alone, which was made difficult to maintain each time she stroked his hair. He thought back to his tooth problem. It was a similar conundrum. He had thought to put a small battery inside the tooth, but then it would have to be removable to recharge. He also hadn’t wanted to figure out how to signal to the wearer that it was low on battery, how to seal the port when in the mouth, etc. There had been too many ways it could have gone wrong. The current solution, introducing a low enough voltage to the mouth, was imperfect but workable, but that wouldn’t suffice for a device that needed consistent power to function. His face contorted as he tried to recall all of the power options he had researched when trying to solve the tooth issue. Then he grinned at himself. He was limiting his options to what he already knew and had access to before coming here. He never in a million years would have believed a fully functional and real-life seeming robot tiger was possible, yet here Boja was, blinking, breathing, and warm to the touch. He came here precisely because he knew his options were limited back home, as a measly Little with very little reputation and resources. But here in the futuristic lab of Ma Joomi, he could actually think about Star Trekking technology, and it might actually be feasible. In a flash, he felt like the room in his mind tripled in size, and an image of a scene from the show popped into his mind, where the character Doctor Mac Oi had used the energy generated by the brain of a comatose patient to power a device. “Can… can we use our own energy?” he asked as his eyes flew up and he looked up at her. “Like, uh, neural activity?” Joomi’s face beamed with pride. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug, and he blushed, grabbing at her arms to hug her back. “Very good,” she complimented, kissing his head, then reached out to tap on the glass. “It is called bio-electric harvesting. There are many different ways to do this, such as neural activity, yes. But I think heat may be our best option here.” With a few taps, the left side of the glass suddenly lit up with a massive set of equations, formulas, and code that scrolled at blinding speed, making it unreadable. Adam blinked as he tried to catch some of it, but as soon as it completed, the center of the glass rendered a generic male human body. She pinched and zoomed to the ear where she touched it, and selected a few more menu options. Another round of formula burst forth, and she tapped her bottom lip, then made another selection. Numbers began to populate next to the ear, and Adam recognized them as power output measurements, and he frowned. “That doesn’t seem like a lot,” he noted, and Joomi shook her head. “Agreed,” she hummed, her eyes glued to the screen as she nodded, considering the possibilities. “We’ll have to make adjustments and considerations. You will want the primary power source to be quantum – ideally, synced to Boja himself. So this would just be a backup, and we can run tests to see how long it would last on thermoelectricity alone.” Adam beamed while she spoke. She wasn’t talking down to him or explaining slowly like to a child. She was just… talking. Saying we. Including him in her plans, her thoughts. His brain buzzed with so much happiness that his wide smile was hurting his face. “Could a battery be small enough?” he wondered, letting his love of science fiction fuel his ideas. “So, if there’s a battery, the speaker can run on quantum power directly as a primary, then fall back to the battery, and the thermoelectric could be recharging the battery as it’s drained, right?” Joomi looked up in thought as she listened and nodded a few times. “Yes, there are small enough batteries,” she replied thoughtfully, reaching out to generate a new menu and start pulling up their options. “But we will want to balance the space carefully. We will need both the speaker and battery to be big enough, without overcrowding the band, as it will also need to be flexible so as not to be uncomfortable.” “No flexible batteries?” he puzzled as he looked at the list, then up at Joomi, who tilted her head to the side as she looked down at him, a slow grin coming across her lips. “Well done,” she praised softly, scrolling through the batteries and selecting the Kirigami option, which pulled up a blueprint of a battery stretched over a lattice pattern. “Rather than lumping a battery into a solid state, if you stretch it out over a complex, but flexible pattern, it can move with the band itself.” “Was… was that a test?!” Adam balked at her, and she raised a hand to her mouth, trying to hide her smile. “Does it help to know you passed?” she giggled, and Adam couldn’t help but smile, glad to hear that, though he crossed his arms in an attempt to be indignant. “It does,” he sarcastically groused. She gave him a quick peck on top of his head, then reached out, rotating the model of the lattice. He tilted his head to the side as he inspected the model, amazed that he was able to spitball ideas he thought were fantastical, and she already had plans for it. “Now, the actual band,” she pointed to the thin material of the band. “I think it should be a bio-polymer, using your own DNA as a baseline. That way, your body doesn’t start to attack it.” “Is that a risk?” he frowned in consideration. “Isn’t this still ‘outside’ of the body?” “Oh yes,” she nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Something like this will cause micro abrasions, which then the body will try to heal. If your cells detect a foreign object in that process, at minimum, they will grow extra skin as a barrier, and it will become very uncomfortable.” She ran her fingers over the top of his ear, giving his lobe a gentle squeeze. “Using your DNA causes a biomimicry state, where the cells will perceive it as another layer of your skin, instead of an external object.” “Wow,” he marveled at the explanation, which he felt was both complex and easy to digest, sort of like how their favorite show explained futuristic technology. He leaned back against her, staring starry-eyed at the rendered models before him, taking it all in. “Ooh!” Joomi exclaimed as she leaned to her right, tapping on the screen. “They’re available tomorrow!” “Who?” he asked mindlessly, his eyes and attention still glued to the lattice battery. “The maturosis experts,” she beamed, her left hand patting his hip. “I’ll get us scheduled.” “Mmm,” Adam hummed irritably, biting on the inside of his cheek as his eyes shot to the side. He was going to have to plan on how to handle that… but for now, he didn’t want to ruin the moment or his momentum. Once “the test” was scheduled, they took a break for lunch, diaper change, and thankfully, she allowed him to decline a nap, and they returned to the labs for the rest of the afternoon. He would never admit this to anyone… in fact, he would barely admit this to himself, but for the first time since a diaper was taped onto him, he was actually grateful for it. There was a huge advantage to being able to just work and not worry about bathroom breaks. He enjoyed the lack of interruption. By the day’s end, they had a fully working computer model and set up a list of tests to run overnight to test the various power circumstances. “Okay, dinnertime,” she announced as she pulled him into her arms. He pressed his lips together to avoid any complaints, which she caught and grinned, poking his nose in approval. As they rode the lift up, Adam beamed at the buzzing lab, and he leaned against his mother. “Thank you, Mommy,” he quietly gushed, pulling Little Boja close to his chest. “For what?” she inquired, though her squeezing him in a hug showed appreciation of the sentiment. “Today,” he smiled and looked up at her. “And being you.”

Chapter 41: Bottle Bound – LittleFallenPrincess ------------------------------- Chloe I really wished I had pocketed that cake before I awkwardly left, because my tummy was rumbling something fierce. But then it was around dinner time anyway so I really shouldn’t be ruining my appetite with cake in the first place. So maybe it’s a good thing that Cassie and Sam were arguing about me and they broke up and I may have been a large reason for all of it…. Who am I kidding? I’m sitting in my car, in the car park just outside work, the rain pouring down heavily, thundering against the windows of my small little blue hatchback… in tears… wondering if I ruin everything just by existing. Because I know Sam said she didn’t have feelings for me during that rant, that’s not the issue… but even just being her friend is apparently enough to cause her girlfriend to get insanely jealous. But that’s all we are! Friends! I’ve moved on. She’s moved on. No more feelings between us. Just really good, nerdy friends. We don’t even talk that much these days, not since most of my time is spent with Lydia… even Becks and I have been talking more than Sam and I have. So I don’t even see what the problem is. Cassie though… telling Sam to cut me out of her life like that… How can someone do that? How can someone be that much of a bitch? I know we aren’t as close these days, and there used to be a thing between us… but we’re just friends now. And I can’t imagine my life without her. I’m glad Sam stood up for herself, though I still felt like if I had lingered about any longer at the shop, either Cassie would’ve attacked me as soon as she came out of that back room… or I’d just find a way to make it all worse. Like I always do. So I left. Without my cake. I held the keys in my hand, engine off, still sat there in shock, not knowing whether to go home or just sit here a bit longer to process everything. That was until I received a call. It was Becks. “Hey Becks,” I said down the phone, trying my best to sound normal and not upset at all… “You okay hun? I was going to chase after you but it was pouring down with rain and then I realised I had no idea which way you went, so I thought I’d call,” she asked, sounding concerned. Fuck. “Been… better…” I replied, lying through my teeth. “I bet. Look. That wasn’t your fault. I hope you know that?” “I… if I wasn’t friends with Sam…” “Then Cassie would’ve ended up treating Sam like trash and left her an even bigger mess. Trust me. I know from experience. That girl is trouble. And not the fun kind.” “But-” “But nothing,” Becks interrupted me. “Stop blaming yourself for everything. You did nothing wrong. And hey, you’re important to Sam. Important enough for her to stand up to Cassie for the first time ever. You’re special.” “I’m not.” “Sweetie, what have I told you about putting yourself down?” I sighed, before repeating verbatim what she had told me on multiple occasions. “I am not a problem. I didn’t fuck everything up. It’s not my fault. I am a…” I couldn’t do it. “Go on…” she growled down the phone, much like Lydia does with me, pressing all my little subby buttons. “...I am a good girl.” “And?” “And I only bring… pleasure… to everyone…” I’m so glad I was in the privacy of my own car right now, as even without anyone around my cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Good girl. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Becks sounded so pleased with herself right now. “Fine. It wasn't my fault. But… is Sam okay?” “She will be. Though she’s started drinking already. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her. I need to get some food down her soon, so I’ll nip to the place down the road for her usual comfort food.” “Chinese?” I hated that I still remembered that. “Yeah.” “I… could pick something up for you, if you want?” I suggested. “It’s okay hun, I’m a big girl, I can manage it myself. Thank you though!” Then my tummy rumbled. And Chinese food sounded really tempting right now. “No, I’m already out,” I insisted. “Plus it started pouring down with rain as soon as I ran out, so it saves two of us from getting soaked. And I’m starving anyway and need food… so why don’t I get some food for all of us and bring it over? I know what I like and what Sam likes… What about you?” “Okay then, fine, you can pick it up. But don’t get me anything, sweetpea. I’ll be fine. I’m having dinner with Lucy later.” “You sure?” “I’m sure, thank you though Chloe. You’re a sweet girl.” “I’ll be like… twenty minutes?” “Okay hun. See you soon.” I made my way through the lifeless shop, takeaway food in hand, heading towards the stairs at the back. Good thing Becks left the front door unlocked for me when she was shutting up for the day. “Helloooo?” I called up the stairs. “Up here, hun!” Becks called back from the apartment. That’s when I heard a very drunk Sam call out. “WHO DAT?” This made me giggle, but also made me worry a little. I hope she hasn’t gone too hard on the booze. We definitely need to get some food down her to soak it up and sober her up a little. Good thing I got her usual, mine, and then a few little extra things. “It’s me!” I called back to her. “HI ME!” I giggled. I couldn’t help it. “Sam, it’s Chloe. She’s brought you dinner,” Becks explained as I started walking up the stairs. “CHLOE? WHAT? WHY?” “Because we both care about you. And we’re both proud of you.” I reached the top of the stairs and Sam was looking at me from the sofa, makeup running down her cheeks where her tears had fallen. Becks was sat next to her, also looking at me. “Buh… I thought you’d hate me…” “I don’t hate you. You stuck up for yourself. For our friendship. I’m proud of you!” I replied, only half lying. Not that I hate her! I don’t! That wasn’t the half-lie! Promise! I just… okay, maybe I wasn’t lying, but I also wasn’t telling her all my feelings right now, which are heavily conflicted. But I’m putting my own awkward, self-hating feelings on the backburner for now, and focusing on making sure Sam is okay. “Got you fried rice!” I replied, holding up the huge carrier bag of food in my hand. Sam clapped her hands just like a little would… just like… just like I… “So anyway…” I said, diverting my thoughts away from things I’d rather not think about right now. “Becks, can you grab the plates? And is there any alcohol left?” Becks nodded and got up off the sofa, walking over to the kitchen to get us what we needed to eat. “I would’ve saved you some if I’d known you were coming back!” Sam said, holding up the empty bottle like a drunk toddler.” And that’s when I couldn’t help but giggle. “What’s so funny?” Sam asked, her brows furrowing. “You’re such a brat when you’re drunk.” “HEy! I resend that! Resend. Reset. Resent! I resent that!” “I’m sure you do, cutie,” I replied, wondering where all this was coming from. Was I secretly some switch that I didn’t know about? Becks wandered back over with a couple of plates in hand and half a bottle of wine. “This is all that’s left of the wine in the apartment, unless she’s got secret wine stashed somewhere. And here are the plates,” she said, before bending down close to my ear and whispering into it. “And don’t go thinking you’re a big girl just because she’s a little loopy right now.” Okay… that instantly put me back in my place. “I… umm… don’t know what you mean,” I whispered back. “You push this too far and it won’t be me who puts you in your place…” I looked at her, then at Sam. Then I giggled. “You mean… that drunk toddler there?” I nodded towards Sam, who was currently staring off into space, with the biggest grin on her face. “That ‘drunk toddler’ can sober up in seconds when needed, and she’ll have you over her lap, phone in hand, texting your girlfriend, asking her if she has permission to spank you for getting too big for your britches…” Becks growled into my ear. “She wouldn’t! She can’t! She can barely form a full sentence…” “I’ve known that woman for nearly half my life. Trust me when I say don’t think you can predict anything she does when she’s drunk.” “I… I’ll take your word for it…” And then she said the two words that instantly reminded me of my actual nature… “Good girl…” she whispered in my ear, before walking over and placing the plates on the coffee table, along with the half a bottle of wine that was left. “Now… Can you do me a huge favour?” “Umm… sure?” “Look after Sam tonight. I was planning on staying a bit longer, but the smell of that chinese food is making my stomach rumble, so I’m going to go and get ready for my date tonight. Sam doesn’t really need a babysitter, but I’d personally feel better if I knew she was being looked after. Just make sure she gets in bed. I’ll even cover a taxi home if it gets too late.” “I can do that. My evening was free anyway,” I replied. “Not seeing Lyds?” Becks asked, her eyebrow raising. “Tomorrow night.” “Then I appreciate it, sweetie. Thank you. Make sure she behaves. And make sure you behave…” It was getting late. We had devoured all the food I had brought us, and finished off all the alcohol that was left in the apartment. Or more accurately… she did. I know Becks said she can sober up in seconds, but is there a limit on that? Because the way she’s wailing and sobbing doesn’t give me the greatest confidence in her ability to sober up on command. But here we were, in a bit of a food coma, lying on opposite corners of her sofa, legs curled up by our sides, watching the movie. “Remember when we watched this together?” she said, crying still. It had been hours of her yelling at people in relationships on the shows we were watching. So I switched it to the first movie of the rings trilogy because I know she likes Fellowship, and it’s not got any romance for her to yell insults at. Because before it was all ‘you deserve to be alone’ and ‘don’t trust anyone’ and a bunch of other things trying to persuade the characters that can’t hear her, and don’t exist, that they should never be in a relationship. “Yeah. It was a good night,” I replied. “Chloe… Be careful with Lyds.” Okay… that was sudden. “Why? What has she done wrong?” I asked. “Oh nothing, Lyds is great. She’s freaking gorgeous. And hot. And tall. I totally would by the way.” Okay… looks like because we no longer have fictional relationships to direct her scorn at… she’s turning her attention to the real life ones she knows… great. Maybe I should have let her stick with the shows. “T… thanks? I guess? I mean she is pretty amazing. But why should I be careful with her?” “All relationships are doomed. Ours was. Cassie and I too. Becks will inevitably break up with her partners. You and Lydia. Daniel and Steph. You’ll all break up. Everyone breaks up. Love is a lie.” Okay. Looks like doomerism is on the menu tonight in Sam’s late night drunken monologue. “That’s not true,” I replied, trying to argue against this drunk, depressed toddler. “Then why can’t I find a partner? Why can’t I find someone who sticks around… and doesn’t abuse my trust and love?” Okay… low blow. I assume the first bit was relevant to me, the second one is definitely in reference to Cassie. “You just haven’t found the right person.” I hated myself for using the shittiest line every person in a relationship uses for their single friends. “Ha. As if that’ll ever happen!” she said, sitting up. I sat up to make sure I could grab her if she tried standing up at this point, because if she did… she’s probably going face first into the coffee table. That’s when she looked me in the eyes, the tear stains on her cheek still not dry. “You and I were the closest I’ve got to actual love. You were amazing. This cute, funny, amazing, cute, funny, cute, amazing, cute…” “Your tape is stuck on repeat…” I giggled. “...Cute… amazing girl!” “Thanks?” “And then I fucked it up. Like I fuck everything up. Because I bottle everything up.” “Yeah but look what you’ve managed since you realised you couldn’t handle everything by yourself! You have a shop with your best friend that is doing really well! You seem happier than ever!” “Facade. All of it. I’m a m… ma… master at it. Mistress. Is it master still or is it Mistress cause girl?” Her drunken ramblings were adorable… but worrying. “It’s master. And why, what's up?” “Everyone is happy. Everyone has someone. But even when I had Cass… I felt alone. She was using me just as much as I was using her.” “And you ended that. Because you want, and deserve, more.” “But what I want isn’t available.” “What do you want?” Her body was swaying a bit, side to side, as if she was trying her best to maintain her balance. Then she lunged forward. 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We made it, chapter 100 which is too big & too important so it's four parts. Chapter One Hundred: Part 1. The smell reached Lilly before her mind did. It slipped into her sleep like a wrong note in a song she didn’t know she’d been humming—soft, sour, unmistakable once it had your attention. Not sharp enough to snap her awake in one clean motion, but steady enough to pull her out of dreams inch by inch, like a tide dragging something heavy back to shore. Her eyes opened to darkness. For a beat, she didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe deeply. Her body stayed still in the way it did when it was trying to negotiate with reality. Not yet. Not right now. But the smell didn’t negotiate. It sat in the air, warm and wrong, and when Lilly inhaled again it grew more defined—less “maybe,” more truth. She blinked. Once. Twice. The room came into focus in fragments. A faint blue glow from the digital clock on Paul’s nightstand. The outline of posters on his wall, edges catching what little light leaked in from the hallway. The weight of blankets that weren’t hers. And then—this—she felt the mattress beneath her hip and realized she wasn’t in her bed. She wasn’t in the master bedroom. She wasn’t under her own carefully selected throw, in her own curated sanctuary with the soft lamp and the charging station and the little world she controlled. She was in Paul’s bed. Still dressed. Still tangled in the night she’d meant to finish properly. Her body confirmed it with quiet humiliations: leggings, a long-sleeve lounge top, one sock twisted halfway off her foot like she’d tried to kick it away and failed. Her hair wasn’t styled; it had flattened into awkward angles where it had been pressed into the pillow. Her phone was somewhere under the blanket, dead or dying. She’d meant to get up. She’d meant to go downstairs. She’d meant to do a hundred things. But Paul had been so warm, so quiet, so steady—his tracker green, his pacifier working gently between his lips—that Lilly had stayed one minute longer. And then her body had decided for her. Sleep. The digital clock on Paul’s nightstand glowed a soft blue: 4:30 AM. Lilly’s chest tightened. Not with fear exactly. With responsibility. Her eyes slid to the shape beside her. Paul was there, half cocooned, half sprawled in his sleepsack. The fabric rose and fell with his breathing—slow, even. His face was turned slightly toward her, lashes resting against his cheeks. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t calling out. He wasn’t even awake. And that, somehow, made it more intense. Because it meant his body had done what it did while he was defenseless against it. It meant there was no warning. No chance to catch it before it happened. No “please” or “I’m sorry” or frantic scramble to hide evidence. Just the quiet aftermath in the air. Lilly’s throat tightened so sharply it felt like swallowing a stone. A flash of instinct tried to rise—an old reflex from the version of her that lived before this house, before this diagnosis, before she had learned how quickly a “normal day” could become something else. The reflex to recoil. To think this isn’t mine. To think someone else should handle it. Then her eyes caught Paul’s face again. Sleeping. Unaware. Vulnerable. And Lilly felt something shift in her chest like a hinge turning. Bryan wasn’t here. That fact landed again, heavier now that she was awake enough to feel it properly. Bryan wasn’t next to her in bed. Bryan wasn’t down the hall. Bryan wasn’t going to wake up if she whispered his name. Bryan was in Tokyo. Half a world away, wrapped in a different time zone, probably on set, or in an office reviewing ballooning budget costs or maybe he was simply pretending he wasn’t thinking about home because thinking about home meant thinking about the guilt he carried like an extra suitcase. Lilly stared into the dark and let herself feel the truth with no filter. She was alone with this. And something in her—something older than branding, older than image, older than fear—stood up straight. Okay, she thought. Okay. We do it. Her hand moved before her mind finished the sentence. She reached toward Paul carefully, not jostling him, and brushed her fingers through his hair. Soft. Slow. Like she was asking his nervous system for permission to wake up gently. Paul’s brow twitched. His mouth opened a fraction as he exhaled. Then his eyes fluttered open. Confusion swam there first—thick and sleepy. He blinked, trying to place himself. He saw Lilly. Relief flashed across his face so fast it hurt. “L… Lilly?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. The way he said her name wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even emotional on the surface. “I’m here,” she whispered instantly. “Baby. It’s okay.” Lilly leaned closer. The word baby slipped out naturally—quiet, automatic—like her body knew what to do before her pride could argue. Paul’s brow furrowed. His gaze shifted downward, instinctively, toward himself. Toward the sleep sack. Toward the weight and warmth he couldn’t see but could feel. His eyes widened. The shame arrived like a sudden storm. His breath hitched. His hands—trapped inside the sleep sack—jerked helplessly, as if he could push himself away from his own body. “No—” he whispered, panic rising too fast. “No, no, I—” His cheeks flushed instantly, heat racing up his throat. His mouth opened like he wanted to apologize—like the apology was a reflex his body had trained into him. “I—I didn’t—” he started, then stopped, breath catching. Lilly saw the shame forming. She saw the self-blame trying to take control of the moment. She stepped in before it could harden. Her eyes flicked to the nightstand. She reached for the pacifier with a speed that wasn’t frantic, just practiced—because she’d learned that speed mattered when you were racing a meltdown. She brought it to Paul’s mouth gently, like she was offering a bridge over a cliff. “Hey,” she murmured, voice low and steady. “Here. Just breathe first.” Paul’s face tightened with conflict. Lilly guided it closer. She didn’t force it—she simply held it at his lips long enough for the instinct to take over.Paul accepted it with a shaky exhale. His mouth closed around it. A soft suck. Then another. His eyelids fluttered as if his nervous system recognized the familiar rhythm and began to unclench in response.Lilly felt her own breath return. “That’s it,” she whispered, and her voice softened into something that didn’t belong to influencer Lilly at all—something deeply human. “Good job. You’re okay. You’re safe.” Paul stared at her, eyes glossy with embarrassment and relief tangled together. The pacifier quieted him, but it didn’t erase the humiliation in his face. He looked like he was trying to disappear. Lilly leaned closer so he couldn’t mistake her steadiness. “Look at me,” she murmured. “This is not your fault.” Paul made a small, wounded sound around the pacifier. Lilly nodded as if she understood the whole sentence anyway. “I know,” she whispered. “I know it’s awful. But we’re going to take care of it. Together, we'll get you all nice and clean and safe again, back to beddy-bey before you know it.” She slid her hand down to the zipper of his sleep sack. His gaze dropped again, then snapped back up to her face, as if he needed her eyes to stay with him or he might fall apart. “Okay,” Lilly whispered. “We’re going to get up.” Paul’s legs were heavy when she helped him sit up. Not because he couldn’t move—because he didn’t want to be a person in that moment. Being upright made it real. Lilly kept her palm at his back. Firm, warm contact, not hovering, not uncertain. “Slow,” she coached softly. “I’ve got you.” Paul nodded once, tiny. The pacifier bobbed with it. She unzipped the sleep sack fully and helped him step out. He stood, wobbling slightly—sleep still in his joints, shame still in his throat. She kept her eyes on his face, like the face was what mattered. Like his dignity lived there, not in the circumstances. “Okay,” she whispered again. “Master bathroom, so we can get you changed and bathed.” Paul swallowed and nodded. His cheeks were burning, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t resist. That alone told Lilly everything: he was trusting her. Lilly shifted, bracing him gently, and helped him up. Paul moved with that careful, slightly bow-legged stiffness that always showed up when his diaper was heavier—an awkwardness he tried to hide And she felt it, sharp and strange—a flare of pride inside the exhaustion. Eight weeks ago, this boy wanted nothing to do with her. Eight weeks ago, she would’ve panicked at the idea of being responsible for this kind of moment. Now she was doing it without hesitation. Not because she’d become perfect. Because she’d become present. As they moved toward the door, Lilly’s free hand reached automatically for the diaper bag sitting ready near his dresser. She grabbed it on the go. Paul shuffled beside her down the hallway, quiet. The master bathroom was dim and cool compared to Paul’s room, tiles faintly cold under Lilly’s bare feet. Lilly flicked on the smallest light—just enough glow to soften edges without making the room feel clinical. The mirror reflected her face back at her, and for a second she barely recognized herself. No makeup. Hair messy. Eyes tired. A woman in curated and expoesnive clothes standing barefoot at 4:30 AM with a diaper bag in one hand and a soon to be eighteen-year-old boy in the other. Paul stood near the counter like he didn’t know what to do with his body. He kept his gaze fixed on the sink, on the marble, on anything except the truth below his waist. Lilly set the diaper bag down with quiet efficiency. She turned on the tub faucet, testing the temperature with her hand until it was warm but not too hot. Then she reached into the bag and pulled out the changing mat. She didn’t make a big deal of it. She didn’t narrate everything yet—she saved narration for where it mattered most. She met Paul’s eyes again. “Okay,” she said softly. “We do this first. Then bath.” Paul’s breathing hitched again as he realized what was coming. Lilly stepped closer and met his eyes. “Hey,” she whispered. “Look at me.” Paul lifted his gaze, shame burning bright behind his eyes. Lilly didn’t look away. “Stay with me,” she murmured. “Okay? I’m going to take care of you. You’re safe.” Paul’s mouth worked around the pacifier. A tiny nod. Lilly guided him to sit where she indicated, calm and steady. She kept her attention on his expression, on the small tightness around his eyes. Then the room filled with the practical sounds of care: The rip of tapes—soft but unmistakable. The pull of wipes from the package. The hush of plastic and fabric shifting. “Okay,” she murmured, voice soothing and firm, like a mother brushing through panic. “That icky diaper is coming off… and it’s going right in the trash. All gone. All done.” Paul’s eyes squeezed shut for a second, shame cresting like a wave. Lilly stayed steady through it. “You’re okay,” she whispered. “You’re doing so good.” When she sealed the diaper away and tossed it, Lilly exhaled quietly. Then she reached into the drawer closet to the bathtub and held up something small and bright. A bath bomb. She turned it in her fingers like she was presenting a tiny magic trick. “Look,” she said softly, giving Paul something that wasn’t shame to focus on. “We don’t have bath toys in here, but we have this. We’re going to make the water smell nice.” Paul blinked at it. The pacifier slowed. His gaze fixed, almost childlike in the simplicity of it. Lilly dropped it into the tub. It fizzed instantly—tiny bubbles erupting, color blooming outward in soft swirls. The sound was gentle. A quiet crackle, like miniature fireworks under water. The scent began to rise—sweet, warm, comforting. Cherry first. Then vanilla. Then cinnamon curling through it like the memory of something safe. Paul stared at the fizz as if it mattered. As if it gave him permission to relax. Lilly watched his shoulders drop just a fraction. There. That tiny softening. That was the moment she felt her own chest ease. Because she wasn’t just cleaning up a mess. She was regulating a nervous system. She was keeping a boy from falling into terror. She was learning how to mother in the dark. “Okay,” she whispered. “Into the tubby.” Paul hesitated—just a beat. Not refusal. Vulnerability. Lilly stepped closer and offered her hand like it was normal. “Come on,” she murmured. “Warm. We’re just getting comfy.” Paul’s fingers found hers, hesitant at first. His grip tightened on the second beat, as if his body decided yes, this matters. Lilly’s thumb stroked the back of his hand once—small, grounding. Then she helped him step in. The moment his feet met the water, a shiver ran through him—less from cold, more from the sudden honesty of warmth. His shoulders sagged. His breath left him in a quiet, involuntary exhale that sounded like surrender. Lilly felt it in her own chest, too. Paul lowered himself into the water slowly, guided by her hand at his shoulder, her other palm hovering near his elbow in case his balance slipped. He didn’t look at her like a teenager worried about dignity anymore. He looked at her like someone trying to decide if it was safe to be taken care of without earning it. Lilly kept her face calm. Kept her eyes on his. Made her voice the same steady rhythm as the pacifier. “You’re doing so good,” she murmured. “Just breathe.” Steam curled up around them. The bathroom smelled like warm spice and sweetness, like something you could actually relax into. Paul’s knees rose a little in the tub, then sank again as his body found the water’s level. He watched the fizzing residue swirl away down the drain overflow like it was proof that things could dissolve instead of explode. Lilly soaked a washcloth, wrung it gently, and let the warm water fall over his shoulders in slow sheets. Not splashing. Not brisk. Careful. The cloth moved across his arms first—soft passes, steady pressure. She watched his face for flinches, for tension, for that moment where the body decided the touch meant danger. But Paul stayed. He blinked slowly, lashes damp at the tips from steam. The pacifier slowed even more. Lilly rinsed the cloth again, water whispering into the tub. She moved to his neck, then along his collarbone—quick, respectful, no lingering. Paul’s shoulders dropped another fraction. She then dip the cloth under water, back to where the attention needed to be and Paul simply let it happen. And then—without warning, without context—Lilly’s mind slipped. A flicker, like film spliced into the wrong reel. A hospital room. Cold light. That paper gown sound—crinkling and useless—offering nothing except proof you weren’t at home. Her younger self sitting on the edge of a bed with her head down, blonde hair falling forward in uneven curtains. Her hands wrapped tight around her own ribs like she could keep herself from coming apart if she just held hard enough. She was shivering. Not from temperature. From aftermath. Her hair was unkept, dirty in places, streaked as if she’d been running through life without stopping long enough to brush it. A few locks were darkened with something she didn’t want to name. Her right arm ached—tender and bruised, the kind of bruise that felt like being grabbed by the world and not let go. Sobbing in the room—hers, or someone else’s, it blurred. A voice saying, “I’m sorry, but…” And then— A hand on her back. Rubbing slow circles. Steady. Human. "You're gonna be okay, darlin." The memory cut off mid-sentence, mid-breath, like someone yanked the tape out. Lilly blinked hard, the present snapping back into place with the hiss of running water and the sweet-spice smell of the bath bomb. Paul was watching her. Not accusing. Not demanding. Just… present enough to notice her face shift. Lilly softened her expression immediately, as if smoothing a wrinkle out of fabric. “It’s okay,” she whispered—though she wasn’t sure if she meant Paul, or herself, or the girl in the hospital room. Paul’s eyes held hers for a beat, then drifted down again. The pacifier bobbed once, as if he accepted her steadiness like a blanket being pulled up. Lilly rinsed the cloth again and continued. She washed his hair next. She kept it gentle—fingers careful at his scalp, not tugging, not scrubbing like she was punishing dirt away. She worked the shampoo in with slow, massaging motions, her nails barely grazing. The lather caught the warm light in small pearly glints. Paul’s eyelids fluttered. He looked like he might fall asleep right there. Lilly tilted her head, a softness entering her voice that she didn’t perform for anyone. “Okay,” she murmured. “We’re going to rinse. Close your eyes for me.” Paul did. Lilly used a cup, letting water pour in a controlled stream—no shocks, no sudden splashes. She guided it carefully so it didn’t run down his face too harshly. Droplets rolled off his lashes and down his cheeks, indistinguishable from anything else the steam might have made. When she finished, she squeezed the cloth and pressed it lightly along his forehead, wiping away the last of the soap. Lilly swallowed, feeling that familiar ache—half pride, half grief. “You’re clean,” she whispered, as if clean meant more than skin. “You’re safe.” Paul’s shoulders sank deeper into the water, his body finally letting the tub hold him. For a minute she did nothing but keep her hand on the edge of the tub, near his shoulder—present, available, not hovering. The steam thickened. The scent wrapped around them like a soft curtain. Paul made a tiny sound around the pacifier—almost a hum, almost a thank you, almost a word he didn’t have to say. When she saw his skin prickle—when the first subtle tremor of cooling began—Lilly moved. “Okay,” she said softly. “Out we go. Warm towel.” She stood, grabbed the towel, and held it open like wings. Paul rose carefully, water streaming off him in quiet lines. Lilly kept her eyes on his face as she wrapped him up, cocooning him in warmth. She patted him dry—steady, gentle, efficient without being cold. The towel absorbed the water and the steam clung to them both. Paul stood there in the towel’s embrace, pacifier still in place, his breathing slow and even, like the worst of the night had been contained. Lilly brushed his hair back from his forehead with her fingertips. “Good job,” she whispered again. “I’m proud of you.” Paul’s eyes softened in a way that made her chest ache. She then scooped up the Safari changing mat and carried it into the master bedroom where she proudly laid the Safari-themed changing mat right across the center of their California king like a soft, defiant stamp. Paul climbed onto the bed slowly, towel still wrapped around him, hair damp at the edges. Lilly moved with deliberate calm, keeping her presence steady and predictable. No sudden movements. No rushed words. Her voice stayed low, warm, like a hand resting between his shoulder blades. “Okay, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Fresh and comfy… and then right back to sleep. We’re almost there.” Paul nodded, eyelids fluttering. The pacifier bobbed faintly as he breathed, a steady rhythm that told her his body was still listening. She laid out the fresh Safari diaper and plastic pants, then reached for the powder. When she tipped it gently into her palm, the scent bloomed softly into the air—clean, warm, unmistakably comforting. Paul watched her hands for a moment, then his gaze drifted toward the ceiling, heavy and unfocused. He wasn’t bracing. He wasn’t flinching. He was letting her. That alone made something ache behind Lilly’s ribs. “Hey,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on his face more than anything else. “You did so good tonight. You stayed with me. You didn’t get lost in it.” Her thumb brushed gently over his damp hairline, smoothing it back the way a real mother would—without asking permission, without making it a question. Paul made a tiny sound around the pacifier. Not quite a word. More like a soft agreement his body gave before his mind could interrupt. Lilly’s voice slipped into a rhythm, sing-song but not childish—more like a lullaby made out of sentences. “Okay…” she breathed. “We’re gonna get you comfy-comfy. Dry-dry. Cozy-cozy.” Paul’s shoulders lowered as if the words themselves were pulling him down into the mattress. Lilly then she did something she hadn’t expected to do—not as a stepmother trying to follow instructions, but as someone whose body had started moving like a mother on instinct. She sprinkled it gently where it needed to go, then rubbed the remaining powder between her hands and smoothed it lightly over his skin—across his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms. Slow. Careful. Almost reverent. The scent lifted immediately—clean, soft, unmistakably baby—and it curled through the room like a spell. Paul’s eyelids fluttered again. His breathing changed. Not startled—settled. The room filled with quiet, practical sounds of a diaper change again—only this time they didn’t feel clinical. They felt like a parent moving through the last steps of getting a child back to sleep after a nightmare. The soft rustle of clean diaper. The hush of fluffing the padding. Then the concise sounds of adhesive making everything feel safe & secure. Lilly’s steady narration, warm as the blankets: “All clean,” she murmured, voice barely above breath. “All nice and dry. All safe and sound. All tucked in.” Paul’s breath stuttered once, then steadied. His eyes shone faintly in the low light, not with tears this time—but with relief. The kind that came when someone handled what you couldn’t without making you feel small for needing help. Lilly eased the blankets over him, tucking him in the way she knew he liked: snug enough to feel held, loose enough to breathe. She adjusted the pillow behind his head, smoothing the fabric beneath his cheek. His pacifier slowed, becoming less urgent, more sleepy. Out of habit, Lilly glanced at his tracker. Green. A quiet, ordinary green that felt like a miracle. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead—then another, lingering this time. Not rushed. Not symbolic. Just… there. Paul’s eyes fluttered open again, just enough to find her. “Mommy?” he whispered, the word barely there around the pacifier. Lilly’s breath caught. She didn’t pull away. She leaned down again, pressing her lips gently to his forehead, holding the kiss there longer this time—long enough for the truth of it to settle in her chest. Long enough to let herself feel it. Her hand stayed in his hair, thumb brushing slowly at his temple. “Yeah,” she whispered, voice steady even as something inside her shifted. “I’m right here. Go back to your sweet dreams, baby.” Paul’s eyelids slid shut. His body sank deeper into the mattress, the last tension easing out of him like a held breath finally released. The pacifier stayed, his breathing slow and even now. Lilly stayed where she was, hand in his hair, listening to the soft rhythm of his sleep. The scent of powder lingered in the air, warm and grounding. Not a mess. Not a setback. A bond. She turned off the bedside lamp, letting darkness settle fully over the room, then rose quietly. Her bare feet made no sound as she backed away from the bed. She slipped into the master bathroom and pulled the door mostly closed. A moment later, the shower came on—low and steady in the early morning hours—water rushing like a release. Like Lilly rinsing the night off her skin. Like a woman who had crossed a line she never thought she would… and was beginning to understand she never wanted to cross back. The city was still half-asleep when she slid into her Jeep Wrangler Rubicon—roof panels on, doors on, everything sealed tight against the November bite. Her hair pulled up in a messy knot that still somehow looked intentional on her. She wore scrubs under another variation of her Maimi U hoodie, pale cram so the organe & green lettering popped on purpose—comfort first, competence always—and the Jeep’s interior smelled faintly like peppermint gum and the kind of vanilla air freshener she’d sworn she didn’t buy anymore. Downtown Jacksonville always smelled different this early: damp concrete, faint river air, that cold-metal scent of streetlights that had been burning all night. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting, watching the car ahead inch forward. And then her iPad chimed softly in her passenger seat. Savannah’s eyes flicked to it.A reminder. Patient Intake Form — Paul A. Goldhawk Completed by: Lilly Goldhawk Savannah’s chest did that thing it always did when she saw his name. Not a flutter. Not just a romantic swoon. A pull. Like her body leaned toward him before her mind could correct it. She didn’t open it yet. Not in the drive-thru. Not with the smell of espresso and syrup in the air and the normal world pretending everything was normal. She ordered her coffee—something strong, something hot, something that tasted like it could hold her upright if she started to feel too much. The parking lot was still quiet when she arrived. The building sat there like it always did—clean, modern, deceptively calm. The kind of place that looked like healing was simple. Savannah parked in her usual spot, angled just right, the Jeep settling with a soft creak as the engine shut off. For a second, she stayed still. Coffee in the cupholder. Hands on the wheel. Breath slow. Then she picked up her iPad. The screen glowed in the dim of the Jeep’s interior, bright enough to reflect in Savannah’s eyes. She scrolled once and her expression changed—not into pity, not into panic. Into recognition. Because Savannah had already seen Paul like this. Not on paper. In real life. She’d had him for that four-day weekend—when regression wasn’t just a clinical concept or a protocol written in bullet points, but a living, breathing thing that had unfolded in her amd her's mother's arms like truth. She could still feel it if she let herself. The weight of him settling when he finally stopped fighting. The way his shoulders would unclench in tiny stages, like his body had to be convinced it was allowed to rest. The way he’d blinked at her, dazed and embarrassed and relieved all at once, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to apologize or cry. Savannah’s thumb paused over the first section. Pediatric Support Intake Form — Ongoing Care Patient Name: Paul Alexander Goldhawk Date Range Covered: Past 14 days Completed By: ☑ Parent (Stepmother – Lilly Goldhawk) Primary Setting This Period: ☑ Home ☑ School ☑ Public _________________________________________________________________________ 1. Diapering & Toileting Average Diapers Per Day: ☐ 2–3 ☐ 4–5 ☑ 6–7 ☐ 8+ Wet Diapers (average/day): ☐ 0–1 ☐ 2–3 ☑ 4–5 ☐ 6+ Occasional heavy wettings noted. Messy Diapers (average/day): ☐ 0 ☑ 1 ☐ 2 ☐ 3+ Time(s) Most Likely to Be Messy: ☑ Afternoon ☑ Evening ☑ Overnight ☐ Morning Signs Before Needing Change: ☑ Verbal request ☑ Body cues ☑ Increased fussiness ☐ None noticeable Tolerance of Changes: ☐ Calm ☑ Needs reassurance ☐ Resistant ☐ Distressed Notes: Paul is encouraged to use the toilet for both urination and bowel movements. However, he appears more content and regulated when wetting his diaper rather than attempting to hold or transition to the toilet. Heavy wettings occur periodically, especially during emotional fatigue or transitions. _________________________________________________________________________________________ Savannah’s brows pulled together instantly. “Oh, baby…” she whispered, and it came out before she could filter it into something more professional. That wasn’t “a little setback.” That was a boy trying to keep his dignity intact while his body did whatever it wanted. Her mind couldn't help but think back to William, her baby brother, a toddler who could soak through a diaper like it was his full-time job and still look up at her like he’d done nothing wrong. William didn’t feel shame. William didn’t feel humiliation. William didn’t wake up at night wondering if the people he loved would leave if they knew the truth. Obvisouly not. Savannah’s throat tightened. “Paul…” she murmured again, quieter now. “You must be so tired.” She scrolled. Savannah’s gaze dropped to the next line. Tolerance of changes: Needs reassurance. Her breath left her slowly. That one hurt the most, because she could hear his voice behind it. Not the little voice.The big one. The teenage one that tried to sound casual while he was quietly breaking apart. “I’m fine. I can do it. It’s whatever.” Savannah knew that tone. She’d heard it while she laid supplies out gently, while she kept her movements calm and respectful, while she talked him through it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Not to infantilize him. To anchor him. To tell his nervous system: You’re safe. You’re still you. Nothing bad is happening. I’ve got you. Savannah blinked once, hard, like she could reset her eyes back into professional mode. _________________________________________________________________________________________ 2. Sleep & Rest Patterns Total Nighttime Sleep: ☐ <6 hrs ☐ 6–7 hrs ☐ 7–8 hrs ☑ 8–9 hrs ☐ 9+ Bedtime: 7:30 pm Wake Time: 6:00–6:30 am Night Wakings: ☑ None ☐ 1–2 ☐ 3+ Naps: ☐ None ☑ 1 short ☐ 1 long ☐ 2+ Nap Length: ☐ <30 min ☑ 30–60 min ☐ 60–90 min ☐ 90+ min Sleep Aids Used: ☑ Pacifier ☑ Plush/toy ☑ Bottle ☐ Music ☑ Rocking __________________________________________________________________________________________ Savannah’s gaze drifted to the sleep aids. Pacifier. Plush/toy. Bottle. Rocking. Bottle. Her thumb froze. And suddenly she wasn’t in her Jeep anymore. She was back in that weekend—Paul heavy against her, warm, exhausted, fighting sleep like it was an enemy. Savannah remembered the first time she’d offered him the bottle as his head laid gentely on her thigh, he tried reaching for it...... “Oh, no, no, no…” she murmured, brushing the backs of his knuckles with her thumb. “You’re too little to hold your baba.” Paul’s face went slack—half-sleepy, half-accepting—caught somewhere between man and child, pride and surrender. “Okay…” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “…Savvy.” Her entire world tilted. She lifted the bottle, guiding the nipple to his lips. He latched clumsily at first. Savannah’s hand cupped the back of his head, steadying him. “That’s it…” she coaxed, voice warm, honey pouring into the quiet. “Good boy… take your time…” Savannah’s chest tightened again. She corrected herself internally, fast—because she was trained to do that. This is not about you. But her heart didn’t listen. Because her heart remembered how it felt to be the one he trusted. _________________________________________________________________________________________ 4. Nutrition & Eating Habits Meals Per Day: ☐ 1–2 ☑ 3 ☐ 4+ Meal Completion: ☐ Full meals ☑ Partial meals ☐ Grazing Snacks Per Day: ☑ 3–4 Texture Preferences: ☑ Soft ☐ Crunchy ☑ Mixed ☐ Liquids only at times Feeding Support Needed: ☑ Verbal encouragement ☐ Independent ☑ Spoon-feeding during difficult moments Notes: Vegetables and fruit intake remain inconsistent and are often avoided unless blended or incorporated creatively. During periods of emotional strain, spoon-feeding paired with calm baby talk and praise has been extremely effective and helps Paul complete meals with minimal distress. __________________________________________________________________________________________ Savannah’s lips pressed together. She could picture it. Lilly, trying to do it without losing herself. Trying to keep the house adult while her stepson needed it softer. Savannah had spoon-fed Paul. She remembered how careful she’d been not to make it humiliating. Not “open wide, airplane!” like a joke. More like— “Just a bite.” “Good.” “There you go.” “I’ve got you.” Savannah tapped the iPad lightly, as if she could press her approval into it. “Good job, Lilly,” she whispered, surprising herself with how sincere it sounded. Then she hit the section that shifted the air inside her Jeep. _________________________________________________________________________________________ 9. Additional Notes (Caregiver Perspective) This week has been emotionally heavy. We hired a sitter to ensure Paul has consistent support when I cannot be present, and while I believe it was the right decision, I am still adjusting to it. Bryan leaving again for four weeks has brought up concerns about Paul spiraling emotionally, especially given how closely his regulation is tied to routine and parental presence. The college discussion earlier this week led to a significant meltdown. Paul experienced intense grief around the loss of that path, and it took several hours of reassurance, holding, and regression-based calming before he stabilized. I handled it by removing all future-oriented pressure, focusing instead on safety, rest, and reminding him that his worth is not tied to timelines or expectations. Despite everything, Paul has shown resilience. When supported properly, he settles, sleeps, eats, and engages. My biggest concern remains maintaining consistency while navigating the emotional impact of these changes on both of us. _________________________________________________________________________________________ Her thumb hovered. She read it once. Then again. "We've hired a sitter." And something—small, sharp, and surprisingly human—pricked inside her. Professionally, it made sense. Lilly couldn’t be everywhere. Paul needed consistency. Support prevented spirals. Savannah knew all of that. But her chest still tightened anyway. Not jealousy. Not yet. Something cleaner. Something sharper. A protective flare that didn’t need a name. Because Savannah had held Paul when he was vulnerable. She knew what he looked like when he was small in the right way—safe, soft, resting. And she knew what it looked like when someone made him small in the wrong way—cornered, ashamed, trapped in his own body. The right sitter could be a blessing. The wrong sitter could also be a risk. Savannah’s gaze flicked back to the form. Savannah’s mind stayed professional, because she was good at discipline: Vulnerable patient. Motives matter. Then the personal thought tried to rise. The one she didn’t want to admit. It could’ve been me. Savannah’s throat tightened. She corrected herself instantly. This is not about you. She held that line like a rail. But the ache didn’t go away. Because she wasn’t just reading about Paul’s care. She was reading proof that the door to his life was widening. And Savannah wanted to be invited through it… for the right reasons. As someone who could keep him regulated without making him feel owned. She sat back in her seat, eyes shining just slightly. And for one honest second, she let herself think: If he ever chooses someone… I want it to be me. She adjusted her grip on the iPad like she could physically tighten her boundaries back into place. This is not about you. She said it again internally. And again. But the truth was already there, humming beneath her ribs: It was becoming about her anyway. Because she’d tasted what it felt like to care for him. And now she wanted that taste again. By the time the sun climbed higher over the clinic’s palm-lined lot, the morning had already sharpened into something brighter — less forgiving. The parking spaces that had been empty earlier were now filled with the quiet evidence of other lives: a minivan with goldfish crackers crushed into its floor mats, a sedan with a faded car seat strapped into the back, a Jeep with a bumper sticker that read Be Kind like a prayer and a warning at the same time. Lilly’s Range Rover rolled in like it belonged to a different world entirely — sleek, silent, clean enough to reflect the sky. It glided into a space near the entrance and stopped with a soft mechanical sigh, as if even the car understood this wasn’t a place for drama. For a moment, Lilly didn’t move. Her hands stayed on the wheel. Her posture stayed tall. Her face stayed composed — the same face that had once been paid to sell calm. But her eyes were different now. Not tired in the glamorous way influencers called “real.” Tired in the way a woman becomes when she’s been awake at 4:30 a.m. in someone else’s crisis, and still has to keep moving like she isn’t cracking. She inhaled once, slow and deliberate, as if she could breathe herself back into control. Then she reached behind her seat, slid the evergreen corduroy diaper bag strap over her shoulder, and stepped out into the morning heat. Her outfit was casual in the way only Lilly could do casual: a fitted cream tank under a soft beige cardigan that fell like it had been tailored to her body. High-waisted linen shorts that looked expensive even without a logo. White sneakers that were too clean for someone who claimed to live “effortlessly.” A pair of oversized sunglasses hid her eyes, but not her intention. She looked like she was on her way to a smoothie bar after Pilates. Not a pediatric neurology clinic. Not a building where the walls were painted for toddlers and the staff spoke in tones designed to keep nervous systems from breaking. She walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Paul stepped out. Aviator shades. Hair gelled back and parted to the side like he was trying to borrow confidence from a version of himself that still existed in photographs. A deep steel-blue golf shirt with gold buttons that shimmered in the sun like small, unnecessary bravado. Knee-length khaki shorts. A clean, deliberate outfit — chosen like armor. He wasn’t wearing a onesie or plastic pants. Those were waiting in the diaper bag. Instead, beneath his shorts, he wore the ABU pre-school cloth-backed diapers — discreet in sound, soft in shape, but still enough bulk that Paul could feel them every time he moved. The faintest diaper bulge in the back that no one would notice unless they were looking. And Paul lived like everyone was looking. He stepped onto the asphalt and immediately scanned the lot. Not for danger. For witnesses. A woman unloaded a stroller from her trunk. A man in scrubs sipped coffee and checked his phone. A toddler in Crocs stomped toward the automatic doors with the stubborn confidence of someone who’d never had to be ashamed of their body. Lilly extended her hand. Not in a performative, “we’re fine” way. In the way she’d learned worked best now — like a tool, like a promise. Paul hesitated for half a second, his pride flaring hot and silent in his chest. Because he hated needing that hand. Hated that he needed anchors. Hated that his body could reduce him to a person who needed guiding like a child crossing a street. Then the pride loosened — not because he wanted it to, but because reality didn’t care what he wanted. He took her hand. And Lilly felt the contact register in her chest like a quiet win she didn’t have the right to celebrate. Not because it made her feel important. Because it made him feel steadier. And she was learning — painfully, slowly — that steadiness mattered more than dignity right now. They walked toward the entrance together, sunlight on their backs, the glass doors ahead reflecting them like a family portrait that didn’t quite know what it was becoming. The automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, and the blast of cool air hit them like a relief they hadn’t earned. Inside, the clinic felt like a world designed to trick fear into lowering its guard. The walls were muraled in soft pastels — alphabet letters growing like vines, smiling cartoon clouds hovering over painted sunshine. Elmo and Cookie Monster stretched across one wall, their bright hands holding a crayon-colored sun like they were sharing something holy. On another wall, a looping video of Elmo’s World played with the volume turned low, the red puppet talking to his goldfish before the screen filled with singing and dancing and simple, safe joy. Two mothers occupied the waiting area. One sat reading, her one-year-old daughter in a pink romper babbling to herself on the floor beside her, blocks and rattles scattered across a yellow baby blanket like a tiny kingdom. In the gated play space, twin boys no more than two ran circles like miniature hurricanes, toy cars and trains strewn across the floor behind them while their mother tried — and failed — to tidy up the cyclone. Lilly stepped into the space more confidently than last time. Not because she was comfortable. Because she’d learned how to function through discomfort. The first time she’d been here, she’d walked in like a guest in someone else’s tragedy — stiff, defensive, unsure where to put her hands. Now she walked in like she belonged here. Not because she wanted to. Because Paul needed her to. Paul felt the opposite. The second his foot touched the carpet, embarrassment rose like heat under his skin. It wasn’t the room itself. It was what the room meant. The toddlers here belonged in diapers. The babies here belonged in strollers. The little ones here belonged in soft voices and cartoon murals. And Paul — Paul belonged nowhere. He could feel the ABU diaper under his shorts like a secret taped to his body. He could feel the way the fabric sat differently at his waist, the way his movements had to adjust by a fraction to accommodate the padding. He wasn’t embarrassed because it existed. He was embarrassed because he existed with it. He kept his sunglasses on, as if dark lenses could reduce the world’s attention. He stayed close to Lilly’s shoulder, close enough to feel her cardigan brush his arm when she moved. Lilly felt the tension in him the way she’d learned to feel weather changes — not with her eyes, but with her instincts. His breathing was shallower. His posture tighter. His hand colder in hers. She squeezed once. A quiet code. Breathe. Stay with me. We’re almost through the door part. “Ah—Lilly! Und Paul!” The voice rang out before they even reached the desk. Paul’s stomach dropped. Recognition was its own kind of spotlight. Behind the curved reception desk stood Eliska, Her eyes were bright, attentive — the kind of eyes that didn’t just see you, but remembered you. “Guten Morgen,” Eliska said warmly, then laughed softly as if catching herself. “Ah — good morning. You are here early today, ja?” Lilly smiled. It came easily for her. Smiling was part of her original skillset — the one she’d been paid for, the one she could do even when her heart was heavy. “Yes,” Lilly replied, voice calm. “Early check-in.” Eliska’s fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. “And Paul…” she added, gaze flicking to him with a softness that might’ve been meant as reassurance, “you look very handsome today. Like a little movie star.” Paul’s face warmed beneath the sunglasses. Handsome should’ve been good. Handsome should’ve been normal. But in this place, in this room full of toddlers, handsome felt like something you told a child to make them brave. He nodded stiffly. “Thanks.” Eliska beamed anyway, as if his awkwardness didn’t exist. “Dr. Rowe will see you soon,” she said. “You may take a seat—” Paul’s heart tightened. Seat meant waiting. Waiting meant time. Time meant spiraling. He didn’t want to sit in the toddler room. He didn’t want to be surrounded by toys and tiny shoes and cartoon voices while his body carried the evidence of why he was here. Lilly felt the shift in him instantly. His fingers curled tighter around hers. His shoulders rose like armor. And she knew — she knew — that if his tracker was visible right now, it would already be creeping toward yellow. Before she could speak, Eliska’s gaze flicked to Paul again, and her smile softened into something more deliberate. “But!” Eliska added brightly, “maybe you won’t need to wait long at all today.” Paul blinked. Lilly’s chest held still, waiting for the next blow. Eliska leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into that gentle sing-song tone that made Paul feel twelve again. “You can sit with Mama,” she said, then quickly corrected herself with a laugh, “—with Lilly, of course. Or you can go and play a little, hmm? We have blocks. And trains. And books.” Paul’s jaw tightened. Play. He wasn’t here to play. He was here because his body was failing him. Lilly didn’t correct Eliska. Not because she agreed — but because she’d learned that making a scene about language only made Paul feel more exposed. And then, as if the universe had thrown him a rope— A familiar voice called from down the hall. “Paul?” Paul’s head snapped toward the sound. Savannah stepped into view from the back corridor, dressed in resident scrubs that looked almost too cheerful for how serious the work was—Elmo-inspired pattern across her shoulders, red everywhere else. Her hair was pulled back. Paul froze for half a second, like his pride tried to put up a wall. Then the wall collapsed. Because Savannah wasn’t new. Savannah wasn’t a stranger. Savannah was history he wanted to relive again. A four-day weekend where she and Kim had introduced him to regression not as humiliation, but as scaffolding—like building a temporary frame around a collapsing house so the house could stand long enough to be repaired. She had spoon-fed him without making it degrading, held a bottle to him in a way that didn’t treat him like a joke, changed him with efficiency and gentleness that made his shame feel… survivable. She’d been calm when he was not. She’d been steady when his body betrayed him. And that memory hit him now—not as embarrassment—As relief. Paul didn’t run. But he moved toward her faster than he meant to, like his body was hungry for a safe person. Savannah opened her arms. Paul hugged her. Right there. Chapter One Hundred: Part 2. In the waiting room. In front of mothers and toddlers and cartoon clouds. He didn’t care. His big side didn’t care. His little side didn’t care. For once, they weren’t fighting—instead they were holding hands, as both parts of him recognized sanctuary. “Savvy,” he said, the nickname slipping out before he could stop it. Savannah’s breath caught, small and private. She hugged him back, firm but careful, like she didn’t want to startle his nervous system. Her nostrils were met with the sweet scent of baby powder and lavender. She even gave him a few loving pats on his padded bottom. “Hey,” she murmured. “I’ve missed you.” Paul swallowed hard. “Me too.” He pulled back enough to look at her, and for a second his sunglasses felt ridiculous—like a costume so he took them off. Savannah’s gaze flicked over him with the quick, trained awareness of someone in healthcare. She didn’t stare. She didn’t assess like a clinician in a cold way. But she noticed. The careful grooming. The deliberate outfit. The way he stood like he was bracing. The way his shorts sat, hinting at what he didn’t want the room to know. “What are you doing here dressed like that?” he asked, voice rough. “You look like you—” “A real person?” Savannah teased gently, and then her grin softened. “Silly. Don’t tell me you forgot.” Paul flushed. Savannah continued, careful and warm. “That weekend—Mama Kim and William at dinner—we talked about me trying to get an internship with Mindy.” Paul’s mouth opened. Closed. He searched his memory like he was flipping pages too fast. “I— I remember—” he started, then admitted quietly, “I didn’t think it would actually happen.” Savannah’s smile turned proud. “It did,” she said simply. “I’m here for the next six or seven months. New resident. Shadowing.” Paul’s chest lifted so sharply it almost hurt. “Your back home?” he asked, small. Savannah nodded. “Home,” she confirmed. Lilly stepped forward then, smiling, and the smile had real warmth in it—because Lilly trusted Savannah in a way she didn’t trust many people with Paul. “Savannah,” Lilly said. “Congratulations. That’s incredible.” Savannah’s expression brightened, professional and personal blending cleanly in her. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m really excited.” Eliska looked delighted behind the desk. “I can take them back,” Savannah said, turning toward Eliska. Eliska glanced at her screen and nodded quickly. “Ja,” Eliska said. “Dr. Rowe is already waiting. They are all yours.” Then Eliska leaned just slightly and winked at Paul. “And you…” she said softly, voice turning playful in that Swiss-Austrian way that made it sound like kindness had an accent. “Have a wunderbar day, mein kleines Herz.” (My little heart.) Paul’s face warmed again. But it wasn’t the same embarrassment. Not sharp. Not crushing. More like… A sting that didn’t kill him. A reminder that he could survive being seen. Then Eliska winked. Paul didn’t know what to do with that, so he did the only thing he could. He nodded. “Thanks,” he mumbled. And Eliska beamed like he’d given her a gift. Savannah turned back to Paul, her hand lifted. Not grabbing. Not guiding like a child. Just… offering. Paul hesitated. A flash of instinct—pride, fear, that old teenage resistance that always wanted to prove I can do this myself even when his body had already proven otherwise. Then Savannah gently interwove her fingers with his. Paul let it happen, because it didn’t feel like being controlled. It felt like being accompanied. And that distinction—small as it looked from the outside—was everything. Lilly noticed. She felt it in her chest first, before her brain could even label it. A quiet easing. A loosening. Because when Harley held Paul’s hand, Lilly’s skin had crawled with the wrongness of it. Not because hand-holding was wrong. Because Harley’s hand-holding had felt like ownership. Like mine. Savannah’s didn’t. Savannah’s felt like support. Like steadiness. Like safety. They walked down the hallway together, Savannah leading with quiet confidence. Paul’s shoulders loosened a fraction—enough for Lilly to notice, enough for her to believe this wasn’t just survival. It was progress. Lilly followed close behind, the evergreen corduroy diaper bag steady on her shoulder like it was just part of her now. Like it belonged. And the strangest part was— She didn’t hate that. Not anymore. Not the way she thought she would. The exam room door opened. And Paul’s eyes went there instantly. To the accent wall. A massive hand-painted mural of Barney and Baby Bop—bright purple and green, smiling like they knew secrets about joy. Paul’s stomach flipped. Because it was ridiculous. Because it was childish. Because it was… comforting. He hated that last part the most. The comfort. The way his nervous system responded before his pride could argue. The way his body softened in places his mind still refused to. The room itself was warm and clinical at the same time—soft yellow walls, a framed poster of the human brain rendered in friendly cartoon colors, a shelf lined with children’s books that looked untouched but loved in theory. There was a small jar of lollipops on the counter like a joke no one had the heart to remove. And then there was Mindy. She sat at her desk, chart open, posture grounded and calm—like the room had been built around her steadiness. Her black hair threaded with silver pulled into a low bun, a few strands softened at her temples like she’d been too busy being real to care about being perfect. Dark eyes that saw everything but never made you feel interrogated. She was dressed in a deep forest-green knit top under a cream lab coat that looked worn-in, not stiff. Simple gold studs in her ears. A thin watch on her wrist. Her shoes were sensible—clean sneakers that said I might have to kneel down to speak to someone at eye level and I’m not above that. Mindy looked up. And her face lit in a way that made the room warmer. “Lilly,” Mindy said, standing immediately. Then her gaze moved to Paul. “And Paul.” She crossed the room without rushing—no dramatic urgency, no performative pity. Just direct, certain movement, like she’d already decided they were safe here. She hugged Lilly first—quick, familiar, like old friends. Lilly inhaled into it without meaning to. It was embarrassing how much she needed that contact. How much she needed someone else to hold the shape of calm for her. Then Mindy hugged Paul. And Mindy’s hug was different. Tighter. Longer. A full-body, maternal squeeze that didn’t apologize for itself. Paul’s chest tightened. He didn’t know why it hit him so hard. Maybe because Mindy didn’t treat him like a problem. She treated him like a person. “Look at you,” Mindy murmured near his ear. “You’re here. You did it.” Paul swallowed. His voice came out rough, like it had to scrape past something sharp inside him first. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.” Mindy stepped back, still smiling—but her eyes stayed serious, the way adults’ eyes got when they knew a victory was real because it cost something. Savannah moved smoothly beside him, guiding him toward the step stool next to the pediatric exam table. “Up you go,” Savannah said softly. Paul climbed, careful. Then sat. His feet dangled off the floor. And there it was again— That quiet humiliation. The exam table was too high. The room was too small. The mural was too childish. And Paul was too old for all of it. He could feel it in his bones: I’m not supposed to be here. Lilly’s eyes flicked over Mindy’s face, the silver threaded through her bun. “How are you, really? And—how’s André? Still drowning at the firm?” Mindy rolled her eyes like she’d rehearsed it a thousand times. “Oh, he’s thriving in misery. Big case, late nights, lots of dramatic sighing over dinner like he’s the only person who’s ever read a contract.” Lilly’s mouth tugged up. “That sounds like him.” “And Amy…” Mindy’s face softened instantly, the hard edges melting. “Two years old and fully convinced she’s the CEO of our household.” Lilly’s expression warmed in a way that surprised even her. “Two,” she echoed, like it was impossible time could move that fast. “Send me a picture. No—send me ten. Is she still obsessed with—what was it—blueberries?” “Blueberries, yes. And now she’s in a phase where she tries to ‘help’ me get dressed. Which means she hands me socks and yells, ‘MAMA! PUT ‘EM!’ like I’m the incompetent one.” Mindy’s smile widened, then she glanced past Lilly’s shoulder—toward Paul, toward the exam table, toward the part of this visit that wasn’t casual at all. Her gaze returned to Lilly, gentler now, quieter. “And you?” Mindy asked. “How are you holding up? And—Bryan. I saw your note. He’s back in Tokyo already?” Lilly’s jaw tightened for a beat—just a flicker of that old resentment she hated admitting existed. Then she smoothed it down, the way she always did. “Yeah,” she said, exhaling. “He flew out again. Four weeks.” Mindy’s brows lifted. “The film work?” Lilly nodded, and there it was—pride cutting through exhaustion. “He’s helping with the next Vin Diesel and Tom Cruise movie.” Mindy’s eyes widened, delighted despite herself. “No—stop. Are you serious?” Lilly leaned in, mock stern, lifting one finger between them like a warning. “Shhh. Spoilers, girl.” Her voice dropped conspiratorial. “Tom’s the big secret.” Mindy made a sound that was half-laugh, half-gasp. “Oh my God—Lilly.” “I’m serious,” Lilly whispered, eyes sparkling for the first time in what felt like days. “And if I say anything else, I’ll have to disappear you.” Mindy laughed—an honest, open laugh that reminded Lilly they’d been friends before all of this became so heavy. Then Lilly reached for Mindy’s hand briefly, squeezing. “Actually—can I steal you this Sunday? Like… normal human friend time?” Mindy blinked. “Sunday?” “Yeah.” Lilly’s tone turned brisk like she was trying to make it casual, but her eyes gave her away—hope, and need, and something like a plea. “Late lunch at our place. You, André, Amy. Two hours, max. I’m not asking you to commit to an emotional marathon.” Mindy’s smile softened, the kind that held understanding without pity. “Two hours,” she repeated, nodding slowly. “That sounds… really nice.” “Good,” Lilly said quickly, like if she didn’t lock it in, the courage would evaporate. “I’ll make it easy. Pasta. Salad. Something Amy can destroy without judgment.” Mindy’s mouth quirked. “She’ll take that as a personal challenge.” “Perfect.” Lilly’s laugh came quieter now, but steadier. “We’ll survive it together.” Mindy sat again, tablet in hand. She didn’t open with symptoms. She didn’t open with charts. She opened with something that sounded like hope on purpose. “Okay,” she said, voice warm but precise. “Let’s start with the good news.” Paul’s fingers curled slightly on the edge of the paper sheet beneath him. Not gripping. Just anchoring. Lilly’s posture straightened. The influencer in her wanted to look composed. The growing mother in her wanted to crawl into the exam table and wrap herself around him like armor. Savannah’s attention sharpened—quiet, professional, but with something personal humming underneath it that she kept carefully contained. Mindy’s eyes flicked between them. “Sleep,” Mindy said. “Paul—your sleep pattern is dramatically better.” Paul blinked. Like he didn’t trust the sentence. Like he needed to hear it twice before it could be real. Mindy smiled, almost amused by his disbelief. “I’m talking… two hundred percent better than before.” Lilly exhaled, her face softening instantly. It wasn’t just relief. It was vindication. Proof that all the routines, the consistency, the uncomfortable choices weren’t pointless. Paul’s throat tightened. Because sleep wasn’t just sleep. Sleep was the difference between surviving and spiraling. Sleep was the difference between waking up and waking up already losing. Mindy continued, voice firm in a way that felt like a gift. “This schedule stays,” she said. “Indefinitely. We don’t mess with what’s working.” Paul nodded slowly. He didn’t argue. That alone was progress. His teenage self wanted to protest—wanted late nights, freedom, normal. But his body had already made its vote. “Okay,” he said quietly. Savannah’s gaze flicked to him, proud and tender at the same time. Not proud like he’d performed well. Proud like he’d endured something hard and stayed standing. Mindy tapped her tablet again. “And your diet,” she said, “is improving. Slightly.” Paul made a face before he could stop himself. Lilly’s lips twitched. Mindy raised a brow like she expected the reaction. “I said slightly,” she repeated, amused. “But that matters.” Paul huffed softly through his nose, like the smallest laugh had escaped him by accident. Then Mindy’s tone shifted—more clinical now, more purposeful. “Here’s the thing,” Mindy said. “Your body needs consistency. Not perfection. Consistency.” Paul’s eyes narrowed slightly. Because consistency sounded like rules. And rules sounded like forever. Lilly leaned in, listening like she could absorb the plan into her bloodstream. Savannah listened like every word was a tool she’d need later. Mindy began laying it out. “Pedialyte,” she said, “in replacement of two glasses of water a day—especially on days you’re more active, or days your gut is more sensitive.” Paul blinked. “That’s… like the stuff little kids drink,” he said, then immediately regretted it. Because it sounded like a complaint. Because it sounded like shame. Mindy didn’t flinch. “It is,” she said simply. “And it works for kids and grown ups. It’s electrolytes. It’s predictable hydration. It reduces strain on your system.” Paul swallowed. Mindy continued. “Extra servings of fruits and vegetables—especially at dinner,” she said. “So instead of just green beans and roasted potatoes…” Mindy glanced at Lilly like she knew exactly what was in her fridge. Lilly’s eyes widened a fraction—caught. Mindy’s mouth quirked. “…add roasted cauliflower. Add something with fiber. Add something with potassium.” Paul’s lips pressed together. He wanted to argue. But he also wanted to feel better. And he was learning—slowly—that wanting to feel better meant tolerating things that felt humiliating. Mindy wasn’t done. “If you’re having steak,” she said, “serve it with an extra purée of sweet potatoes. Something easy on your system. Something that gives you energy without making your gut fight back.” Paul shifted. His shoulders tightened. The word gut made him feel exposed. Like his body was an object being discussed. Mindy’s voice softened slightly. “This isn’t about babying you,” she said, like she’d read his mind. “This is about stabilizing your system. Less processed foods. Better gut health. More energy. Less stress on your body.” Paul swallowed. Savannah’s eyes flicked to him again. Less stress. That part mattered. Because Paul could handle pain. He could handle discomfort. What he couldn’t handle was the feeling of his body betraying him in public, in front of people who still expected him to be a man. Mindy smiled gently. “And snacks,” she added, “we’re going to change your snack game.” Paul huffed. “My… snack game.” Mindy’s eyes sparkled. “Yes,” she said. “Snack game.” Savannah smiled openly now. Lilly’s shoulders eased just a fraction, grateful for the moment of levity like it was oxygen. Mindy started listing them like she’d done this a thousand times. “Sweet and spicy popcorn—homemade,” she said. “Not the neon stuff. Real popcorn. Light seasoning.” Paul nodded slowly. “Okay.” “Puffs instead of chips,” Mindy continued. “Yogurt chews instead of candy.” Paul’s cheeks warmed again. He hated how childish it sounded. He hated how his body didn’t care. “Animal crackers,” Mindy added, “the ones baked with barley and flaxseed.” Paul stared at her. Mindy shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that. They’re good.” Savannah laughed quietly she knew every snack item Mindy was listing because William had most of them at home, a warm sound that made Paul’s chest unclench a fraction. Paul rolled his eyes, but the tension in his face softened. Then Mindy tapped her tablet again and paused. “This part,” she said carefully, “is an option for now.” Lilly’s attention sharpened instantly. Paul’s stomach tightened. Savannah’s posture went still. “One meal,” Mindy said, “could be a liquid replacement lunch on days you’re home.” Paul blinked. “Like… a shake?” “Like a shake,” Mindy confirmed. “Nutritionally complete. Easy on your system. Predictable.” Paul’s voice dropped. “And… breakfast?” “Solids on school days,” Mindy said. “Then a snack before your next meal.” Paul swallowed. Mindy leaned forward, grounding the idea with medical weight. “Your body is already working overtime,” she said. “When patients have neurological conditions with stress-linked gut disruption, consistency matters. Predictable nutrition reduces strain. It stabilizes energy. It stabilizes mood. It helps your body regulate.” Paul’s eyes flicked down. He hated how logical it was. He hated how necessary it was. Because necessity meant this wasn’t temporary. Not in the way he wanted. Mindy softened. “And this is temporary data gathering,” she said. “By the time the new year rolls around, we’ll have better information. Better patterns. Better choices.” Lilly nodded slowly. Her mind flashed again—formula for a teenager. A quick glimpse of what could be. And then she swallowed it down, because she was here. She was steady. She becoming a Mommy. Even if she still didn’t know how to carry that title without trembling inside. Mindy’s expression shifted. Not dramatic. Just honest. “Now,” she said gently, “the tracker.” Paul’s fingers curled tighter on the edge of the table. Lilly’s jaw tightened. Savannah’s eyes stayed on Paul like she was ready to catch him if he fell. Mindy’s voice remained calm. “You’ve had moments of excellent progress,” she said. “Truly.” Paul’s shoulders loosened a fraction. Then Mindy continued. “But there are also crashes.” Paul’s throat tightened. Mindy glanced down at her notes. “For lack of a better word,” she said carefully, “Sunday was… a complete tantrum.” Paul flinched at the word. Not because it wasn’t true. Because it was humiliating to hear it said out loud. Because tantrum belonged to toddlers. And Paul wasn’t a toddler. Mindy didn’t linger on shame. She moved forward with precision. “And Monday,” she continued, “multiple sustained but short crashes.” Paul swallowed hard. Mindy looked at him directly. “What’s happening?” Silence. Paul’s mouth opened. Closed. His chest rose and fell once. His pride screamed at him to stay quiet. His body begged him to be honest. Then he said it. The truth. “I… I tried to tell someone,” he admitted, voice low. “A close friend.” Lilly’s breath caught. Because she could see Amber’s face in her mind like a flash of lightning. Savannah’s gaze softened. Mindy’s expression didn’t change—no shock, no pity. Just respect. “And?” Mindy asked gently. Paul’s jaw tightened. “It was… hard,” he whispered. “I couldn’t— I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what words to use. I felt like…” His voice broke slightly. “Like I was handing them a reason to leave.” Lilly’s chest ached. Not because she blamed Amber. But because she knew that feeling. The feeling of being loved conditionally. The feeling of someone seeing your mess and stepping back. Savannah’s hands curled at her sides like she wanted to reach for him but didn’t want to take his agency. Mindy nodded slowly. “That was brave,” she said, voice firm. “Braver than most adults.” Paul’s lips trembled. He looked away, jaw clenched hard like he could physically hold the emotion back. Mindy continued, steady. “And the last twenty-four hours,” she said, “were a success.” Paul blinked. Mindy’s eyes stayed locked on him. “What was the difference?” she asked. Paul’s throat tightened. His pride fought him. His body begged him. His big side wanted to disappear. His little side wanted to be held. And then— He said it. Out loud. Clear. Simple. “I got to be little for a while,” Paul whispered. “And it helped.” The room went still. Not awkward. Not judgmental. Reverent. Like Paul had just named something sacred. Lilly’s eyes filled. She didn’t cry. She just… softened. Because she remembered how he looked when he finally stopped fighting his own body. Savannah’s chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. Because she remembered that weekend. She remembered the way he’d fought it. And the way he’d melted into it when he finally let himself. Mindy nodded once. “Okay,” she said gently. “Then we know we’re on the right road, it’s time to keep committing to it.” Paul swallowed. Relief and grief collided in his chest. Because relief meant it worked. And grief meant it was real. Mindy’s voice turned clinical again—but still warm. “Regression is here to stay,” she said. “For now. As part of your treatment plan.” Paul’s stomach flipped. A mix of grief and relief. Because relief meant he had something that helped. And grief meant he’d have to keep needing it. Mindy leaned back slightly, then looked between Lilly and Paul. “This next part,” she said, “is about consistency.” Paul’s shoulders tightened again. Mindy continued, calm but firm. “Lilly. Bryan. Martina. Whoever else is helping manage your care, Paul—everyone needs to be on the same page.” Paul blinked. Mindy’s voice stayed steady. “Every single day,” she said. “Depending on your activities.” Paul swallowed. “Especially around school,” Mindy added. “The play. Any stressful situation.” Paul’s chest tightened. Mindy’s tone sharpened slightly—not harsh, just authoritative. “Regression needs to occur before those stressors,” she said. “One to three hours before.” Paul frowned. Mindy explained, clear and grounded. “So if you don’t need to be at school until noon,” she said, “the regression you had the night before carries forward until 11 a.m.” Paul’s brows lifted slightly. “And vice versa,” Mindy continued. “If you have something early, then regression happens the second it ends—within reason.” Paul stared at her. His voice came out rough. “So… I just… do this forever?” Mindy’s gaze softened. “Not forever,” she said. “But long enough to heal.” Paul’s mouth tightened. He didn’t know if he believed in healing anymore. Not fully. Mindy leaned forward again. “Your body is telling us what it needs,” she said. “And you have to be mature enough to not simply tolerate the treatment…” Paul’s eyes narrowed. Mindy finished the sentence gently, but firmly. “…you have to help lead it.” Paul blinked. “Lead it?” he repeated, confused. “How?” His voice cracked slightly. “I don’t—” Mindy lifted a hand, stopping him softly. “I know,” she said. “It won’t be easy.” Savannah’s eyes stayed on Paul. Lilly’s hand rested lightly against the diaper bag strap like it was a lifeline. Mindy began listing it, one by one, like she was giving him a map out of the dark. “Let the people around you know,” she said, “when you want to play.” Paul swallowed. “When you need to be small,” Mindy continued. Paul’s jaw tightened. “When you need a change,” Mindy said gently. Paul flinched. “When you need food,” Mindy added. “Or water.” Paul’s shoulders rose. “Or,” Mindy said, softer now, “when you just need a hug.” Paul’s throat tightened. Because that one— That one felt like surrender. Mindy’s eyes stayed kind. “These are signs,” she said, “your team can respond to. Your body can rest. Your nervous system can stop fighting.” Paul swallowed hard. Mindy’s voice softened into something almost maternal. “But you have to lean into it, Paul,” she said. Paul’s lips trembled. “You might feel silly,” Mindy continued. “You might feel like you’re losing agency.” Paul’s eyes burned. Mindy shook her head slightly. “But you’re not,” she said. “You’re gaining it back. In a new way.” Lilly’s voice was quiet, steady. “We’re here,” she said, like a vow. Mindy held Paul’s gaze. “Do you understand?” she asked. Paul’s throat worked. He nodded. Once. Then again. “Yeah,” he whispered. Savannah lingered near the door for a beat after Mindy’s last words, like she could feel the air shifting. Like she could feel the moment turning into something new. Mindy’s gaze moved from Paul… to Lilly… then back again—her expression calm, but purposeful. “Okay,” she said, voice still warm. “Next step.” Paul’s fingers curled against the edge of the exam table paper, the crinkle loud in the small room. He could feel his heart still moving too fast in his chest—like it didn’t trust the relief. Mindy tapped her tablet once, then set it down and leaned forward, forearms resting on her knees. “We’ve talked about sleep,” she said. “We’ve talked about nutrition. We’ve talked about regulation and consistency.” Paul nodded once, slow. Mindy’s eyes softened. “And now,” she continued, “we need to talk about your body.” Paul’s throat tightened. Lilly’s posture straightened instinctively, like she could brace for impact. Mindy didn’t flinch. She didn’t sugarcoat. But she also didn’t make it scary. Paul’s jaw tightened. Lilly’s hand went to the strap of the evergreen corduroy diaper bag on instinct—her new reflex, her new reality. “The body,” Mindy said, “Specifically: muscle coordination, pressure control, and confidence. We’re going to start small, but it matters.” Paul’s throat moved around a swallow. Small. Everything lately was small. Mindy glanced at Savannah, who had stayed quiet in the corner of the room like a bright, steady lamp—present without stealing oxygen. Her Elmo-patterned scrub top looked almost silly against the seriousness of the conversation, but she was the someone who had once held him through the worst of a four-day weekend and still came back to work as if caring was something you could build a career out of. “Sav,” Mindy said gently, “can you ask Nia to come in?” Savannah nodded immediately. “Of course.” And that’s when Paul felt it—quick and sharp, like a kid realizing the nightlight had been turned off. Savannah leaving wasn’t a big thing. It shouldn’t have been. He wasn’t five. He didn’t need anyone— Except his body flinched anyway. He hated that flinch most of all. Savannah’s hand brushed his shoulder in passing, light as a promise. “I’ll be right back, okay?” Paul managed a nod, but his fingers curled against the table paper, the crinkle suddenly loud in his ears. Mindy noticed. Of course she did. She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice the way she did when she was trying to protect dignity without pretending the truth wasn’t there. “Nia’s not a nurse,” Mindy said. “She’s a physical therapist. Different lane, same team.” Paul stared at her, waiting for the catch. Mindy continued, calm. “She specializes in neuro-motor retraining. That means she helps your body remember patterns—how to hold pressure, how to coordinate muscle groups, how to build control without you bracing so hard you exhaust yourself.” She lifted one hand, palm up, offering the explanation the way she always did—like a rope someone could grab onto. “For bladder control, there’s a muscle component,” she said. “And a nervous system component. And for you, those two things are… tangled.” Paul swallowed hard. Because tangled was such a polite word for what it felt like. A war. A betrayal. A body that didn’t listen anymore. Mindy’s voice stayed grounded. “We start small,” she said. “Nothing intense. Nothing that makes you feel like you’re being punished for having symptoms.” Paul’s shoulders eased by a fraction. Lilly exhaled, quiet. Mindy continued. “But it matters,” she added. “Because every bit of strength we build—every bit of control we re-train—gives your body more support. It’s not a cure.” Paul’s chest tightened again. There it was. The limit. The ceiling. But Mindy’s eyes didn’t look away. “It’s part of getting you healthy,” she said. “Part of giving you options.” Paul nodded, even though it hurt. Options. He’d forgotten what that word felt like. Mindy turned her head slightly, looking to Savannah. “Savannah, can you let Nia know we’re ready for her now?” Savannah’s face lit with purpose instantly. Like she’d been waiting for her cue. “Yeah,” she said quickly. “Of course.” Mindy leaned back slightly in her chair. “So,” she said, “let me tell you about Nia before she comes in, okay?” Paul blinked. “Okay.” And that’s when Paul felt it—quick and sharp, like a kid realizing the nightlight had been turned off. Savannah leaving wasn’t a big thing. It shouldn’t have been. He wasn’t five. He didn’t need anyone— Except his body flinched anyway. He hated that flinch most of all. Savannah’s hand brushed his shoulder in passing, light as a promise. “I’ll be right back, okay?” Trying to get Paul’s attention back, Mindy begun describing Nia to the group “Nia Washington,” she said. “Doctor of Physical Therapy. Former WNBA player.” Paul’s head tilted slightly. Lilly’s brows lifted. “WNBA?” Paul repeated, like he wasn’t sure he heard right. Mindy smiled. “Yes.” Lilly let out a breathy laugh, impressed. “Of course she is.” Mindy’s eyes gleamed. “She’s… extraordinary.” Paul shifted on the exam table, paper crinkling under him again. “Is she like… scary?” he asked before he could stop himself. It came out half-joking. But it wasn’t really a joke. Mindy didn’t laugh at him. She smiled like she understood the fear under the humor. “She’s tall,” Mindy said honestly. “Very tall.” Paul’s mouth twitched. Mindy continued. “And she’s strong. But she’s not scary.” Lilly’s voice was quiet. “Is she… good with patients like Paul?” Mindy’s gaze turned serious, steady. “She’s the best person I could bring into this,” Mindy said. “Because she doesn’t patronize. She doesn’t baby even when she’s working with a baby, toddler or a ten year old who thinks she’s twenty. She doesn’t shame. She believes in strength-through-play.” Paul’s throat tightened. Strength-through-play. His big side hated that phrase. His little side leaned toward it like warmth. Mindy looked directly at Paul. “She’s going to treat you like you’re capable,” she said. “Even when you feel like you’re not.” Paul’s chest tightened. He nodded. Because that was what he needed.Even if he didn’t want to admit it. The door opened again. Paul’s shoulders lifted—then fell. Like his body was bracing for a new kind of exposure. Then— Nia Washington walked in. She was exceptionally tall—6’4, maybe 6’5—and built like a woman who had once run full-speed into opponents and won. Her scrubs were fitted athletic black with a small stitched clinic logo at the chest, as if even the fabric had decided to be competent. Her locs were pulled high into a ponytail that didn’t move unless she wanted it to. Her hazel eyes were sharp, but not harsh. Paul’s first thought was automatic and ridiculous: She looks like an Amazon. Like Wonder Woman’s island had a medical program. Paul blinked, trying to steady himself. Nia’s gaze swept the room once—Mindy, Lilly and Paul then settled. Her voice was calm. Direct. Warm in a way that didn’t perform. “Morning,” she said, stepping forward. She offered Lilly her hand first. Her handshake was strong, but respectful—no squeezing, no dominance. Just presence. “Mrs. Goldhawk,” Nia said. Lilly stood automatically, smoothing the front of her casual but elite outfit like she could reassert control through fabric. “Hi,” Lilly said, smiling. “Lilly, please.” Nia nodded once. “Lilly.” Then Nia turned to Paul. Paul’s mouth went dry. He’d hugged Mindy. He’d survived the tracker talk. He’d admitted the words I got to be little and it helped. And yet— A handshake felt like the hardest thing in the world. Nia extended her hand. “Paul,” she said. Paul hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to be polite. Because his bladder was already tightening. His anxiety had a routine now. It didn’t wait for permission. It didn’t care that he was trying. Paul felt the first warm betrayal before he even moved. A soft, quiet release. His face flushed instantly. His breath hitched. Lilly saw it—but misread it in the most innocent way possible. “Oh sweetheart,” she said softly, voice slipping into that toddler talk she couldn’t fully stop using now, not when she was trying to keep him regulated. “Say hi, honey. You can do it.” Paul’s cheeks burned hotter. But he did it. He reached out. His fingers met Nia’s. Nia’s grip was steady and gentle. And then—without making it weird, without making him smaller—Nia lowered herself slightly. Not fully kneeling. Just bending enough so her eyes weren’t towering over him. A small act. A huge impact. “Good to meet you,” Nia said, voice even. Paul swallowed. “Y-yeah,” he managed. “You too.” Nia’s mouth curved faintly—approval, not amusement. Mindy stood from her chair. “Nia,” she said, “thank you for coming in on short notice.” Nia nodded once. “Of course.” Then she looked at Paul again. “Alright,” she said, tone shifting into professional clarity. “Mindy says you’re a basketball guy.” Paul blinked. That caught him. That gave him something to hold. “Yeah,” he said, voice slightly steadier. “I play.” Lilly couldn’t help herself—her pride was too big, too maternal, too real. “He’s good,” she said, smiling wider. Paul’s throat tightened at that. Because it was true. And because hearing it said out loud made him miss that version of himself like grief. Nia’s eyes warmed. “What position?” she asked. Paul sat up straighter automatically. “Guard,” he said. “Point or shooting guard.” Nia’s eyebrows lifted. “Shooting guard,” she repeated, nodding like she respected it. “That’s my position too.” Paul blinked. “You played?” Nia’s mouth curved into something that was almost a smile. “Arizona State,” she said simply. “Then I got drafted by the LA Sparks.” Paul’s eyes widened. “Wait—seriously?” Nia nodded once. Paul paused, brain short-circuiting in disbelief. “That’s… cool,” he managed. Nia’s mouth curved. “It was work.” Then Paul’s teenage brain, still alive under all the medical scaffolding, produced the dumbest thought it could find. “Too bad you never faced Caitlin Clark.” Nia sighed—dramatic, playful, long-suffering in the best way. “Everybody knows Caitlin these days. Even my auntie texts me about her.” Lilly let out a surprised laugh. Mindy’s eyes softened. And for a second—one small, impossible second—Paul felt like a person again. Not a patient. Not a problem. A guy talking basketball with someone who understood the grind. “Okay,” she said, looking between Paul and Lilly. “Let’s talk about what PT is going to look like.” Mindy stepped back slightly—not leaving, just giving Nia the floor. Nia moved closer to the exam table, posture confident and economical. “This isn’t a quick fix,” she said. “And it’s not a cure.” Paul’s shoulders tightened. Nia continued, calm and direct. “This is strength training,” she said. “But not like gym-bro training.” Paul’s mouth twitched. Nia glanced at Lilly. “For you, Mom,” she said, “it’s pelvic floor engagement, core stability, and neuro-motor retraining. We’re building support around a system that’s under stress.” Lilly nodded slowly, absorbing every word like it was a lifeline. Nia looked back to Paul. “And for you,” she said, voice softening without becoming childish, “it’s like this: we’re teaching your body how to hold on a little longer. How to stay steady when your brain gets loud.” Paul swallowed. His fingers curled into the paper beneath him. Nia continued. “We’re going to start with two exercises,” she said. “Small. Controlled. Safe.” Mindy glanced at her watch. Then she looked up with a small smile. “We have time,” Mindy said. “Paul, Lilly—why don’t you go with Nia to the Movement Lab? We’ll do a quick intro session.” Paul’s stomach flipped. Movement Lab sounded like something for kids. And yet his little side perked up at the word movement. Like play. Mindy stood, already moving toward the door. “I’ll have Eliska set up our next appointment,” she said, voice light. Then she paused, glancing down at her tablet again like she’d just noticed the date. “Oh,” she chuckled. “Would you look at that.” Lilly blinked. “What?” Mindy’s eyes sparkled. “Right on Paul’s birthday.” Paul froze. His face warmed. “Seriously?” he muttered. Mindy grinned. “Seriously.” Paul huffed, but it was half a laugh. Mindy stepped toward him again, her tone softening into something maternal. “Alright,” she said. “Keep doing your best. That’s all I’m asking.” Paul nodded once. Mindy’s voice dropped just slightly, like she was speaking to the part of him that was still scared. “And I’ll see you Sunday.” Paul’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.” Mindy gave him one last look—proud, steady, unshaken. Then she turned and left the room as Nia stepped closer to Paul. “Alright,” she said, clapping her hands once—sharp, bright, energizing. “Here we go, big guy.” Before Paul could overthink it, Nia lifted him down from the exam table with the kind of ease that made him feel simultaneously impressed and offended. His feet hit the floor. Nia took his hand. Not like he was a child. Like he was a teammate. “Movement Lab’s this way,” she said. And then she led them out of the exam room. Then she led him out. Lilly followed, diaper bag against her shoulder, her heels quieter than usual on the hallway floor. She didn’t want Paul to notice she was afraid. She didn’t want him to carry her fear on top of his own. Nia turned right instead of left. A short hallway. A door with a cheerful laminated sign: THE MOVEMENT LAB She opened it like she was revealing a secret. And Paul’s brain—his big side, his pride, his eighteen-year-old terror—registered it as hell for exactly half a second. Then the other part of him—the part that had been surviving by softness, by structure, by being allowed to slow down—lit up like someone had turned on a TV. The flooring was padded, interlocking foam tiles in blues and warm neutrals that softened every step. The lighting was bright but not harsh—calm enough that nothing felt like a spotlight. Along the far wall stretched a sports-themed mural so vibrant it almost felt like it moved: cartoon athletes mid-pass, mid-jump, mid-cheer, with friendly animal mascots in jerseys that made the whole thing feel less like “therapy” and more like “adventure.” There were thick blue mats stacked neatly like oversized building blocks. A low trampoline tucked against one corner. A red-and-blue tunnel that looked like something kids would crawl through while laughing too hard to breathe. Therapy balls in bright colors sat in a rack like candy. Scooter boards lined up near cones and foam stepping stones. And everywhere—everywhere—things were stored in clear bins like a promise: Nothing is hidden here. Nothing is shameful. Everything has a place. Paul stood in the doorway, frozen. The room felt too young. The room felt too safe. The room felt like it was waiting for him to become someone he didn’t recognize. Lilly stepped in beside him, not surprised—because she’d learned that pediatric spaces didn’t apologize for being gentle. And the worst part was: some part of her liked it. Liked the softness. Liked the way it made her want to protect him instead of push him. Nia glanced back. “It’s a lot, huh?” Paul’s mouth twisted. “Yeah.” Nia nodded like that was fair. “Good. We can work with honesty.” She pointed to a bench along the side wall. “Lilly, you can sit there. You’ll be able to see everything.” Lilly moved to the bench. The diaper bag stayed on her shoulder for a moment longer than it needed to—like she wasn’t ready to set it down, like it was part of her posture now. Nia looked at Paul’s shoes. “Kick ’em off.” Paul complied, stepping onto the foam tiles in socks. The padding gave under his weight in a way that felt almost… kind. Nia’s eyes dropped to his sneakers. “You a Jordan guy?” Paul blinked. “Yeah.” Nia’s mouth tilted. “Tragic.” He huffed an actual laugh as Nia turned, grabbed two foam mats from a stack, and carried them into the center of the room like she was setting up a training drill. She laid them down carefully. Then she turned back to Paul, posture calm. “First goal,” she said, “is strengthening your bladder muscles.” Paul nodded, already bracing for disappointment. “These exercises are designed to help you build back more control,” she said, “or help you not lose how much you currently have.” Paul swallowed. “Understand?” He nodded. Regretfully. Because for one moment—just one— he’d thought PT might mean a miracle. Nia’s voice softened. She glanced at Lilly. “This is the clinical version,” she said. “Core stabilization, pelvic floor engagement, and neuro-motor retraining.” Lilly nodded, eyes focused. Then Nia looked back to Paul. “We’re teaching your body how to stay strong while you move.” Paul blinked. Nia crouched slightly, like she was about to teach him a play. “Two moves,” she said. “We start today with practice, not perfection.” She pointed to the mats. “Modified plank,” she said. “And Superman.” Paul frowned. “Superman?” Nia nodded seriously. “Superman.” “Modified plank,” she said. “You’re on your stomach, then you lift up onto your forearms and knees.” She demonstrated quickly—efficient, controlled. “Head and neck aligned,” she added. “Tight core. And while you hold it… you focus on activating pelvic floor.” Paul nodded slowly, absorbing. Then Nia explained the second. “Superman,” she said. “You stay on your stomach, towel under your hips for support. Tighten your stomach muscles. Lift one arm… then opposite leg.” Paul blinked. “That’s it?” Nia raised a brow. “That’s it.” Paul’s pride twitched. His big side wanted to prove something. “Do you want to try them?” Nia asked. Paul looked at Lilly. Lilly nodded gently, voice soothing. “We have enough time, honey.” Paul exhaled. Then he looked back at Nia. “Yeah,” he said, trying for confidence. “I can do it.” Nia clapped once, loud and bright. “Good,” she said. “That’s what I like to hear.” Paul stepped toward the mats. And then—before he could even lower himself down—Nia moved behind him. Arms wrapped around his waist. And in one smooth motion she lifted him clean off the ground. Paul made a startled sound. “Whoa—!” Lilly’s eyes widened. Nia didn’t drop him. Didn’t jostle him. She lowered herself to her knees with him held steady, then gently placed him down on his stomach on the mats like she was setting him into position the way you’d set a basketball on a free throw line. Paul froze, face hot. “What—why—?” Nia’s voice stayed soft. “Because position matters,” she said calmly. “And I’m not letting you start wrong and build bad habits. You’re safe.” Paul blinked, stunned. Nia tapped his shoulder lightly. “Alright,” she said. “Forearms down. Knees under you. Tight core.” Paul obeyed. He lifted. His arms shook instantly. His abs tightened. His breathing got shallow. Nia’s voice was steady. “Good,” she said. “Hold it. Hold it. That’s it.” Paul gritted his teeth. Lilly leaned forward on the bench, watching like she was seeing a version of Paul she’d missed. “You’re doing so good,” Lilly said softly. “Good job, sweetheart.” Paul’s cheeks burned. But he held. His tracker stayed green. Flirted with yellow. But he held. Nia nodded once. “Alright. Down.” Paul collapsed onto the mat, breathing hard. Nia didn’t tease him. She praised him like it mattered. “Good work,” she said. Then she set a rolled towel under his hips for the Superman. “Okay,” she said. “One arm. Opposite leg.” Paul lifted. His back tightened. His core engaged. It was awkward. It was childish. It was… work. He managed it. And when he dropped back down, Lilly’s voice was warm with pride. “That’s a really great job Paul,” she murmured before she could stop herself. Paul’s throat tightened. Because he hadn’t heard that in a long time. Nia nodded, satisfied. “Alright,” she said. “That’s enough for today. That’s practice.” Paul blinked. “That’s it?” Nia smirked. “That’s it for practise. We’re not done just yet. ” Then Nia stood and walked over to something that made Paul’s stomach drop. A small wooden play gym—simple, pale wood, with hanging shapes and beads and soft little ornaments designed for tiny hands. It sat in the corner like a trap. Paul stared at it, horrified. Nia didn’t pretend it wasn’t what it was. “This,” she said, “is what we’ve got for a pressure test today. Don’t worry about what it looks like.” Paul’s cheeks burned. Lilly’s mouth opened—instinctively wanting to protect him from humiliation—then closed. Because protecting him didn’t always mean preventing discomfort. Sometimes it meant surviving it. Nia pointed toward the hanging items. “Belly crawl,” she instructed. “Toward one of those. Keep your head up. Use your core. Grab one.” Paul’s big side wanted to throw up. His little side, traitorous and thrilled, whispered: Play. Paul stared at it. His face flushed. Lilly watched, half-amused, half-horrified—because the scene was absur…but it was also showing her something. Paul was here. He was trying. He was doing it. Paul exhaled. Then he started crawling. Slow. Awkward. His shorts dragged against the mat. His arms worked. His core burned. His head stayed up. He could feel pressure building inside his bladder like a balloon being squeezed. His jaw clenched. He didn’t stop. He crawled. And crawled. And crawled. He reached for the hanging item. His fingers closed around it. He’d done it. Relief flooded him so fast it almost made him dizzy—And then he felt it. WET. A sudden warmth. A release he hadn’t chosen. His body letting go anyway. Paul froze. His face drained. His chest seized. He could feel his tracker spike like an alarm. And before he could spiral— Before he could collapse into shame—Nia dropped to her knees behind him. Her hand rubbed slow circles into his back. “It’s okay,” she said immediately. “You did a good job.” Paul’s throat tightened. He couldn’t speak. Nia’s voice stayed calm. “That one’s on me,” she said. “I should’ve asked if you needed the washroom first.” Paul’s eyes burned. Lilly moved fast—kneeling beside him, stroking his hair like she’d done in the dark at four-thirty in the morning. “Oh honey,” she whispered. “You’re okay. Nobody’s mad. We’ll get you changed.” Paul stared at the floor, horrified. Not just at the warmth. But at the small trail behind him. At the wet patch spreading on his shorts. At the idea of standing up and showing it. Nia rose quickly. “I’ve got it,” she said, already moving. She returned with disinfectant wipes and paper towels, her movements calm and practiced. “Paul,” she said gently, “I need you to turn over for me and slide back a bit, okay?” Paul’s breathing was shallow. But he did it. He turned. He slid. He watched the puddle being cleaned up like it was evidence of failure. Lilly pulled his changing mat out with shaking hands and spread it on the foam floor. Paul’s face went pale. His voice cracked. “No—” Lilly’s hand stroked his hair again. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I brought clothes. You’re safe.” Nia’s eyes softened. “You were brave,” she told him. “You’re going to be great.” Paul blinked hard. Nia stood. “I’m stepping out,” she said. “Give you all some privacy.” She gave Lilly one last nod of respect—caregiver to caregiver. The door shut. The room went still. Paul stared at the ceiling, chest tight. Lilly’s voice lowered into something soothing and rhythmic. “Okay,” she murmured. “We’re just going to get you comfy again, alright? That’s all. Just comfy.” Paul swallowed hard. Lilly reached into the bag producing his paci and asking “Do you wanna take it sweetheart?” Paul didn’t reach for a pacifier. He didn’t want to need it. And that mattered. His big side whined anyway when Lilly pulled out a Safari diaper instead of another ABU. Paul’s face tightened. “Lilly…” Lilly’s voice stayed calm. Paul huffed—small, resentful. But he didn’t fight. Especially as he saw Lilly putting bot his golf shirt & shorts into a laundry bag she unfolded from the diaper bag. Wait, what was he going to wear now? Lilly’s hands moved with gentle care, not rushing, not panicking. The soft sounds filled the room—fabric, tape, the quiet rustle of something clean replacing something wet. Paul’s eyes squeezed shut. His chest rose and fell. He grounded himself. He stayed present. That was progress. Then Lilly pulled out the safari green plastic pants. Then the baby blue onesie. Then the shortalls. Paul stared like she’d pulled out a humiliation grenade. “No,” he said immediately. “Jeans. Shorts. Please.” Lilly’s expression softened with regret. “These are the only ones I brought,” she said gently. Paul huffed again, louder. His big side hated it. His little side wanted to disappear into it. Then the door opened. And Savannah stepped in like a sunrise that didn’t ask permission. She took in the scene—the mat, Lilly’s posture, Paul’s expression mid-huff—and her face softened in a way that was not mocking. Not pitying. Just… fond. Honest. Familiar. Her eyes landed on Paul in the outfit—blue against his skin, the shortalls settling into place like something out of a different life. And Savannah couldn’t help it. “Aww,” she said, the word slipping out like a laugh made of warmth, “those are simply adorable on you, Paul.” Paul froze. Lilly’s hand paused. And for half a second—caught between humiliation and something dangerously close to being seen—Paul didn’t know whether to groan or smile. Especially after Savannah came closer and kneeling down next to Lilly.... “Say, Lilly I was wondering if I could help babysit, I know dumb word but like you know if I could help watch him for you?”

Chapter 23 Just try it once, for Mommy... I woke up in the morning as Mommy climbed out of bed. As I moved, it felt like my diaper was wet, so I reached under the covers to check. Yes, I had totally flooded this one and hadn’t woken up to do it. But this morning, it didn’t bother me. I had admitted it to Mommy; I’m just a little baby at times that needs his Mommy. She was in the bathroom as I rolled onto my back. Ouch!!! Unlike the time Miss Beth paddled, this time my butt was still sore. Mommy had said last night that I’d probably be black and blue back there, she was right. But she also told me to remember, I didn’t get paddled for jerking off. It was because I just couldn’t admit to myself what I now know to be true. I’m not like other men. Sometimes, I need my Mommy. For her to hug me, care for me, and yes, even spank me. Spanking helps make the guilt go away when I’ve disappointed her. I heard the toilet and she reappeared. As she picked up her clothes and started to dress, she spoke, “Morning babe. Sorry it’s so early, but I need to stop by my place before work. I can’t wear the same clothes two days in a row. The ‘walk of shame’ and all that you understand.” I nodded and tried to sit up. Ouch! Again, a reminder. She must have noticed as she tugged her top into place. She just said tenderly, “Sore aren’t you. If it’s any consolation, my arm is a bit stiff as well.” I tried to pass it off lightly, “And your left arm doesn’t aim as good.” She was leaning down in my closet and came out with a fresh diaper. As she came towards me, unfolding it, she tried to be light-hearted about it and said, “Well it’s up to you how much practice I get at it. Now lay back and we’ll get my baby changed.” Up to me… Yes, I suppose it is now. How well I behave, and whether or not I ask for another one… Soon she was wiping my privates and tugging the fresh diaper under me. As she taped it into place and gently patted the front, right against my cock, she spoke again, “I have a teleconference with west coast tonight, so you’re on your own. Remember, if you want to fly solo, wear a diaper. Okay? See you at two tomorrow.” I nodded and blushed at being reminded that masturbating is now a ‘diaper only’ activity. Then I asked, “I thought we had to be at Beth’s at four? Why so early tomorrow?” She smiled and leaned to kiss my blushing cheek as she explained, “Because Mommy needs to use hair cream on my baby boy before we go. You’re getting stubble and I want you to look your best.” Then she patted my chest as she stood up. She added, “And it’s MISS Beth. Or she’ll add to those black and blue marks.” I felt my eyes widen as I gulped. She glanced at the time and bent to kiss me one last time, “Gotta run darling. Have a good day now. I’ll call you tonight at bedtime to tuck you in.” Well, it’s not the same as sleeping with her, but it shows she cares. I answered as her steps echoed in the short hallway, “Okay Mommy! Love you.” She may have hesitated, or maybe it was my imagination. But from the front door I heard, “Mommy loves you too Tommy.” And the door clicked shut. … Waddling around the kitchen making coffee, I checked the time. Still a bit early, so I decided to do some laundry. But as I picked up the basket, two items caught my eye. First were those plastic baby pants; hand wash only… The second item was the pair of sweatpants that got my bottom blistered. Ironic really. That day at Miss Beth’s, Jack had gotten spanked and he got so excited he jerked off afterwards. And me?? I jerked off first and felt so guilty that in the end I needed MY bottom spanked. Total opposites… and yet, both little boys still in diapers. I put down the basket in the middle of the bedroom and carried the baby pants to the bathroom to hand-wash them, just as Mommy had taught me. I hung them to dry and decided to start work a little early. My bottom stung when I first sat down, but I didn’t complain to myself. I accepted that it was for my own good, and it would pass. I logged on and started my day. The morning was productive. I was well ahead on a couple of issues and just coded away. At lunch I logged out, stretched my arms out in the chair and decided to grab something from the fridge. As I walked to the kitchen, the breeze on my bare legs reminded me I was still just wearing my diaper and T-shirt. Hehehe… if the folks at the office could see me… Living with Mommy might be like this. Spending a lot of time as her ‘little boy’. I giggled as I squirted mustard onto some bread to start a sandwich. I realized I was looking forward to living with her. Standing in the kitchen area munching, I felt an urge to pee and just let go. And I’m starting to like being diapered. Not having to rush to the bath…. No, Mommy would want me to say ‘potty’. Not having to rush to the potty. … I worked until almost seven. I figured a bit extra today to make up for knocking off early tomorrow. Tomorrow, I get to be with Mommy. But… gulp! We’re going to see Miss Beth. I set a reminder on my phone and stood up. I had wet again sometime in the afternoon, and two solid soakings waddled between my legs as I put something in the microwave. I grabbed a fork from the drawer and turned around to lean against the counter, watching the timer on the microwave counting down. Standing in a soggy diaper?!?! It’s not so bad. My hand drifted to cup the front and hold the swollen material. After all, Mommy loves me being her little boy. The oven beeped and I took out dinner and sat at the table. No computer code in front of me, no tv on, no football, no distracting tits to stare at. How did that ‘Beauty and the Beast’ movie song go? “LeFou I’m afraid I’ve been thinking… A dangerous pastime… I know.” Mommy loves me… because I’m being her little boy? But I admitted to her I need her. Or did she manipulate me into saying that? I’m the one that handed her the spoon. I told her I was naughty. Did I do all that because I wanted to please her? Or because it’s true. Am I submitting to her to gain her love? Letting her manipulate me? That whole time… did she even once call me ‘Tommy’ or ‘Baby’? No, she called me ‘Tom’. That I was a grown man, asking for a spanking from her. It wasn’t some ‘baby games’ as a prelude to sex. We didn’t have sex afterwards. But lying in her arms, she held me and… and cared for me. She hadn’t planned on spending the night, but she did. She stayed all night to care for me and not leave me alone after turning my ass black and blue. She spanked me. Not because she lost her temper or was particularly mad. I’m not sure, but I don’t think she particularly enjoyed it. She wasn’t horny afterwards or giggling, or grinning. She did it because I asked for it. I asked because I was afraid she was leaving. Afraid I had screwed up so badly she might walk out of my life. Because I fucked up and the guilt was so bad it made my tummy ache. Is this some deep psychological thing in me? Did I have some buried childhood issues? Mom and Dad always seemed to be supportive. I don’t remember ever getting paddled, but I did get time outs in the corner, and when I was older, grounded for when I screwed up. I can’t remember anything about… no there is one memory of potty training. I was about three, I think? I remember looking down, sitting on the potty with that little shield thing in front of my penis. The earliest memory of seeing myself peeing. Odd that so much of early childhood is a blur, but seeing pee squirting from my baby penis and splashing onto that shield… Squealing and telling Mom… I was so proud of myself. She’d probably be disappointed that I’m back in diapers??? How would she react to this? I’m back in diapers, acting like a little boy, all for a woman she’s never met. Shiver. THAT will be a rough day. I can see it now: “Hey Mom, I’d like you to meet someone. This is Carole, she’s my Mommy now and she keeps me in diapers. But it’s all good, she lets me suck her tits anytime I’m upset or crying.” Sigh… Mommy was right. Sometimes when the fantasy world meets the real world… things don’t go well. And right now, I’m figuratively ‘looking into that mirror’. I see a grown man, one of the top programmers in my field. I was even a co-presenter at last year’s conference on commercial web development. And I’m sitting here in a wet diaper, wishing my mommy were here. A woman that I practically begged to paddle my ass last night. I see a grown man that was howling and bawling at the top of my lungs and could only be consoled by the same woman hugging me, wiping my nose and letting me suckle at her breast. I looked down at my dinner. The little plastic tray was empty. Frozen food isn’t bad sometimes I guess. But that dinner she made Sunday night. She really does know how to cook. Maybe not a five-star chef, but better than anything from my own hand. I wonder what she’s having for dinner tonight. I checked the time on my phone. Not quite eight. I had just about an hour. I set a timer and got up. I took care of the dinner things, tray in the trash, box it came in, recycling. Fork in the dishwasher. Brushed my teeth, made a note to buy more toothpaste. Then I managed to change my own diaper. The wet one in the trash. I figured no sense in getting interested in any tv, so I lay in bed with my phone, playing some silly solitaire game until the timer would sound. The alarm went off at five minutes before nine. I closed the game and punched the contact labeled ‘Mommy’. She picked up on the second ring. “Is that my little boy? Did you brush your teeth? All ready for Mommy to tuck you in? I suddenly remembered and popped my pacifier in my mouth before answering, “yeth mummy” “Ooooo… that’s Mommy’s good little boy!! Now… speaker phone on so I can tell you a bedtime story. Put your hand in your diaper if you want sweetie…. Little boys do that, it’s okay.” I felt myself blush, but her treating me like a little boy, well… I did as Mommy said. I wasn’t really horny or hard, but I gently gripped my balls and cock as I suckled and closed my eyes. “Once upon a time…” she started as I listened. My fingers only squeezed occasionally, but it made me feel safe and happy. Something about a little boy astronaut… exploring with a robot for a friend… discovered something on the moon… But the softness of her voice, the comforting feel of my diaper on my bottom as I rolled over. The reflex of sucking my paci… Almost as if she was here with me… I drifted off to sleep. … I was in a nursery of some sort. Mommy was putting something away in the drawers and then turned around. She looked down at me and smiled. “Little Tommy loves to play with mister peepee…* I woke up and realized I was doing just that. My hand still in my diaper, my cock was hard. I tugged at it, thinking to myself…. Mommy says it’s okay… I’m being a good boy and doing it in my diaper… Look Mommy… I’m a good boy…. Thoughts of pleasing Mommy, doing just as she wants… pushed me over the edge pretty quickly. I wriggled my hand a little to wipe my fingers on the inside of my diaper, pulled out my hand and fell back to sleep. … I woke up again, just minutes before the alarm. I smiled to myself when I remembered the middle of the night. I shut off the alarm before it sounded and threw back the covers. Even when she wasn’t here, she tucks me in and… As I stared at the coffee pot, I just let nature take its course. Then I remembered it was Thursday. I shrugged and went to the bedroom to put on a shirt and nothing more. I’ve sat through a couple of teleconferences now in a soggy diaper, one more is no big deal. So, with a clean shirt, cup of coffee and wet diaper, I sat down and logged in for the day. The meeting was uneventful and we all had our assignments. I was going to be leaving early, so I figured I’d just work through lunch until Mommy got here. But just about one thirty, I realized that had been a mistake. I felt a wetness on my thigh. I should have changed after the meeting. But Mommy will be here soon and wants to use hair cream on me. It’d be a waste to put on a clean one… sigh… should have put on some plastic pants… I kept at it until I heard her key in the door. I logged off quickly and got up with a ‘squelch’. It was drooping low between my legs as I waddled to meet her. When she first saw me she giggled a little, saying, “My little boy needs to remember his baby pants.” I blushed and lowered my chin, mumbling, “Sowwy… I was just working and knew you’d be here soon.” She came towards me, hugged me and gave me a quick kiss. Then gently turned me around, “It’s okay sweetie. Once you’re living with Mommy, I can help you remember such things.” Then a quick pat on my drooping diaper, she added, “Now… off to the bathroom, time to make my baby all smooth and cute for our visit to Miss Beth’s.” My diaper fell to the floor with a plop and I stepped into the tub as before. And just as before, soon I was covered in hair cream that had a faint chemical smell. But unlike the first time, this time Mommy also wiped some under my chin and over my face. All she said was, “We don’t want a five o’clock shadow this time. Wouldn’t do at all.” As I stood there, waiting for the hair cream to do its job, I wondered about that. She picked up the diaper and casually mentioned, “Just wait here while I go check the furniture you were sitting on.” I blushed a little, knowing she’d find my office chair undoubtedly had a wet spot. After a few minutes, she came back. All she said was, “All taken care of sweetie. Now, it’s been long enough, rinse off while I find something for you to wear.” I did as she said and soon was walking naked with just a towel around me, back to my bedroom. There she sat at the edge of the bed. She had a diaper in her hand and I saw a T-shirt and my old jogging shorts on the bed. I was certain they would do little to hide my diaper and started to protest, “Aw Mommy, can’t I wear something that will cover things a bit more?” She just stood up and came to take my hand gently, “Well there is that pair of sweatpants in the laundry basket. The ones with a huge stain on the front? But I don’t think Miss Beth would approve, do you? Now lay down so we can get my little masturbator properly diapered.” I blushed at the reminder; I had been naughty and didn’t really want the world to know. So I laid down meekly and let her put me in the diaper and outfit she had chosen. Once I sat up, she even slipped on my socks and sneakers. Then she stood up, looking down at me as I sat on the edge of the bed with her hands on hips. All she said was, “Well… that’ll do for now. I’m sure we can find something nicer at Miss Beth’s.” I was confused. I started to ask, “What do…gack!!!” My pacifier was quickly pushed in my mouth, silencing my questions. Then Mommy tugged at my wrist, “Sometimes little ones should be seen and not heard. Now come along.” She tugged me out the door and I almost reached to take the pacifier from my lips. Maybe not… she seems a bit ‘bossy’ right now. I don’t see anyone… We arrived at Miss Beth’s a few minutes early. Mommy was holding my hand as she rang the bell. I gulped and sucked on my pacifier a little more when I looked up to see Miss Beth opening the door. “Carole, so nice of you to come,” she said warmly. Then she smiled at me and in that voice that made my tummy to a flip-flop, she said, “And little Tommy. I see you’ve learned not to be late. How nice. Won’t you both come in? Tommy, you remember where the cloak room is don’t you?” Wait… I’m not here for a… I’m here to… Before I could say anything though, Mommy’s hand was in the middle of my back gently urging me inside as she merely said, “Go ahead sweetie… do as she asks. Mommy will be in the sitting room if you need me.” And before I processed what she said, Miss Beth had my wrist and gently tugging me towards the cloak room. Once inside, she went to the shelf to find my basket. As she reached, she explained a little, “I know you’re not here for a babysitting session Tom, but I like to keep to a routine for all my little ones. Now, shorts, shoes, and socks dear. You can keep your shirt for now.” When I hadn’t moved a muscle, she stared at me and put her hands on her hips. She raised an eyebrow. Then she said in a cold, quiet voice, “Tom, do you want to look over my computer system? Or would you like me to take you to the playroom and introduce you to mister paddle again?” I felt panic rising in my chest and felt a short spurt of pee into my diaper. What IS it about this woman??? She can be so intimidating that I wet myself!! I kicked off my shoes and started to reach for my shorts as I mumbled around my pacifier, “No Mith Beth… I need to see the comtuter…” She smiled and lowered her hands from her hips as I obeyed, bracing myself with one hand on the wall as I tugged each sock off and quietly put my things in the basket. She put the basket up, took my hand and locked the door behind us. Then she led me up a rather grand staircase to the second floor. She explained, “The upstairs is generally off limits to my clients. But you’ll be an exception if we start working together.” Down a hallway and she opened a door to what might have been a guest bedroom. But instead of a bed, the room was filled with a computer server, work desk, filing cabinets and a rack of monitors. As we stood in the middle of the room, she started explaining: “Now, I wrote down the current password for you. I change it every month. There’s nothing in those cabinets that could be of any interest, so I’ve locked them. Those are the video surveillance monitors. Like I explained to you before, they’re a live feed but there’s no connection to the network and no recording devices. A couple of them like the playroom and the doctor’s office include audio, but most of them don’t.” I blinked and looked at the monitors. The playroom showed to be empty. And yes, a small room with what looked like a doctor’s examination table. Then I saw Katherine in the kitchen, and there was Mommy, sitting in the sitting room. The front hall and another room that looked like a nursery, with adult sized crib. “Here are some notes from the original developer,” Miss Beth’s voice broke in and I looked at her. She held a small notebook as she pulled out a chair from the work desk. She nodded towards the chair and said simply, “Sit.” I sat down and started to look at the computer screen and notebook. Then she took a step to the door and turned to look at me with her hand on the knob. She spoke professionally and clearly, “You have about two hours until dinner. If you could write up a little memo or proposal of what you think should be done, I can read it over later. Then we can see what happens, that sound okay to you?” I took out my pacifier and set it down next to the mouse on the desk. My eyes noticed the note with the password. At least that seemed like a good password, nothing too obvious. I looked at her and said, “Yes, I can do that. I can rank things from serious to just general improvements.” She nodded and answered, “Good, then if I like how this works out, I can talk to you about my other thoughts.” She started to turn away and stopped to look at me again, “Oh and Tommy…. I don’t think I need to mention what happens to curious little boys that go wandering around my house when they should be working.” I felt my eyes widen as I gulped and responded, “No Miss Beth, I understand completely.” She smiled and left. I stared at the door for a moment, then a thought occurred to me. I spun around in time to see her walking across the front entry way on one of the monitors. Then she was on the sitting room camera, sitting down next to Mommy. They chatted for a few moments when I saw Miss Beth pick up a small bell and ring for Katherine. I stared at the three women on one monitor. Katherine had set down a tray with cups and saucers, but now she stood as Miss Beth spoke. Damn I wish this one had audio… Miss Beth spoke to her, then said something to Mommy, then back to Katherine. Suddenly Mommy sat up straight and said something. Miss Beth nodded and spoke to Katherine again. Then Katherine returned through the playroom to the kitchen again. Mommy and Miss Beth relaxed and had some tea or coffee. They’re up to something. And I’ll bet a week’s pay that it involves me! But nothing else happened. They sat there, sipping tea while Katherine was moving about the kitchen, apparently cooking dinner. I glanced over at the computer screen and tried logging in with the password. Soon I was in my element, searching through code, checking directory permissions, looking at the web services engine and checking security permissions. All in all, the system was pretty decent. I did find a user account that had admin permissions that hadn’t been used in a few months. Then I realized it was enabled for remote access. Now Miss Beth has local access, why would she… Maybe it’s the previous… Wait… Sure enough. The previous developer had left a ‘back door’ into the system. They could log in remotely and do just about anything. Including access her customer database and… What’s this? A file called ‘nannys notes’. I felt a little thrilled. She said not to go wandering around the house. But she didn’t say I couldn’t snoop a little on the computer. When I opened the file, I felt myself smile. It was just what the name implied, Miss Beth kept notes on her clients: 8/28/xx Newborn today, Tommy. Sheesh what a crybaby. But Carole seems quite taken with him. Make a note, Tommy does NOT like poopie diapers. But he took his paddling well, maybe I’ll get to have him over my knee again some time. Totally new to the scene, but I think he’s going to make a great little boy for Carole. 7/7/xx Today Jackie kept pushing his ‘thingie’ at his sister Jill. So she slapped it, LOL! When Jacke cried and tried to get her in trouble, I took him aside and paddled him. As usual, he jerked off after that. 6/30/xx Jill was a handful. She insisted I let her use her usual toy and keep it in her diaper. She flirted as she masturbated. I swear she might be bi. 6/21/xx Jill wasn’t playing today, but she dropped by with Jackie. I let Jill relax with some wine in the sitting room while I gave Jackie a quick paddling. I think she’s on her period and they just needed a quick hour. 5/20/xx Sissy Jimmy is so cute. He has been really needy today, his Daddy put him in chastity until the weekend. He’s REALLY looking forward to Memorial weekend when his Daddy said they are going to Florida. Honestly, his dick is as small as Mikey. This was some very private stuff. I should tell Miss Beth we need to secure this better. I scrolled down a couple of pages. 11/15/xx Katherine’s husband is out of town. So, I scolded her for some trivial thing. She’s cute when she blushes. I reprimanded her for a good couple of minutes, slapped her butt once, and sent her back to ‘work’. She went into the kitchen, and I went upstairs to watch her. She leaned over the island counter and put her hand in her panties to have her little fun. It’ll probably hold her over until her husband gets home. 10/28/xx Poor Mikey/Shelly. When he’s all dressed up like Sarah’s baby girl, he’s so cute. Of course, with his ‘cousin’ Sammy also here today, he will just have to wait. But they played together wonderfully, just two cute little girls, played with dollies the whole time. Sarah tells me he voluntarily puts his ‘little house’ on when he’s playing with Sammy. Talk about being devoted to his wife/mommy. And I know Sarah will let him have fun once she drops off Sammy at her sister’s. 9/18/xx Little Sam had a doctor’s appointment. So nervous when Doctor Beth called him out for masturbating again. Of course I didn’t really know, but his red face confirmed my guess. Talked with his ‘mommy’ and we agreed, perhaps Little Sam should be back in diapers for a while. Of course that started the usual water works. But she and I cajoled him into one (as usual) and he earned a lollipop for being a good boy. Hmm… Sarah and Mikey?? Aren’t they the ones we’re having dinner with? I guessed what ‘little house’ meant. I stopped reading. I knew if strangers were reading that entry about me being a ‘crybaby’, I’d be upset. So, to be respectful of other’s privacy, I closed the file and just made some notes about password-protecting it. I squirmed for a minute, thinking about what else might happen in those other rooms, but went back to work. Soon I had a pretty good overview of everything. I had four ‘must do’ things to improve security and protect things, including her client’s privacy. And about six or seven ‘suggestions’. As I wrote up my findings in an informal proposal, I was mentally tallying how many hours each would probably take. I put it all in a nice business letter format and was about to save it when it struck me: Hours times rate would be… Oops… I’m not being paid money. Those hours… might turn into babysitting time… GULP! My mind snapped back from ‘professional’ to ‘Mommy’s baby boy’. I looked up at a soft tap on the door. As it opened, I saw Katherine leaning halfway in. She seemed a little nervous as she smiled weakly and said, “Um… the other guests will be here soon. Miss Beth wanted me to… to get you dressed for dinner.” Without saying another word, she stepped fully into the room and showed me what she had behind her back. I felt my eyes bug-out at the party dress she held on a hanger. It was white with pink ribbon around the waist. The hem seemed awfully short, and the shoulders… some sort of puffed out sleeves. Flustered, I shook my head and blurted out, “What? Nuuuu…. No, I don’t think so..” She dipped her chin and said, “Miss Beth said, little Mikey will be wearing the exact same outfit. Your Mommy said you two can look like twins.” I felt another spurt of pee in my diaper and managed to clench it off. I felt my will power slipping. Mommy wants it?? Katherine’s voice was almost pleading as she added, “Please, Miss Beth says if you make a fuss, we BOTH get paddled. You for not obeying, and me for not doing as I’m told.” I looked at her. Her eyes were hopeful. My memory flashed back to the first time I met her. She was relaxed and telling me about working for Miss Beth. Her husband and her role playing a little. And she helped Miss Beth when … when I needed my poopie diaper changed. She never laughed, or teased. I couldn’t let her suffer because of me. I felt my shoulders sag as I sighed. I nodded and gave in, simply saying “Okay.” She brightened and came further into the room. She was efficient and all business now, “Okay, take off your shirt. I hope you don’t need a diaper change, I don’t do those without Mistress.” I wriggled my arms and pulled my shirt over my head as I answered, “Not too wet yet. I’m good.” With my vision restored after pulling my shirt off, she was kneeling in front of me holding out the frilliest panties I’d ever seen. Ribbons across the bottom, bow in the front, lace everywhere. She held them in front of my feet. When I didn’t move a muscle, all she said was, “Oh come on… you’ll look cute.” I relented and let her pull them up my legs as I stood. Then the soft silkiness of the dress fell around me. I didn’t feel it against my legs though. A quick look showed why, the hem barely came halfway down the panties. Then she had something in her hand, at first I thought it was another pair of baby pants. Just as frilly, matching colors and lace. She reached up as she explained, “Mikey’s hair is grown out so he’ll probably have pigtails. But your boy haircut needs to be covered up.” And with that I realized she was reaching up and pulling it over my head. A BABY BONNET!!?!?! She was tying the string under my shin when we heard the doorbell. The chime rang through the whole house. She got a little flustered, “O dear! I need to answer that. Look, here’s your baby girl socks and shoes. Put them on and come down to the sitting room. I’ve got to run.” And with that she was out the door, leaving it open. I stood there for a moment, holding the socks and shoes she had handed me. Ankle socks and Mary Janes. Figures. I dropped back down in the chair. I felt something in the pit of my stomach. I heard the doorbell again and looked over to the monitors. There was Katherine rushing across the entryway and opening the door. I leaned closer to see a smartly dressed woman and… and a little girl in a matching outfit. Only part of my head told me, No, not a little girl. Another baby boy, Mikey. With his mommy Sarah. I squinted, if not for his size, he DID look a lot like a little girl that might be going to a birthday party. Hair in pigtails and ribbons. Same dress with those puffy sleeves. The same shoes, and yes. The same bulging, lacy, panties. I watched as Katherine led them to the sitting room. Mommy and Miss Beth greeted them, Mommy giving the ‘little girl’ a quick hug. They seemed to be chatting when I saw them all look towards Katherine. She gestured, pointing towards the upstairs and I squirmed. Miss Beth looked up at the camera, but I saw Mommy put her hand gently on Miss Beth’s arm. She said something and then left the room. She crossed the entryway and I knew she was coming up to get me. When she reached the door she stopped and smiled. She didn’t say anything for a moment, then she spoke softly, “Sweetie, you look adorable. There’s someone downstairs I’d like you to meet.” I pouted; I felt my eyes water a little. All I could think of to say was, “Do I have to Mommy?” She walked to me and saw the pacifier on the desk. She picked it up and gently held it to my lips as she stepped even closer, gently pulling my head against her tummy. The bonnet crinkled in my ears as her fingers gently stroked. I heard her whispering, “Just for tonight sweetie. See how it feels. Can you do that for Mommy? I won’t ask you to do it again unless you like it. Please? Come meet little Shelly? She’s eager to meet you.” Suckling the pacifier helped, it always does. And her scent as I nuzzled against her belly. She didn’t say another word, just held me close. Mommy asked nicely. No orders, no threats. I probably don’t HAVE to, but Mommy asked. Just one time…. She helped me with my shoes and soon I was holding her hand, sucking nervously on my pacifier as she opened the door to the sitting room. To Be Continued

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Appapapa “Let’s see,” Joomi hummed as she inspected the dresser options, and Adam shoved Little Boja into the corner of the drawer to prevent her from closing it. Her eyebrows rose high as she looked at him, and he stepped forward, pointing. “Ah-ha! There!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Shirts!” “Yeeess,” she giggled, gently lifting Little Boja and placing him on top of the dresser. “In fact, I think you should wear this one today.” She lifted out a t-shirt… A normal, light brown shirt. No logos, no patterns, no cute little critters. Adam raised a skeptical blonde eyebrow. “What’s the catch?” he asked suspiciously as he stepped forward, looking at the back. “No catch,” she chuckled, gesturing for him to lift his arms. “Uncle Mung and Bak gave you these.” “Ahhh, okay,” he grinned and nodded in understanding, throwing his arms up into the air. They were visiting today, in the wake of learning about Jae-yung the day before, and she wanted him to wear their gifts. Once it was on, he looked down, placing his hands on it and nodding in appreciation of the style and softness. “Well, they’ve got better style than Uncle Bom.” “I love his gifts,” she gasped at him, the corners of her lips tugging into a smile at his eye roll. “I know,” he groused, craning his neck at the next drawer she opened. She pulled out a pair of elastic-waistband denim pants. He gasped, putting his hand in a pocket, and it was actually deep enough to put his entire hand in it. “Pockets!” he marveled with joy. “From them too?” “Yes,” she tittered, releasing the pants to him and shutting the drawer. “Well, they just became my favorite uncles,” he beamed as he held them up, forgiving the elastic waistband; he had to take what he could get. He glanced at her, surprised she wasn’t putting them on for him, and she raised her eyebrows expectantly. He quickly stepped in and pulled them up, briefly catching on the bottom of the Wigglers’ diaper, causing him to blush. He pursed his lips as he squinted at her. “Are you testing me again?” “With putting on pants?” she mused as she stood up, tapping the top of his head. “Are you getting paranoid, agaya?” “If I am, it’s your fault,” he snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets and letting out a satisfied sigh. She shook her head, pointing to Boja as she walked out of the room. “That’s your influence on him,” she chided bemusedly, and the tiger raised his head proudly. “Good,” Boja replied. Adam grinned at him. “Are you nervous?” Joomi chuckled as she cleared the high chair of Adam’s finished breakfast. “No,” he lied instinctively, then pursed his lips as he watched her walk to the kitchen, stuck in the chair. “Why?” “You’ve been very quiet,” she observed playfully. “Are you planning your day with Jae-yung?” “No,” he lied again, running his tongue over his teeth as he looked at the front door. He had indeed been trying to plan out the day, but it was hard to do when meeting someone for the first time, and she hadn’t given him any idea of what the Little was like. All she could say was that he was ‘cute’ and ‘energetic’, which sent him into spirals of wondering if Jae-yung was significantly regressed, or if that’s just how Amazons saw all diapered Littles. Which, then, of course, sent him into wondering how she would describe him to others, and it wasn’t a pleasant tangent. He squinted as he wondered how they would have achieved regressing Jae-yung, and he thought to clarify his knowledge before making too many assumptions. “Eomma, hypnosis is illegal in Goryeo, right?” “Yes, agaya,” she replied quickly and firmly, indicating her approval, which made him smile. “It is a dishonorable, destructive, and cruel tactic. Goryeo would never stand for it.” “Mmm,” Adam hummed as he nodded, then flashed a smirk as he thought about Goryeo’s antagonistic relationship with Yamatoa. It made sense they would take a hard stance on hypnosis in the wake of the Emperor mandating it within his borders. “So Uncles Mung and Bak wouldn’t –” “No!” gasped Joomi, looking offended at the question as she put a hand on her chest. “Why would you think that?” “I don’t, I just –” he paused, feeling awkward and trapped (which he was, still, in the chair) and apologetically grimaced at her. “Okay, fine, yes! I am trying to plan for today!” The admission didn’t appease Joomi; in fact, it appeared to make her concern worse. She gaped at him, her expression turning to horror. “Agaya, they would never do that to you,” she both admonished and reassured, approaching him at a hurried pace. “Me?” Adam blurted out as he pointed to himself. “Noooo, I was thinking about Jae-yung!” “Ohh,” she sighed, putting a hand on her chest in relief, and then ran her fingers through his hair before unlocking the high chair. “They would never do that to him, either.” “How do you know?” he asked, remaining in the seat as he looked up at her and put his hands up defensively before she could get offended again. “I’m not trying to imply anything about them – but… just asking… why are you so sure?” “They’re just not like that,” she stated firmly and confidently. “You will see.” He hummed in response as he jumped down onto the ground. “When are they coming?” “Very soon,” she replied while cleaning up the kitchen. Adam pursed his lips as he looked around for something to keep himself busy until they did. He glanced at Boja, who was, as always, on his circular elevated bed, guarding Little Boja between his massive front paws. “You would mind bringing up my translation?” he asked, gesturing to the wall. Boja nodded as the scroll appeared, and Adam tapped on his chin as he reviewed his progress. Always open the book. Seed sprouts within the grove. Adam tapped his foot as he reread the first two sentences a few times. He had ruminated on it since the evening before. He had learned well enough by now that these proverb-style lines were meant to allude to multiple meanings, so while the first line was clearly in reference to his ceremonial object choice, he also believed it told Joomi to encourage his mind. Always open the opportunity for him to engage and learn, and he smiled, feeling she was consistently meeting that ‘commandment’, if one could consider it that. The second was a curiosity. He presumed the seed was himself, which was about as far as he had gotten the day before. This sentence had taken nearly an hour and a half to translate, as the program was finicky about his pronunciations (and he was too proud to ask either of them to tone down the difficulty), so he hadn’t given the actual phrase much thought yet. Now with fresh eyes and a well-rested mind, he considered the seed would tie into the previous line and be a ‘seed of knowledge.’ If the seed were him, he presumed the grove referenced his environment; if it were something like a seed of knowledge, then perhaps it meant to encourage plentiful resources on the topic. He ran his tongue on the bottom part of his canine tooth in thought. “A grove,” he mumbled to himself and glanced at Boja. “Hey, can I ask this thing for definitions?” “Yes,” Boja nodded. “Sweet!” he chirped and turned to the wall. “Can I get the definition of a grove?” The words appeared in a floating box near the translation: Grove (noun) 1: a small wood without underbrush 2: a planting of fruit or nut trees Adam hummed as he nodded expectantly. It was as he thought, but he had held out a small hope that there may have been an additional meaning he hadn’t known about. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stared, wondering if the focus was the lack of underbrush, meaning a lack of obstruction, or the planned and structured environment. He licked his lips in thought, then called out, “Eomma?” “Yes?” she replied as she approached. “Am I just translating the scroll or the meaning, too?” he asked her, slipping his hands into his pockets and flashing a smile at being able to. “As in – can I ask you what you think the meaning is?” “Hmm,” she pondered in a hum as she sat on the edge of the couch across from his work, looking at the wall thoughtfully. “I suppose that depends on what is important to you. Are you seeking to understand your scroll for yourself? Or are you trying to understand my motivations and actions?” Adam pursed his lips as he met her gaze; she hadn’t made either option sound negative, but he had a gut feeling the second choice was the ‘wrong’ one, if that existed. He opened his mouth to answer, but paused… realizing he hadn’t actually given the question real thought. At least, not what his real answer was - he had only tried to anticipate her approval. He spun on his heel to stare at the words, and he squinted at them, focusing on his own intentions rather than what he thought she wanted to hear. “Both,” he finally replied and nodded, satisfied that that was the truth. He looked back at her and gave a wry smile. “I know it’s meant for you, so I’m curious as to what you think. But it has value for me, too, right? Give me insights into myself?” If there was a correct answer, that was it; at least, he felt that was the case as he saw the proud smile she gave him. She put her hands out for him, and he took the few steps forward necessary to reach her, and she bent forward to hug him. “Yes, it has value for both of us,” she purred softly and kissed his forehead. “I think, perhaps, when you feel confident that you have your own answer, we can discuss it and share our interpretations.” “I like that,” he smiled as he turned and faced the scroll. He leaned against the couch between her legs, trying to decide if he felt confident about the first line. “They’re here,” Boja announced as his eyes flashed. Adam and Joomi shared a smile as he stepped forward, walking towards the wall to save his progress. Boja stood from his couch and stepped down; by the time Adam had closed out his work, the tiger was almost out of the room. “Hey, wait - where are you going?” he asked curiously as he followed him. Boja looked at him and then to Joomi, who looked sheepish as her shoulders rose slightly. “Jae-yung has never met Boja,” she admitted quietly. “Why not?” he frowned. “I thought…” she glanced away as she flushed. “He might be scared of him.” Adam pursed his lips as he stared at her and slowly lifted an eyebrow. If he had given it more thought, he might have understood; his own introduction to Boja had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life (probably the most, at the time), though the circumstances of that meeting were far different. But he didn’t give himself that time to reflect, as he was too defensive about Boja needing to hide away. He was a part of this family. “Well,” he cleared his throat, eyes flickering between them, and put a hand on his chest. “Now that a Little hasn’t dropped dead from fear, I think a meeting is overdue.” Boja chuckled in approval, and Joomi gave Adam an apologetic look, but they both glanced to the door as they heard the rapidly approaching voices. “GOMO!!!” a Little voice shouted from outside the house, quickly followed by two very different reactions: one voice chuckling and the other chiding. Joomi smiled widely, and the pair walked towards the door together as Boja opened the front door when they were within feet of it, and returned to his bed. “Jae-yung!” she bubbled in greeting, raising her clasped hands in joy, then out to him as he reached out to her. Adam blinked, watching a grown Little in a full dinosaur costume jumpsuit reach out and be engulfed in Joomi’s arms. He looked at the two men, recognizing Mung, who wore his usual suit and wore a half-smile on his face as he watched the interaction. The other, shorter, and thinner man, he recognized as Bak from the photos, though his hairline had receded slightly since; he was dressed in cream slacks, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a dark navy vest. He had the telltale diaper bag strap over his shoulder and was the first to look down at Adam, his face lighting up. “I believe I know who you are,” he spoke up as he dropped onto a knee and reached a hand out. “Hello. I’m Bak.” “Hi, Uncle Bak,” Adam said, smiling as he took the hand and shook it, nodding in return. “I’m Adam.” “Hi, Adam!” Jae-yung chirped from high above, and Adam looked up, grinning at him and waved. “Hi Jae-yung,” he greeted back. “Appa says you have a big playground!” he exclaimed excitedly, and Adam flushed, shrugging nonchalantly. Joomi leaned down, gently placing Jae-yung on his feet. “I think it’s for all of us,” he shyly replied, but a response didn’t come as he let out a grunt from the sudden rush and hug. Jae-yung had wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly in greeting; Adam grimaced, trying to make a smile, and Joomi giggled. “Gentle, Jae,” Bak snorted, reaching out a hand and patting the Little’s head as he stood. “Sorry,” he grinned mischievously as Adam backed up and put his hands behind his back; Adam grinned back, hoping that was a flash of the adult within him in that moment. “What is that?” Joomi asked as she gestured down to the costumed outfit, and Adam squinted at her suspiciously; she smirked at him, and he curled his nose up, knowing that meant he was going to have one soon. “Some kind of dinosaur,” Bak sighed with a tired smile. “He’s been obsessed for –” “Steg-o-saurus!” Jae grumpily corrected, stomping his foot as he glared, albeit playfully, up at Bak. Mung chuckled, and Bak gestured down to him, giving Joomi that exhausted parent look. “That,” he noted, softly rolling his eyes. “Stegosaurus!” she giggled, nodding knowingly to Bak before looking down at Jae-yung, whose face lit up, and he nodded eagerly. “Can you tell me more?” She gestured the uncles in as she listened to Jae-yung, and they walked towards the living area. Mung motioned for his husband to enter first, who did, once more smiling at Adam but passing him by. “Yeah!” Jae bubbled, skipping as he held onto Joomi’s hand. “They are herbivores, four-legged, armored with spikes from head to tail! They lived in the late Jurassic era and, um, are very stocky and, and, and they’re all named Steve or Stephanie. Or Steggs. Or Stella. Any name that begins with St. Stregory. Sterbert. Stasha. Stamantha.” “So there are no Goryeoan stegosauruses?” she asked curiously. “There was no Goryeo back then, Gomo,” Jae exasperated as he rolled his head back, letting out a loud sigh that made the Amazons laugh. But he made a loud gasp as he froze in place, and all eyes turned to him. Joomi froze in a mild panic as she stared at Jae-yung, whose eyes widened at Boja, and he pointed at him, announcing, “HOLANG-I!” “Yeah, it’s Boja!” Adam beamed as he gestured an open palm to the tiger, who tilted his head slightly at Jae-yung and flicked his tail. “Whooooa,” he marveled, and Joomi released his hand, letting out a small sigh, and he approached Boja to pet him. “Hi, Boja!” Boja glanced at Adam, who grinned and gave a nod, guessing he was trying to decide if he should talk or not. “Hello, Jae-yung,” the tiger replied, and Jae-yung gasped, pointing to the tiger and turning to his fathers. Mung smiled and nodded knowingly as he walked to the couch, patting his son’s head. The Little looked back at Boja, wide-eyed, and immediately began petting him, murmuring, “So cool.” Adam smiled as he watched Boja inspect Jae-yung much like a tiger would, sniffing at his hair and chest, and chuffing happily as the Little found the “good spots”. He wondered why he had never contested Joomi’s stance on hiding from Jae-yung, and squinted as he wondered if Boja ever challenged her… “So, Adam,” Bak started as he sat down, dropping the diaper bag and smiling over at the blonde. “Tell me about yourself. My husband isn’t great at relaying details.” Mung smirked knowingly as he unbuttoned his suit jacket before taking a seat on the couch. Joomi immediately moved back into the kitchen to pour coffee. Adam shrugged as he felt self-conscious about what to say, not knowing Bak enough yet to know what he cared to know about. “Well, I… um, I’m from Libertalia,” he began, studying Bak’s face to try and estimate what he was looking for. The man nodded and gave no indication of interest or disinterest. “I… really like science and math. And space. And –” “Space!” Jae-yung announced in a familiar narrator-tone to Boja, who chuffed in response. “The final frontier!” “Jae, don’t interrupt,” Bak chided softly, and Jae slapped a hand over his mouth sheepishly as he looked to the group apologetically. Jae quickly shuffled to Mung, who offered him a comforting look and pulled the Little into his lap. “No, yeah, that!” Adam added cheerfully as he pointed to Jae-yung, who beamed as he turned to face him from his father’s lap. “That’s from Star Trekking! I love that show!” “Ahhh, another convert,” Bak chuckled as he looked over to Joomi, who approached with two full mugs, and she shook her head. “Not my fault, this time,” she smiled, passing the coffee out. “He liked the show before we met.” “I see,” the uncle grinned knowingly behind the mug he lifted to his lips, and Adam blushed. “You like it?” the blonde quickly deflected by asking Jae, who nodded about ten times, and the blonde smiled widely. “No,” Joomi laughed, cutting off the question before Adam could even think it. “No watching right now. Maybe later.” “I didn’t say anything!” Adam objected as he threw his arms out, and they all laughed, which he was willing to grin at, especially when his mother winked at him as she sat. “So, math, science, space,” Bak listed as he brought the subject back around, looking between Adam and Joomi. “And what did you do before?” Adam blinked, frowning in surprise at how politely the question was framed. “Oh, uh,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, giving a half smile. “Same thing Eomma does but… worse.” “Agaya,” she gaped at him. “Don’t talk down about yourself like that.” “Like mother, like son,” Bak murmured behind his mug as he took another sip, shooting Joomi a glance as she blushed and pressed her lips together. Adam smirked; he was beginning to like this man. “It’s a matter of resources,” Mung offered peacefully, looking between his niece and husband, before inclining his head to Adam. Jae was still in his father’s lap, playing with his tie and keeping a pacifier in his mouth to prevent further interruptions. “Joomi was limited, too, once upon a time.” “That’s fair,” Adam happily agreed as he fidgeted his hands in his pockets. He took in a breath as he looked down at his clothes and looked up, smiling at them. “Oh, thank you for these clothes.” “Our pleasure,” Bak gushed as his face lit up with delight. “I’m glad you like them. Jae has been bored with regular clothes for years now.” Jae triumphantly thrust his fists into the air, then grabbed the hood of the onesie and pulled it up, grinning widely behind the pacifier. Adam laughed and gave him a thumbs up, which was happily returned. He was finding himself quickly torn on this social gathering; on the one hand, he was very gratified to be having a normal conversation with an Amazon who seemingly took an interest in him. Not his role in the family, not his infantile clothing, but him. Yet he also was finding himself eager to interact with Jae-yung one-on-one, whether it was playing or chatting. He seemed genuinely fun, and Adam was reminded of how much he enjoyed playing with Joon. “He’s been asking for regular shirts every day,” Joomi smiled at Adam, who blushed. “You’ve made his day with these.” “Oh, no, you’re not putting him in Bom’s shit, are you?” Bak grimaced, and Adam let out a loud laugh. “They’re cute!” Joomi defended, putting her hand on her chest. “Then he can wear them,” Bak rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Adam’s eyes widened at his mother as he forcefully pointed to the man in agreement and stomped his foot for emphasis (though he instantly regretted it, reminding himself he needed to stop). Joomi giggled, throwing her hand over her mouth. “I’m sure he would, if he could,” Mung chuckled, reclining on the couch. “Appapapa,” Jae announced as he spat out the pacifier, and both men looked to him. “I wanna play.” “Can you ask nicely?” Bak challenged with a raised eyebrow, causing Jae to grin impishly as he slammed his head against Mung’s stomach, who didn’t seem to mind. “Gomo, can Adam and I go play, please?” he requested in a very practiced and purposeful tone. Though before she could even respond, he added, “Outside? On the playground? Now?” “He’s been excited since I told him about it,” Mung added with a smile. “Jebal-jebal-jebal-jebal-jebal-jebal,” Jae broke out into begging ‘pleases’ as he bounced on his father’s legs, and Joomi broke out into giggles, nodding in affirmation. “Check him first,” Bak instructed as he loosely gestured a hand to Mung, who nodded and patted Jae’s bottom. Adam quietly blew air out of his nose, supposing that had been inevitable, but had enjoyed the few minutes of blissful, ignorant hope that Jae wasn’t diapered (which made him realize the jumpsuit had at least one benefit – it was bulky enough to somewhat hide a diaper). “He’s good,” the larger man confirmed, sharing a smile with Jae-yung before placing him on the ground. As all eyes turned to Adam, whose face immediately reddened, he spun around on his heel and began marching away. He heard his mother affirm he had been changed recently, and he loudly cleared his throat to try to drown her out. He felt a tug at his arm as Jae-yung caught up to him and locked arms with him; when they looked at each other, Jae snickered at Adam’s blushes. “Still new, I see,” he bantered quietly, and Adam conceded that quickly, giving a sheepish nod, but a wide grin, glad to get a glimpse of the man beneath the mask. “Jae, slow down,” Bak called out as the three were still rising from the couch and gathering themselves. “Papaaaaa,” Jae whined immediately, throwing his head back dramatically as he stomped his foot, and Adam bit his tongue to stop from laughing. Mung waved off the other two, letting them take their time as he walked at a clipped pace to reach the two Littles. “Come on,” he stated as he put both hands out to each of them, and Jae immediately took his, giving an excited look to Adam, who hesitantly took the other. Mung took a few steps forward to the door, rocked both his arms back to gain momentum, then shot the two boys forward off their feet, gripping their hands tightly as he descended the front steps. “WHEEEEEE!!” Jae screamed, and Adam joined, though his was more fearful at first. Mung pulled his arms up to prevent their feet from touching the ground as his arms acted like swings, pulling them back behind him and once more forward. Jae continued yelling, kicking his legs joyfully, while Adam’s yelling turned into laughter. Mung chuckled with them, swinging them a few more times as he made his way outside and around the side of the house, finally setting them down about halfway to the backyard. “Again, Appa, again!” Jae squeaked as he jumped next to his father, grabbing his hand and shaking it. Adam was red-faced and still catching his breath, shaking his head at the offered hand, and enjoyed the show of the swinging Little. By the end of the second round, the three emerged at the back of the house, where the grand playground made Jae-yung gasp and gape. “Whoooa,” he marveled as his wide eyes scanned the breadth of options before them. “In you go,” smiled Mung at the pair as he opened the gate. Jae-yung cheered as he burst into a run, and Adam laughed, quickly following suit. “To the money bars!” shouted Jae as he declared their first stop, pointing to the shortest of the monkey bar options. “They’re monkey bars,” he corrected with a laugh, which got louder as Jae held up a mocking, talking hand puppet. Stepping up onto the step, Jae jumped from the platform and grabbed the first bar, swinging with a cackling delight. “Ground is lava!” “Shi —“ Adam nearly swore as he jumped up on the step. ”Shibal!” Jae loudly finished for him with a loud guffaw; the blonde saw Mung spin around with intense speed, and the Little near immediately shouted, “Sibgu! Isib!” The relieved look on Mung’s face gave Adam pause, and he looked to Jae, who landed on the other side and motioned for him to follow. Glancing back at Mung, who was setting up the adult table, he jumped and grabbed the first bar, swinging quickly across the five bars and landing on the platform. “What did you say?” he quickly asked Jae quietly, motioning his head towards Mung. “Means fuck,” Jae snickered. “Shi-bal. Si-bal is eighteen. If you follow up shibal with sibgu, isib, they think you are counting.” “Nice,” he grinned, wondering if he would get away with that more or less, considering he was still learning the language. “TAG!” Jae suddenly yelled at the top of his voice, pushing Adam on the shoulder and breaking out into a run. The blonde blinked in surprise, then grinned, knowing full well he was going to dominate at this game. Which he did. Which is not-so-coincidentally why they didn’t end up playing it for too long. The floor was lava for a good hour or so, and they generated challenges from swinging and missing rungs on the monkey bars to jumping from one platform to the next. The hardest part of the lava floor was the slides. They made several attempts to slide down and stop at the bottom, but often their momentum was too much. Falling on the ground meant you had five seconds to get back on the jungle gym, or die. Adam got four seconds in when Boja picked him and placed him on the Little climbing wall to ‘spare his life’, citing that he was ‘immune to fire’ and thus able to render emergency assistance. Both Littles found this acceptable. Adam was then able to convince Boja to grab two ‘lava-proof’ blankets from inside the house and lay them at the bottom of the slide. They shared a blanket and tossed the other in front, switching as they went to get back onto the platforms for another round. “Have you been in tree house?” Jae asked at the top of the slide, holding onto a blanket and pointing to it. Glancing over, Adam shook his head. “No,” he replied, staring at the rope ladder. He sucked on a tooth and lamented, “It’s in the ‘big kid’ area.” “Right,” the raven-haired cousin nodded, resting an elbow on top of the wall and putting his hand in his palm. His eyes looked back to the Amazons, then to Adam, then to the tree house. “And ladder faces them.” “Yup,” he agreed, seeing his mind try to piece together a path forward. “Appa will help, but he will stay and guard door, too,” he mumbled, pursing his lips as he squinted. Adam grinned, taking that as a sign that he wanted to talk privately. “Maybe a gate?” the blonde suggested as he gestured to the doorless entry of the tree house. The baby gates in the house were now high-tech since the ceremony, but that meant there were low-tech ones somewhere in storage. “Yeah!” Jae gasped as he turned to the Amazons, shrieking at the top of his lungs, “GOMO! APPAPAPA! TREEHOUSE?” “No, it’s too dangerous,” Bak declined without hesitation, having scanned the playground for such requests already; he knew his son well, and Jae-yung had planned for that. “ADAM SAYS WE CAN USE A BABY GATE!” he replied as he pointed to Adam, who gave a wide, toothy smile, causing Joomi to grin. This launched another round of incessant begging from Jae-yung, who jumped up and down, rabidly declining the other options Bak offered (such as the sandbox and playhouse, which even Adam shook his head at the latter). Within minutes of this, Mung relented and offered to bring out the old baby gates from within the house. “Appa always says yes eventually,” Jae grinned at Adam before vaulting himself into and down the slide, yelling out, “Come on!” Sitting on the blanket, Adam rode the slide down to the ground and followed Jae-yung over the large table. “Papa, cuppy?” he asked as he reached up to Bak, who smiled as he grabbed the dinosaur-themed sippy cup and handed it down to him. “Can we bring snacks?” “In the tree house?” Bak puzzled as he raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Joomi, who pulled Adam into her lap for a hug. “I don’t mind,” she purred in response, kissing Adam’s forehead, then motioned to the collection of things she had brought for him on the table: Little Boja, a sippy cup of water, and a little bag of crackers. The blonde glanced at Jae-yung, who puckered his lips and exaggerated a nod. “Yes, please,” Adam smiled as he reached out for Little Boja. “Can we eat lunch in tree?” Jae asked Bak who pulled him up into his arms. “We’ll see,” the man offered, though there was a strong hint of a ‘no’ in his tone. Jae flashed Adam an impish look that was met with a grin. The treehouse setup became a minor ordeal, with Bak and Joomi bypassing the ladder by placing them directly inside and setting the cups, snacks, and blankets inside. Then Mung verified they were ready before locking them in by jamming and locking the baby gate in the doorway, which Bak frowned at and tugged at to test its sturdiness. “Don’t lean against this, okay?” he fretted, despite the gate not budging under his pull. Both Littles nodded their heads in agreement. “It’s secure,” Mung reassured his husband quietly as he rubbed his back. “Boja will stay here,” Joomi declared as she ran her hand over the tiger’s head, who nodded and sat obediently, and she smiled at them through the gate. “Have fun.” “Bye-bye!” Jae forced the issue and waved at them; Adam snorted and waved with him, grateful that all three waved back and departed (further cementing in his mind that those doctors were dicks for not waving back). “Finally!” Jae sighed as he flopped on his back atop a blanket, grabbing his sippy cup and taking a few swigs. Adam grinned as he followed, finding himself quite thirsty after all that movement. He peered out the window as the three sat back down at the table across the playground. “So Appa said you had freak out?” Jae grinned slightly as he remained on his back. “Oh, yeah,” the blonde snorted, closing his eyes and shaking his head at the admittedly somewhat hazy memory. “Said fuck you to her in front of everyone.” “Ooohhh,” the Little chuckled knowingly, drumming his hands on the top of his chest. ”Not great, but not worst.” “Did you…” the blonde sniffed, running a hand over Little Boja. “Freak out?” “Oohh yeah,” Jae’s eyes widened as he gave a distant look, staring up at the ceiling. “Called Papa mean gay things.” “Oh,” Adam gasped, his eyes widening; even at his worst, he couldn’t imagine saying anything like that. “What, uh… what happened?” “He cried lots,” Jae frowned, pursing his lips as he recounted it. “Appa gave me a big talk.” Adam’s mouth shrugged as he dropped his gaze, wishing Kang could’ve had the restraint to just give a talk. Even yelling at him would’ve been preferable. “How’d you get Gomo?” Jae asked as he sat up, peering out the window at her. “I thought she always stayed here.” “She does,” Adam nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. Since his declaration of kibun the day before, he had been fairly quiet around the house as he tried to think of where to start. His first idea had been to get her into the city and around people more, but he was still working on the how. “I came here.” “To be adopted?” Jae gaped as he shot Adam a shocked look. “No!” he quickly rejected, feeling his heart skip a beat; that misunderstanding would have been the fastest way to tank this new friendship. “I, uh… wanted to be her apprentice.” Jae blinked. Once, then twice. And once more until he burst out laughing. Adam turned beet red and looked away, pressing his lips together. “Sorryyyy,” the raven-haired Little sputtered as he slapped his leg and waved a hand in the air. “That’s too funny!” “Yeah, yeah,” Adam grumbled, pulling his legs up against his chest. “You didn’t know, did you?” Jae gasped in realization, abruptly cutting off his laughter. “Know what?” “That Gomo works for Japok,” the Little explained as he gestured a hand out towards the window. “Japok?” Adam squinted in confusion. “Yeah,” Jae nodded solemnly, pausing as he looked up in thought, searching for the right translation. “Oh, uh… mafia.” Adam blinked and reared his head back in confusion, scoffing, “Eomma doesn’t work for the mafia.” Jae’s eyebrows flew up on his forehead, and a silence fell between them as they stared at each other. Adam felt a bit in his stomach as he could see Jae-yung was convinced of it. After a few seconds, his blue gaze dropped to the floor in thought, and his face contorted in consideration. Jae-yung shifted in his seat, the crinkling of his diaper seeming louder than ever. “How else do you think they are so strong?” he whispered to Adam. “She makes for Japok, and they use her stuff to make deals with the government.”

--- Chapter 26 --- “They need to invent a carseat that smoothly rolls out,” Kelly chuckled to Sarah… or at least, Charlie assumed, as he kept his eyes closed. He let out a yawn as he lifted a hand to his eye to rub it, forcing himself to wake up so he could get ready for bed. He lazily grinned as he heard, “He never sleeps through this part.” “Do you need any help?” Charlie let out another sleepy groan to indicate his own preference in that matter, but Kelly was already on top of it. “Nah, he’s pretty beat, so I’ll be in and out in a jiffy. But thank you,” she whispered, and he flashed the smallest of smiles, waiting until he could feel the shift in temperature from the garage to the house to fully open his eyes. Shutting the door behind her, Charlie leaned away from her as he let out a massive yawn and stretched his arms over his head. “She’s… leaving, yeah?” he groggily asked as he looked over Kelly’s shoulder at the door, then stared directly into a light to help him wake up. “I think so,” she whispered in reply, as if fearful Sarah could hear them through the walls. He nodded, throwing his hand over his mouth in another yawn, but the typical tricks were working; he had summoned enough energy to get through the necessary end part of the night, but still felt tired enough that he knew he’d fall asleep quickly. Satisfied, he pointed to the ground as he always did to be let down. Kelly let out a hum as she tilted her head in thought. “You want to stay down here? I thought you’d want to go to bed right away,” she surmised as she walked to the couch, setting down the diaper bag. He nodded in response, fighting through another yawn, and then blinked his eyes wide open. “Oh yeah, bed, for sure,” he agreed as he stretched his arms out and let out a slight, satisfied groan. “Then I’ll make it quick!” she chirped as she somewhat skipped and bounced to begin the journey upstairs. “Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Charlie jerked in response, a bolt of energy surging through his mind, and he leaned away from her, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “What do you mean?” Kelly slowed her pace and blinked, meeting his gaze with a look of confusion. She stared at him as she tried to gather her words, and Charlie swallowed, licking his lips, then gestured to the floor again. “Down, please,” he stated flatly as he cleared his throat. She hesitated for a moment, but nodded and bent forward, setting him on his feet. “Did I… do something wrong?” she asked quietly, her shoulders tensing up as she stood back up, putting her hands nervously together. “No, not at all,” Charlie quickly reassured her as he put his hands up, hearing the concern in her tone. He looked up at her and frowned. “But now that you know… You don’t need to handle…” He paused and made a gesturing motion over his entire body. “Everything.” “But… I like it,” she whispered as her body froze, staring down at him. Charlie, likewise, froze in response as he stared up at her. After a beat, he gulped in the silence, not sure how to process that statement without projecting a fever onto Kelly that he had never seen in her before, nor that he saw now. Mercifully, Greg entered from the garage during this awkward moment, and Kelly gave a panicked look down to Charlie. Perhaps this time would have been better spent explaining how to approach this with his brother, but that suddenly didn’t matter to him anymore, given the current issue at hand. So, he put a reassuring hand up and a stiff nod. Greg initially looked out of it, in his own mind, which was fairly par for the course. He was scratching at his lower lip as he walked through the kitchen in silence, not registering the silence of the room until he neared the breakfast table and glanced over at the pair. He slowed his pace and eventually stopped walking, his hands frozen on his tie as he had begun to loosen it. “Is… everything okay?” he asked cautiously, his eyes darting between the two. “Yeah,” Charlie announced quickly and motioned his head up to Kelly. “She knows.” “Oh,” Greg gasped in surprise, blinking a few times at Charlie, then looking to Kelly, who gave a nervous laugh and rubbed her arm. The Amazon brother looked back at Charlie, who gave a large shrug and flashed a grin. Greg sighed in relief, a bit too spent to care about the details at the moment, and looked down to return to removing his tie and lifted it over his head. “Well, that’s a relief.” “Right? Anyway, Greg -” Charlie quickly moved on, wanting to get to the more pressing matter. “Can you… talk to her? I’m going to change for bed.” “Wait - but I -” Kelly flustered as she put her hands out to him as if to stop him, then nervously placed them on her chest to stop herself. “Why can’t I help?” “See?” Charlie moaned as he motioned a hand to her, looking at his brother, whose eyebrows rose high. Greg slowly looked between them for a long, silent beat. “Uh… no,” Greg said flatly, shaking his head as he blew out a small laugh and tossed his tie onto the breakfast table. “What?” Charlie bleated incredulously, throwing his arms out to his sides. “I’m not getting in the middle of this,” he scoffed, the corners of his mouth turning up as he gestured between the two of them before taking off his suit jacket. “This is a you-two thing to hash out.” “No - I just mean - tell her that you don’t!” the Little brother pressed urgently as his nerves escalated. Of all the times for Greg to take a firm stance! “That’s way different, Charlie,” Greg stressed, shaking his head as he laid his jacket over his arm. “I never did.” “Wh – okay, fine. But just – help me explain the difference,” he bartered, trying to avoid looking at Kelly’s watery eyes. “Charlie,” Kelly sniffed as she kneeled, pressing both of her hands against her chest as a way of keeping her hands to herself, despite every instinct not to. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable… but I… want to take care of you. No matter if you’re… performing or not.” The Little’s eyes flickered between her and Greg, who smiled encouragingly but also made all haste to leave the room. “Don’t you dare walk away –” Charlie warned. “Goodnight!” Greg laughed as he stepped over the baby gate, not giving his brother a chance to follow. “Traitor!” he called out as he glared at the closed gate, rolling his eyes at the laugh in response. Charlie swallowed hard as he stared down the hall, then took in a breath and turned to face Kelly. “Kelly… it’s, uh… hard to explain…” She nodded as she settled on the ground, placing a hand to hold herself up, clearly intent on hearing him out. He grimaced; for all the thrill he took from her knowing, he had presumed she would transition to acting more like Greg… He had not anticipated this. “I’ve just… had a division between Charlie and Baby Charlie for… a while now,” he stumbled, using excessive hand motions to try and help get him through it. “So when it’s just us, me and Greg, that is… I’m just… a normal, adult Little.” “You don’t… need diapers?” she asked cautiously, a hint of disbelief in her tone. “Well,” he grimaced, curling his nose up at that being the first thing she questioned. “Need is… a strong word.” “I don’t mind,” she clarified quickly, putting her hands up and shaking them. “Either way. I just…” “Kelly,” he groaned as he lifted his hands to his face, rubbing his forehead. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath; he was tired, and it was late. This was not the ideal time to be having this conversation, but he gave himself the moment of silence to accept that it was happening despite that. He removed his hands from his face and looked at her, and frowned. “Look… I didn’t have a choice but to be Baby Charlie for nearly thirty years. Only recently have I been able to freely be myself at home, so, yeah, it’s complicated. To an extent, I do… need them, especially at night. But that - that’s not the point here.” He dropped his head for a moment, staring at his feet, and frowned. “I’ve spent enough time with you to trust that you aren’t… like them,” he mumbled, gesturing a hand towards the window, then sighed as he put his hands on his chest and gave her an imploring look. “But you knowing the real me means I can be an adult around you. I can be myself, and that means dressing myself, changing myself, and feeding myself. Why would I still want you to treat me like a baby when you know the truth?” Kelly bit her lower lip, her eyebrows contorted up, and her cheeks flushed. “Because it’s not about babying you, Charlie,” she whispered as she reached a hand out for his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s how I show my love.” “It’s how my mother did it, too,” he hissed, biting back the worst of the outburst, but it still came out harsher than he meant it. His arm jerked instinctively, as if to pull his hand away from hers, but he fought it and instead, squeezed hers as he frowned. “That’s fair,” she whispered in response, and he could hear the pain in her voice as her shoulders deflated as she hung her head. Charlie clenched his jaw, feeling a flash of irritation; he would have preferred she rose to his level. An argument would be easier, and far more cathartic… but that just wasn’t her. She didn’t like conflict and did what she could to avoid it, even if that meant taking licks she didn’t need to. He blew air out of his nose in annoyance. “No… It’s not,” he grumbled, turning his irritation inward. Kelly was nothing like Jennifer, and it was wrong of him to make that comparison, even if the point was delivered. It wasn’t worth the hurt he caused, and in that moment, he decided he was too tired to be having a serious conversation like this. “This… Look, it’s late, and it’s been a long night… and I think we could both use a good night’s sleep. So how about…” He paused, taking a moment to sigh. “We… proceed as normal tonight, you stay over in a guest room… and we’ll figure this all out tomorrow,” he offered as he half smiled as she raised her face, her eyes gleaming in the light as she looked touched. He suddenly chuckled as he shrugged, adding, “Plus, you have no idea how awkward it is trying to talk to you about all this while in a wet diaper.” Kelly burst out into a laugh, which caused a few of the tears that had pooled in her eyes to slide down her cheeks. She lifted her free hand, wiping them away quickly, then pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you,” he stressed in reply as he hugged her back. “For taking the chance tonight. I’m really glad you did.” “Me too,” she giggled quietly, nuzzling her forehead against his before adjusting her grip on him and standing. “Plus, I would have put in all that work to tell you I don’t need your help,” he continued, gesturing down to the baby gate as she opened it. “Only to ask you to open the gates for me.” “I did wonder about that,” she giggled again, her shoulders rising in a shrug. “And the suit.” “Ah, damnit,” he cursed as he looked down at himself, grimacing. “I really didn’t think this through.” “Well, I didn’t either… so I think we can call it even,” she smiled at him, and he gave an appreciative nod as he let out another yawn. The next morning… Greg let out a small groan before a yawn as he rolled over in bed, quickly becoming aware he had a full bladder. He peeked an eye open to look at the time, which was creeping close to 9:30 a.m., and he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He wrestled with a few thoughts about the night before, Sarah, Tyler, Samantha… all of which conflicted with his present discomfort and initial desire to just fill the overnight diaper. Then his mind flickered to Veronica, who was still off, and he grimaced, realizing he should get her turned back on before Charlie woke up. Then he flashed a smile as he closed his eyes, the last few minutes of the night coming back to him. He thought about the unexpected kiss and grimaced in realization that she had to be the one to initiate, and quickly was able to picture Charlie mocking him for it. He lifted a hand to his lips as he ran his finger over them… he wasn’t sure how to process it, or what he felt about it, other than he knew that indicated how Sarah felt. His eyebrows furrowed, and he frowned, the pulse in his bladder, desire to release it, and the topic of Sarah all at war with each other in his mind. He diverted to recalling the preceding surprise… that Kelly knew about Charlie. He chuckled as he sat up in bed, wondering how that conversation went, and acknowledged that his ear was going to be chewed off for walking away last night. But he had been too exhausted to invest in the topic, and, upon consideration, he stood his ground that he made the right choice. Shifting to the edge of the bed, he stretched his arms overhead with a long moan, then spent time scratching at his neck and hair before standing up, wincing at his bladder. He sniffed, not sure what exactly was holding him back anymore. He leaned forward and scratched at the back of his neck as he concentrated, and began to pee. The corner of his lips tugged at the familiar feeling of warm urine spreading and getting wicked away quickly. He had been glad of waking with more control lately, sometimes in the middle of the night, but with increasing frequency, he was noting that he awoke fairly dry. He wondered what in particular about his recent activities was contributing to his increased overnight bladder control… He and Charlie had long hypothesized that his anxiety contributed, but his Little brother had also suggested his brain just didn’t register the feeling of a full bladder enough to wake him. Greg rubbed a finger under his nose, chuckling to himself as sometimes, he imagined Charlie just made shit up to make him feel better about himself. He swung his arm down and grabbed a shirt off the floor, pulling it over his head and on as he yawned and stood up, a little wide-legged. He grabbed the folded pair of pajama pants that were set on the dresser, and thought better of it, assessing that Veronica would change him as soon as she was on. Tossing the pants on the bed, he yawned as he made his way down the hall, scratching at his chest absently. He wasn’t sure he was ready to even be up yet, so he groggily made the plan to turn her on, crawl back into bed for a change, and sleep in just a little longer. He greeted the various arts in the hall lazily and grinned at the wide-open baby gate, hoping that meant the conversation went well enough. Wide-walking down the stairs, he frowned as he scratched at his chest again from the smell of coffee. Surprised, as Charlie had grown comfortable sleeping in now that Greg knew he slept in his crib at night, the Amazon scratched the top of his head as he walked into the main living area. “I’m surprised you’re up,” he commented groggily, sniffing as his eyes scanned the kitchen for his Little brother. “Oh, good morning!” Kelly chirped as she stood behind the island. “Do you have a waffle maker? I was –” Kelly paused as she looked over at Greg, who, wide-eyed, stared at her in just his shirt and a very full diaper. “K-Kelly?” he stammered in shock, feeling his face drain of color. “Hi, Greg,” she replied cautiously, and her eyes flickered down, then up again. “Do you, um… need help?”

Chapter Ninety-Eight: The stereo played S-Club 7’s “Don’t Stop” like it was trying to convince the car itself to smile. The song was bright—too bright. A bubblegum beat stitched to a chorus that didn’t know how to sit quietly. But the speakers were worn and the volume was low, so the whole thing sounded softened around the edges, like a memory of a happy day instead of the real thing. Paul sat in the front passenger seat with his knees angled toward the door, one sneaker braced against the floor mat like he needed leverage just to exist. His phone screen glowed in his lap. A single message sat there, unchanged, like it had been pinned to the inside of his ribcage. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m just… overwhelmed. Please talk to me. —Amber Thirty minutes ago. And still, he hadn’t typed a thing. Not because he didn’t know what to say. Because he knew too much. Paul’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, motionless. He stared at the words like they were a stage direction he didn’t want to follow. Overwhelmed. He understood that. God—he understood it better than anyone. But the ache didn’t care about fairness. It still hit. Because Amber being overwhelmed didn’t erase the way her voice had shifted in rehearsal. Didn’t erase the little slip—little guy—the way it had landed like a joke she hadn’t meant to tell. Didn’t erase the way she’d pulled her hand back when he’d reached for her. It wasn’t cruelty. It was distance. And distance, after everything he’d done to keep her close, felt like the cruelest thing of all. His mind did what it always did when pain showed up: it rewound. Amber’s laugh in grade school, leaning over his shoulder as they wrote lines on scripts in the hallway. Amber’s face when she’d cried at Rachel’s memorial and didn’t understand why she was crying so hard for someone she barely remembered—only that Paul was breaking and she couldn’t stand it. Amber in the wings, whispering, We’ve got this, Jem. Don’t you dare faint on me. He’d always assumed there would be time. Time to ask her out properly. Time to stop orbiting. Time to stop being “best friend” and become something else. But time had passed while he was waiting. She had a ring now. A life. A future that didn’t include him the way his heart had always quietly believed it might. And Paul could admit that without hating her for it. He could even be happy for her—some version of happy that didn’t feel like swallowing glass. Still… it didn’t stop the regret from rising like bile. If I’d asked her out sooner… If he’d been braver when he still had a body that didn’t betray him in public. If he’d said I want you instead of I need you. If he’d been honest before honesty became something he had to confess like a crime. His eyes dropped to the message again. Please talk to me. The part of him that was still twelve, still sixteen, still that stubborn boy with the rebellious spark Amber always loved—wanted to text back something sharp. Something unfair. Something that would make her feel what he felt. You’re overwhelmed? Try being me. His fingers even twitched like they might do it. Then his throat tightened and he swallowed it down. Because the older part of him—the part he’d fought so hard to keep alive—knew something his anger didn’t want to admit: Amber needed time. Just like he needed time. He couldn’t expect her to absorb diapers and babysitters and regression schedules in a single night and come out the other side perfectly calm and perfectly loving and perfectly unchanged. That wasn’t human. That was fantasy. And still… the resentment came anyway, quiet but real. Because he hadn’t been given time. Not by his body. Not by his diagnosis. Not by the world that looked at him and decided his “best version” was smaller. Paul exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead back against the headrest. Harley drove like she belonged on this road. Like she’d done this route a hundred times. Like the park ahead was already waiting for her. She glanced up and turned towards him, eyes flicking toward Paul’s reflection. He was quiet. Too quiet. Harley had taken kids to parks before—dozens of them. Some cried the whole drive. Some kicked the seats. Some demanded snacks and music and the exact same story told three times. Even the grumpiest little ones usually cracked the second they saw the playground. Paul didn’t. Harley’s grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel, not out of anger—out of calculation. This isn’t how he’s supposed to act. Then she softened her shoulders again, reminding herself of what Lilly had said. Let Paul lead. Harley’s mind slid backward—back to the house, back to the beginning of today, back to the moment she’d been let inside. Harley didn’t knock like a stranger. She knocked like someone who expected the door to open. Three quick taps—light, almost playful—then the faint shuffle of sneakers on the porch as if she was already preparing to step inside. Like she’d already rehearsed this entrance in her head. Inside the Goldhawk house, Lilly stood with her hand on the lock a beat too long. Her eyes flicked to the hallway, then toward the living room where the house still carried the faint scent of dinner—garlic, marinara, warm bread—mixed with something else she’d come to recognize as part of their new normal: baby powder, laundry detergent, and the soft, lavender scented cleanliness of wipes mixed with a hint of wet & messy diapers. It was the smell of care. It was also the smell of evidence. Lilly smoothed her blazer once more, fingers pressing down the lapel like she could flatten the day into something presentable. She looked put together—cream knit top, espresso trousers, camel blazer, gold jewelry that didn’t sparkle so much as signal. It wasn’t vanity. It was armor. Then she opened the door. Harley stood there with her bubblegum confidence turned up just high enough to be disarming. Baby-blue booty shorts, frilly ankle socks, baby-pink tennis shoes. And zipped halfway, a Bluey hoodie—the character’s smiling face bright across her chest, the hood’s little ears bouncing as she shifted her weight. Under it, a baby-pink T-shirt peeked out, soft and innocent in color even if the cut of everything else was… not. Harley looked young. Not childish. Young in the way that made people soften. Lower their voices. Assume harmlessness. And the fact that she could pull that off while still looking sexy was exactly what made Lilly’s stomach tighten, because she saw a younger version of herself at that age. Lilly kept her smile anyway. Perfect. Polished. “Harley,” she said warmly, stepping back. “Hi. You made it.” Harley’s face lit up. “Hi! Oh my God—Lilly, you look amazing.” It came out easy. Too easy. Like Harley knew compliments were currency and she spent them like she’d never run out. Lilly’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her eyes sharpened. “Thank you,” Lilly said. “And you’re… a cutie.” The words were sweet. The tone wasn’t. Harley caught it. Of course she did. She laughed lightly, as if she hadn’t noticed. “I was going for… approachable.” She stepped inside with a little bounce. “Like… not scary.” Lilly closed the door behind her with the soft click of finality. “Mm,” Lilly hummed. “Approachable is good.” “Paul’s at Bishop’s Gate Academy right now,” Lilly began. “He’s in rehearsals until twelve-thirty. He already has more than enough credits to graduate, so after rehearsal he can either stay for class or he’ll text you for pickup.” Harley nodded quickly. “Okay. Easy.” Lilly glanced over her shoulder. “You’re familiar with Bishop’s Gate?” Harley’s smile brightened into something genuine. “Very. I went to Breaker High. Our volleyball team played at their gym at least twice a year.” “Good,” Lilly said, relief slipping into her voice before she could stop it. Harley heard it. That relief wasn’t trust. It was practicality. She needs this to work, Harley thought. She needs me to work. And that felt like power. Harley followed half a step behind, careful not to walk too close, careful not to look like she was trying to be Lilly’s equal. Harley’s eyes flicked to Lilly’s back—straight posture, confident stride. The woman moved like she’d learned how to command rooms without raising her voice. Lilly spoke as they climbed, tone turning instructional. “We gave you the phone already, yes?” Harley patted her hoodie pocket. “Yup. Got it.” “And Paul has your number programmed in,” Lilly continued. “If he needs you, he’ll text. If you need me, you text me first. If it’s urgent, call.” Harley nodded, still sweet. “Of course.” Then, because Harley couldn’t help herself, she added softly, “He’s okay with me picking him up, right?” The question was innocent on paper. In reality it was a probe. Harley wanted to know what Paul had said. How he’d framed her. If he’d sounded nervous. If he’d sounded excited. Lilly didn’t answer immediately. She kept walking. That pause was its own answer. “He understands he’ll have support,” Lilly said finally. Not babysitter. Not caregiver. Support. Harley smiled wider. “Support. I love that word.” They reached Paul’s door. Lilly opened it without knocking. Harley noticed. Noted it. She doesn’t ask permission in his space, Harley thought. Because she’s the mother. Then the room opened up around them. Paul’s bed was made neatly. The lamp on the nightstand was off. The curtains were half-open, letting in afternoon light. And nestled between the pillows, dead center, like a secret shrine—Batman. And beside him—The Long Knight. Harley’s giraffe. The ridiculous baby-giraffe with its absurd diaper and its goofy face and its stupid pun name. Harley’s breath caught. Not from surprise. From satisfaction. A warm, private thrill spread through her chest like champagne. He kept it. Not shoved into a closet. Not hidden under the bed. Not thrown aside. Kept. Centered. Chosen. Harley’s eyes lingered too long. Lilly saw and felt it. A small flash of something bitter sparked under her ribs—not jealousy in the romantic sense, but the kind of jealousy that lived inside this ever-changing motherhood she herself was trying to weather: Why is he keeping something you gave him like it matters? Lilly forced a laugh. “It seems like Paul agreed his Batman needed a sidekick after all.” Harley’s smile turned soft, almost reverent. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I guess he did.” But inside, Harley’s thoughts were loud. Good boy. My good boy. And that thought—private, possessive, too intimate—made something cold run down Lilly’s spine even though she couldn’t hear it. Lilly didn’t know the words. She felt the intention. She then walked Harley into the closet first, “Okay,” Lilly said, pointing. “These are the pre-school diapers. These are for day use. Velcro tabs. More discreet. You can refasten them if needed.” Harley nodded, eyes wide, attentive. “Okay. My bother’s Huggies have the same kinda tabs, I guess even the biggest babies need the bestest of diapees” “These,” Lilly continued, sliding her hand to another pack, “Safari and Critter Caboose. Home use. Comfort. Less discreet.” Harley smiled faintly. “They’re sooooo puffy and simply will look adorable over any tushy.” Lilly’s gaze sharpened again. “They’re functional.” Harley nodded quickly. “Right. Sorry.” Lilly reached toward the back, pulling out a third stack. “And these are the Steps-Ins. These are important.” Harley leaned in. “For what?” “For activity,” Lilly said firmly. “Basketball. Working out. Anything where we want him moving. We encourage those but plastic pants are a MUST.” Harley nodded. “Got it.” Then, because Harley’s curiosity couldn’t stay quiet, she asked softly: “Does he… like basketball?” Lilly’s face softened for real this time. “He loves it.” They moved through the rest of the room—diaper supplies, wipes, creams, powder. The diaper bag on the dresser, fully stocked. Harley reached toward it instinctively, fingers hovering. “And the diaper bag is fully stocked,” Lilly said, gesturing to the dresser. “If you ever go out. Or keep it downstairs to change him there instead of coming up constantly.” Lilly led Harley out of the room and down the hidden stairs behind the false bookcase. Harley’s eyes widened as the secret passage opened. “Oh my God,” she whispered, delighted. “This is like… a movie.” Lilly didn’t smile. “It’s for convenience.” Harley nodded. “Right. Convenience.” But she was already imagining it—Paul slipping through here, guided, hidden, safe. The house built around his needs like architecture had bent for him. And Harley—Harley wanted to be part of that architecture. They emerged in the kitchen. And that’s where Harley saw it. Not the bib. Not the sippy cups. The bottle. Adult-sized glass. Safari print. Sitting on the counter like it belonged there. Harley’s eyes locked onto it. Lilly noticed instantly and her body tensed, then softened again like she was forcing herself to choose calm. “That,” Lilly said, voice dropping into something quieter, more serious, “is only for emergencies.” Harley’s gaze stayed fixed. “Okay.” “If Paul is melting down,” Lilly continued, “and grounding exercises, plushie, paci—none of it works… warm milk helps.” Harley nodded slowly, absorbing every word like it was a spell. “Holding him in your lap,” Lilly added, and here her voice changed—less clinical, more… relieved. Like she’d found something that worked and it had saved them. “Feeding him that way. It’s kind of the fix-all.” Harley’s throat tightened. Not because it was sad. Because it was intimate. Lilly exhaled, and without thinking, without realizing she was giving away softness— “He looks… adorable with a baba in his mouth.” The slip landed in the air like a dropped glass. Harley’s eyes flicked to Lilly’s face. Lilly didn’t notice what she’d said. She just kept talking, as if she hadn’t exposed anything at all. “But only if it’s an emergency,” Lilly repeated quickly, as if repeating it could erase the softness. “Tracker red.” Harley nodded. “Okay. Red only.” Inside, Harley’s mind whispered: She thinks he’s adorable. She loves it too. Lilly opened the fridge next. “I made dinner,” she said. “Pasta bake. Ground beef, vegetables, garlic marinara, mozzarella.” Harley leaned forward, impressed. “That smells so good.” “It’s in here,” Lilly said, pointing. “You’ll make a Caesar salad with it. And you’ll need to bib him up for this one.” Harley nodded quickly. “Oh I bet.” Lilly’s tone turned firmer. “I’m serious about that.” Harley’s smile stayed bright. “I’m serious too.” Lilly’s eyes held hers. “Good.” A beat of silence stretched. Harley tilted her head, voice softening into something almost childlike. “Can I ask a question?” Lilly’s expression didn’t change. “Sure.” Harley’s voice went careful. “When he… melts down… is it fast? Like, does it come out of nowhere?” Lilly’s jaw tightened. There it was. Harley was fishing. Not maliciously, maybe. But intentionally. Lilly chose her words like she was defusing a bomb. “It escalates,” Lilly said. “We usually see it coming. His tracker shifts first. His breathing changes. His hands shake. He withdraws.” Harley nodded slowly. “Okay.” Lilly added, sharper now, “And we intervene early.” Harley’s eyes stayed wide. “Right.” Lilly studied her. Because Harley wasn’t just listening. Harley was learning Paul’s patterns. And Lilly couldn’t decide if that was comforting… or terrifying. She then grabbed a tiny handbag from the counter, slipping it onto her shoulder like she was putting her life back on. “Okay,” Lilly said, turning toward the entryway. “After dinner, wind-down starts at six-thirty.” Harley nodded. “Six-thirty.” “No more screen time,” Lilly continued. “Light play, reading, whatever keeps him calm.” Harley smiled. “Okay.” “And then get him ready for beddy—” Lilly caught herself. Her lips pressed together. She corrected quickly, voice smoothing. “Get him ready for bed.” Harley’s smile twitched. Just slightly.Because she’d heard the slip. And she’d loved it. Lilly kept going, determined not to show weakness. “I should be back before seven,” Lilly said. “I’ll call if anything comes up.” Harley nodded obediently. “Okay.” Lilly hesitated at the door. Her hand hovered on the knob. Then she turned back, eyes narrowing a fraction. “And Harley?” Harley’s smile stayed bright. “Yeah?” Lilly’s voice dropped lower. “Let Paul lead this afternoon.” Harley nodded instantly. “Of course.” Lilly didn’t move. “We need to keep him on the big side,” Lilly added. “We have a doctor’s appointment in the morning. He needs to be big enough to participate and understand his care.” Harley’s smile held. But something inside her flared—hurt and pride tangled together. Because Harley didn’t like being told what to do. Not when she believed she was better at this than Lilly was. Not when she believed she could calm Paul faster, easier, deeper. She needed the job. So she nodded again, sweet as sugar. “Okay,” Harley said softly. “Take Paul’s lead.” Lilly watched her for a long beat. Harley’s eyes were wide. Her smile was perfect. Her voice was obedient. And Lilly still didn’t trust her. Because obedience without sincerity was the oldest trick in the world. Lilly opened the door and stepped out. Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she turned back one last time. Not fully. Just her head. A mother’s final scan. “Thank you,” Lilly said, quieter now. Realer. Harley’s expression softened into something almost genuine. Harley smiled brightly, sweet as a promise. “You go do your thing. We’ll be great.” Paul sat in the passenger seat with Amber’s text still open on his screen, thumb hovering over the blank reply box like it was a ledge. The message had been there for over thirty minutes now: It shouldn’t have felt like an accusation. But in Paul’s body, everything that wasn’t clear felt like a risk. He’d read it once. Twice. Ten times. Each pass carving a different version of meaning into him. She’s apologizing because she feels guilty. She’s apologizing because she’s trying to be kind. She’s apologizing because she wants to wrap this up neatly and move on. He hated how fast his mind could turn one sentence into a funeral. Harley glanced over at him at a red light. Not a long look. Not a babysitter look. Just… a real one. The way someone checks the face of the person beside them when the air changes. Paul’s shoulders stayed tight. His jaw stayed set. He made himself stare out the window at Jacksonville slipping by—the palm trees, the sun-bleached signs, the flat Florida sky that always looked like it had too much room in it. Harley clicked her turn signal. Paul’s head lifted. “Harley, what’s going on?” She slowed the car down a fraction—no sudden movements, no drama—and pulled over into a safe spot on the side of the road where the shoulder widened near a line of scrubby grass and sand. The kind of place people stopped to take phone calls they didn’t want to have while driving. She put the car in park. Then she turned slightly toward him, one hand still resting casually on the steering wheel like she wasn’t about to change the whole tone of his day. Harley smiled—not bright, not performative. Small. Honest. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she said gently. Her voice was different now—still Harley, still sing-song at the edges, but softened into something that didn’t feel like a tactic. “You look like you just lost your best friend.” Paul blinked. His big side—the part of him that liked being the calm one, the capable one, the one who could walk out of a blue door looking fine—reached for the nearest lifeline and grabbed it. “Yeah,” he said, the word catching in his throat before it could become something worse. “Something like that.” For a moment, that could’ve been enough. But then the tightness returned, that old reflex that insisted he couldn’t be seen needing anything without paying for it later. He swallowed, eyes still pinned to the phone. “You,” he added, too sharp and too tired all at once. “Hell—nobody really understands.” Harley didn’t flinch. She didn’t go syrupy. She didn’t baby-talk it away. She just nodded like she’d been waiting for him to say the quiet part out loud. “You mean about Amber,” Harley said, still gentle. “Your new normal wasn’t exactly an easy conversation, was it.” Paul’s throat tightened so fast it felt like his body was trying to shut the door on the whole topic. One tear threatened—just one, stubborn and humiliating. He blinked hard and kept his gaze forward like if he didn’t look at her, he could pretend he wasn’t cracking. “No,” he said softly. Then, like his nervous system couldn’t hold the thought in one piece, the rest came out quick—almost incoherent, almost too fast to be controlled. “And during rehearsals something was off,” he said, words tumbling. “I think it was me. I think she—she thinks I’m a freak now. Like she’ll be happier with Marcus and she’ll just want to ignore me.” The sentence landed in the car and stayed there, heavy and exposed. Harley’s mind flickered—not to Paul-as-little, not to the softer version she liked when the world made him smaller. It flickered to Kat. Her sister—only a few years younger, loud and sharp and secretly tender, the kind of girl who looked fearless and then cried in the bathroom over a boy who didn’t deserve her. Harley saw Kat’s face in her memory so clearly that for a second her chest tightened. Kat would hate this, Harley thought. She would hate him thinking he’s disposable. And then another thought, quieter, more unsettling, slipped in: He sounds like the teenager he looks like. Not the version that melted into nursery rhythms. Not the cute toddler Harley had needed and still wanted to cradle. This Paul was raw. Proud. Smart enough to be cruel to himself. Old enough to think love was a train he’d missed. A challenge. An achievement. A person. Harley didn’t say any of that. She shifted in her seat and reached over slowly, careful—like you approached a skittish animal with an open palm. She started rubbing his back in a steady, grounding rhythm, not too intimate, not too light. Just there. Paul stiffened at first—his big side wanting to reject comfort out of principle. Then his shoulders loosened a fraction despite himself, like his body recognized something safe before his pride could argue. Harley’s eyes flicked down to the tracker again. Yellow as the midday sun. So Harley asked the question like it was a logic problem, not a trap. “So,” she said softly, “is that what she wrote in the message? That you’re a freak and she’s done talking to you?” Paul took a breath and tried to make it slow. Tried to make it his. “No,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “She… wants to talk.” Harley’s expression brightened—not in a childish way. In a human one. Like someone seeing a door that wasn’t locked. “Okay,” she said, letting the word land with warmth. “Then it’s a start.” Paul’s eyes stayed on the phone, thumb still hovering like the reply box might bite him. “Why don’t you text her back something?” Harley suggested. Paul turned his head slightly, a bitter laugh escaping without humor. “Like what?” Harley didn’t answer for him. She asked the better question. “Well,” she said, voice patient, “what do you want to say?” There was a pause. Not a small one. A real one—where Paul’s jaw clenched and unclenched like he was swallowing an entire second conversation he couldn’t risk saying out loud. The one that had been living in him since last night. Since the firepit. Since the ring around Amber’s neck that had changed the rules of the world. Paul shook his head. “You don’t want to know what I really want to say,” he muttered. Harley’s hand stayed on his back, steady. “Try me.” Paul exhaled, heavy—like the air came out carrying weight with it. “There’s no point,” he said, and the words sounded older than him. Like resignation dressed up as maturity. “It doesn’t matter.” Harley let that sit. She didn’t rush to fix it. She couldn’t fix the fact that Paul still had feelings for Amber—feelings complicated enough to make him feel ashamed of wanting anything at all. She couldn’t unmake time. And she didn’t try. Instead, she shifted the conversation gently—not away from his feelings, but away from the cliff edge. “Then,” Harley said softly, “why don’t you just put the phone away for now.” Paul’s eyes flicked to her. Harley gave him a small smile. “Let’s get some playtime in to clear your head.” “Play time?” Paul echoed, skeptical. The word still tasted wrong in his mouth when it was pointed at him. Harley shrugged lightly, a little grin tugging at her lips. “Play time, exercise, stretching your legs—whatever you call it. It’s obvious you and me both need it.” Paul stared at her, caught off guard by the us. Harley didn’t talk like a caregiver in that moment. She talked like a person. She leaned back in her seat, eyes forward now as if she was painting the picture for herself too. “So I wanted to surprise you,” she said, casual and real, “by bringing you to a park that—one—has a basketball court.” Paul’s attention sharpened immediately, like his big side had heard language it respected. Harley continued, “And two… it’s not just where I bring the kids I sit for.” Paul blinked again. Harley’s voice softened with something like nostalgia—careful not to reveal too much, careful to keep it sounding normal. “It’s where me and my own sister Kat still go sometimes,” she admitted. “We sit on the swings and talk about boys and life and whatever’s stressing us out.” She glanced at him, and for once the look wasn’t measuring him. It was offering him something simple: a place to breathe. “Plus,” she added, tilting her chin toward his phone, “if you text Amber while you’re calmer, it’ll probably come out better anyway.” Harley’s hand drifted toward him—palm open, not grabbing. An outstretched hand asking. Not taking. And that mattered. Paul looked down at the phone again. Amber’s message still sat there, quietly waiting. He felt the sting in his chest—hurt, regret, the stupid ache of why didn’t I say something sooner, the shame of did I ruin this by letting her see too much, the anger of why does everyone get to move forward except me. Paul swallowed. Then, slowly—deliberately—he handed the phone to Harley. Not like a child being supervised. Like a teenager choosing to set something down before it shattered him. Paul exhaled again, and this time it wasn’t just heaviness. “Okay,” he said, voice steadier. “We can play at the park.” Harley’s smile widened, soft and bright at the same time. “Okay,” she echoed, and then, with just a hint of her sing-song cadence returning—gentle, not infantilizing—she added, “That’s my smart boy.” Paul’s cheeks warmed at the words, annoyed at himself for reacting at all. But the world didn’t end. Harley put the car back in drive. Chapter Ninety-Nine: The park she chose wasn’t some sad little patch of swings beside a road. It was a whole world—a wooden fortress that rose up like a storybook set dropped into Jacksonville Beach: tall timber towers with pointed roofs, a maze of ramps and bridges, bright plastic slides curling out from the sides like tongues, and a low fence that made it feel contained—safe—without feeling trapped. Shade sails stretched over sections of sand like blue sails on a ship. The air smelled like salt that had drifted inland, pine needles, and sun-warmed wood. Somewhere near the entrance, a trash can overflowed with juice boxes and the wrappers of snacks parents promised would be “just one.” The place hummed with the particular chaos of children being children—squeals echoing off planks, thuds of sneakers on ramps, the metallic rhythm of chains and laughter and someone calling, “Don’t climb that—okay, fine, climb it but hold on.” Harley rounded the front of the car and hugged him—quick, bright, unselfconscious. Not tight enough to pin him, not long enough to make it weird. Just a hello that had warmth in it. “There he is,” she sang softly, like she was greeting a kid she liked, not a chore she’d been assigned. “Okay—tell me the truth. You hungry? Thirsty? Mad? Secretly thrilled?” Paul huffed a laugh despite himself. “I’m fine.” “I heard fine.” Harley pointed at him like she was calling a bluff. “That means you’re either actually fine or you’re about to dramatically collapse like a Victorian poet.” Paul hesitated—only long enough for the disappointment to poke at him—then nodded. “Can we just—” he started. “Play?” Harley finished, grinning. Then she held her hand out again like an invitation, not a command. “Come on. Five minutes. Then basketball. Deal.” Paul hesitated—only long enough for disappointment to poke at him. “Deal.” And because the diaper bag wasn’t slung over Harley’s shoulder, because nothing in this moment screamed care plan, it was easier to let his feet move. Harley’s smile softened—like she’d just seen a version of him choose something hard and wasn’t going to mock him for it. They walked through the gate and into the wooden maze. The sand was pale and fine, already full of footprints: tiny shoe stamps, drag marks where knees had skidded, the shallow trenches of someone running in circles because their joy had nowhere else to go. The structure rose in tiers—ramps and platforms and towers—weathered boards worn smooth where a thousand hands had grabbed for balance. Posts were nicked with little half-healed scars from keys, rings, toy cars. Someone had painted tiny hearts on a beam near a ramp. A faded sticker clung to a corner post like it refused to give up on being part of the place. Palm trees framed the edge of the playground, fronds flicking in the breeze like they were applauding the chaos. You could hear the ocean in the distance if you stood still long enough—just a hush of surf behind the squeals and the thud of feet on planks. A little kid dashed past Paul wearing a cape, absolutely convinced he was saving the world. Harley’s gaze tracked the chaos with ease—like she belonged in it. Like she understood the rules. Energy, impulse, comfort, attention. Not a strategy so much as a language. She didn’t steer Paul to the swings first. She played. They hit the seesaw and Harley flopped onto one side dramatically, throwing her head back like she’d been mortally wounded. “Oh nooo,” she groaned. “I’ve been defeated. Paul the Mighty has crushed me.” Paul blinked. “You’re… heavier than me.” “Lies,” Harley said immediately, bouncing her side, pushing him up. “It’s because you’re powerful. Like a superhero. Like… Batman’s—” “Don’t,” Paul warned, but there was a slight glint of play under his warning. Harley’s eyes lit. “Batman’s tallest sidekick.” Paul groaned out of sheer cringe, but he saw what she was doing—taking the edge off the word play by making it stupid on purpose. Making it survivable. The seesaw rose and fell, slow at first, then faster. Harley started counting in a ridiculous announcer voice—“And in the left corner, weighing in at absolutely none of your business—Harley the Unbeatable!”—and Paul played along in spite of himself, pushing harder, trying to make her squeal. She did. Not a performative squeal. A real laugh that broke out of her like she couldn’t help it. That mattered. It softened something for Paul—something that had been clenched since the school pickup, since the car, since Amber’s name had become a bruise in his mouth. The park was still a test he hadn’t agreed to take… but Harley wasn’t grading him. She wasn’t correcting him. She was just there, laughing like the world wasn’t fragile. And for a moment, he let himself borrow that. Harley insisted on the swings next. Paul sat, gripping the chains, feet dragging slightly in the sand. Harley sat beside him, pushing off once, twice. For a brief moment—just long enough to tease him—it felt normal. Two people swinging. No hierarchy. Harley kicked her legs out, hair bouncing, and started talking like she couldn’t help it—like chatter was her love language. “Okay—pizza toppings,” she declared. “This is the real compatibility test, by the way. Mine is spicy sausage, crumble-dip bacon bits—yes that’s a thing—artichoke hearts, and mushrooms.” Paul’s face twisted. “That’s… aggressive.” “It’s sophisticated,” Harley corrected. “It’s the taste of a woman with hobbies.” Paul snorted. “Mine is shredded BBQ chicken, steak, green peppers, onions—garlic butter crust.” Harley gasped, delighted. “Oh my God. That’s… actually kind of elite.” Paul didn’t know why that tiny approval hit so hard, but it did. Like a normal teen conversation landing inside a body that had been stuck in medical and management for too long. Harley swung higher, then asked, “Movies. Two favorites that AREN’T about a superhero. Go.” “I—” Paul started, caught off guard, then the answers came out like they’d been waiting. “The Shawshank Redemption. The Firm. The Breakfast Club.” Harley’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, okay—taste. Taste. My top two are T2—because obviously—and The Devil Wears Prada.” Paul gave her a look. “Of course.” “And,” she added, voice turning shamelessly soft, “The Princess Diaries. Don’t judge me.” Paul’s mouth twitched. “I’m judging you a little.” Harley laughed and leaned forward as her swing arced, like she was sharing something secret. “Now…what’s one of your favorite and underrated Disney movie. I’ll go first. The Aristocrats .” Paul hesitated, like the answer made him feel too visible. Then he exhaled through his nose and admitted it anyway. “The Rescuers Down Under.” Harley’s whole face brightened. “Stop. That is SUCH a good one.” Paul blinked, surprised by how sincerely she meant it. Harley swung slower now, eyes shining like she’d just found a piece of him that wasn’t heavy. “Okay,” she said, warm and conspiratorial, “that would be a perfect after din-din movie later tonight, honey bunny.” Paul groaned immediately. “Please don’t call it din—” But the sentence died as Harley hopped off her swing. And stepped behind him. “I’ll give you a push,” she chirped. Paul’s spine stiffened. “I can—” Too late. The swing moved. Not hard. Not violent. Just enough to steal the decision from him. Harley’s voice went a little lighter—carefree in a way that made Paul’s stomach tighten. “Up you go, sweet boy,” she sang, gentle. “There we go.” The words landed heavier than the push. Paul’s jaw tightened. His body did the thing it did when choice was removed—not panic, not yet. Just withdrawal. He let the motion carry him, eyes fixed on the ground passing beneath him, pretending not to notice the woman smiling nearby, the dad watching from a bench, the casual glance of another parent. To them, it was nothing. A babysitter and the baby/kid she was paid to play with. A normal scene. That was the problem. Harley leaned in closer, voice warm like praise. “Nice and calm, there’s my wittle swinger” she murmured. Paul swallowed. He wasn’t scared of the swing. He wasn’t even embarrassed—yet. But something inside him folded inward, quiet and automatic. His feet dangled. His body stopped making decisions. And he hated how familiar that felt—how his nervous system could do that without asking his permission. Harley pushed again. “Good job, look at you swinin all byes himself” she said softly. Another woman walking past smiled. Another parent glanced over, amused. Paul stared at the ground rushing beneath him and let the moment pass over him like weather. When Harley finally stopped, he hopped off faster than necessary, brushing sand from his palms. His face was warm—not shame exactly. Something closer to being misread. Harley didn’t grab his hand. Didn’t narrate him. Didn’t make it into a lesson. She just jogged backward a few steps and called out: “Race you to the castle!” Paul’s instinct was to say no. Then he said yes with his feet. They sprinted across the sand toward the wooden structure, Harley’s ponytail bouncing, her laugh trailing behind her. She was fast—but not too fast. She let Paul catch up. She let him win the first turn without announcing she’d done it. Like she understood pride needed space. Inside the structure, the sound changed—more echo, more thump, the smell of warm wood stronger. Kids darted past them on ramps. A toddler clung to a post and stared like Paul was a giant. Somewhere above, a kid shouted, “I’m the king!” and someone else immediately yelled, “No you’re not!” Harley hopped onto a low platform and pointed down a corridor of planks. “Okay,” she declared, “hide-and-seek rules. You hide. I seek.” Paul stared at her like she was insane. Harley’s grin sharpened. “But I’m warning you— I’m like the Terminator of destroying hiders of ANY and all ages.” Paul scoffed—because the image of her saying that in her ridiculous outfit was absurd, but as weird as it was for a 19 year old to wear a Bluey hoodie, she was playing with a soon to be 18 year old wearing adult diapers, wait scratch that wearing wet adult diapers—and yet something deep and aching in him wanted the thrill of the chase. Wanted movement that wasn’t rehearsal. Wanted a moment where his body could just be a body. So he took off. He ducked behind a half-wall, slipped along a ramp, climbed toward one of the towers. His lungs burned in a clean way. His legs remembered this kind of movement—simple, physical, non-performative. He wasn’t thinking about how he looked. He wasn’t thinking about who might be watching. He was just… moving. For a few seconds, he felt almost like his old self. The one who would’ve done this without measuring his pulse or scanning for eyes. The one who didn’t need to “manage” his own existence. Harley’s voice rang out through the structure, playful and dramatic. “Paulllll,” she called, “I’m coming to find you, you sneaky little goblin.” Paul grinned, then froze. Little. The word shouldn’t have mattered. It was said like a joke. It was said like a nickname. It was said with affection. Still, something in him flickered—an old nerve touched. He shifted, and his gaze landed on a “busy box” embedded into one of the wooden walls: spinning gears, sliding beads, a little latch with a tiny door. A toy meant for small hands, meant to keep kids occupied while bigger kids climbed. Paul stared at it like it was ridiculous. Then his fingers reached anyway. The gears clicked under his touch. The beads slid back and forth with a satisfying clack. The latch opened and shut. It wasn’t shameful. It was… soothing. And because the diaper bag wasn’t here, because the ball wasn’t here, because nobody had put him into a routine or named him as anything—Paul’s “little side” rose up just enough to breathe. Not to take over. Not to humiliate him. Just to take that tiny, quiet sip of relief. Behind him, Harley made a delighted sound, and when Paul turned, he saw her hanging from a pull-up bar like a bat—knees hooked, arms dangling, hair swinging. “Behold,” she said in a mock-serious whisper, upside down, “Harley the Cave Creature. Capturing another win as the BEST seeker in the da worrllldddd!!!!” Paul stared, then laughed—an actual laugh that shook his shoulders. Harley smiled wider, still upside down. “There it is,” she murmured—soft enough that it almost sounded like she was saying it to herself. Then, brighter again, “What’s that thing?” “A busy box,” Paul said before he could stop himself. Harley swung slightly, still hanging. “Busy box.” She tasted the words like she liked them. “And is it… busy-ing you?” Paul rolled his eyes, but his hands stayed on the gears. “It’s just… whatever.” Harley’s gaze slid to his hands—not assessing, not clinical. Just noticing. And in her face, Paul saw something that wasn’t control for the sake of control. It was… satisfaction. Not because she’d “won,” but because she’d found a way to get him here. In this moment. In this calm. She dropped from the bar lightly and landed in a crouch beside him, peering at the busy box with exaggerated fascination. Harley tapped one of the gears. “If I turn this, do we unlock the basketball court?” Paul’s head snapped up. “Basketball?” Harley stood, brushed imaginary dust off her shorts, and held her hand out again—this time with a grin that was less sing-song and more real. “Yeah,” she said. “Basketball time. You’ve been patient. You’ve been fun. You’ve been… mildly tolerable.” Paul exhaled—one long breath that felt like his body unclenching. Because he could feel it now: not just his “little” side having fun. His whole self. His big self too. The part that needed competition and sweat and the clean smack of a ball on pavement. The part that needed proof he could still be him. He started moving before he even answered. And the word that came out of him wasn’t cautious. It was bright. “Okay,” Paul said, already stepping into the sand, already looking for the way out. “Okay. Let’s go.” Harley’s smile followed him—warm, proud, and just a little too intent, like she was saving the sound of his happiness for later. And Paul—still learning how to live in a slower, softer pace his body could survive—didn’t notice that part yet. By the time they returned to the car, Paul’s body carried the afterglow of movement—looser shoulders, steadier breath, tiredness that felt earned instead of defeated. Harley leaned into the back seat and said quietly, “Okay. I’ve got everything you need to change yourself. Bathroom. Private. No drama.” Paul lifted his head. His stomach fluttered, nervous and relieved at once. “You do?” Harley nodded. “ You’ve been doing really good. Lets keep this winning streak going” From his diaper bag she pulled out the Step Ins, wipes, powder, plastic pants, shorts, a trash bag—and slid Paul’s mostly empty backpack into view. “We’re using this,” she said. “No one needs to see anything.” She packed it quickly, neat and deliberate, then handed it to him like she was handing him agency. “Go change,” she said. “Then come back and I’ll trade you.” Paul frowned. “Trade me what?” Harley tapped the basketball with her hand. “This.” Paul’s mouth twitched. “Deal,” he said. He headed toward the bathroom—shoulders tense, then slowly easing as he realized: he was being trusted. Harley watched him walk and couldn’t help smiling at the bow-legged waddle he tried to pretend wasn’t happening. It hit her, unexpectedly, like tenderness and victory at the same time. Not cute. Not little. Just… him trying. When he returned, he looked proud—like he’d climbed out of a hard thing without witnesses. Harley’s grin broke. “Well look at you,” she said softly. “Handled.” Paul shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but his eyes betrayed the relief. “Basketball.” Harley placed it in his hands like a ceremonial prize. Then she handed him a sports bottle filled to the brim with bright green-orange juice. “And hydration,” she said. “Fresh apple, kale, carrot from home.” Paul took a sip and made a face like he’d been insulted by nature. Harley laughed. “Drama king.” “I hate it,” Paul said. “Nah your mom and Dad say you absolutely love it. So you’re drinking it anyway,” Harley replied, smug. Paul rolled his eyes, but he didn’t give it back. He tucked it under his arm like it belonged there. And then, like he’d been holding himself together for the right reward, he stepped away from the car and started bouncing the ball—testing the rhythm, hearing it echo on pavement. Thump. Thump. Thump. A clean sound. A steady sound. A sound that didn’t care about his tracker or his texts or his complicated heart. Harley turned toward a trash bin at the edge of the lot and disposed of the rolled up wet diaper quickly and discreetly, replacing Paul’s backpack with the diaper bag on her shoulder. The diaper bag landed beside her on the park bench like it belonged to someone else’s life. She sat down and watched him on the court. Paul moved like someone returning to his true language. His shoulders loosened. His feet found pattern. He dribbled hard, then cut, then stopped on a dime like he wanted to remind himself he still had brakes. Harley sipped her own water and let her eyes track him with steady focus—protective in a way that didn’t feel maternal so much as… possessive-adjacent. Like a lioness watching the edge of the field. Not hunting. Guarding. He’d been tense earlier, brittle in that silent way teenagers got when they didn’t want to admit they were hurting. On the court, he wasn’t brittle. He was real. Harley’s thoughts slid, uninvited, into something darker and more intimate than she should’ve allowed. He’s happier when the world gets smaller, she thought. Not smaller like humiliating. Smaller like manageable. Smaller like safe. And if she could be the person who made it safe— Harley blinked and forced herself to breathe. She watched him make a clean shot—swish—then rebound his own ball, grin flickering across his face like sunlight breaking through cloud. Paul’s nervous system felt wrung out in the best way—tired, but stable. He followed Harley through the entranceway of the house with the basketball tucked under one arm like proof the day hadn’t been a total loss. He stepped inside and paused, then cleared his throat. Harley’s face brightened instantly—not in a babying way, not a performance. More like genuine approval. “Good call,” she said warmly. “Go ahead. Take off the Step In, do what you need to do, and meet me back out in the living room.” Paul nodded and headed off, relief stirring again—because independence still mattered to him. He still needed it like oxygen. While he was gone, Harley moved with practiced quiet. She unfolded a changing mat on the couch area, laid out a fresh diaper, wipes, powder—everything in a neat line, like preparation rather than control. Then she paused and looked at the couch cushions. Right in the middle—set like a stage picture—were Paul’s Batman plushie and the giraffe. Batman on one side. Long Knight on the other. Two “witnesses.” Two “special guests.” Harley’s mouth quirked, pleased. Paul returned and froze. A blush rose fast, hot. Harley didn’t let it turn into shame. “Hey,” she said softly, gesturing to the plushies like she was letting him in on a joke. “We have company tonight.” Paul’s eyes flicked from Batman to the giraffe, then back to Harley. Harley kept her voice steady, deliberately adult—complying with Lilly’s request to keep him “big.” No baby talk. No sing-song. But still soothing, still narrated—because narration steadied Paul’s anxiety like rails steadied a train. “Come sit,” Harley said. “We’ll do this quick and calm. Then movie night.” Paul exhaled and obeyed, letting himself be guided onto the mat with the smallest surrender—less defeat, more trust. He hated that he needed help sometimes. He hated that his body demanded routines. But he also hated melting down more. Harley changed him efficiently—no lingering, no drama—then reached into the diaper bag and pulled out the outfit she’d bought him before. It was becoming one of her favorites but she had other’s that would compete for that number one spot soon enough as the soft gray caught the afternoon sun, simple in a way that felt intentional rather than plain. The shirt roomy. The shorts forgiving. And stitched into the front, gentle and friendly, was a rounded animal face—soft ears, a warm yellow nose—inviting without being loud. Harley helped him into it, then guided him into the kitchen like she was escorting him to a normal night instead of a carefully managed one. She set his Safari sippy cup in front of him and secured his bib—calling it a bibby at first out of habit—then caught herself and smoothed her tone. “Nice and neat,” she said, purposeful. “Your… mom doesn’t want any mess on your clothes.” Paul’s cheeks warmed at the word mom. He didn’t correct her. He didn’t have the energy to untangle that emotional knot tonight. The kitchen was already full of Lilly’s work: the smell of pasta bake—ground beef, vegetables, garlic marinara, mozzarella bubbling into browned edges. Garlic bread on a plate. A full bowl of Caesar salad glowing green under the light like it had been placed there to prove life could still be normal. Paul sat down and felt a wave of gratitude so sharp it almost hurt. He got to feed himself. No argument. No coaxing. Just… him, a fork, a plate, and the chance to be big. Harley hovered nearby like a responsible adult, not a puppeteer. She made one teasing comment—about the “Yum-Yum express” being available if he didn’t finish—but it was light, clearly a joke, and it never came to pass. Paul ate. His bib caught a few stray speckles—tomato sauce, lettuce, a drip of juice—but his outfit stayed immaculate. And when dinner was done, something unexpected happened: Harley let him help. Clear the table. Rinse plates. Load the dishwasher. Small chores he used to avoid like the plague—now relished like proof. Tonight, he wanted every chance to stay big. He wanted to feel useful. He wanted to feel like a teenager who could still participate in his own life. The day had scrubbed him raw in places. The park had sanded down the edges. Basketball had wrung tension out of his shoulders the way a towel wrung water. And now, sitting on the couch, he felt the fatigue that only came when your body finally believed it was safe enough to be tired. Harley lowered herself beside him with a blanket—one of the softer ones from the basket by the TV stand, the kind that always smelled faintly like laundry detergent and old movie nights. She shook it out once and draped it across both of them like it was a normal thing to share warmth. “Alright,” she said, pretending to be casual even as she scooted a little closer. “Rescuers Down Under. You picked. If this movie is secretly terrible, I’m blaming you forever.” Paul exhaled through his nose. “It’s not terrible.” Harley angled her head. “You sound emotionally invested.” “I am,” Paul said, then immediately regretted the sincerity, as if sincerity was a loose thread that could unravel him. Harley didn’t tease him for it. She just smiled, reached for the remote, and pressed play. The TV filled the room with bright colors and the old comfort of animation—voices that didn’t demand anything from him, storylines that didn’t require him to perform. The opening music washed over the carpet, over the walls, and Paul felt the tiniest, most surprising thing: relief. Harley shifted again, settling, then—without making a big deal about it—she held her hand out with the pacifier balanced on her palm like an offering rather than a demand. Paul stared at it. His big side tensed automatically. The paci wasn’t just a tool. It was a symbol. It was proof. It was the thing that made him feel safest and most humiliated at the same time. He didn’t want to need it. He also didn’t want to spend the rest of the night grinding his teeth while pretending he was fine. Harley kept her tone adult—soft, not sing-song. “No pressure,” she said quietly. “But you’ve been running on fumes. And your body likes what it likes.” Paul swallowed. His fingers twitched. Then he took it. He didn’t pop it in right away—like he was trying to preserve dignity for a few more seconds. He held it, thumb brushing over the silicone, feeling how stupidly simple it was. Then, when the movie hit a calmer moment and the room felt quiet enough, he slipped it into his mouth. The effect was immediate and almost unfair. His jaw unclenched. His shoulders softened. His breath dropped lower in his chest like someone released a belt. Harley didn’t comment. She just resumed watching the movie like nothing changed—like this wasn’t a huge, private surrender. Paul hugged both plushies automatically—Batman under one arm, the giraffe tucked in close on the other side like a ridiculous security detail. The blanket was warm over his legs. The paci bobbed slightly with each slow suck. The movie’s glow played across his face, and he felt his eyes growing heavy. Not little-space heavy. Just… human heavy. Harley’s fingers lifted and began stroking his hair with slow, absentminded care—like she was doing it for him and for herself, like the motion soothed both of them. Her touch was intimate in the way caregiving could be intimate: gentle, repetitive, anchoring. And Paul’s heart did something confusing for a second time like it did with Savannha’s. This too felt uncategorized and in the empty space where Amber used to sit in his chest, something flickered—small and dangerous and honest: If someone stays long enough, the heart starts writing new stories. Paul hated that thought. He also felt comforted by it. By both of them. The movie continued. Harley occasionally whispered commentary like she couldn’t help herself. “Okay wait,” she murmured, leaning in, “why is this bird kind of iconic?” Paul mumbled around the pacifier, voice muffled. “Because he is.” Harley smirked. “You’re a nerd.” Paul didn’t argue. He just let his eyelids lower. Around seven, the front door opened softly—keys, a quick shuffle, the hush of someone trying not to bring the outside world in with them. Lilly stepped into the entryway and paused. Not because she was suspicious. Because the scene hit her unexpectedly—like walking into a photograph you didn’t know you needed. Harley and Paul on the couch. Blanket over both of them. Paul’s head tilted slightly toward Harley’s chest, not fully resting, but close enough to be comforted. His cheeks were warm from the TV glow. The pacifier sat between his lips. His eyes were half shut. Batman and the giraffe were clutched to him like proof of a softer day. And Harley—Harley was still, almost reverent, stroking his hair as if she understood the fragility of the moment. Lilly felt her chest tighten. A pause, in the most positive way. Because Paul looked…settled. Harley glanced up, spotting Lilly, and her expression shifted into polite professionalism immediately, like she was snapping a mask into place. “Hey,” Harley whispered. “He did really well today.” Paul’s eyes blinked open slightly. He turned his head a fraction and saw Lilly. His mouth made a small sound around the pacifier—an instinctive enthusiastic “welcome back” even before anything happened, like his body didn’t want the moment to end. Lilly walked closer, slow. “Hey, baby,” she said softly—then caught herself mid-word and corrected quickly, too late to pretend she hadn’t said it. “Hey, Paul.” Paul didn’t seem to care about the correction. He just blinked, heavy-lidded, and sucked a little slower. Harley reached for the remote and paused the movie, the screen freezing mid-frame. “It can wait until next time, honey,” Harley said gently—then winced slightly at herself because the pet name slipped out too easily. Paul didn’t fight it. He was too tired. Harley gave him a half hug—light, brief, like a goodbye that didn’t claim too much. Paul stayed on the couch, voice muffled, sincere. “Thanks,” he said around the paci. “For… today.” Harley’s smile softened. “You’re welcome,” she whispered. “You were really fun.” Paul’s eyes fluttered at that, like the compliment mattered more than he wanted it to. Harley stood, gathered her things, and walked toward the door. She turned back once more and looked at Lilly. “He stayed big all the way until the couch,” Harley reported, like she knew it mattered. “He earned the wind-down.” Lilly nodded, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Thank you,” she said again—this time with more weight. Harley’s grin flashed bright and swee.Then she stepped out. The door shut behind her with a soft click. And as she walked away, two thoughts threaded through her—one that made her feel good, and one that left a shadow behind it. He’s learning, she thought, warm and honest. He’s really learning. Then, quieter—like a secret she enjoyed too much: And he learns best when I’m the one holding the map. Lilly turned off the TV Paul whined immediately—sharp, instinctive, the sound of someone losing a warm current. “Hey,” Lilly said calmly, holding her tone steady. No scolding. No panic. “I know.” Paul’s jaw worked around the pacifier, a frustrated little sound vibrating in his throat. Lilly extended her hand. Paul stared at it for a second, then took it. His grip was warm and slightly sticky from juice earlier, and Lilly felt the simple reality of him: he was tired, he was regulated, and he was still—always—one wrong move away from tipping. “Come on,” she said softly. “Bed.” They went upstairs together. In Paul’s room, Lilly did a quick, dignified check—efficient, practiced—and decided no change was needed. His diaper could hold until morning. Lilly sat on the edge of the bed and patted the blanket. “Come here.” Paul climbed up, still sucking. Lilly brushed his hair back from his forehead. Her voice softened. “How was your day with Harley?” Paul’s eyes brightened despite sleep. Through the pacifier, he talked in excited, muffled bursts—words pressed around silicone. “Park,” he said. “An’… basketball. An’… she—she let me change. Like… myself.” Lilly’s heart pinched. “Yeah?” she said quietly. Paul nodded hard. “She… kept it adult,” he added, as if he knew that mattered. “Most of day.” Lilly felt guilt bloom—complex and sharp. Because she didn’t trust Harley fully. Because Harley’s outfit still read as a red flag in Lilly’s brain: young and sexy and disarming, like bait dressed as harmlessness. Because Lilly had seen the way Harley’s eyes sometimes held on Paul a second too long, not lust—something stranger. Something possessive. And yet. Harley had followed instructions. She had delivered calm. She had—at least today—balanced him. Lilly swallowed. “That’s good,” she said, voice careful. “I’m glad you had fun.” Paul’s eyes flicked down, then up again, vulnerable. “I… didn’t want to at first,” he admitted. Lilly’s thumb stroked his temple. “I know.” Paul’s face tightened slightly, then softened again. “But… it didn’t… end,” he mumbled. “Like… the world didn’t end.” The words were small. Massive. Lilly felt her throat tighten. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered. Paul’s eyelids fluttered. Lilly sat back. “Do you want your bottle?” she asked gently. “Or the rocking chair or…” Paul’s eyes snapped open with sudden conviction, like he’d been waiting to claim something. “Sleep sack,” he said, clear—even around the pacifier. Lilly’s smile spread, warm and real. “Sleep sack it is.” She crossed to the closet and retrieved it—the familiar softness that had become ritual. Paul, already moving on autopilot, stripped off his outfit without ceremony, leaving only his diaper. No shame, no fight. The pacifier kept him anchored. His tracker—quietly, beautifully—was nothing but green. Lilly helped him into the sleep sack with practiced hands. Then she turned off the overhead light, leaving only the dim glow from her phone screen as she sat beside him in bed. She pulled him close—tight, protective. Paul melted into her like his body knew how to be held even when his pride didn’t. Lilly stroked his hair and whispered a few lullabies—not theatrical, not perfect. Just soft sounds, imperfect comfort. Then she spoke, quietly, like she was laying out the next day as a promise instead of a threat. “Tomorrow we’ll visit Mindy in the morning for a checkup,” Lilly whispered. “And then we’ll get lunch with Martina.” Paul made a sleepy “mmhm” sound around the pacifier. Lilly continued, the words shaping the day ahead like a gentle plan. “And then… Mommy—” she caught herself, the word slipping out before she could stop it. Her chest tightened. She waited for Paul to flinch. He didn’t. From behind the pacifier came a sleepy little sound—“hmm… umm”—like it was natural. Like his body didn’t mind the comfort of the label. Lilly swallowed around the emotion that rose unexpectedly. “…Mommy has to film another day at the bakery,” she finished softly. “So Martina will take you back to her home for dinner… and I’ll pick you up from there.” Paul was out like a light before Lilly finished the last sentence. He might not have heard the plan at all—his body already sinking into rest, the pacifier doing its quiet, faithful work. She watched him for a long moment, phone glow catching the soft curve of his face, the green calm of his tracker. Then she whispered, more to herself than to him.“We’re going to be okay.” Tomorrow would be a day nobody would forget. Especially Paul. And Amber.

Because I'm a sucker for 4am chapter drops which inculdes an "Easter Egg" from when we 1st indtroduced Harley. Here you all go, something to start the week off & hopfully leaving you wanting more..... Chapter Ninety-Six: The conference room settled gradually. Coffee lids twisted open. Tablets chimed awake. Chairs scraped softly against tile. Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds, striping the long table in warm bands of gold. This wasn’t a crisis meeting—no alarms, no urgency—but there was a seriousness in the way everyone leaned forward without being asked. Dr. Mindy Rowe didn’t rush to begin. She waited until everyone had arrived, until the side conversations naturally tapered off. “Thank you for making the time this morning,” she began, hands resting lightly on a slim folder. “I want to walk everyone through a case that will be joining us for long-term care. This one will ask a bit more of us—not just clinically, but in how we think about pediatric treatment.” A few nods. Pens stilled. “Our patient’s name is Paul Alexander Goldhawk,” Mindy continued. “He’s seventeen—turning eighteen soon—and he has been diagnosed with Somatic Neuromuscular Disregulation, or SND for short.” A few staff members nodded; others leaned forward. “This is a chronic, stress-triggered disorder,” Mindy said, tapping the screen behind her as a simplified diagram appeared. “At its core, it’s an exaggerated and dysregulated physical response to emotional or physiological stress. It affects both the autonomic nervous system and muscle response.” She spoke clearly, without jargon for its own sake. “In this patient’s case, SND presents in two primary clusters. First—stress incontinence. Bladder involvement is consistent and significant. Bowel involvement is less frequent but increasing, and we should expect variability.” She glanced briefly at Nia, then continued. “Second—mild neuropathy and myopathy. You’ll see fatigue, altered gait at times, tremors under stress, and delayed muscular response. Think of it as neurological static—signals get crossed, muscles don’t always respond when asked.” Mindy folded her hands. “At its simplest,” Mindy said, “Paul’s nervous system does not de-escalate on its own. Stress—emotional or physical—triggers exaggerated body responses. Bladder control, muscle tone, gait, fatigue. His body reacts before his cognition can catch up.” Several heads tilted slightly—recognition from intake notes. “Paul is seventeen, turning eighteen soon,” Mindy continued. “State regulations allow pediatric classification until age twenty-one, and in certain cases longer. Paul will be under our care for at least the next year up to four.” She let that land. “This makes him something of a test case,” she said frankly. “Not experimental—but precedent-setting. How we support him may open doors for future patients whose needs are best met within pediatric models, even as they age.” Mindy shifted her weight, eyes sweeping the room. “Paul is intelligent, articulate, and capable of understanding complex instructions. However,” she said, emphasizing the word, “his nervous system does not always allow him to execute those instructions under stress.” She didn’t soften that truth. “For now,” Mindy continued, “the default framework when interacting with Paul will be that of a toddler-level care model—unless he explicitly asks otherwise.” A few pens paused mid-note. Nurse Brittany raised her hand slightly. “So… when we say ‘treat him like a toddler,’ are we talking developmental delay, or—?” “Good question,” Mindy said immediately. “And no. Paul is cognitively intact. Bright. Verbally expressive. Capable of understanding complex instructions.” She leaned in. “But his regulation capacity under stress is closer to a two- or three-year-old. That’s the gap we’re beginning at because simply it works for him right now, based on his parents experiences and my own.” Nia crossed her arms thoughtfully. “So if he’s asking adult-level questions, but responding physically like a toddler… which do we follow?” Mindy smiled, appreciative. “We follow him. Always. But the default—when he’s overwhelmed—is safety-first care. The same care you’d offer a little one whose body is saying ‘too much.’” Eliska nodded, already knowing where this was going. “Soft voice,” Mindy continued. “Clear expectations. Reassurance. Predictable routines. Physical closeness if he consents. This does not mean we speak down to him,” Mindy clarified. “It means we prioritize safety, predictability, reassurance, and simplicity. Soft tone. Clear structure. Rhythmic language when needed. He may require frequent reassurance, physical comfort such as hugs, and tools to self-regulate—including a pacifier or sippy cup.” She didn’t shy away. “He is currently diapered full-time. Wet diapers are the norm. Recent notes show an increase in soiling as well. This is not regression for regression’s sake—it is symptom management.” No one looked surprised. No one looked uncomfortable. This was pediatrics. “There may be times,” Mindy said, “where you assist with changes. Where you help him transition. Where you pause a session because his body—not his will—has reached its limit. The same way we do for any of our patients who require similar care.” Brittany frowned slightly, thoughtful. “What about dignity? I mean—teenagers already struggle with identity. How do we make sure we’re not… erasing him?” Mindy didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned to Eliska. “Would you mind sharing what you observed during intake?” Eliska straightened, a soft smile touching her face. “When Paul came in the second time,” she said, “he was sitting on the floor with the toy train. He hadn’t noticed me yet.” A few staff members smiled—already picturing it. “I approached the way I would any little one who looks unsure,” Eliska continued. “Slow. Gentle. No sudden questions.” She mimicked the moment unconsciously, hands moving as she spoke. “Oh my goodness,” she’d said then, delight aimed straight at him. “Look at you, sweetheart—playing so nicely with the choo-choo! I knew you’d love it, huh?” Eliska glanced around the table. “He responded immediately,” she said. “Relaxed. Engaged. Eye contact improved.” She went on, voice warming with the memory. “Chugga-chugga-chugga—chooo-chooo! Such a good little engineer you are. You makin’ that train go all the way ’round the world, hmm?” A small chuckle passed through the room—not mocking, appreciative. “I wasn’t pretending he was younger,” Eliska said. “I was meeting him where his body already was.” She smiled and then folded her hands. “He didn’t shrink. He settled.” That did it. That was the sentence that anchored the room. Mindy nodded. “Exactly.” She turned back to the group. “This is the core principle,” Mindy said. She let that land. “That is our default,” she continued. “We adjust upward as he signals readiness. Not the other way around.” Nia exhaled slowly. “Physical therapy?” “Twice a month minimum,” Mindy replied. “Likely more. When he and his mom Lilly come in for their appointment tomorrow, we’ll introduce you and then two weeks later you’ll begin working with him. We’ll be primarily focusing on muscle confidence, endurance, and trust in his body. There may be regression-based exercises. There may be moments where he needs to pause, lie down, or be comforted.” Mindy gestured toward the far end of the table. “At this time I’d also like to introduce Savannah, our newest resident.” Savannah stood, heart pounding but posture steady. “She has a prior connection to Paul and his family,” Mindy said. “During a recent stay three or four weeks previous, Savannah and her mother provided care using structured regression-based calming protocols.” A few eyebrows lifted—not judgment, curiosity. “Savannah,” Mindy said gently, “would you share what you observed?” Savannah inhaled once. “When Paul arrived,” she said carefully, “his baseline was extremely high. Constant vigilance. He expected failure before it happened.” She kept it measured. “When consistent comfort was introduced—low-demand environments, predictable routines—his stress responses dropped. No meltdowns. Improved sleep. Better appetite. His affect… softened.” She paused, emotion flickering but contained. “He wasn’t losing skills,” she added quietly. “He was conserving energy.” The room was still. Mindy closed the folder. “This is not about making Paul smaller,” she said. “It’s about giving his nervous system the safety it never learned to hold on to.” She looked around the table—one by one. “We will treat him with warmth, professionalism, and respect. Mommy-and-daddy energy when needed. Clinical boundaries always.” A final pause. “If you’re unsure,” Mindy finished, “ask. Adjust. And remember—our job isn’t to decide who Paul should be.” A small, steady smile. “It’s to help him heal into who he already is.” The room didn’t erupt into discussion. It didn’t need to. And Savannah, sitting back down with her hands folded tightly in her lap, felt something settle in her chest. She glanced down at the tablet still resting near Mindy’s place at the table—Paul Alexander Goldhawk, his name steady on the screen. She felt something settle—not a promise, not a plan—but a willingness. To learn him. To respect his pace. To stay, if he needed someone to stay. For now, that was enough, but she’d hoped beyond hope that one day, soon it may lead to something more. Paul pushed his bedroom door open with his shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times. There was still grief in the air from the last week, still bruises you couldn’t see—but the walls weren’t screaming tonight. They were breathing. Paul stepped inside and shut the door. Not dramatically. Not like he was hiding. Just… closing it. He moved with purpose now—small bursts of confidence stitched into his body like he was trying them on, checking the seams. He unhooked the shortalls at the shoulder, fingers working the yellow buttons quickly, practiced. The denim loosened and fell away with a soft weight. From downstairs, Lilly’s voice floated up, casual and checking-in the way she’d learned to do without making it sound like surveillance. “Do you need any help getting undressed?” Paul didn’t even pause. “No—I’ve got it.” A beat. Then Lilly again, the sound of her smile audible even without seeing her. “Great. Make sure you hang up the onesie and shortalls, please. Shower, shave, and then when you’re ready for a change, look toward the camera and ask. I’ve turned the video off and audio on.” “Okay,” Paul called back, already moving. Then softer, more real: “Thanks.” He peeled the safari onesie up and over his head, careful—not because it was difficult, but because it was his body and he was learning how to treat it with patience instead of contempt. The room was warm. The air smelled faintly like baby powder and the cedar block Lilly insisted on keeping in the closet “to make everything feel like a hotel.” Paul hung the shortalls first—straightened the straps, hooked them neatly. Then the onesie, folded once and draped over the hanger like it mattered. He stood there for a moment, bare-chested, listening. No one rushed him. No one barged in. And something inside him—some old reflex—looked around for the punchline, the punishment, the humiliation that usually followed anything tender. Nothing came. Paul exhaled. He turned toward the dresser and opened the top drawer—his drawer, his choices. Not the safe bland choices people assumed he should make. His choices. Black onesie first. Then he reached for the jersey—his black, teal, and white San Jose Sharks hockey jersey. The fabric was familiar under his fingers: a piece of himself that had survived the last two months intact. Loud enough to feel like armor. Normal enough to feel like home. Then the acid-wash jeans, folded and ready. He set everything on the bed with intention, like laying out a plan. Then—without hesitating—he lowered the changing table. The hinges clicked softly. The surface came down smooth. Paul moved to the drawer and pulled out what he needed: a fresh pre-school diaper, wipes, powder, cream. He lined them up. Not like a kid playing pretend. Like someone taking responsibility for their own care. It didn’t make him feel proud in the way people expected pride to look. It wasn’t triumph. It wasn’t confidence roaring in his chest. It was quieter than that. It was the feeling of not turning away. Of not waiting for someone to rescue him from his own reality. He glanced at the camera in the corner—small, discreet, a necessary compromise. Video off. Audio on. The rules were clear. The dignity was… negotiated. Paul’s thoughts drifted as his hands moved. Today had been sad, but good. Sad because Dad was gone again, and even though the goodbye had been full of love, it had still left a hollow. Good because for once, Paul didn’t feel like he was collapsing into that hollow. He could feel it and still stand. Good because Amber had gotten some truth—enough truth that Paul’s chest didn’t seize every time he imagined rehearsal. He didn’t have to perform normal so aggressively anymore. Good because the play was starting to feel real again. And the weirdest part—maybe the most complicated part—was Leo. Leo wasn’t his friend. Not in the way Paul used the word friend. Leo was the freshman who got the role Paul wanted. Leo was the kid who walked into auditions with that hungry, clueless confidence only a younger actor could have—confidence that didn’t know what it was stepping on. Atticus was supposed to be Paul’s. Atticus required weight. Control. Maturity. The kind of stillness Paul had been training his whole life to carry on stage. Leo got it anyway. Paul had told himself he didn’t care. He’d even laughed about it once in the hallway, made a joke that landed well enough to keep people from seeing the bruise underneath. Then Leo reached out. Not publicly. Not in the group chat. Privately. A message that was almost… careful. At first Paul thought it was ass-kissing. A freshman trying to butter up the older lead so he didn’t get eaten alive by upperclassmen politics. But the longer Paul read the texts, the clearer it became: Leo wasn’t fishing for approval. He was asking for help. Can you tell me what I’m doing wrong in this scene? How do you… make it look like you’re not acting? Mr. Finch is supposed to be strong but he also… breaks. How do I do that without it being cheesy? Paul should’ve ignored him out of principle. Instead, something in him softened—something stubborn and unexpectedly generous. Paul loved coaching. Loved directing. Loved the quiet authority of seeing a scene from the outside and shaping it, making it sharper, truer. It was one of the only places next to acting he didn’t feel trapped in his own body. So he helped. Video calls late at night where Leo’s face filled the screen, sweaty and nervous, asking questions like he was genuinely afraid of ruining the role. Paul paused lines, rewound moments, gave direction in that calm, precise way that made him feel like himself again. Paul rubbed a hand over his face, caught himself smiling. And then the smile faded slightly, not into despair—into something softer. His dad’s words came back to him, not as a lecture but as an anchor: Whatever shape it takes. A future. Through tears. Through embarrassment. Through failure that felt like a public event. Paul had a future. He just wasn’t sure what it looked like yet. He stared at the supplies for a moment, then whispered to the empty room like it was a promise he could make without anyone hearing him crack. “Okay,” he told himself. “We’re doing it.” Downstairs, Lilly set Paul’s diaper bag on the entrance table with the kind of care that would’ve looked ridiculous to anyone who didn’t understand what that bag represented. A safety net that had to be packed right, stocked right, ready at all times—because life didn’t wait for the nervous system to catch up. Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Mindy Rowe. Lilly’s thumb hovered for half a beat before she opened it. Not fear. Not dread. Anticipation. Like checking test results. Like waiting for a verdict that could change the shape of the next week. The email loaded. Lilly read it once quickly—eyes scanning for the practical. Appointment time. Forms. Instructions. Then she read it again slower, and this time the words didn’t just land—they sank. The questions skew younger… that’s intentional. Developmental lens rather than age-based. Not meant to diminish Paul… meant to meet him exactly where his body is operating. Lilly’s throat tightened. Not because she disagreed. Because it named what she’d been living without saying out loud. Diaper frequency. Sleep cycles. Feeding methods. Play. Comfort tools. It was all there, listed cleanly, clinically—like someone had taken the messy reality of her life and organized it into a framework that made sense. Lilly reached the part where Mindy stepped out of doctor voice and into friend voice. I also want to say this not as Paul’s doctor for a moment, but as your friend first. The week you described—the college conversation, the emotional crash, Bryan preparing to leave again—any one of those would be destabilizing on its own. You navigated all of it with steadiness, honesty, and care. You didn’t try to force Paul through something his body wasn’t ready for. You stayed with him. You listened. You adjusted. That matters more than any checklist ever could. Lilly blinked hard. The compliment hit like relief and guilt at the same time. And then she reached the paragraph about the meltdown. Not regression as a failure… Paul’s nervous system choosing the safest place it knows how to land. Lilly’s hand pressed against her chest, as if she could calm her own heartbeat the way she calmed his. She didn’t think of Paul as a toddler. She thought of him as Paul—brilliant, stubborn, theatrical, sweet in the ways he tried to pretend he wasn’t. A young man carrying grief and shame and a body that sometimes betrayed him without warning. But Mindy’s words did something gentle and dangerous: They gave Lilly permission to stop arguing with the facts. To stop trying to make Paul’s healing look “appropriate.” Lilly exhaled slowly, eyes drifting up toward the ceiling, as if she could see through the floorboards into Paul’s room—into the small sounds of him moving, preparing, choosing. Planned, not crisis-driven, Mindy had written. Comfort on schedule instead of after shutdown. Lilly’s phone felt heavy in her hand. Then she straightened, because that was what she did—feel it, then move. She headed for the master bedroom, the one she’d turned into a command center without meaning to, she pulled open both doors and turning to her right sat…. Her laptop. Her tablet for the nanny cam. Her quiet place to be the adult in charge while the rest of the house tried to pretend it was normal. She sat down immediately and opened the new intake form. Her cursor hovered over the attachment link below the email: the new intake. She clicked. The blank form opened—clean, structured, waiting. And seeing it empty somehow made it worse, because emptiness meant choice: you have to name it. Pediatric Support Intake Form — Ongoing Care (Adapted Developmental & Regulation Tracking) Patient Name: ___________________________ Date Range Covered: _____________________ Completed By: ☐ Parent ☐ Caregiver ☐ Patient (with support) Primary Setting This Period: ☐ Home ☐ School ☐ Clinic ☐ Mixed 1. Diapering & Toileting (Quality-of-life + nervous system regulation indicator) Average Diaper Use Per Day: ☐ 2–3 ☐ 4–5 ☐ 6–7 ☐ 8+ Wet Diapers (average/day): ☐ 0–1 ☐ 2–3 ☐ 4–5 ☐ 6+ Messy Diapers (average/day): ☐ 0 ☐ 1 ☐ 2 ☐ 3+ Time(s) Most Likely to Be Messy: ☐ Morning ☐ Afternoon ☐ Evening ☐ Overnight Signs Before Needing Change: ☐ Verbal request ☐ Body cues ☐ Increased fussiness ☐ None noticeable Tolerance of Changes: ☐ Calm ☐ Needs reassurance ☐ Resistant ☐ Distressed Notes (rash, discomfort, accidents, concerns): 2. Sleep & Rest Patterns (Core regulation + recovery marker) Total Nighttime Sleep: ☐ <6 hrs ☐ 6–7 hrs ☐ 7–8 hrs ☐ 8–9 hrs ☐ 9+ hrs Bedtime: ____________ Wake Time: ____________ Night Wakings: ☐ None ☐ 1–2 ☐ 3+ Naps: ☐ None ☐ 1 short ☐ 1 long ☐ 2+ Nap Length (average): ☐ <30 min ☐ 30–60 min ☐ 60–90 min ☐ 90+ min Sleep Aids Used: ☐ Pacifier ☐ Plush/toy ☐ Bottle ☐ Music ☐ Rocking ☐ Other ______ Overall Sleep Quality: ☐ Restful ☐ Fair ☐ Fragmented ☐ Poor 3. Fluids & Hydration (Autonomic regulation + energy stability) Water (sippy/cup): ☐ <16 oz ☐ 16–24 oz ☐ 24–32 oz ☐ 32+ oz Milk: ☐ None ☐ 1–2 servings ☐ 3+ servings Juice: ☐ None ☐ 1 small ☐ 2+ small Formula / Supplemental Drinks: ______________________ Preferred Drinking Method: ☐ Open cup ☐ Sippy cup ☐ Straw cup ☐ Bottle Any Refusal or Difficulty Drinking? ☐ No ☐ Sometimes ☐ Often 4. Nutrition & Eating Habits (Energy, mood, and physical endurance support) Meals Per Day: ☐ 1–2 ☐ 3 ☐ 4+ Meal Completion: ☐ Full meals ☐ Partial meals ☐ Grazing/snacking Snacks Per Day: ☐ None ☐ 1–2 ☐ 3–4 ☐ 5+ Texture Preferences: ☐ Soft ☐ Crunchy ☐ Mixed ☐ Liquids only at times Feeding Support Needed: ☐ Independent ☐ Verbal encouragement ☐ Hands-on help Any Food Avoidance or Sensory Issues Noted? 5. Play, Movement & Screen Time (Developmental engagement + nervous system discharge) Active Play (daily): ☐ <30 min ☐ 30–60 min ☐ 1–2 hrs ☐ 2+ hrs Type of Play (check all that apply): ☐ Gross motor ☐ Fine motor ☐ Pretend ☐ Sensory ☐ Quiet/solo Screen Time: ☐ None ☐ <1 hr ☐ 1–2 hrs ☐ 2+ hrs Response After Screen Time: ☐ Calm ☐ Neutral ☐ Dysregulated ☐ Meltdowns increase 6. Emotional Regulation & Meltdowns (Primary symptom tracking) Meltdowns This Period: ☐ None ☐ 1–2 ☐ 3–5 ☐ 6+ Typical Locations: ☐ Home ☐ School ☐ Public ☐ Clinic Common Triggers: ☐ Fatigue ☐ Hunger ☐ Transitions ☐ Embarrassment ☐ Sensory overload ☐ Emotional stress ☐ Unknown Early Warning Signs Noted: What Helped Most to Calm: ☐ Comfort words ☐ Holding ☐ Pacifier ☐ Regression time ☐ Quiet space ☐ Distraction ☐ Time 7. Stressors & Supports (Context matters) Top Stressors This Period: Most Effective Supports: ☐ Routine ☐ Caregiver presence ☐ Regression protocol ☐ Medical tools ☐ Play ☐ Sleep Lilly’s eyes flicked to the nanny cam interface. She turned on audio only. A faint sound came through—Paul moving upstairs. The squeak of a drawer. A hanger shifting. A soft thump as something was set down. Lilly opened her laptop and began to type. Not fast. Thoughtful. Like each answer was a choice she had to own. As she filled sections, she murmured pieces aloud—small fragments, half to herself, half to the empty room like it made the truth less sharp. “Date range… past seven days,” she said quietly, and the number alone felt absurd. Seven days. How could a life change this much in seven days? Her cursor hovered over the diapering section. “Average… six to seven,” she read softly, like she was saying it in a language she still hadn’t fully accepted. Then she clicked the box anyway. A pause. She glanced toward the nanny cam audio meter, watching it bounce faintly with Paul’s movement. Lilly kept typing. “Bedtime… seven-thirty,” she murmured when she reached sleep. “Wake time… six to six-thirty.” Her mouth tightened with a strange mix of grief and gratitude. Because it was working. Because it sounded like childhood. Because it gave him rest. Because it made her feel like she was holding together something that had threatened to break. At “Comfort tools,” she stopped again. Pacifier. Plushie. Bottle. Rocking. Her thumb hovered near the trackpad. She clicked them one by one, feeling each check mark land inside her body like a confession. Her breath caught when she reached the line about spoon-feeding. She didn’t say that part out loud. Not yet. That was for Wednesday. That was for the clinic. She finished enough of the form to feel steady. Then she sat back and listened. Upstairs, Paul’s footsteps shifted, nearer the camera. A breath. A pause. Lilly’s eyes softened without permission. He wasn’t ready to be changed yet. Not asking. Not calling her. Running his own show. Good. So Lilly stood. She moved quickly—like a mother trying to finish something important before the baby woke up needing a diaper change. And the strangest part was how natural that comparison felt now. She washed her face, smoothed moisturizer over her skin, fixed a few strands of hair. Efficient. Ritualistic. A reset for herself the same way Paul’s resets were being designed for him. As she moved, she felt it again—that quiet, unsettling truth she hadn’t fully admitted even to herself: Being needed didn’t just make her capable. It made her feel… wanted. Useful in the deepest way. And somewhere in that usefulness, something else had begun to grow—slow, private, complicated. Not just comfort with the role. A craving for it. For the moment Paul’s voice softened and he trusted her enough to say, Mommy. Lilly paused, hands braced on the counter, staring at her own reflection. Her eyes looked tired. But they looked alive. She turned off the water and reached back toward the desk, the nanny cam still on audio, when she heard the quietest, honest, softest and sweetest ask…. “Hey Lil---Mommy— I mean mom, umm I’m ready for a change now if that’s okay.” Lilly held her breath for just a second and replied “Sure, honey I’m on the way.” The hallway by the annex always held its breath. Not because it was haunted—Bishop’s Gate didn’t do ghosts. It did quiet power. It did polished floors that reflected your shoes back at you like a reminder. It did doors that closed too slowly, like the building wanted time to study who came and went. Here, where the annex connected to the older wing, the light didn’t fully commit. Sun spilled in through high windows and then broke apart across trophy cases and framed programs from a decade of productions. Half the corridor glowed. Half stayed in shadow. The blue door—painted the kind of institutional navy that never chipped—sat at the seam between the two like a secret that liked being a secret. Someone waited in that shadow. A faint rectangle of light flickered once, then steadied—cell phone screen, turned low. The time read 10:35. A voice whispered, the words not quite male or female, not quite young or old. Just… sure. “It’s now or never.” The blue door opened heavy, the hinges giving a controlled complaint. A rectangle of brighter light spilled out onto the floor like a stage mark. Paul stepped through first. He paused with one hand still on the door, eyes scanning the hall the way someone scans a parking lot at night. No witnesses. No curious faces. No bodies leaning against lockers pretending not to look. Paul’s shoulders dropped a fraction, like he’d been holding them up on purpose and could finally let go. He turned his head back toward the thin sliver of space still open between the door and the frame. His voice stayed low, grateful in a way that sounded practiced—like he’d learned when to keep his gratitude quiet. “Hey—thanks so much, Whitney. I really appreciate it.” From inside, a faint reply—soft, easy, familiar, as if this wasn’t the first time. “Don’t mention it.” Paul nodded once, like he wanted to say more but knew better. Then he let the blue door swing closed behind him. It latched with a deep, final click that echoed down the corridor in a way that felt too loud for something that was supposed to be private. Paul turned the corner. And he passed the shadow without seeing it. Because the shadow wasn’t a shadow at all. It was a person. Amber She stepped forward as soon as Paul was gone, the cell phone dimming in her hand like a dying ember. She emerged into the better light and the hallway seemed to sharpen around her—every reflective surface suddenly aware it had something worth reflecting. She looked immaculate in the way Amber always looked immaculate, even when she wasn’t okay. A fitted cream cardigan over a slate-blue camisole, dark high-waisted jeans, clean white sneakers that had never seen mud on purpose. Her hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail with a ribbon that matched the camisole—small effort, deliberate. The kind of detail that said, I am in control of the picture. And the focal point of the picture—impossible to miss—hung at her throat: her engagement ring on a thin gold chain, resting at her collarbone like a promise and a weight at the same time. It caught the light when she moved, flashing small and bright like a signal no one asked it to send. But her face told the truth her outfit tried to cover. Amber had the expression of someone young who pulled an all-nighter. Not the dramatic “I’ve been working hard” kind. The hollow, wired kind. The kind where your eyes look too awake but your skin looks like it forgot how to rest. Her concealer was perfect. It didn’t matter. There was a tightness at the corners of her mouth that made her look older than eighteen and somehow smaller too. Because Amber hadn’t been up studying. She’d been up… replaying. Last night—meant to give her closure—had done the opposite. It had opened doors. It had split the floorboards under her feet. It had handed her knowledge she didn’t know how to hold without dropping it. She hadn’t admitted that to her mother in the kitchen. Not fully. Martina had been there in the soft overhead light, hands moving on autopilot—coffee, mugs, sugar, the simple rituals that made mornings feel normal even when they weren’t. Amber had taken her coffee black, which Martina noticed immediately, because Martina noticed everything that mattered. In Amber’s head, the memory flickered like a scene change—warm kitchen light, the smell of Cuban coffee, Martina’s voice threading Spanish through concern the way she always did when she didn’t want her fear to show. “Mi ángel,” Martina had said, smiling like she was joking, “te ves pálida. ¿Ya te están dando nervios de boda, casi un año antes?” (My angel, you look pale. Are you already coming down with pre-wedding jitters nearly a year out?) It had been meant to tease. It had been a mother’s way of offering comfort without cornering her daughter. Amber had forced down the bitter coffee anyway. Let it burn. Let it anchor her. She’d smiled back like she could still play the part. But she hadn’t dreamed about her wedding. She’d dreamed about Paul. And hell—calling it a dream felt dishonest. It had been a nightmare, and the worst part was that it didn’t feel like it came from nowhere. It felt like her brain was trying to translate what she’d learned into an image her body could panic at. It came to her in flashes. Her and Paul back in Paul’s living room—only it wasn’t the living room the way she remembered. It was too bright, too staged, like the lights were always on and someone had turned the saturation up just to make everything feel wrong. In the background she heard voices—Martina and Lilly—murmuring to someone at the door like they were giving instructions. The words didn’t land clearly, but the tone did: practical, calm, familiar. Amber looked at Paul. At first he was dressed normally. Jeans, shirt, that slightly exasperated Paul expression like he was about to make a joke to break tension. Then she blinked. And when she looked again—Paul wasn’t dressed at all, except he was, in the nightmare logic that made no sense and still hit hard. He had this goofy, helpless look on his face, and a bib—an actual baby’s bib—printed with bright blocks and letters that read: MAMA’S HUNGRY BOY. And under that— A diaper so exaggerated it looked comical, cartoonishly puffy, sagging in a way that made Amber’s stomach twist. Not because it was funny. Because it was Paul. Her best friend. The boy who used to stand on the stage like he owned light. Amber’s chest tightened. In the dream she couldn’t speak fast enough. She couldn’t make her mouth work. She tried to call his name, but the sound came out wrong, small and swallowed. She heard Martina’s voice from somewhere behind her: “Be a good girl for Harley.” Amber blinked again, and the floor changed. She and Paul weren’t standing in the living room anymore. They were standing inside a playpen, right there in the middle of the room—white plastic bars, toys scattered everywhere like evidence. Two bottles lay on the carpet—one blue, one pink. And Amber was holding one. Her hand tightened around it like she’d been assigned a prop she didn’t ask for. She looked down at herself. A baby pink T-shirt cut too short, too silly, like something from a costume rack. And beneath it—her own diaper. White. Puffy. Warm. Wet. A ridiculous nightmare mirror of Paul. What—what was she— Then she saw Harley. Harley looked like a cartoon caregiver in the nightmare—bigger eyes, bigger smile, too-bright energy that didn’t fit the room. Her voice was high and sing-song as she approached them, grinning with a sweetness that felt sharp around the edges. “Uh-oh,” Harley chirped, laced in baby talk, “does Harley have two wet babies who need a diapee-wipey change?” Amber’s body jolted awake in bed, heart racing like it had been chased. And the nightmare stopped—but not in a clean way. It stopped the way a door slams: abruptly, violently, leaving you standing on the wrong side of it. Now, standing in the hallway at Bishop’s Gate, Amber swallowed hard as the memory tried to reattach itself to her. The worst part wasn’t even the nightmare. The worst part was the confirmation of everything Martina told her on the drive home. It was true. Paul didn’t just need diapers. His condition didn’t just inconvenience him. It reached inside him and rearranged the version of him that got to be in the world. It took his sharp edges—his independence, his rebellion—and turned them inward. It asked him to be cared for in ways Amber didn’t know how to look at without flinching. She didn’t know who Whitney was, but she knew what Whitney had just done for him. Whitney had been behind the blue door. Whitney had helped him. Because the daycare was attached. Because the annex was where kids got support. Because it wasn’t a coincidence that Paul had checked the hall like that before stepping out. Amber’s mouth tightened. “Ew. Gross,” she said out loud before she could stop herself. The words bounced quietly off the lockers and died. They sounded childish in the hallway. Cruel. Not because Amber meant Paul was gross. Not because she meant to be mean. Because her brain was panicking and it reached for the easiest label it could slap on something it couldn’t process. Flashes—bottles, bibs, baby food—hit her again, uninvited. Even though Paul wasn’t a baby. Even though she knew that. Even though she hated that her mind kept trying to collapse him into that image like it would make the fear easier to manage. It didn’t. It hurt her in more ways than one. Because there was a grief inside this that Amber didn’t know how to name. Not romantic grief. Not “I lost him to someone else” grief. Something stranger. Something deeper. She missed the Paul who used to glare at authority. The Paul who argued with teachers on principle. The Paul who could take a punch from life and still swing back. And now—now there were babysitters and routines and a blue door and a girl named Whitney who knew things Amber hadn’t been allowed to know until last night forced it open. It wasn’t just worry. It was anger too. Anger at the universe for taking pieces of him. Anger at how quietly it happened. Anger at herself for not being there when it started. Anger at the distance—the seven years they’d lost when Bryan and Paul moved away when Paul was eight and didn’t return until he was fifteen. Seven years that had changed them. Changed everything. The play had been the bridge. Martina had been the bridge. Amber had been able to pretend they were still the same kids as long as they were on stage under the same lights. But this— This was offstage. This was private. This was real. Amber’s fingers rose to her necklace without thinking. The ring was cool against her skin. Solid. A symbol of a future everyone congratulated her for. Marcus. A life that was moving forward. And Paul—Paul’s body was pulling him backward. Amber’s throat tightened as the clock in her mind ticked toward the next problem she couldn’t avoid. 11:00 a.m. rehearsals. In twenty-five minutes she’d have to stand across from him again, close enough to see his eyes change when he lied. Close enough to hear his voice try to be normal. Close enough to feel the new knowledge between them like a third person in every scene. What kind of chemistry would they have now? Would she look at him and see Paul— Or would her brain betray her and flash the nightmare again? Amber pressed her palm flat against a locker door, grounding herself in the cold metal. Get it together. Not because she was embarrassed. Because she was scared. Because she loved him—yes, loved him—in the way you love someone who has been stitched into your life so long you don’t know where you end and they begin. Amber drew a slow breath through her nose. She tasted coffee at the back of her throat. She tasted last night’s fear. She stared at the blue door one more time. Then she straightened. Smoothed her cardigan. Lifted her chin like she was stepping onto a stage. Because that was what Amber did when she didn’t know what else to do. Chapter Ninety-Seven: The Bishop’s Gate theatre wasn’t a room so much as a small kingdom. Two levels of seating curved around the stage like a bowl—dark wood railings, velvet-lined aisles, polished armrests that still smelled faintly of lemon oil from whatever janitor believed cleanliness was reverence. The stage itself was immaculate in a way that almost felt unfair for a school: clean black floor, fresh spike tape marks, lighting grid humming quietly overhead like a living thing. Up in the catwalks, crew kids moved like silhouettes—headsets, clipboards, practiced gestures. Backstage ran deep: costume racks on rolling rails, a paint-splattered set shop with half-built flats leaning like sleeping giants, a prop table that looked like a museum of other people’s lives—briefcases, toy guns with orange tips, battered hymnals, a fake pie that had survived three productions and refused to die. It smelled like sawdust and hairspray. Like hot dust from stage lights warming up. Like coffee someone shouldn’t be drinking this early but was anyway. And it sounded like rehearsal. Chaos with purpose. A costume kid with a measuring tape looped around her neck darted across the wings, calling out, “Who’s missing their hat? Jem—your hat is here!” A stage manager—seventeen and already exhausted—sat at the front row with a binder the size of a brick, snapping, “Quiet in the house in two minutes!” Somewhere near the orchestra pit, a boy practiced trumpet notes he didn’t need for this show and got yelled at anyway. A makeup mirror glowed in the corner like a tiny sun, surrounded by girls and boys smudging powder under their eyes, transforming teenage faces into older bones. Amber paused just inside the back entrance, letting the noise wash over her like a wave she didn’t have to fight. It should’ve felt normal. It was normal—this. This theatre. This controlled frenzy. This place where the world made sense because everyone had a role and a mark and a cue. But Amber’s body didn’t know the difference between normal and after. She stepped into the wings, the engagement ring at her throat catching a streak of light as she moved. Her eyes tried to do the smart thing—avoid, scan elsewhere, find something safe to focus on. The prop table. The fly system. A half-painted jail cell flat. Her eyes did the opposite. They landed on Paul immediately. He was stage left, half turned toward a rack of costumes, laughing at something Leo said. Not a big laugh. Not a performance laugh. A real, quick burst, like his body remembered how. He looked like himself. Not the backyard version with tears on his face. Not the hallway version checking corners for witnesses. Here—under stage light spill and the familiar hum of theatre—he was Paul the way Amber’s brain wanted him to be. Tall. Composed. For a second Amber’s chest loosened. Then it tightened again. Because the version of him that looked healed… was carrying what she knew now. And that knowledge didn’t sit on him like a bruise. It sat on her like a bruise. Paul glanced up—like he felt her before he saw her. Their eyes met. No shame. Not even apology. Just sincerity. Sanctuary, almost. Like the truth they’d shared last night had built a small bridge between them and he was standing on it, waiting to see if she’d cross. Amber lifted her hand and waved, small. Her mouth formed a silent, “Hi.” Paul mirrored it, equally small, equally careful. And then Declan’s voice boomed from the audience, cutting through everything like a director’s knife. “Right then—enough bletherin’. Cast, to yer places. Let’s get movin’” Declan didn’t need a microphone. He never had. A veteran of theatre in a way that made him seem older than the rest of them even when he was smiling. Scottish accent thick when he was excited, sharper when he was irritated. No nonsense. Intimidating sometimes, yes—but never cruel. He treated them like artists, not kids, and somehow that made everyone either rise or collapse. Declan’s gaze swept the stage, the aisles, the wings. He clapped once. “We’ll pick it up mid-beat. Atticus comes in knackered. Jem’s tryin’ to be brave about it. Let the silence do the work. Don’t you dare fill it. Aye? …Go.” Paul moved before he was even fully called. A shift in his body—actor mode, director mode, both. He passed Amber by a few feet, close enough that she smelled his soap—clean, citrus, something adult mixed with the baby powder underneath with the crinkle she could have sworn she heard. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t ask anything. But his eyes flicked to her face in passing, quick as a breath. You good? Amber nodded without meaning to. Paul was already gone. Leo jogged out behind him, lanky and earnest, carrying the script like a lifeline even though everyone knew the lines by now. Leo still looked like a freshman if you watched him too hard—the way his energy bounced, the way he held his shoulders like he was trying to look older. But today there was something steadier in him too. Like he’d been practicing offstage, like he’d listened when someone told him the difference between acting and being. Declan settled into the front row, legs stretched, arms crossed. “We’re starting mid-beat,” he called. “Atticus comes in tired. Jem tries to be brave. The silence matters. Don’t fill it. Ready?” The stage quieted the way only a theatre can quiet—like the whole building leaned in. Leo took his position as Atticus near the doorway mark. Paul as Jem was already seated on the porch steps, elbows on knees, the posture of a boy trying to hold something in without spilling it. Their set—a half-built porch with a railing and a swing—looked shockingly real under the right light, even if the paint was still drying in spots. Leo entered with measured weight. Not exaggerated, not melodramatic. He moved like someone who’d been carrying other people’s opinions all day. He set down an invisible briefcase with care, the way adults do when they’re trying not to show they’re tired. He looked at Paul—at Jem—and you could see him decide to soften. “You’re still up,” Leo said, voice low. Paul didn’t answer right away. He stared out toward the imaginary street, the audience empty but feeling full anyway. Then, quiet, almost casual in a way that made it hit harder— “Couldn’t sleep.” Leo’s shoulders dipped. “Something on your mind?” Paul let the silence sit. Let it do its job. Then he said, “Everyone keeps talking like we did something wrong.” His line wasn’t straight from the book. It didn’t need to be. It carried the same spine: a kid trying to understand the adult world and realizing it doesn’t make sense. Leo took a breath like he’d been told to and chose to keep it simple. “We didn’t do wrong,” Leo said. “We tried to do right.” Paul’s eyes flicked up. Not angry. Not accusing. Just… searching. “And that matters?” Paul asked. Leo stepped closer, not crowding, just enough to take the space the scene required. He sat on the porch swing, letting it move a fraction, a soft creak of chain. “It matters,” Leo said. “Even when people don’t clap for it.” In the wings, someone on crew actually stopped moving. Amber saw it. A kid with a staple gun paused mid-step like the line grabbed him by the collar. Paul shifted, and in his body you could see a boy deciding whether to trust his father. It was subtle. It was everything. “But you’re tired,” Paul said. “You’re always… tired.” Leo’s face did something honest—like the truth crossed it before he could edit it. “Yes,” he admitted. “I am.” Paul watched him. And then—without pushing, without blaming—Paul delivered the line that made Declan’s head tilt with interest. “Are you tired because you’re doing this… or because you’re doing it alone?” It wasn’t perfect literature. It didn’t need to be. It was perfect Jem. It was a boy seeing too much and saying it anyway. Leo’s throat bobbed. He didn’t rush the answer. “I’m not alone,” Leo said, voice roughened just slightly. “I have you. I have Scout. I have… a house that still has light in it.” Paul’s eyes softened, and Amber felt it like a tug. Because Paul could do that—turn softness into power. He could make tenderness feel like a choice, not a weakness. Paul nodded once, small. “Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll try to sleep.” Leo smiled—not big. Not showy. Just relief. He reached out and rested a hand on Paul’s shoulder, the kind of touch a father gives a son when words run out. Paul didn’t flinch. He didn’t lean away. He let it land. Declan’s voice cut in immediately, satisfied. “Hold—hold it there. Aye. That’s it. That’s the moment. Don’t rush past it.” He stood up, pointing at Leo, then at Paul. “Atticus—Leo—that’s the work right there. Ye stopped tryin’ to be older than ye are and let the scene carry ye. That’s honest. That’s bloody lovely.” Leo flushed, half shocked, half proud. Declan turned to Paul. “And Jem—Mr. Goldhawk—aye, I see ye. Clear as day.” Paul blinked like he didn’t know where to put the compliment. Declan continued, voice carrying. “Ye’re no’ just actin’. Ye’re listenin’. Ye’re givin’ him space with yer eyes, yer breath, yer stillness. Your helping to bring the best out of him—because ye let him be..” A ripple moved through the cast in the wings—people noticing. People recalibrating their understanding of Paul. Not as the kid who’d had a rough week. Not as the boy with the blue door. As the actor with command. Declan lifted his voice just a touch more, letting the whole room hear it. “And for the rest of ye—listen close. If ye want to stop shoutin’ yer way through scenes like volume’s a substitute for truth, then ye put in the time. And if Mr. Goldhawk offers ye notes off the clock, ye say thank you—and ye take them.” A few kids snickered in the way teenagers do when praised scares them. Declan shot them a look that made the snickers die. Paul’s tracker—tucked under his clothes like a private truth—stayed calm. Amber couldn’t see it, but she could see his breath. Even. Steady. Green. He gave Declan a small nod. He didn’t smile big. But something in him lifted. And Amber—watching—felt something complicated shift. Relief, yes. And also grief, because watching him be this good made her want to protect him more. And protecting him now had new rules she didn’t understand yet. Declan clapped again. “Right. Next scene. Scout, Jem, Dill—on.” Amber’s cue. Her feet moved before her brain could argue. She took her place center stage with Paul and Dill—played by a junior named Eli, skinny as a broomstick with freckles and restless energy. Eli bounced on his toes like he was trying to shake the nerves out. Amber settled into Scout’s posture automatically, the way she always did: chin up, shoulders forward, eyes quick. It usually felt like slipping into a favorite hoodie. Today it felt like stepping into water that might be too cold. Paul moved into Jem beside her, close enough that Amber’s body registered his presence the way it always had—familiar, safe, complicated. He whispered without moving his mouth, professional. “You good?” Amber nodded too fast. “Yep.” She wasn’t. They started the scene. It was light, playful on paper—kids talking about rumors, bravery, fear disguised as curiosity. Eli delivered his lines with eager charm, trying hard to keep pace. Amber should’ve been fine. But every time she turned toward Paul, her brain hesitated. It wasn’t that she saw him as a baby. Not really. Not consciously. It was worse: her mind kept flickering through images she didn’t want—blue door, Whitney, the word “support,” Harley’s sing-song voice, Martina’s certainty. The knowledge sat behind Paul’s face like a second script Amber couldn’t stop reading. Her timing slipped. A beat late. Then a beat early. She stepped half an inch off her mark and caught herself like she’d almost tripped. Declan’s voice came sharp from the audience. “Scout—ye’re steppin’ on the thought. Let it breathe. Trust it..” “Sorry,” Amber said quickly, forcing a laugh like it was no big deal. They reset. Amber tried again. She hit the line, but her eyes wouldn’t land where they needed to. Not fully. She kept skimming around Paul like eye contact might ignite something she couldn’t control. Paul noticed. Of course he did. Paul noticed everything. He leaned in during Eli’s line, whispering with real concern now, not just stage professionalism. “Amber. Hey. Talk to me. What’s going on?” His hand lifted and brushed her fingers—light, asking, not claiming. Amber’s body reacted like the touch was too loud. She pulled her hand back before she could choose not to. Not dramatic. Not cruel. Just instinct—space, breath, control. Paul’s face flickered. A micro-second of hurt he tried to swallow. He covered it fast, back into Jem, back into the scene. Declan called, “Hold.” The cast froze. The crew went silent. Declan’s eyes narrowed. “This is three bairns in a moment, not two and a ghost standin’ between them. If ye’re carryin’ somethin’, ye either leave it at the door—or ye face it here. We don’t bleed tension into the work ‘cause we’re scared to look at it. Amber’s cheeks burned. She nodded. “Got it.” Declan sighed—softer now. “Take five. Water. Reset.” The room exhaled. Amber stepped off stage right, moving toward the prop table like she needed an anchor. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and when she saw the name on the screen—Marcus—a smile hit her face automatically, bright as a light cue. Centered. Safe. “Hey,” she answered, voice softening into something warmer. Real. “Hi.” Paul was a few feet away, talking to Leo about a note Declan gave. He glanced at Amber and saw the smile. Saw her settle. And something in him shifted—quietly. Rehearsal wound down in its usual messy way: stage manager calling out reminders, wardrobe collecting pieces, crew dragging flats, someone shouting, “Who took my tape?” Declan released them with a gruff, “Good work. Don’t waste it.” Amber stayed on the phone, pacing just inside the wing. Marcus’s voice—low through the speaker—felt like a rope pulling her back to the life she understood. Paul approached anyway, cautious, like he didn’t want to interrupt but needed to ask. “Hey,” he said, waiting until Amber covered the mic. “Late lunch? I’m starving. There’s that place by the arts center—” Amber’s brain had two tracks at once: Marcus speaking, Paul asking. Her nervous system chose speed over grace. She lifted a hand, half apologetic, half hurried. “Sorry, little guy—need to take this. Marcus and I have plans.” The words came out wrong. Not because Amber meant to be mean. She said “little guy” the way she’d said it a hundred times when they were kids—affectionate, teasing, familiar. But she said it now, with everything she knew now, and it landed in the air like a dropped glass. Paul’s face didn’t crumble. He didn’t flinch dramatically. He just… went still for half a beat. Amber, still on the phone, didn’t see the full impact. She was already sliding back into Marcus’s voice, already performing normal. Paul stepped back, a small nod. “Oh—yeah. Cool. No worries.” His tracker—quiet against his body—spiked yellow like a warning light. He felt it before he fully understood it. A creeping heat at his ribs. The beginnings of that old betrayal feeling: not now, not here. He swallowed hard, forcing his posture to stay neutral. Leo and a couple of other cast members approached, energized from the good run. “Goldhawk!” Leo called, grinning. “We’re hitting lunch—come with. You too, Eli. We’re celebrating Declan not murdering us today.” A few kids laughed. Old Paul might’ve said yes. Might’ve leaned into the social moment, ridden the compliment high. This Paul hesitated. His body felt… precarious. Mostly fine. Mostly in control. But the yellow on his tracker and the way his stomach tightened told him he was closer to the edge than he wanted anyone to see. He forced a smile. “I can’t. I’ve—uh. Got something after.” Leo nodded, not offended. “Next time.” Paul gave a quick wave and moved stage left, exiting the space like he was leaving a party before anyone could notice he wasn’t having fun. Amber ended the call a minute later and turned back, looking for him like guilt had finally caught up. Paul was already gone. She spotted Leo and hurried over, voice tight. “Hey—did you see where Paul went?” Leo shrugged, easy. “Paul? He’s always on the move.” Amber’s chest squeezed. She pressed her fingers against her necklace, the ring cold and solid, and felt the shame creep up her throat. “I said something dumb,” she admitted, voice low. “I didn’t mean—” Leo tilted his head, not prying, just listening. “He’ll be fine,” he said, but his tone didn’t fully convince her. “He’s… Paul.” Amber nodded like that helped. It didn’t. She pulled out her phone and typed fast, thumbs shaking just slightly. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m just… overwhelmed. Please talk to me. She stared at the message before sending it like it might explode. Then she hit send. And somewhere across campus, walking faster than he meant to, Paul was already sending his own text—shorter, simpler, more urgent. Hey Harley, Mom said you’d pick up if I messaged you. Rehearsals are over, no need for me to hangout any further. Could you please pick me up ASAP. The response came almost immediately, bright on his screen like a chirp in the dark. ABSOUTLEY!! 💕💕 on my wayyyy!!! Paul’s throat tightened. Because the world was shifting around him again—roles reversing, language changing, affection landing differently than it used to. Amber—his oldest friend—had just called him “little guy” with a distance in her eyes she didn’t know she was wearing. And because his body, always listening, always recording, had turned yellow at the exact moment he needed it to stay green. Paul stood just outside the main entrance, the heavy stone arch casting long afternoon shadows across the drive. It was 1:20 p.m.—late Tuesday, late November—when the school felt hollowed out, most students locked in classrooms while the building itself seemed to breathe between bells. A few kids lingered near the gates, seniors skipping last period, a pair of freshmen hunched over a phone, laughter drifting without direction. Paul didn’t recognize any of them, which helped. A little. Then the car pulled in. A modest sedan—second hand, clean, unmistakably Harley. The color was cheerful without being loud, softened by playful decals along the rear window. Music bubbled out through the open driver’s-side window, bright and bratty, pulsing with the kind of confidence that felt ironic pressed up against Paul’s chest. He knew that song. His ears burned. He started toward the curb before he could overthink it, hoping no one was really paying attention. That was when the driver’s door swung open. Harley stepped out like she’d been waiting for this moment. Baby-blue booty shorts, frilly ankle socks peeking over baby-pink tennis shoes, long legs catching the afternoon light without apology. Over it all, zipped halfway up, was a Bluey hoodie—the cartoon character grinning wide across her chest, the hood’s little ears bouncing slightly as she moved. A soft baby-pink T-shirt showed underneath her whole outfit walking the line between playful and inappropriate-for-a-school-pickup in a way only Harley could manage without flinching. “Paaauuul!” she sang, already moving toward him. Before he could brace himself, she wrapped him in a quick, warm hug—arms snug around his shoulders, cheek pressing briefly against his temple. Not lingering. Not subtle either. “There’s my guy,” she cooed, pulling back just enough to look at his face. “How was your day, hm?” Paul flushed, aware of the eyes drifting their way. “It was… fine,” he said, keeping his voice steady. Harley didn’t seem to notice the stares—or if she did, she didn’t care. She slipped his backpack off his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world and popped open the passenger door with a flourish. “Hop in.” As Paul climbed into the seat, she leaned in closer, her voice dropping just enough to be private, still sing-song but quieter now. “Dry, sweetheart? Or do we need to make a pit stop soon?” Paul’s pulse jumped. He shook his head quickly. “I’m good,” he said, then added, softer, “Thanks for asking.” Harley murmured, pleased. She pecked his cheek—quick, affectionate—then buckled him in herself before closing the door. She tossed his backpack into the back seat, waved cheerfully at a couple of students watching nearby— “Have a good rest of your daaay!”— and climbed back into the driver’s seat. The car pulled away from the curb. Paul watched the gates slide past, then frowned slightly. They weren’t heading home, he said that part out loud. Harley giggled, eyes flicking to him in the rearview mirror. “You noticed,” she said lightly. “Such a smart boy.” Paul turned, heart thudding. That’s when he saw it. Hope sparked in his chest, bright and immediate. Next to his backpack sat his basketball—familiar, comforting—and Right alongside it came something sharper anxiety humming under his skin, as right beside it, neatly tucked but unmistakable, was his diaper bag. The music kept playing, sugary and defiant, as the school disappeared behind them and a “playdate” beckoned.

Chapter Seven - Changing Heights Jamie stared at the wall, the forecast displayed prolonged rainfall. Rainclouds most every day, an insight into his emotional turmoil. What the boy stared at was his new (hand me down) bedwetting chart from Ethan, the youngest brother. Each morning Caleb lifted the smaller boy by his waist, towards the chart, so he could place a new sticker, seemingly always a rain cloud. How the tides had shifted so dramatically in the span of a couple weeks, the concrete began to dry, his position more cemented as the littlest brother. Not only in the eyes of his new step-brothers, but also in the eyes of his parents. James was the only one who was still regularly wetting the bed, after Ethan seemed to overcome that issue. Accompany that with the occasional daytime incident, Jamie was forced into daily adorning of pull ups, smiling motifs of his favourite Pokémon doing nothing to quell the turmoil. His newfound room situation only served to solidify the foundations of babyhood. Jamie once had a teenagers bedroom; Xbox, call of duty posters, his own double bed. Contrasted by the now mounds of toys, from dinosaurs to Lego’s. A bedwetting chart, and Bluey framed pictures. Finally, a shared bedroom with his youngest brother, who now appeared bigger than him, in stature and treatment. Two single beds lay across either side of the room, almost identical yet distinct due to the potty chart above his. Chapter Eight - Muddy Fields There was one incident, shortly after that night his parents had gone away, which stuck in his mind. The four brothers had gone out to the footy field for a kick about. mid way through James needed to pee, however his defiant side still reared its head, perhaps detrimentally. Rain poured, an unrelenting barrage, which could not stop the will of four little soldiers attempting to have fun. Predictably, Caleb and Ryan insisted on carrying him there, as if he couldn’t walk from himself. Jamie protested lightly, however gave in quickly, feeling like it wasn’t a battle worth fighting. A few rounds of cuppies were at hand. The goal was simple, be the first to score two goals and advance to the next round. It would be enjoyable, save for the embarrassing predicament overshadowing the match. James continued with the game, remaining silent about his growing urge. He’d been forced to go in goal, despite being - in his view - the best footy player. Desperation grew, but being the eldest of course he could hold it. Time ticked by, Jamie was grasping at his crotch more regularly, displaying clear discomfort. Ethan was eliminated swiftly, leaving just Ryan & Caleb competing to win. Caleb noticed, but chose not to intervene. If Jamie really was this big boy he claimed to be, he’d mention his need and ask for help. Alas, that moment never came, and Ryan’s thunderous shot struck Jamie directly in the face. It shocked Jamie, releasing the inevitable floodgates. The pee flowed into his pull-up, soiling the garment. Perhaps a result of his bigger brother’s intimidation, but also a sign of immaturity. Ethan had managed to contain himself for this long, yet Jamie had failed. “GOALLLLL!!!!” Screeched Ryan, overjoyed at his achievement. He ran to celebrate, easily picking up Jamie, throwing the little boy up and down. Jamie’s head spun with every movement, feeling utterly powerless to protest in his brother’s strong arms. “Give him here Ryan.” Said Caleb, sternly, staring at his younger brother with a serious look. “What… why?” Asked Ryan. “We’re celebrating my win bro.”. “I said give him here… now.” Ryan complied, sensing Caleb wasn’t playing games, and not wanting to get on the wrong side of his big brother. He’d witnessed firsthand the fate of Jamie after all, and did not want to end up on any remotely similar path. As Jamie moved from Ryan’s grip to Caleb’s, he felt a his squeeze at his crotch. Ryan instantly understood the situation, feeling sympathy for Jamie, who was now hung around Caleb’s waist. “Sorry Jamie, I didn’t realise you had another accident…”.

Hi everyone! This is my first story I've ever written on this platform. Thanks for taking the time to read and I hope you enjoy it. Part Three coming soon! Connor's Unfortunate Lesson: Part One After years of Connor Jackson running his family ragged – driving them to the brink of insanity with his rude, disrespectful, and sometimes criminal behavior – his stepmother has finally decided she’s had enough. The last straw had been when he’d been caught breaking into parked cars in the middle of the night in an effort to score some quick cash. Michelle, who had been in his life for the better part of the last ten years, was both infuriated and devastated when she received that fateful call from the police. Instead of rushing down to the station to bail him out once again, she opted to leave him there for the remainder of the weekend while she finished putting her plan into action. When the following Monday arrived, the first thing she did was set up a meeting with her stepson’s school. Of course, their first inclination was to expel Connor for violating their code of ethics for the umpteenth time. However, she was eventually able to convince the board to allow her to unenroll him so that she could homeschool him herself. It had been a small victory, but at least this way she figured he might still have a chance to earn his GED and attend a good university. One day. At first, Connor had been thrilled with the latest development. He was convinced he’d gotten off scott-free. That is, until they arrived back at the house. After having spent the last several nights in jail, all he’d wanted to do was hole-up in his room and get some much needed sleep. Because as far as he was convinced, all he’d done was earn himself an early summer vacation that promised to be filled with girls, weed, and however much booze he could get his hands on. After his latest brush with the law, he was pretty sure that he’d just cemented his status as the resident “big man on campus”. Although fairly short for his age, he often found himself toeing the edge of being a bully. When he spoke, people listened. And if they knew what was best for them, they did as they were told. Otherwise he made sure they knew there would be consequences. He’d once dumped a kid in a garbage can after he refused to pony up his lunch money on Pizza Day. One could even argue that Connor was proud of his reputation. His male classmates respected him. Possibly envied him. And as for the girls, well, he had yet to meet one who didn’t want him. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard the word “no” – from anybody. Including his parents. Especially his parents. Even when his father had been alive, the man had been known for giving in to his spoiled son’s every whim. Although there were times when Michelle had warned him that he might be going too far, her protests had often fallen on deaf ears. Connor’s father was adamant that he was just trying to give his son the type of childhood he’d never had. Unfortunately for all of them, his attempts had only resulted in him raising a child who believed he didn’t have to play by the same rules as everyone else. But those days were over. After his last arrest, his stepmother knew it was time to put her foot down. Big changes were coming to the Jackson household. A fact Connor realized the moment he walked through his front door. Instead of being allowed to make a beeline for his bedroom, he’d found himself being hauled off to the living room for a special kind of punishment. The kind that involved a long overdue trip over his stepmother’s knee where she proceeded to blister his ass with a sturdy, wooden hair brush. It had been the first time he’d been spanked since childhood. And it was even worse than he could’ve ever imagined. The shame and humiliation had been overwhelming – and he hadn’t been alone for it either. His two stepsisters, Daphne and Delilah, had been in there to witness the entire spectacle. They’d heard every pained gasp and cry, had watched as he flailed and thrashed helplessly while their mother busied herself expertly reddening every inch of his bare bottom until he could no longer contain his sobs. But the girls harbored no sympathy for him. Instead they’d simply laughed, pleased to see their troublesome brother reduced to such an infantile state. In their minds, this was what he deserved after having spent the last few years enduring his would-be reign of terror. When the spanking finally ended, it was then that Michelle dropped what had felt akin to that of a verbal atomic bomb. In that very moment, right there in the living room, his stepmother declared that, moving forward, Connor’s life was about to change drastically. In order to save him, he would be made to start over. Take things back to the basics. And, hopefully, unlearn every single delinquent behavior that, up until now, had kept him off the straight and narrow. Until then, he’d lose all perks and privileges that came with being an adult. No friends. No phones. No electronics. A strict bedtime. And, what’s more, the bathroom was officially off limits. Chest still heaving, a shocked Connor had opened his mouth to protest, only to clam up when one of his sisters was ordered to bring out the urine stained sheets he’d hastily crumpled and shoved under his bed several nights ago. While it wasn’t the first time he had accidentally soiled himself in his sleep, he thought he’d actually been hiding pretty well. He had no idea that his family was well aware of his little secret. They’d just been waiting for the right time to confront him. “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?” Michelle mused, her nose crinkling as she’s hit with the stale whiff of the young man’s shame. “I mean, honestly. Just be grateful that your father isn’t here to witness what a disappointment his pride and joy has become.” “You’re insane!” He’d hissed, his face red as he began to rub his still smarting backside. “Dad would never let you treat me like this. My inheritance is supposed to come through virtually any day now, and when it does, I’m throwing you, and your girls out on your asses the first chance I get!” Connor’s sniffles had only grown more pronounced when his threat was rewarded with a resounding combination of snorts and laughter from the three remaining members of his family – which was confusing. Because in his mind there had been nothing funny about any of this. “I’m sorry, Connor. And girls, stop. This is serious.” Even so, Michelle had continued to giggle long after the bulk of her laughter subsided. “Because what your brother doesn’t understand is that, while yes he was promised an inheritance, he’s also going to have a hard time collecting it if he isn’t deemed competent to do so.” Tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, she’d given her daughters a knowing look. “As your guardian, I have a final say as to whether or not you’re ready to receive access to the trust funds you father left behind – which is true for all three of you.” “But I’m–!” “Yes, you may have just turned eighteen, young man.” His stepmother scoffed before rising to her feet. “But that doesn’t mean you’re ready. You have no plans for the future. No desire to go to college or find a trade school. In fact, the only thing you’re able to boast about is your growing rap sheet.” She adjusts her blouse, subtly highlighting her shapely figure. “Whereas your sisters are set to attend the best university in the state on full scholarship, starting this fall.” “I don’t need school, Michelle. I’ve got money. A lot of money.” Connor had snarled before attempting to snatch the sheets out of his sister’s grasp. He failed, of course. “Now, give me my shit and I’ll let you keep the Range Rover my Dad bought you. And when I sell the house, I might even cut you a piece of the profits. Assuming I can bring myself to forget about the way you’ve all treated me just now.” And that’s when Michelle began to move. “Let’s face it, Connor.” He’d stepped back as she slowly invaded his space, effectively towering over him, making him feel smaller than he’d liked to admit. “You’re nothing but a little boy who thinks he’s doing a good job of pretending to be a grown-up.” Cupping his chin, she’d then forced him to meet her stern, blue-eyed gaze. “We – your father and I – failed you the first time around. Which is why I feel like I’m partly to blame for what you’ve become. But I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately, and even had a chance to consult with a leading therapist who specializes in helping troubled young men find their way back on the straight and narrow. His best-selling novel, Rebirth: The Road Back to Babyhood, was quite the page-turner.” Feeling like the walls were closing in on him, Connor could only summon a weak cry as the weight of his circumstances became overwhelming. “You can’t do this…I…” And that’s when a fresh wave of tears had begun to fall. “I’ll call the police. I…I…” He’d trailed off upon noticing Michelle’s smug grin. “Oh, Connie.” She’d eventually released his chin in order to mockingly ruffle his chocolate brown locks. “It’s already been done. This summer, your sisters and I are going to help give you the do-over you so desperately need. We’re going to break that stubborn little spirit so you can grow up to be the kind of upstanding young man who wants to make his family proud.” Leaning down, she’d pressed a chaste kiss along his furrowed brow. He honestly couldn’t believe that these were his only options. Either refuse and be thrown out on the street, penniless and without a place to call home. Or stay and allow himself to be subjected to whatever twisted plans his stepmother had in store for him. “Please…” He’d tried once more, now feeling more helpless than he’d ever had in his life. “I can–I can change.” God, he’d hated how his voice shook with every word he spoke. “Oh, we know you can, baby boy. And you will.” His stepmother assured him as she’d reached for his hand, dragging him down the hall in the direction of one of the house’s many guestrooms. “Like it or not, your new life starts today. Now, come on girls!” She’d called out as her grip tightened, forcing Conner to scramble to keep up with her long stride. “It’s time to show your baby brother his brand new room!” END Connor's Unfortunate Lesson: Part Two - (Takes place three months after the events in Part One) At eighteen-years-old, Connor was desperate to keep his neighbors and the surrounding community from finding out about his shameful little secret. You see, while most of his classmates were finishing up the school year and preparing to start college in the fall, he’d been busy with something else. And it had everything to do with the diaper he was currently hiding underneath his gray sweatpants. For the last few months, the toilet had been off limits to him. All thanks to the bad behaviour that had landed him in jail around that same time. Well, that and the fact that he still had a tendency to wet the bed at night. Unfortunately for him, being denied access to the bathroom like any other self-sufficient adult had severely affected his ability to control his bladder. If he was awake, he usually had a 50/50 chance that his body might alert him that he needed to pee. Or mess. From there, he only had a matter of minutes before he was forced to do his business wherever he stood. Or squatted for that matter. And if he was asleep, then all bets were off. Having anticipated this development, his stepmother now mandated that he be kept in diapers full-time. Connor would have to earn the right to use the potty like a big boy again, whenever Michelle believed he was ready. Wait. Not Michelle. Mommy. Of course, what was even more embarrassing was that he wasn’t even allowed to change his own diaper. Depending on how his behavior had been that week, he might not even be allowed to ask for one. If he’d gotten himself in trouble, he would often have to wait until his Mommy or one of his sisters decided to check to see if he’d soiled himself. It was utterly humiliating. These days, Connor was no longer allowed the privilege of modesty. Michelle bathed him every night and typically changed his dirty diapers throughout the day. And when she was too busy, or couldn’t be bothered to deal with him, the demeaning task fell to one of his twin sisters: Daphne or Delilah. If he were being honest, he regretted having mistreated both girls over the years. Because now they took every opportunity they could to inflict their revenge. While they were of no relation to him, they were the spitting image of their beautiful mother. And what made it even worse is that they were only older than him by a handful of months. Sometimes Daphne wasn’t so bad. While he wouldn’t exactly say she was nice, he could usually deal with the way she teased and babied him. But Delilah…she could be downright cruel. There were times she went out of her way to humiliate him, and she often wouldn’t stop until he was reduced to tears. Thankfully, no one from the outside world seemed to be aware of Connor’s new predicament. Something for which the young man was grateful. But deep down, there was a part of him that knew this wouldn’t last forever. Eventually the other shoe would have to drop. Which could hopefully mean freedom from his infantile prison and access to the trust fund he was owed. Or a lifetime of embarrassment if anyone in town ever discovered his new, baby-powder scented secret. And thanks to the calculated efforts of his Mommy, it was quickly looking like the young man’s life was swiftly careening towards the latter. Whether he had a say in it or not. __________ A Few Days Later... “Michelle…” Connor whines softly as he anxiously shifts from foot to foot. “Please don’t make me do this.” Heaving a weary sigh, his stepmother brushes past him to check on the quiche she had baking away in the oven. “For the last time, Conrad, I’m not making you do anything you haven’t already been doing for the last few months. And you know that’s not my name.” Realizing her dish still needed a few more minutes, she closes the door before turning to face the young man currently occupying her kitchen. “Who am I to you?” “Mommy. I–I’m sorry, Mommy.” He quickly amends, hoping to avoid wracking up any additional punishments. His bottom still ached from the spanking he’d received earlier that morning. “That’s better. Now, we’re having company over and that’s final. And you will be on your best behavior while they’re here, or there will be consequences. Is that understood?” She arches one perfect blonde brow for emphasis. “But can I…can I…” He stammers, wishing he could simply get the words out. “Can you…what?” An impatient Michelle crosses her arms over her ample bosom. “Spit it out or stop wasting my time.” “Can’t I please at least put on my underwear? Real underwear? I won’t have an accident, I swear!” Unfortunately, Connor was pretty sure he’d known the answer before he’d even summoned up the courage to ask the question. But when he’d found out the identity of the visitors she’d invited, it was worth a try. “Oh, Connie…” Her derisive snort seems to echo throughout the fairly large room. “Always so convinced you’re ready to be a big boy when you’re not.” “But I don’t want them to see me in a–” He cuts off mid-sentence as he feels his cheeks heat. “I don’t want them to know that I have to wear…this.” He finishes, apprehensively tugging at the waistband of his pants. “Well, why not?” Michelle glides over the fridge to take stock of treats she’d prepared for the afternoon’s festivities. “It’s for your protection, after all. Do you remember what happened the last time you went without your…protection?” The mocking lilt in her voice has him feeling about two feet tall. “Yes.” He mumbles, his gaze dropping to his socked feet. “And?” “I fell asleep and had an accident on the couch.” “Hmm.” Closing the door, she moves to take a seat at the kitchen table. Resting her chin on her palm, she makes it clear that he now has her full attention. “And what did Mommy do? What did she have to do when you had your little accident?” “You…you spanked me. With my paddle.” Connor swallows hard, his bruised bottom throbbing at the memory. “And then you put me in triple diapers for the rest of the week.” “And tell me – why did I do that, Connor?” His fists clench uselessly at his sides. “Be–because I took off my diaper.” The sound of Michelle’s tinkling laughter is enough to set his teeth on edge. “And is that something you’re allowed to do? Are you allowed to take your diaper off? Ever?” “No, Mommy.” “That’s right.” His stepmother then leans across the table to grab her cellphone – a right he’d been denied for months. Unless he managed to catch a bit of the evening news on television, he had no idea about what was going on in the world. “Frankly, I’m surprised you even had the gall to ask after the way I had to blister that naughty butt of yours for cursing at your sister.” Connor doesn’t bother to hide his grimace. He’d gotten a spanking this morning because of a stunt Delilah had pulled. How he hated her and her stupid ribbons. “Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so worried, little Connie?” Her feigned interest has her continuing to stare down at her phone. “I thought you’d be excited to have some company after all this time. You used to love Mr. and Mrs. Peters. Now out of options, the diapered young man visibly deflates. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to find out about his ongoing punishment. His reputation would be ruined. And he was pretty sure that he’d never be able to land another date for the rest of his life. “May I please be allowed to stay in my room?” “Absolutely not.” Pursing her perfectly painted lips, she sets down her device before beckoning him forward. Once he’s standing in front of her, Michelle lowers his pants to check the padding of his diaper. “You’re not that wet.” She gives his crotch an affectionate squeeze before turning him around to make sure he wasn’t hiding any other surprises. “And thank goodness you’re not poopy.” Pulling his sweats back up, she briefly goes quiet. A few moments pass before she finally speaks again. “Tell you what…” She pulls him closer, until he’s now perched on her knee. “Since you’re so worried about them finding out your secret, how about we change your diaper right before they get here? And then we’ll put you in your favorite onesie – the one with the easy snaps.” “Really?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but at the same time…he really was desperate. “And then we’ll put you back in your sweatpants, that way the Peters won’t notice a thing. After all, your diapers only swell up when they’re used, right?” “R–right…” “Now listen closely,” She boops his nose before continuing. “Because this is your one chance to show Mommy you just might have what it takes to start earning back all those big boy privileges you’ve been missing out on lately. When you feel like you need to go potty you come and tell me or your sisters right away. One of us will take you to the bathroom and help you with your diaper so no one has to find out. Deal?” Connor eagerly nods his head as relief blooms in his chest. “Thank you, Mommy. I won’t let you down – I promise!” Scrambling off his stepmother’s lap, he wanders off towards the living room to make sure it’s devoid of anything that could give away his secret. “You had better not, baby boy.” Michelle responds, as a cruel smile ghosts its way across her lips. “Even though something tells me that you already did…” ____ Four Hours Later... After what seemed like hours, the chime of the doorbell finally signals the arrival of their long awaited guests. Connor had been on pins and needles all morning, wishing that he could get the entire spectacle over with and move on with his day. He checks in the mirror one last time, silently reassuring himself that his so far still-dry diaper wasn’t readily visible beneath his gray sweatpants. As promised, his stepmother had dressed him in his least conspicuous onesie – the one with the easy snaps. Now, all he had to do was be polite and control his bladder long enough for someone to take him to the bathroom. It was pretty simple when he thought about it. “Connor!” Michelle bellows from down the hall. “Come say hello to our guests!” Resigning himself to his fate, he forces himself to make the trek from his room to the sitting area. Surely exchanging pleasantries with their neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Peters, wouldn’t be too painful. Hell, they might even forget he was there after the first few minutes. Rounding the corner, his well-rehearsed greeting swiftly dies on his lips. Because standing in the living room was the last person he could possibly want to see. It was his classmate Mallory, the nerdy girl who always volunteered to do his homework, accompanied by her mother. “As you can see, Connie.” His Mommy grins at him while handing off their jackets to his sister, Daphne. “There appears to have been a slight change of plans. Mr. Peters couldn’t make it, so Mallory agreed to tag along instead. Isn’t that nice?” Conner remains too stunned and nervous to speak as he watches Michelle eagerly direct their company to the delicious spread she’s laid out for lunch. Alarm bells were sounding in his head, demanding that he run and hide immediately. “Young man, you’re being rude.” His Mother scolds, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. “And you know I don’t tolerate rudeness in this household.” The unspoken threat in her voice hangs heavily between them. And that’s when it clicks that if he was going to survive the afternoon unscathed, he’d have to be very, very careful. All it would take is him breaking just one of her overbearingly meticulous rules for his secret to be exposed. “I–I’m so sorry.” Now that he’s got his feet moving again, he summons the wherewithal to shake their hands. First Mallory’s, and then her Mother’s. “I was surprised to see you, is all. Your daughter is the first person I’ve seen from school in quite awhile.” Instead of immediately responding, the older woman eyes him warily. “I heard you were arrested. Again. Makes sense that school finally had enough of you.” “Mom!” Mallory hisses, clearly embarrassed by her Mother’s unsolicited rebuke. “It’s okay…” Michelle assures them both before pouring Mrs. Peters a healthy glass of chilled Chardonnay. “While it’s true that dear Connie had yet another run-in with the law, after meeting with the school board, they were gracious enough to allow me to withdraw him instead of following through with their proposed expulsion. My baby boy got lucky.” She reaches over to affectionately ruffle his brown locks. “I can only assume you’ve taken up homeschooling him?” Mrs. Peters sniffs primly before taking a sip of her wine. “Assuming he’s willing to follow instructions.” “Oh, I can assure you that he’s been receiving quite the re-education.” She passes Connor a large bottle of water before instructing him to drink. “Remember, the doctor told you that you need to stay hydrated. You’ll need to finish that before you’re allowed a snack.” Connor feels his stomach drop as he accepts the offering. Because while he was thirsty, he knew that if he did as he was told he’d need to use the potty in no time. But that was okay, he told himself. Because his Mommy had promised to take him to the bathroom as soon as he asked. With that in mind, he finally allows himself to relax, if only just a little. While the two adults chatted idly, he listens to Mallory catch-him-up on the happenings he’d missed at school. From the football team’s record breaking season, to who was crowned this year’s prom king and queen, no topic off limits. Talking with her makes him feel good. Normal. Especially when it had been ages since he’d interacted with anyone outside of his mother and sisters. They were nearly an hour into the visit when he felt his bladder begin to show signs of protest. While he had yet to finish the entire bottle, he was close. But his body didn’t care. He knew he needed the bathroom. Now. “Um, excuse me? M-mom?” He mutters, trying to be as polite as possible with his interruption. Clearly annoyed by the prospect of being unable to finish her thougth, she turns to her stepson in a huff. “The adults are speaking, young man.” “I know, but…” Conner lowers his voice several octaves. “I need to go…to…” He trails off, assuming she’d catch the hint. However, he should’ve known that he wasn’t destined to be that lucky. “Go? Go where?” “The bathroom.” He mouths, while attempting to obscure his face from view. “Right now.” “Well, Mrs. Peters and I are in the middle of a conversation. You’re just going to have to wait like any other big boy your age.” With that, she effectively dismisses him, leaving him alone to panic. “Connor…is everything okay?” A confused Mallory asks. “Everything is fine.” He grunts, willing himself to take a deep breath as the pressure continues to grow. “Mom, please!” “For the last time, Connor!” She snaps, snatching his nearly empty water bottle and slamming it on the coffee table. How dare you keep interrupting me like this? I don’t have time to take you to the bathroom right now, so you’re either going to have to wait or go find one of your sisters. Am I being clear enough for you?” “Yes, ma’am.” He grumbles before anxiously rising from the couch, leaving his Mother’s dumbfounded guests behind in favor of tracking down one of his sisters before it was too late. Of course, that quest soon proves to be a colossal waste of time. Because while he manages to catch Delilah on her way out the door, she refuses to be of any help. She even takes it upon herself to loudly announce to anyone that was in earshot that she didn’t have the energy to deal with “pissy little diaper boys” today. Reeling from shame and praying that Mallory and her mother hadn’t overheard her rude declaration, he’d then gone about looking for Daphne. Which was how he’d ultimately found himself back in the living room. Following the sound of her voice, Connor and his now screaming bladder had scarcely set foot on the freshly steamed carpet before he realized just how dire his ordeal had become. “What’s up with all the yelling, Connie?” His sister mocks, adjusting her high ponytail. “You’re so needy all the time, it’s honestly starting to become a little embarrassing.” “Please.” He begs, feeling himself beginning to sweat as he continues to clench his thighs together. “I have to…I need…oh no…” Clutching the wall, he utters a pained groan as he feels the first hot stream of piss escape into his diaper. “Uh oh.” His sister coos, making light of his shame. Meanwhile, his unexpecting audience watches in stunned silence as the eighteen-year-old man slowly loses his battle with control. His knees buckle as he continues to soak his diaper with urine, forcing it to expand massively beneath the fabric of his sweat pants. “Jesus Christ!” Comes Mrs. Peters’ shocked gasp. “Did he just…wet himself? Look at that spot on his pants!” Sure enough, he had leaked. He didn’t have to check because he could already feel it. Michelle feigns surprise, covering her mouth with her hand in an attempt to convey her embarrassment. “Oh my goodness!” She cries before shifting her attention to their guests. “Janet. Mallory. I’m so sorry you had to see that. I’m afraid my little boy isn’t fully toilet trained yet.” “I can see that.” Mrs. Peters replies, her face aghast. “My…what a mess.” “I’m afraid raising him lately has been quite the challenge.” Michelle opines, reaching over to grasp her supportive hand. “It’s been hard, keeping Connie’s little secret like this. But it’s also necessary – the diapers, I mean. The poor boy has lost all control.” Their gaze strays towards a betrayed Connor, watching as he sinks to the ground. His body is wracked with heartbroken sobs. “I told you I had to potty!” He wails, falling on his back and kicking his feet. “Mommy, I told you!” “Does he always throw tantrums like this?” The older woman asks, her lip curling in disgust as she witnesses the young man behave worse than a toddler. “Sometimes.” His stepmother confesses with a sigh. “I thought we’d gotten a handle on it. But today’s been a big one for Connie. I imagine he’s a little overstimulated, but you can be sure it will be addressed before I put him down for bed tonight. Once she feels as though he’s suffered enough, Michelle finally gives Daphne the order to take him back to his bedroom for a much needed diaper change. Unfortunately, it does little to soothe the man’s severely wounded ego. But when his sister picks him up and sets him on his feet, he doesn’t protest. Lips trembling, a soggy and defeated Connor dutifully follows her to his bedroom – otherwise known as his nursery. Decorated in a symphony of pinks and purples, it had everything one might need to care for a precious little baby. Like him. “Aww, c’mon Connie. Don’t cry.” His sister coos once she reaches his adult-sized changing table, clearly not in the mood to deal with his theatrics. “You should’ve known this was gonna happen. You haven’t been able to stay dry on your own for months.” “But I told Mommy I had to go potty.” The young man pouts. “I told her and she didn’t listen. Instead she made me go ask Deliliah.” “That’s because Mommy was busy talking to the grown-ups. Any other boy your age would’ve been able to hold it much longer than you did back there. All you did was prove what the rest of us already knew – that you’re just not ready to be an adult. Now hop up. I’ve got shit I need to do.” “No.” Comes his defiant grunt. “I can change myself.” “No, you can’t. You know the rules.” One strong hand shoots out, taking a hold of his wrist and dragging him closer. “Now, I’m going to give you one last change to climb up here before I decide to do something to really embarrass you in front of Mrs. Peters and Mallory. Is that what you want?” As upset as he was, Connor is also keenly aware that his sister isn’t joking. Diaper changes were already a humiliating affair – both his sisters and stepmother made sure of that. What with all the constant teasing and taunting as they took their time wiping him clean of whatever mess he’d made in that moment. And to make matters worse, sometimes his little soldier tended to have a mind of its own, often creating the illusion that he was enjoying his mistreatment. Still holding back tears, he finally allows Daphne to help him onto the table. Once seated, she makes quick work of removing his sweats before beginning to undo the snaps of his now damp onesie. “Woah, baby boy.” She chuckles when she finally gets a good look at his thoroughly soaked diaper, taking a moment to pat his padded crotch. “Looks like somebody did a big wee-wee, huh?” Connor feels his face go scarlett as he forces himself to look away. He couldn’t believe this was his reality right now, especially when they had company just down the hall. And to make matters worse, his sister had left his door wide open, leaving him and his soiled diaper in plain view of whoever might be walking by. “Let’s get you into a dry diaper.” Daphne murmurs, her voice containing a hint of both sweetness and mockery. “Then you’ll be all better. Well, until Mommy decides if she’s going to spank your little bum bum for throwing such a big tantrum.” She doesn’t bother trying to mask her giggle as she shoves his favorite pink pacifier between his frowning lips. Then she goes to remove his onesie, lifting it over his head before moving on to his diapered-prison. Now completely naked, he can’t help the shiver that courses through him as the cool air makes contact with his bare skin. But he knows better than to try to hide or cover himself. According to Michelle, babies didn’t concern themselves with trivial things like modesty. “And there’s Mr. PeePee.” She takes a moment to study his tiny member, which is something she did fairly often. “Still tiny I see.” She muses as she reaches for a wipe. “But I like this little purple ribbon he’s wearing. It makes him look extra cute!” The young man can’t help but flush when he feels his penis twitch of its own accord, as if enjoying the praise. “Did Mommy do that for you? Or was it Delilah?” He struggles not to jump when the cold wipe finally makes contact with his heated flesh, starting with his thighs before slowly and meticulously making its way toward his hairless balls, sitting on prominent display like two plump little peaches. “Delilah.” He whimpers through his binky, willing himself to remain flaccid as he’s forced to remember how she’d taken her time dressing up his little member with the help of one of her many colorful ribbons. In an unusual act of defiance, he’d actually balked when she’d initially tried to put it on him this morning. Then he’d made the mistake of telling her to “go fuck herself”, which in turn had sent her off to find Michelle while he was mid-change. Both women had returned moments later, with his sister sporting a knowing smirk and his Mommy wielding his new wooden paddle. “Mmm…” Daphne’s ministrations then move to his increasingly sensitive member. Pausing to grab a fresh wipe, she begins gliding it up and down his unimpressive cock. Squeezing his eyes shut, Connor is just about to beg her to go faster when he’s interrupted by the sound of someone new entering the room. “I–I’m sorry.” The quiet voice squeaks. “I guess I must’ve gotten lost on the way to the bathroom.” It was Mallory. She was here. Now. In his bedroom. Watching him while he lay on his back, naked and exposed, with his legs in the air while he finished getting his diaper changed. Oh God, this couldn’t be happening. “It’s no problem – little Connie and I are almost done.” His sister chirps. “Aren’t we, baby boy?” Connor refuses to answer, preferring to let the silence stretch between them as shame and embarrassment seep out of every pore of his scrawny body. Meanwhile, Daphne continues to absentmindedly stroke him while engaging with their new guest. “Sooo…” Mallory drags out the word as she takes a tentative step closer, allowing herself a better look at her former classmate’s predicament. “Is this why you left school, Connor? I mean, everyone was talking about how your Mom kept them from kicking you out by homeschooling you, or whatever. But I’m pretty sure nobody would believe this…” “It’s a long story.” Daphne interjects on his behalf, before expertly gripping his ankles and lifting his bottom in the air, showing off the remnants of his morning discipline. “But suffice to say that this is his new life now. In fact, it has been for months.” She gently lowers him back onto the table, making a point to splay his quivering thighs even wider than what was really necessary. “Now that his secret’s out, he can focus on what’s really important. And that’s becoming a better, more humble, version of himself.” Her long fingers go to tickle the soft skin of his belly. “Isn’t that right?” “I…should probably leave you guys to it.” “Oh, it’s okay – seriously.” His sister responds dismissively as he sucks harder on his pacifier. “Privacy is a thing of the past for this guy.” She reaches down to grab a tube of cream and gives it a hearty squeeze, using her hand to thickly coat his butt, balls, and dick with the stinky paste. “Sorry about the smell, Mal. But the last time this baby ended up with a rash he was super fussy.” “I’ll bet.” Mallory murmurs, more to herself than anyone else, as she continues to process everything she’s seeing and hearing. “So does he use his diapers all the time?” And now that they were talking about him as if he wasn’t there, Connor wanted nothing more than for a sinkhole to open up in the floor of his nursery and swallow him whole. “All day, every day.” Daphne confirms. “I’m afraid the potty is off limits to Connie until he can be trusted not to have an accident or make a mess. He never was very good at aiming.” Her tone takes a conspiratorial turn. “Or at wiping his own butt for that matter. I’m sure you can only imagine the constant state of his underwear.” “So he…uses them too? Often?” “He does. These days it seems like he’s constantly wet. But sometimes he has a little trouble going number two.” She shrugs, wiping her hands on a nearby towel. Funny enough, she and Connor were both aware that she was dragging out this whole diaper change business. But there was nothing he could do about it. “But Mom keeps a special stash of suppositories on hand which always seem to work wonders on his stubborn tummy.” Nodding in understanding, Mallory allows herself to take a few more tentative steps into the nursery. She makes note of the crib and playpen, as well as the various blocks and toys that littered the floor. Later she would be forced to admit to her diary that she had found the entire scene to be utterly fascinating. “Are you the only one who—who changes him?” “Eh, my sister and I take turns. And my Mom helps out a lot too.” Hands dry, she reaches for the baby powder, liberally applying it to his crotch and bottom. “She does most of it, actually. Mom is usually the one to feed him and bathe him and stuff. And baby Connie here is thankful for that, otherwise he gets his bottom spanked. Like he did this morning.” At long last, Daphne finally grabs a diaper and places it under him. Meanwhile, Connor continues helplessly nursing his binky, all the while willing his unruly member to stand down. But it was almost like the closer his former classmate got, the more the stupid thing insisted on waving to get her attention. All three and half inches of it. “And does that always happen?” Mallory asks, her eyes focused on his cock. “Is it normal for him to be so…excited? Sorry for all the questions, but this is all new to me. I guess I’m just trying to make sense of it all.” As if finally noticing the young man’s discomfort, she tries to offer him what she hopes comes off as a supportive smile. “Sometimes.” Daphne concedes with a shrug, barely concealing her smirk when she sees a bead of precum leak from the tip of his swollen member. Instead she gives the other girl a playful nudge with her shoulder. “It doesn’t happen as much as it used to. He’s probably trying to show off since you’re here.” She lifts the front of his diaper before proceeding to securely fasten the tapes. “Not very impressive, I know. But it comes with the territory. If it ever gets to be too much, we call in Mom for back-up and she takes care of it.” Satisfied with her answer, Mallory ventures over to Connor’s crib. She runs her fingers along the bars as she observes the various stuffed animals strewn across the mattress. Next she makes her way to what appears to be an adult-sized rocking horse, her eyes going wide when she realizes that the man on the table most likely really did play with all of these toys. Toys that were intended for babies. “Can I ask who else knows about this?” She asks as she finds her way over to his chest of drawers. There’s no malice behind her questions, no cunning. Just genuine curiosity. Throwing caution to the wind, she takes her time opening each one, and is surprised when she finds a treasure trove of onesies, plastic pants, footy pajamas, bibs, and more. Jesus Christ. If anyone else at school found out about this, Mallory was pretty confident that Connor would never be able to live this down. “You’re the first. Well, you and your Mom, I suppose.” Spinning on her heel, Mallory watches as Daphne lifts her former classmate off the table before helping him into a new shirt. But she doesn’t allow him any pants. Perhaps because she believed there to be no point. His secret was out. At least where she was concerned. “Go on and play, baby boy.” A smiling Daphne shoos him away, continuing to ignore his pathetic little sniffles. “Big sis needs to finish talking to your friend, Mallory.” Left with no other option, Conner ambles away. This time choosing to hide in the confines of his adorable little playhouse. “If no one else knows, then why are you telling me? Aren’t you the least bit concerned that I might go out and tell everyone about what I saw here today? Connor would be…a joke.” Just as Daphne is prepared to respond, someone else manages to beat her to the punch. Her eyes dart to the door as her Mother and Mrs. Peters make their way into the nursery. “I’m afraid little Connor was already a joke long before he found his way back into diapers.” Michelle interjects cooly. “Breaking the law, causing mischief, being rude and disrespectful to the female members of this household…none of that makes you a real man. So, I’ve decided to give him another chance to grow up. The right way.” She saunters over to the entrance of the colorful playhouse, before yanking open the door. Reaching inside she all but drags a squealing Connor out by his ear. “We’re going to keep him like this until we’re sure he’s learned some discipline. As well as some respect for the women both inside and outside of this house. No self-respecting girl in this town or the next is going to give this naughty baby the time of day once they learn they might end up having to change his poopy diapers.” Of course, the subject of the discussion remains quiet as he continues to nervously suckle his pacifier. Mallory can’t help but wince as she witnesses the interaction. Because even though he had the reputation as being a bit of a self-serving prick, he’d never given her a hard time. Probably because she was on the nerdy side and always agreed to help him with his science homework. He would never see her as a potential love interest – a fact she had resigned herself to a long time ago. In his eyes, she was just the help. Eventually, she hears her own mother clear her throat. “This sure is a lot to take in, Michelle. And are you sure he was part of that group of vandals who tee-peed my house last halloween?” Mrs. Peters looks down her nose at the embarrassed young man. “It took us days to clean that up. And the eggs you miscreants threw ruined the finish on my husband’s car.” “I’m afraid so.” Michelle admits, her lips morphing into a delicate frown. “However, I can assure you that that kind of delinquent behavior is a thing of the past. But while we have you both here…” She plucks the binky from Connor’s mouth. “What do you have to say to these two lovely ladies? Speak!” At first, Connor struggles to answer. And he finds it almost impossible to meet their expectant gaze. That is until he hears his stepmother ask Daphne to go fetch the hair brush. “I’–m sorry, Mrs. Peters. A–and I’m sorry to you too, Mallory. For the mess.” While he knows it’s bad form to rush an overdue apology of this nature, his competing need for self-preservation has him stumbling over his words in an effort to finish before his sister returns. “F–for the toilet paper, and the eggs. That was wrong of me, and I’m so grateful that my Mommy is teaching me how to be a better, more upstanding citizen.” He tacks on the last part, hoping that it might earn him some brownie points. Both Mother and daughter exchange cursory looks as they mull over his apology. “Well, young man…” Mrs. Peters begins after a moment. “That was very, very naughty of you. Had I known you were behind it, I would’ve marched to your door and demanded you clean it up the very next day.” Awash with shame, Connor bows his head and simply prays for the moment to be over. All of this was too much for him to handle. If anything, he’s grateful when he’s once again allowed to have his binky. “But I am glad that your Mother finally has you on the right track.” She turns her attention back to Michelle. “And as for your earlier question, I suppose I’ll have to talk it over with Mallory, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Plus, I’m pretty sure she could use the extra cash, what with summer just on the horizon.” At that particular moment, Daphne barrels her way back into the room, her manicured hands holding the dreaded hair brush. “By the looks of it, I’m guessing you won’t be needing this?” She smirks when she notices Connor’s tear-stained cheeks. “Not until after our guests leave.” Taking the brush, his stepmother makes a show of resting it on his changing table. “But what you can do is say hello to little Connie’s new babysitter.” Clapping her hands in excitement, she takes the liberty of wrapping her arms around the girl and bringing her in for a hug. “She said yes?” His sister squeals, obviously pleased with this new development. “Not yet.” Michelle releases a stunned Mallory before taking a step back to give her a little more breathing room. “But I can tell she’s thinking about it. And perhaps I should add that the pay is negotiable.” The chatter continues, swirling around Connor with such a force that would’ve easily knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t already been sitting on the floor. He just couldn’t believe that in the span of one day – in no more than a handful of hours – he’d lost what little control he’d had left over his life. And now that Mallory and her Mom knew, he was certain that it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world found out. Overwhelmed by the ferocity of his emotions, he releases a despondent wail as he begins to rapidly fill his diaper. The quiet hiss of urine causes the ladies in the room to suddenly go silent as they watch his padded crotch expand in real-time. But try as he might, he can’t stop the nervous flow. “I said it before and I’ll say it again.” Mrs. Peter’s words come on the heels of a surprised chuckle. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it.” Taking Michelle’s hand in her own, she offers a sympathetic squeeze. “Of course you have our discretion. Not that this young man deserves it – but this is obviously a very delicate matter.” Unfortunately, for a still-weeping Connor, his stepmother doesn’t appear to be moved by the other woman’s promise of privacy. “Oh, we don’t mind if people find out. That’s part of the reason we invited you.” She hauls him up to his feet before making a show of checking the back of his diaper for the disaster she was almost positive was on its way. A nervous wee-wee was nearly always followed-up by a nervous poo-poo. Another humiliating fact she had no problem sharing with the group. “Since I know Daphne just changed you, we’ll wait until you finish making stinkies before we even bother with getting you into a fresh diaper.” Looking back at his friend and her mother, she goes on to continue her earlier conversation. “Little Connie is going to need a babysitter this summer. My girls and I each have our own lives and pursuits, so we decided to enlist some help. They say it takes a village after all. Therefore, it’s only inevitable that others in the community are bound to find out.” She then proceeds to usher everyone out of the nursery in favor of returning to the living room, all the while keeping a solid grip on her stepson’s slim wrist. Patting his swollen bottom, she directs him a fresh set of blocks she had previously set in the corner. “We’ll know when he does his business.” Michelle prattles on as she and the other three women have a seat on the couch. “He usually gets on all fours, squats and grunts – it’s a whole production, really. But back to my proposal…” Mallory immediately perks up, her brilliant green eyes swimming with interest. “How soon would you need me to start?” “Ideally, as soon as possible.” His stepmother picks up her once forgotten glass of wine before taking a slow sip. “I’m well aware that these are a…” She casts another withering glance in Connor’s direction. “...shall we say, unique, set of circumstances. But what’s needed is needed. While school’s in session, I’ll need you a minimum two days a week, four hours a night. As well as every other Saturday, for six hours a night.” “That’s doable.” She adds a small slice of quiche onto her empty plate. “And the rate?” “I’m thinking $25 on weekdays and $35 on weekends. Of course…there’s always the possibility for more. I have no doubt that you’ll make a great fit.” Mallory takes a bite of her food, chewing slowly as she mulls over the offer. No matter how odd, there was no denying the fact the money was too good to ignore. At this rate, if she accepted, she’d have no problem saving up for college in the fall. Nodding to herself, she places the plate on the table before extending her hand to her brand new employer. “Alright, Michelle.” She beams, feeling grateful that she had agreed to accompany her mother this morning. “I’d say you’ve got yourself a deal.” END (PART THREE COMING SOON) Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!

Found this online. Thought it was cute and wanted to share 😜

With Kat gone, Alice is alone with her mother yet again. If she had hoped that her mom would just let bygones be bygones she was in for a surprise. --- Every update I post is available on my Ream and SubscribeStar pages one week before it is posted everywhere else. For $5 you can see everything I post before the rest of the diapered world. For $10 you can see every update early plus EVERY exclusive story I have written. That's 35 stories available ONLY on my subscription pages and nowhere else! I rely on my wonderful subscriber's support to be able to write like I do. Writing is my only income and the money I earn goes to help paying the bills, food and everything else my wife and I need. Everyone's support is HUGELY appreciated, without it I would have to find other work and I wouldn't be able to write nearly as much as I do, maybe at all. So thank you to everyone who checks out my subscriber pages and considers supporting me ❤️ https://reamstories.com/elfy https://subscribestar.adult/elfy --- “She helped you go to the potty?” Mom asked as she leaned back in her chair. “Yes, I’ve told you that how many times?” I asked in annoyance. “Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice.” Mom immediately cut in. I looked down at my plate submissively. Like a puppy who had gotten a little too big for their shoes and annoyed the leader of the pack I immediately showed my deference. My dinner was half-eaten and although I loaded up my fork and filled my mouth, I had to force myself to swallow it. I didn’t feel hungry in the slightest. “And yet the bathroom didn’t appear to have been recently used.” Mom stated, “There was no smell, the toilet seat wasn’t warm, the sink was dry, and I assume you would’ve washed your hands…” It had been going on for hours. Almost from the moment Kat had left the house, in fact. I had been given a reprieve of around half an hour where I hid out in my room feeling depressed that my friend was gone. That was until Mom came up and the questions started. On and off, all day, Mom had been grilling me on what happened. She clearly didn’t believe my lie. It was exhausting, I felt like a captured spy being asked to give up precious information. It had gotten so overwhelming I had even gladly interrupted Mom to say I needed to use the potty. Having her help me out of my diaper and on to the seat was humiliating but at least she paused her questions whilst I tinkled in the plastic bowl. “And why didn’t you use your potty?” Mom continued, “You know the rules.” “You wanted me to ask Kat to help me on the potty?” I muttered in reply, “I still have SOME self-respect…” “Why not?” Mom shrugged her shoulders coldly, “She saw me changing your diapers. Would a potty have surprised her?” I took another bite of food as my face blushed red. Kat HAD seen my potty and, like Mom said, she’d seen my diaper being changed. That didn’t mean I wanted to make myself look even more like a baby in her eyes. I mean, I assumed by then her opinion of me couldn’t get any worse regardless but still, how was I supposed to tell my friend I had been banned from the toilet? “You’re lying to me.” Mom said. “I’m not.” I replied weakly. I couldn’t look Mom in the eye. I didn’t really know why I was bothering. I was acting like Mom was some cop who would only act if she got a confession or definitive proof. That obviously wasn’t the case. If she believed I was lying it was as good as one hundred percent truth in her eyes. Not for the first time recently, I considered running away. I was an adult and there was nothing forcing me to stay in the house with my Mom and yet I couldn’t leave. I didn’t have anywhere to go. Most of the people who I thought might let me stay with them had seen that I was just a big baby, none of them would want a burden such as me landing on their doorstep. The only person who seemed sympathetic at all was Kat and she had even offered me a place to stay but I didn’t feel like I could accept it. I didn’t want to wear out my welcome with the one person who would still give me the time of day. More than that, I knew Kat hadn’t seriously thought about what she was offering. Seeing everything that had happened in the house she no doubt saw it as a novelty or something, if she had to live with me day in and day out that would quickly change. She would see that I was a useless baby and send me back home. I couldn’t sever that one last link with the real world. “There will be some deliveries coming soon.” Mom said. She stood up with her mostly eaten dinner and scraped the remnants into the trash. “Of what?” I asked. “You’ll see.” Mom replied, “I’m just warning you now that I’ll need your help setting up some of it.” I didn’t like the sound of that at all. At least Mom deciding she had finished eating gave me cover to pick up my own plate. I squeezed past Mom as she put her plate in the sink, and I emptied my remaining food into the trash. I was using the fork to scrape the last of the food off the plate when I suddenly felt Mom’s hand pressing against my butt. I froze up, every muscle tensed. “You’re wet.” Mom stated, “Why didn’t you tell me you needed the potty?” It was true. I had wet myself. It had happened much earlier, before I’d even come down for dinner. It didn’t seem to matter how many times I told Mom how embarrassing it was to go to her to ask for the potty, she just never seemed to get it. As shameful as it was to admit, it was much easier to just wet myself. Diaper changes were a common thing at that point, and I could rationalise that I didn’t really have a choice. “I don’t know.” I mumbled in reply. A reply that even I had to acknowledge sounded pathetic. “Alright, new rule.” Mom said as she withdrew her hand in exasperation, “I feel like every time I give you an inch of responsibility you throw it back in my face. From now on you can forget the potty altogether.” My mouth dropped open as I turned to face Mom who was just casually walking through to the living room. I followed her feeling like I must’ve misheard what she said. When she sat down on the couch I stomped up and blocked her view of the television. “W-What do you mean?” I asked. “You heard me.” Mom looked incredibly annoyed with me, “No more asking for the potty. No more using the potty. Clearly you can’t be trusted with it.” “But... But…” I felt myself hyperventilating, “You can’t do that!” “Yes. I can.” Mom said simply, “And that will be how things stay until I feel I can trust you to make an effort again… and not lie to me.” I felt my knees get weak. I knew I hadn’t been as diligent as I might’ve been with asking for the potty, but it was still a choice I had, even if it left me so utterly humiliated. Now even this modicum of freedom was being taken away. I started to hyperventilate. One of the most basic things that people could take for granted, the ability to pee and poop in a designated place was being stripped from me. I guess Mom was still giving me a place to “go”, it was just into my diaper. I could feel tears and panic racing through my system. In my desperation I latched on to the last thing Mom had said. She was annoyed because she thought I had lied to her, maybe there was something I could do to save the situation. “Alright, I lied!” I exclaimed. I looked at Mom and saw her look straight back at me with her piercing eyes. “Go on…” Mom said. “Kat didn’t help me get to the potty.” I admitted in a rush of words that seemed to chase each other out of my mouth, “I... I… pooped myself. She WAS going to take me to the toilet, but I couldn’t make it…” I swallowed a lump in my throat. Mom’s eyes had narrowed, and I was trying to guess what had caused that reaction. Which part of my confession most angered her? “So, Kat… ch-changed me.” I swallowed as I finished. I looked down at the floor and held my hands behind my back. “I see.” Mom said tensely. “I’m sorry.” I added quickly. Mom didn’t say anything more. I wasn’t sure entirely what I was expecting but I had hoped she would give at least some indication that she had heard my apology. Instead, she turned and looked back at the television screen. I wasn’t sure exactly what to do. I had been hoping she would drop this new rule if I was just honest about what had happened. “So, can I use the potty?” I asked after an uncomfortably long silence. “No.” Mom replied without looking at me. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation. She didn’t even consider it. My heart sank. I felt myself tearing up and the crying I had only barely managed to prevent until that point started escaping me in big hiccupping sobs. I covered my mouth. My mother wasn’t going to be swayed. Even with my admission she had decided that I couldn’t be trusted to TRY to use the potty, even under supervision. She must’ve thought I was a complete baby and now I would have no choice but to show her she was right. My mind flashed with images of me using diapers for the rest of my life, a future where I was so used to being in used disposables, I didn’t even notice it anymore. It was too much to take. “If you don’t like it, maybe you should go stay with your friend.” Mom said sourly, “Since you like visiting her so much.” “K-Kat?” I muttered. I suddenly realised what had soured Mom on me the most, “This is about Thanksgiving?” Mom remained unmoved. She didn’t even look at me despite me taking up a majority of her vision. I had always known it would upset Mom, but she must’ve understood why I wanted to go somewhere else for the holiday, a place where I wasn’t under her microscope and subject to her arbitrary rules. “I’m sorry that I lied.” I said as I tried to keep my emotions in check, “I just-…” “I don’t care.” Mom interrupted me. She finally looked me in the eyes and I gasped, it was like I could feel hate striking me like a laser beam, “If you’re trying to change my mind you are wasting my time. You are a liar, and I don’t trust you. You’ll get your potty privileges when I say and only when I say.” I turned from the couch and ran from the room. I couldn’t stop the tears or the loud sobs as I crinkled into the hall and then went upstairs. I did just about the only thing I could think of as resistance and slammed the door closed behind me. I flopped on to my bed and sobbed. No matter what I did I couldn’t seem to shake Mom’s belief that I was a completely useless baby. It was hard to disagree with her. As I dropped on to my mattress and felt the warmth of the front of my padding pressing against me, I wondered what right I had to even disagree with her assessment of me. She thought I was a baby because I WAS a baby. She was right, no matter how much I wanted it to be otherwise, I messed up every little bit of freedom I was given. I couldn’t be trusted with a single ounce of maturity. I beat my pillows with my fists. I was stupid to think I was anything more than a burdensome overgrown child. Mom had always known that, that’s why she prevented me from doing so much stuff that other kids my age were allowed when growing up, she was right not to trust me. Clearly college had been a big mistake and a waste of time and energy. Sure, I’d managed to act like I was a normal person when there but after coming home Mom had shown how quickly that façade fell apart. --- If you enjoyed this and would like to see the next part of the story RIGHT NOW you can do so on my SubscribeStar and Ream pages: https://reamstories.com/page/lpjgftb4y2/story/mdh29ek3e3dbbd/chapter/mk57k9i26fc4b122 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/2273729

19 The first thing Jenny noticed waking up was the warm curled up bundle, sleeping peacefully, sucking his thumb beside her. Peaceful..., that was how she was feeling also as her mind turned back on yesterday evening: How she sat on the sofa for a long time after her tale, emotionally spent, not able to move. And then, astoundingly, Jake taking the lead. Grabbing her hand and leading her to his room, making her lie down on his bed as he crawled in beside her, drawing the blankets over them. “I don't want to be alone tonight” he had whispered. “And I don't want you to be alone tonight.” She had let him, falling asleep after some time while he just looked at her, stroking her hair and face. She smiled. Funny to think that the boy who acted so mature at that moment was the same who asked her to buy a baby-bottle just a few hours before. The same one wearing a diaper again the whole day, getting them changed at a daycare. As if he was Liam and Jason combined. But no, that wasn't honest. He was Jake in his own right. Liam and Jason were the ones whose lives she relived yesterday, watching the slides. Painful as it had been, she could recognize now all those times as wonderful, beautiful times again. And so they stayed, although in the past. Worthy to be remembered, celebrated. I should dig up the pictures again, she thought. Stowed away somewhere in a cupboard, hidden for a long time. Its time to put them back to their rightful place in full daylight. 'Catharsis', Helen called it. As the target they were aiming for during their sessions. Jenny felt to have finally reached that. Rested and restored after her first undisturbed night in ages. As if the thin grey shroud that had surrounded her head for the last years had fallen apart, resolved into the bright sun. She turned her attention to Jake again. It was so comforting to know that he still accepted her after what she told him. And more. He make it so clear by his action that he trusted her, needed her to look after him, and that he would look after her in his own way. Stroking his back and warm wet crinkling bottom, she took him in her arms again and waited patiently for him to wake up. “Good morning sweety,” she said when he opened his eyes. “You know what day it is? It's my birthday and I'm holding the most precious gift you can ever give me in my arms.” -=-=-=- Jenny smiled from her kitchen through the window at the garden. For the first time since years, the house and garden was filled with colleagues and friends, sitting at her tables, enjoying the comfort foods she put before them, drinking and talking the afternoon away. Helen and Marianne were there, and a few other from the Center. Some brought their family. Alice and Robin had joined at her invitation. Children running around in the garden, swinging or building castles in the sandbox. The barbecue fired up, getting to the right temperature. Her eyes wandered again and again to Jake, proudly watching him as he played barefoot in his summer clothes. He had picked normal underwear when she dressed him this morning and, with her constant reminders, kept it dry until now. Only one person they were waiting for and that one was finally arriving, as the roaring sound of a heavy bike came closer and closer. “Hiya Jen!” Henry Harrison barged in with his usual frolics. “You look … different?” he inquired as he scrutinized her while he pulled off his old helmet that was far more show than safety and dropped it on the table. Jenny grinned. “You know why I like working with you Henry? You're more perceptible than most even though you try to hide it under all that childish bantering of yours. But you can't fool me!” She quickly filled him in on last night events and her feelings about it. His face softened. “I can't even begin to imagine how hard that must have been..., you're a very brave girl Jen.” He followed her eyes to the picture outside. “And who would have thought that from our little friend there... amazing... Well, time to get our little show on the road! Shall we go?” Henry grabbed his chance at a show with both hands. “Ladies and gentlemen! Friends and Foes! Gather round please! I know we all would like to attack all the lovely things Jenny here is going to throw on her barbecue, and I've skipped all meals today in anticipation!. But we have some official business to attend to first.” He extracted more than one grin as he looked exaggerated round, searching for someone. “Where is our little juvenile delinquent? Ah, Jake, my funny building bloke, would you be so kind to come stand right before me.” At the mention of his name, all eyes turned in Jake's direction as he moved slightly weary and shy in front of Mr. Henry who winked at him. “Good!” Henry resumed. “Now Jake, two weeks ago you booked a two-weeks stay at my humble hotel. And then, when you found our sanitary facilities a bit wanting, changed reservations and stayed the rest of the time at Mrs. Jenny's safe shelter.” Jake heard a few laughs behind him at Henry's usual frolic. “But serious Jake, It is with pleasure that I can officially announce your sentence is coming to an end.” Henry reached inside the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small paddle. Jake started to shift a bit uneasy on his feet. “This, my little naughty one, is our gift to every boy that leaves us. But I'm going to hand it over to Jenny who is expected to save it somewhere very visible. As reminder,” his face turned in one broad smile. “and incentive maybe.“ Henry dropped the paddle in Jenny's hand. She took it with a smile at Jake seeming to consider what to do with it. “Well... you said you liked it on my lap...” she teased. “But we both know that we don't need this for that,” winking at him at the double meaning of that sentence, only they would understand. Then she turned her attention back to Henry. “I'm sorry Henry, but I'll show you what we should do with this!” and deftly deposited the paddle on the coals of the barbecue behind her. -=--==-- “You like it?” “Yeah! I've never been to a party like this!. It's fun!” Robin and Jake were together on one swing. Jake on Robin's lap. Like everyone around them, they were having the best of times in the afternoon sun. “That's not what I mean, silly! Robin laughed and tickled him. Do you like it that you're gonna stay here?” “Of course! Oohh!” Suddenly, Jake jumped off and pressed his legs together. Robin stopped the swing. “What?” “I think I just peed my pants.” He whispered. “Don't you have your trainers on?” Robin asked. “Uuhhmm no.” He blushed. “I had a pamper yesterday but I wanted to try with normal underpants today. I don't want to tell Mrs. Jenny! I promised to be careful today!” “I see.” Robin took charge. “Well, lets try to sneak into your room and change. I'll help.” After a while they walked back into the garden as if nothing had happened. But Jenny didn't miss Jake's different shorts; nor the slight piece of plastic sticking out above the back before Robin drew his shirt down some more; or Jake's red ears. “I saw you're the one to call if I need a sitter somewhere this summer,” she grinned to Robin a few moments later while Jake was getting one more burger. The girl winked knowingly back. “Always happy to oblige. You have a very handy dresser Mrs. Jenny.” Jenny had time to walk, talk and drink while some others took over the barbecue duties and passed burgers and chicken wings all around. As the afternoon moved over into the night, more and more people took their leave and as the last ones returned to their homes, Jenny took an already yawning Jake upstairs. Henry was the last and stayed behind to help clear up the rubble. “Don't worry. I know” Jenny said as Jake seemed apprehensive at her suggestion to skip his bath and change directly into nighttime diapers. “Ohhh... how? His face dropped a bit. “Mother's instinct, honey.” She teased and lifted him on top of the dresser. “Why don't you just lie down and let me do all the work. You're tired, I can see.” She tugged his shirt above his head, pushed him down and pulled his short off, exposing a filled pamper. “I'm sorry, I know I promised.” “Don't bother about it, sweety, I know you tried real hard.” She cuddled him while pulling the tapes and started to wipe. “Did Robin do all right? Did she like this dresser?” “She said it was nice and important to lie on something flat, just like the lady in the shop.” “How did it feel, awkward?” He shook his head but she saw. “Ooowww, never play poker, honey, your cheeks betray you.” She pinced them. “It's ok to feel that way a bit. Remember when I first helped you in a diaper? It's good to know you solved it both. She's really a very good friend.” Jenny dived in the drawer for the terry's. “We have a whole summer to work on it. I'm pretty sure you'll get the hang of it again and when you don't need any help during the day anymore we'll start on the nights.” Jake relaxed again while Jenny finished diapering him. She picked a onesie and carried him to his bed, hugging tight. “Now, did we forget anything? Or can I go downstairs to clean up?” He bit his lip. “Mrs. Jenny?... do you remember what we bought yesterday?” She smiled. “Of course. Milk or applejuice?” --------------------------------------------------------- Epiloque Jenny joined Henry on the porch swing with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She poured them and for a time they said nothing, both content, staring into the warm summer night. Thinking. "You know Henry, I've been wondering about something these last days." "Hmmmm" "You remember the first time we spoke about Jake in your office...?" "Yes, of course" “Why me?” “You're stealing my lines my dear, I remember that was my question, two weeks ago.” "No serious, why did you send for me....?" Henry seemed surprised. "What do you mean? You're the counseler." "I mean...had you not already decided that he couldn't stay inside the center?" Henry started fidgeting, showing a bit of unease. "Hmmmm....well...looking back...yes...maybe..." "Why send for me then? You didn't need counsel. You could've worked some scenario out with one of the officers. They have houses too, some have very capable wives. It would have worked out. Soooo...again...Why me...?" Jenny looked hard at Henry while he seemed to think her question over, sipping the wine "Yeah, well...Let me tell you a little story Jen. There's a teapot in my house. Sometime ago, couple of years maybe, it got broken. Lots of pieces. But i could see what a nice teapot it had been, I've always been very fond of that teapot. I tried a long time to glue the pieces back together but it just wouldn't work out, it stayed a lopsided, leaky teapot, missing a couple of pieces....Has been standing on my shelf a long time..." He took a good swig of his wine and smacked his lips a bit. "Now, sometime ago, quite recently actually, a wonderful thing happened. I got hold of another teapot, looking a bit similar and smaller but this one had cracks all over, ready to burst in thousand pieces if i wasn't very care-full. It lacked a sturdy base, and as you know that is needed for a teapot to last a long time. Then I got an idea, i started puzzling with the pieces of both , giving one piece to the other and vice versa. It took little bit of time but you know what, they look a bit different than before of course...with all the damage from the past. But i have two whole teapots now, I think they belong together on my shelf for a long time." "Ooohhhh, you bastard!!... You set me up!" Jenny stared incredulously at him. He smiled sheepishly back. "Technically speaking, you proposed the deal yourself first... But yeah, well, what can i say, I just saw two broken pot's....and a once in a lifetime opportunity to fix them both. Did a nice job don't you think? Didn't know it would work out this fine though." "But....why all the opposition then? You even threatened to take me off his case!" Henry chuckled. "You're a smart girl Jen, You figure it out..." It didn't take her long. "Oh! Of course!...You were afraid it would become to much, that I would back out.... He saluted her with his wine. "You're a fighter Jenn, you want to win. Always. Only thought you could use the incentive. Got you fired up good a few times eh? Remember our little shouting match in my office?.When you yelled at me and gave that utterly stupid answer? Made my day then..Nearly kissed you there, girl!" Jenny could only stare at Henry and the level of his deceit. More questions popped in. "What about the police call?" "Never happened,.. In the sense that they never called me. I called them after what Jake told me that friday." "and Farlington?" "Ah yes," Henry coughed as if embarrassed, "I really meant to give him a call you see...but then I started thinking...investigations taking a lot of time....and Farlington..., I thought he would only change a sentence on police reports and... so I kinda forgot.... Seriously though... Remember our discussions on when lessons are learned and turning in useless abuse?...Kinda thought that point was reached. " Henry put down his glass turned in his seat and took Jenny's free hand in his. “Sorry for the show in my office, Jen. The temptation was simply to much... I did put in a call to CPS and social services though. They have closed Jake's former home, replaced the children there. Heard today they tell interesting stories now they are all in safe places. Looks like that home's staff wasn't stupid at all, but deviously criminal, brainwashing their charges into their own little thieving gang. Hate to say it but we're the one's who got played." “It seems I'm the one who got played here. Anything more to confess? “Well... to be totally honest, I may be the main culprit, but I had some help. I conferred with Helen before I called you in. She supported the attempt and agreed to work with me along the lines as long as it wouldn't interfere with her work ethics. She advised me to play tough on you in the beginning and look for ways to bond you two together. Marianne and her team helped me there. Showing him what real care could look like... and by distracting him a couple of times when he was hopping from one foot on the other, to increase his dependency on you for a while. We kept each other in the loop. Heck! You might say even the little ones helped, getting him sick.... We didn't want to hurt you Jen, or Jake, we love you.” Jenny sagged back in the cushions of the swing. Silent for some time. She never suspected! Then she laughed softly shaking her head at the incredible ploy they had pulled on her. She picked up Henry's glass, gave it back and clinked her's against his' The cristal sound broke the silence on the porch, into the stillness of the night "You're a devious little boy, Henry Harrison!" He chuckled again then purposefully drawled: "I am, am I? Well, Mrs. Miller....you can spank me later for it." the end. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Well, let me know if this was any good, where i can improve, or other plots to think and write about. Feedback is very welcome! Thank you for reading and keeping up till the end.!

EHEHEHE oh thank you!! I'm very much enjoying the non-linear-ness of this story. It's fun to explore the history of topics and people as they become relevant. 🤭 --- Chapter 23 --- Foresta High School. “Mrs. Carver?” teenage Greg shyly interrupted as he stood in the doorway, biting his lower lip. “I’m sorry to interrupt –” “Yes, yes,” the Amazon teacher sighed, setting down her chalk as she lifted her round glasses and pinched the bridge between her eyes. She was an older woman, closing in on retirement age, so her patience had been wearing thin with each passing year. She had finally stopped dying her hair and let the greying show at her roots, and kept her hair short and easy to manage. As she opened her dark brown eyes, she stared at Gregory for a long moment. “Name?” “Gregory… Vankor,” he added his last name quickly when she narrowed her eyes impatiently. She pursed her lips and nodded, then turned to the class. “Children, this is Gregory. He will be joining us for –” she paused, glancing at him. “Just today, ma’am,” he swallowed. “The remainder of the day,” she completed her sentence, stepping her heeled feet forward and crossing her arms over her chest. “He is not here as an assistant. You will not seek him for guidance, nor is he qualified for diaper checks, Samantha.” The classroom of Littles all nodded curtly, though a brunette in the back stood out due to turning bright red and giggling nervously in response. “He is a student and will participate as one. Gregory, take the empty desk next to Samantha,” she ordered as she pointed to the desk in question, and he nodded, silently walking over to the desk of his size, and removed the booster seat that all other students were required to use. He flashed a reassuring smile to the red-faced Little, who jerked upright and looked forward, her hand pulling down at the top of her uniform. He sat back as Mrs. Carver picked up the chalk again and turned back to the board. He squinted at the mathematical equation on the board and frowned, recognizing this was last year’s work for him. Unwilling to say anything, he pulled out his math book and notebook, noticing the brunette glance over at his book. He looked at her, and they locked eyes; hers were light brown at the center, green at the edges. Her eyebrows twitched upwards in an anxious response, and she lifted the book they were using, then gestured to his and shook her head. He shrugged, giving her the look of someone who didn’t know what else to do. Her eyes flashed to Mrs. Carver, whose back was still turned, and she pursed her lips. She put her hand out for his book; he frowned, handing it over. She had to use two hands, and her eyes widened at the strain of the weight, but she set it behind her open book to angle it towards him, so he could peer at hers. He blinked in surprise and mouthed a ‘thank you.’ She beamed and nodded. “Gary,” Mrs. Carver snapped, spinning on her heel and glaring at a messy-haired brunet in the first row. “First of all, brush your hair.” The boy froze, and many shoulders lifted anxiously. Mrs. Carver glared as she stepped forward. “Now, Gary. We’ll wait,” she demanded impatiently, tapping her foot on the floor. “Y-yes, ma’am,” he squeaked quietly, quickly, and desperately searching through his bag. After a few painful seconds, he pulled out a comb and ran it through his hair, his hands shaking. Greg frowned, averting his eyes to his desk. “Good,” she stated in a bored tone and thumbed the equation behind her. “Solve the equation.” “I–” Gary panted, and he leaned back in the chair, as if trying to get a physical distance from it. “I-I don’t know… how to –” “Pity,” Mrs. Carver interrupted with a slight sigh and stepped up to his desk, tapping a thin index finger on his book. “Did you not read the assignment?” “I did,” he whined, dropping his head. “Clearly not well enough,” she snidely remarked and thumbed to the corner where size-appropriate furniture was set up for them… however, it was colorful, plastic, and very clearly infantile. In fact, the entire corner looked remarkably similar to a section of Charlie’s nursery, with toys, books, and a carpet all screaming ‘toddler’. “Time out, twenty minutes. Perhaps you can find something to read more at your level.” “…Yes, ma’am,” the boy sighed quietly, sliding off the booster seat and sulking over to the corner. “Anyone else?” the teacher asked as she crossed her arms. Greg’s eyes moved to Samantha’s notebook, where she was doodling a puppy wagging its tail at the bottom, but he caught a glimpse of her mathematical work in the center of the page, and saw that her answer was correct. “Gregory,” Mrs. Carver called out, and he jumped slightly, causing Samantha to giggle. “Help the Littles and solve the problem.” “But she has –” he began to explain, gesturing to Samantha’s desk. “No,” Samantha hissed in a panic, her eyes wide at him as she slapped her hands on top of her work. “What?” the teacher asked as her face hardened. “Sorry, ma’am… Yes, ma’am,” he swallowed as he stood up, shooting the girl a confused look, but she shook her head ever so slightly. He quietly walked to the front, gently took the chalk from her, and walked up to the board. He squinted, wondering how they were supposed to reach the equation to solve it, but he silently began to work. “Well done,” Mrs. Carver praised in a saccharine tone, a grin crossing her features as she looked out over her class. “Any questions?” Greg turned around to see a sea of confused and scared faces, but no one dared raise their hand… except, after a beat, Samantha. “I’ll check you in a minute,” Mrs. Carver dismissed, and Samantha shook her head, jutting her hand up even higher and shaking it a little. The teacher caught a growl in her throat and nodded. “Yes, Samantha?” “Can he maybe explain it, please, ma’am?” she asked in as sweet a tone as she could muster, but Greg could definitely hear the calm defiance. He knew she knew the answer, but she was trying to help her classmates; he wanted to smile at her, but was too afraid of Mrs. Carver. “He’s not here to teach,” Mrs. Carver dismissed. “But ma’am, you have us explain our –” “Time-out, Samantha. Half-hour,” Mrs. Carver snapped her fingers and pointed to the area where Gary was moping. The Little hung her head dramatically and sighed. “Yes, ma’am,” she heaved. “I would be happy to –” Greg started, but stopped as Mrs. Carver glared at him. “Back to your seat,” she curtly replied and held her hand out for the chalk. He quickly dumped it in her hand and made haste to his desk, catching a glimpse of a grin from Samantha as she passed by. He blinked, watching her skip over to Gary and slide next to him, immediately making him smile as she whispered something in his ear. Present Day. Greg’s eyes locked with Tyler’s, who had already been smirking. Other than being older, the blonde didn’t look much different from how he did in high school. He had the same bright green eyes and dirty blonde hair, semi-lean build, though he was a good six inches shorter than Greg. His coat was being removed by a concierge, as were the rest of the Beaumont entourage, and it was Mrs. Beaumont who broke through the group first, throwing her arms out towards Greg. “Greg, sweetheart!” she bubbled, clearly aiming for a hug. “Look at you! You look marvelous!” “Hi, Mrs. Beaumont,” Greg smiled and accepted her hug with restraint; she had always been overtly kind to him, but he always felt it came off insincere and thus kept his distance. “You look the same as I remember.” “Oh, such a charmer,” the older woman giggled like a schoolgirl, patting his shoulder as her eyes locked with Charlie’s. “Is that…” “MISS ELLIE!!!” he burst out, causing Mrs. Darbie to recoil from the volume in her ear. “Charlie!!” Mrs. Beaumont giggled, throwing her arms out for him, and took possession of the Little. Mr. Beaumont stepped forward to fill the gap left by his wife, putting his hand out to Greg, and they shook. “Good to see you, son,” Mr. Beaumont greeted firmly, flashing a grin before he turned off to meet the growing collection of suits and greying hair. Greg briefly glanced at Tyler, who had turned to assist the woman who appeared to be his date, but Mrs. Beaumont interrupted once more, bouncing Charlie on her hip as she waved Greg in. “Greg, dear, come here, tell me about these lovely ladies,” she eagerly requested, though Charlie pouted as he crossed his arms. Greg nodded all the same, stepping towards the group, noting that Tyler was escorting his date towards the grouping of husbands. “I’m doin’ it, Miss Ellie!” he whined, and she poked his nose, letting out an intense giggle in response to him. “Of course you are, sweet thing!” she placated, waving her arm out for him to do so. Charlie grabbed his tie-pacifier clip, shifting it as he cleared his throat, which caused a burst of giggles from the crowd. He beamed and gestured to Sarah. “This is Miss Sarah. She’sa teacher and really bad at Go Fish,” he started, and Sarah’s mouth gaped as she gasped in mock offense, causing warm chuckles. “She came wif Geggie. This is Kelly, she’s my date – and a super writer!” “A writer?” Mrs. Arisot piped up after taking a sip of her martini, raising a well-trimmed eyebrow. Greg flashed a smile, feeling bad for Kelly, who turned bright red – unfortunately for her, Charlie had just ripped open the floodgate, and there wasn’t much else to do but follow the flow, and support her how he could. “Oh, nonono, I’m - I’m a babysitter,” she scoffed awkwardly, throwing her hands up. “She’s very modest,” Greg interrupted, giving a knowing look to Mrs. Arisot. “She’s written a few children’s books, all of which Charlie adores, but she’s also working on a novel.” “Really?” Mrs. Arisot followed up and glanced back at Kelly, who looked like she was on the verge of vomiting. “No need to be shy, dear. What is it about?” “It - it’s a fantasy story,” Kelly gulped, her eyes panickedly looking between Charlie and Greg, both of whom were grinning at her reassuringly. “Oh, those are very popular right now,” Mrs. Sterling observed, shooting Mrs. Arisot a knowing look, who nodded in agreement. “Chelsea’s beau has a huge collection,” Mrs. Cartwright added as she gestured to Kelly. “I’m sure he would love to read a manuscript.” “Oh, that - that would be g-great,” Kelly stumbled through the sentiment, trying her best to be polite, though Greg could tell she hated that idea. He grinned as he dropped his head, trying hard to think of how to get her out of this. “Here,” Mrs. Arisot dipped two lean fingers into her clutch purse and pulled out a business card, holding it out to Kelly. “I own a publishing company. We can discuss more privately another time.” “Oh… thank you,” Kelly said breathlessly as she took the card, looking at the woman in shock. Mrs. Arisot gave a grin, and her sharp eyes snapped to Greg. “Make sure she calls,” she ordered, and Greg lifted his head and gave a nod. “Yes, ma’am,” he smiled. “Yay, Kelly!” Charlie bubbled as she reached out for her. She quickly stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him in a hug as she took in a deep breath, looking calmer now that she had him as a barrier between her and the assembled powerful women. “And Sarah, you’re a teacher, I heard?” Mrs. Beaumont asked with raised eyebrows to Sarah, who quickly swallowed her sip of drink and nodded. “Yes, at Little Steps,” she replied quietly, and Mrs. Sterling raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Oh, my,” Mrs. Beaumont chuckled, pulling a phone out of her purse. “I do love that place. Last name?” “C-Chaunders,” Sarah stammered as she looked to Greg, who smiled. He knew what was happening, and similarly with Kelly, he knew better than to get in the way of these women once they were on a roll. They enjoyed being powerful; they took immense satisfaction out of ‘uplifting’ people with their money and connections. He didn’t blame them, as he was starting to enjoy helping others as well, but they flaunted it in front of each other, in a constant contest to prove which of them was more connected, more established, more powerful. It could be quite obnoxious, though Charlie had certainly made good use of it over the years. “Charlie went there, did he not?” Mrs. Beaumont asked absently as she typed into her phone, briefly glancing up at Greg, who nodded. “I think he’s officially made the rounds to every Little school in a ten-mile radius,” he grinned over at his brother, who impishly grinned back. “But I think Mom would pull him after she realized she missed him too much.” All of the women nodded in agreement. “Oh, yes, yes, now I remember – Jennifer donated after pulling him from Little Steps,” Mrs. Beaumont chuckled as she recalled the details. “She felt guilty for yelling at some poor teacher.” “Well, no one tells her how to handle her own,” Mrs. Sterling grinned as she gently patted Charlie’s back, who gave an exaggerated nod. She may have said her, in reference to their mother, but Greg could tell she meant them, and by their grins and nods, he could tell they were all in agreement on the sentiment. “Well, that ball has started,” Mrs. Beaumont declared as she put her phone away, winking to Sarah, who smiled awkwardly, confused. “Now, Gregory,” Mrs. Darbie sharply pivoted, and all eyes snapped to him. He felt his throat tighten. “When is this court date?” “I…” Greg blinked, his eyes scanning the suddenly serious expressions of his mother’s friends. “I’m sorry?” “The case against that vile woman,” Mrs. Darbie glowered, and a shadow seemed to cross all of the women’s faces. “Since your mother can’t be there,” Mrs. Sterling explained softly, putting a hand on his arm. “We’d like to be there to support you, dear.” “Oh, that’s very kind,” he noted, feeling a tightening in his chest; kind it may be, but that sounded awful to him. “But it’s just a… preliminary hearing.” “We’ll get it from Abner. He’s coming later,” Mrs. Arisot grinned behind her drink, and Mrs. Cartwright snickered in agreement. Greg pressed his lips together rather than fight it, and just hoped Abner could either convince them not to go, or the date conflicted with some already established event. Foresta High School, at the end of Speech Day. The bell rang, and Greg breathed a sigh of relief alongside the class of Littles. Mrs. Carver barked out a reminder of their homework assignments as they packed up, and they all responded, “Yes, Mrs. Carver,” in unison. “Here,” Samantha smiled as she handed the large math book to Greg with both hands. “Oh, thanks,” he smiled as he took it, set it on his desk, and pulled out his other books to stack them in the proper order. She watched bemusedly, but she looked to the front of the class as the teacher snapped her fingers. “Hurry up,” she ordered, and Samantha nodded, jumping onto the ground and walking at a rushed pace to the front of the class. She spun around diligently and made a grimacing smile at Greg as Mrs. Carver bent over, lifted her shirt, and pulled back her waistband. He froze as he stared forward, his hands on the books, not sure what to do. “Clean and dry. Well done,” Mrs. Carver noted as she released the girl’s clothes and stood to her full, towering height over the Little. She adjusted her glasses as she sneered at her. “You may come back in normal underwear tomorrow. But I’m warning you: no more interruptions, no more doodles, and no more fidgeting. Or this will become permanent. Am I clear?” “Yes, Mrs. Carver!” Samantha chirped with excitement, nodding firmly. “Good. See you tomorrow,” she curtly responded with a nod, then her eyes moved to Greg. “And hopefully, not you.” “Yes, ma’am,” he flashed a smile and a nod, his eyes briefly glancing to the beaming Little as she skipped back to her desk. “Whatever the reason was, Gregory,” she sniffed as she turned to the chalkboard, grabbing an eraser. “Shape up. You shouldn’t be sent here anymore at your age.” “Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, his voice dipping in volume as he straightened the stacked books and slipped them into his backpack. As he stood and swung his backpack around on his shoulder, Samantha was also done packing, and the pair walked out of the classroom together. “I don’t need it, you know,” she said casually as they strolled down the hall. Greg’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at her. “The pull-up. It’s just a punishment.” “Oh,” Greg mouthed and then nodded. “Yeah, I… figured that out.” “Mrs. Carver says I move around too much,” she added as her eyes scanned the hallway. “That, and doodle - which I don’t see the problem with if I’ve already finished the task and I’m just waiting for other people to finish too. It’s super harmless, quiet, and fun. Oh, and I interrupt, which - to be fair - I’ve gotten a lot better in the last few months. I’ve learned this trick - though you don’t seem like you need it because you don’t seem like you interrupt - but maybe that’s why you were sent to us - anyway! If I feel like interrupting, I count to five in my head. It’s working so far! Oh, and she says I ramble. I don’t think I have a trick for that one yet.” “I’d have to agree with that,” he grinned down at her, and she paused, looking up at him, then burst into a giggle as the pair turned a corner. “There he is,” Tyler announced with malicious glee, his arms crossed as he leaned against the lockers, smirking. Phil ran his tongue over his teeth, and Chelsea twirled a chunk of her hair around her finger, her eyes moving between Greg and Samantha. “So how fast did Mrs. Carver get you in diapers, Guh-Greg?” “She didn’t!” Samantha chirped quickly, giving a wide smile to the group. Greg felt a blush at Tyler’s question, then he looked down at the Little in surprise. Chelsea’s hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh, look! Greggy finally found himself a Little girlfriend,” she snickered, and the surrounding boys grinned. “Me?” gasped Samantha, putting her hand on her chest and looking up at Greg, who silently begged her to just make a run for it. “Well, that’s moving a little fast - maybe we should just start with, I don’t know, like, a soda or something.” “Oh, you’re adorable,” Chelsea gushed as she stepped forward, and Greg shot her a glare, knowing how she meant it. “Thanks!” Samantha bubbled obliviously in response. “So are you!” Chelsea’s cheeks flushed as a wide smile crossed her fevered face. “Don’t you two have detention?” Greg grumbled as he looked at Tyler and Phil in hopes of changing the subject; the former rolled his eyes, and the latter glared in response. “Starts tomorrow, dumbass,” Tyler snorted. “Well, have fun with that,” Greg tried to deflect, stepping in front of Samantha and waving a dismissive hand to the three, but Tyler clicked his tongue, causing Phil to growl, and he stepped up threateningly close to Greg. “We’re not done until we say we’re done,” he grumbled lowly. “HI, MRS. CARVER,” Samantha shouted, and Phil jumped, taking a step back and glanced to his left and right, but grew confused when he didn’t see a teacher. Samantha giggled, and Tyler guffawed as he slammed his hand on Phil’s shoulder, pushing him forward. “That Little got you, dude!” Tyler laughed as Phil’s cheeks turned red, but he was unable to glare at Samantha as Greg remained in his way. “Move, Guh-Greg,” Phil growled. “No,” Greg grumbled weakly, but defiantly. “Oohh,” Tyler goaded as he leaned back, crossing his arms again. “You gonna take that, Phil?” “I said move,” Phil seethed through a clenched jaw, his hands curling into fists. Chelsea shot Tyler a worried look and took a few steps away from the escalating situation. Greg set his jaw and his eyebrows furrowed; he wanted to reply, but he felt a quiver in his gut. He was stuck between the anger at wanting to defend Samantha and the fear of facing Phil, all of which now cemented him in place. Phil’s face faltered, and for a moment in their standoff, he looked like he would back off. “Do it,” Tyler hissed. Phil’s face contorted, a rush of conflict and anger bursting across his face, and he reached his hands up and slammed his palms into Greg’s chest to push him back. Surprised, Greg panicked as he tripped over his feet and began to fall; fearful that he was going to land on Samantha, he jerked his body to the side and fell to the right of her. She let out a surprised yell as she jumped back. “Gregory!” she called out as he groaned, having landed on his backpack and the books within, which knocked the wind out of him. “Come here, you Little shit,” Phil growled as he reached down, grabbing Samantha’s wrist, and she let out a panicked shout. Greg let out a gasp as he tried to catch his breath, but without much thought, he kicked at Phil’s ankle, who let out a pained yell and reflexively released the Little. This gave her the chance to run behind Greg and shout at the top of her lungs, “I NEED A TEACHER!” “What’s going on here?” The deep voice of Mr. Barnes resonated as he emerged from a nearby classroom, causing everyone to freeze. Mr. Barnes was a dark-skinned, balding, and rotund man who taught senior-level and advanced science classes and led the weight-lifting club. Phil’s jaw set as he pointed down to Greg. “He kicked me,” he accused quickly. Greg was unable to defend himself, stuck trying to process his sensory overload, and unable to move or do much until he got through it. “Because he was hurting me!” Samantha immediately whined up to Mr. Barnes, whose eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “Mr. – uh – sir, he pushed Gregory, who was protecting me from these bullies!” “Are you picking on this Little girl?” Mr. Barnes asked in a deep, disapproving tone that sounded much like a father coming to defend his daughter. Phil’s eyes widened as he shook his head. “No, sir,” he quickly refuted, glaring at Samantha, who took a step closer to Mr. Barnes. “Did you push this boy?” he followed up as he gestured to Greg, who finally started to feel he could process the world in real-time again. “…H-he…” Phil stammered, his anger with Samantha quickly deflating. “That’s a yes,” Mr. Barnes grumbled as he offered a hand to Greg, who winced as he took it and was pulled to his feet like he weighed nothing. “Who’s your homeroom teacher?” Phil froze, staring at Mr. Barnes in a panic. Greg watched him, wondering if he was recalling Mrs. Kane’s earlier threats. “Boy?” the man asked in a deeper, warning tone. “M-Mrs. Kane,” Phil blurted out, panic gripping his tone. “All right,” he sighed, looking to Chelsea and Tyler, who were watching the scene in silent revelry. He glanced at Samantha and gestured to them. “Did they do anything?” “No, sir,” she shook her head, and Chelsea’s eyes seemed to sparkle in response. “Okay, get out of here,” the man dismissed the two, who nodded and hastily walked off without a word to Phil. “The three of you, come on. Let’s go talk to Mrs. Kane.” “Wait, sir, I’m sorry. Please, I –” Phil started to beg. “It’s too late for that. Walk,” Mr. Barnes asserted and pointed him down the hall. Phil hung his head and began the march back to the classroom. Greg swallowed, nodding compliantly, and followed Phil in silence. Samantha reached up, taking Mr. Barnes’ hand. “Thank you, sir,” she smiled up at him, and he smiled back. “What’s your name, hun?” he asked gently, and Greg looked over his shoulder, frowning as he watched the interaction, rubbing his throbbing side. “Samantha Thorne! I’m a sophomore in Mrs. Carver’s Little class, and I really like math,” she bubbled as she skipped alongside him, and Mr. Barnes chuckled. “Well, you are delightful,” the teacher warmly replied. Present Day. Charlie glanced at Kelly’s watch as she looked at it for herself: 5:45. They were nearing the end of the cocktail hour with the elite donors, which meant they were nearing the escalation into a much larger crowd. The Little had fallen quiet since he accomplished his first ask of the evening: get Sarah and Kelly in front of the key women who could improve their careers. With that done, he kept an eye on Greg, who had been successfully maneuvering and avoiding Tyler Beaumont, who had brought a rather scantily dressed date. Not that Charlie was complaining; in fact, he had hoped to get close enough to get a better view of Cleavage Canyon, but unfortunately, most of the other women in the room were avoiding her. “You doing okay, Choo-choo?” whispered Kelly. He blinked, bringing his focus in, and he smiled widely. “Yeah,” he whispered in response, then leaned forward, putting his hands up to her ear to whisper. “Geggie is nervous.” “I know,” she agreed sympathetically, placing a hand on his back and rubbing it. “He’s got to get through his speech… but that’s not for a while yet.” Charlie nodded as he pursed his lips dramatically as he considered his options… he needed a reason to go to his brother. Usually, the presence of a Little was seen as adding stress (asshats), though Greg and Kelly were major exceptions to that rule. So he could reliably assume she would let him go to his brother without complaint, except that she hated being abandoned in crowds. His eyebrows lifted as he had an idea and leaned forward to whisper in her ear again. “Can we give ‘im somefin’ for luck?” he asked. As he leaned back, Kelly put some real thought into that, clearly on board with the idea, but unsure how to execute. “What kind of thing?” she wondered, considering what she had with her. “Hmmm,” he hummed as he tapped his chin. Normally, he would have gone with something childish, like a sucker or candy, but with Tyler and Boobs McGee nearby, he wasn’t sure that was the best idea. Alas, they were limited on resources, including time, so he smiled and defaulted to the simplest option. “A hug!” “Oooh, that’s a good one!” Kelly complimented him as she immediately gave him a hug and kissed his forehead. They turned to see Greg excusing himself and walking towards the bathroom, and they shared a smile. To pass the time, she and Charlie grabbed a few bacon-wrapped chestnuts, tapped them together to cheers, and shoved them into each other’s mouths with ensuing giggles. Kelly wiped off his hands and tossed the napkin away, then paused mid-step, her smile fading as something shifted behind her eyes. Charlie opened his mouth to ask her if she was okay, but her eyes lit up again as they fell upon a doorway to a dimly lit room. “Ooh, what’s this?” she asked in a chipper tone, picking up her pace to check it out. “Issa dark room, Kellyyyy,” Charlie giggled, ready to accuse her of seeking refuge from the crowd. She chuckled in response, taking a few steps forward into it, and then stopped, looking over her shoulder. Charlie blinked, feeling her shift him on her hip, and her face relaxed into a contemplative look as she faced the dark room, and her eyes fell to the floor. “You know, Charlie…” He glanced behind her, watching the doorway shrink as she took a few more steps in, and he blinked, looking at her strange expression. “You’re so…” Kelly smiled, her eyes having a faraway look. “Thoughtful… and vigilant…” She glanced to her right, where a large glass wall looked out onto the central piece of the main outdoor area, which was a beautiful floral fountain. The sun was sinking into the horizon, though the sky was still well lit in bands of bluish yellows and orange, and the outdoor lights pointed to the foundation were already on. It made for a beautiful look, with flowers casting shadows upon each other, and the colors dramatically varying depending on whether their primary light source was natural or not. Silently, she walked up to the wall and stared out onto the beauty of the scene, but none of it registered; her mind was focused on something else. “I know I say it all the time,” she spoke softly, her voice falling to a hushed whisper due to the care and emotion her words were evoking. “But I really do love you… You are so… bright and caring… You always know what to say, what to do, how to help… You always know how to make someone feel better… and want to.” Her eyes watered as she bit her lower lip, her arms tensing up as she pulled him in. She stared firmly out the window, unsure she could finish her thoughts if she looked at him. “I feel… safe when I’m around you… My life is so much better with you in it,” she confessed breathlessly. Charlie swallowed as he stared at her… outside of Greg, he rarely had to deal with such heartfelt emotions. He was usually the spectator and peanut gallery, which he had grown very accustomed to. He felt his mouth run dry as it hung open. As she finally turned to look at him, he felt compelled to bring his thoughts to his tongue and be himself, despite the circumstances. “I love you too, Kelly,” he spoke quietly, in his normal register, without any of the normal baby flair, and she quietly gasped, quickly pulling him in. "There you are," she purred softly, engulfing him with her arms. Charlie blinked, confused momentarily, but his eyes widened and his breath caught as she whispered directly into his ear, "The real Charlie."

Chapter 37: Gig Bound – LittleFallenPrincess ------------------------------- Chloe So despite Becks’ comment about my little side a few days ago, I was still looking forward to my date tonight with Lydia. I did kinda take that comment hard though, doubting if my little side ever even existed… which if what they said about Lydia is true… then it doesn’t matter anyway, and that means it’s better for me in the end. But no, I need to focus on tonight. Lydia invited me to a gig her friends are playing at a pub in the city, so I’m dressing up casual, but kinda… sexy-casual. Though I bet she probably won’t see it as ‘sexy’, it’s just a low cut top and some skinny jeans. I’m not really one to ‘flaunt my assets’... mostly because of the lack of assets I have. But again… that’s just my opinion, apparently I’m ‘gorgeous’ to Becks and Sam and that lot. I don’t see it, but then I’ve never been good with self worth… I’ve always despised my body. But it was too late to change my outfit now, so it’ll have to do. I wonder what kind of music they will play tonight. I mean I like all sorts but Lydia didn’t tell me much about tonight. Then again she didn’t say much at all. Maybe she’s saving it all for tonight. “You. Look. Amazing!” Lydia squealed, wrapping her arms around me as I walked into the pub and over to where she was standing by the bar, waiting for me, squeezing me tightly. “Thanks…” I replied, enjoying the life being squeezed out of me by this Amazonian woman, wondering how she thinks I look amazing when she’s dressed in a sleeveless top that showed off her toned arms, huge boots, and jeans. If I look amazing, there are no words in the English language that describe how hot she looks tonight. “Did you have any trouble getting here?” “Nope. Wasn’t actually that far, so I just walked.” “Oh good! Right, my mates are going to be playing in about an hour, why don’t we get a couple of drinks, find a cosy little table, and get to know each other? I want to know all about you, all I’ve seen is what a good little toy you are…” I was trying to focus on the pub, thinking about how quiet it was for a weekday evening, wondering if it’ll get any busier because right now it’s the right level of crowded for me to not panic and freak out and need to leave… but that comment from her would’ve made steam come out of my ears and whistles blowing as my face turned crimson, were this a cartoon. Instead I just blushed… and froze still, wide eyed. “D’awwww, you’re one of those subs. Cute.” Words. English. Anytime now Chloe. Come up with some. Just some simple words. Say them. SAY THEM. “Baahhhllla…” “How about I get you a drink whilst you go grab us a table and find your words again.” I smiled up at her and nodded. I can do that. I’m good at that! The table part, not the words part. I doubt I’ll ever find those words if she keeps talking to me like this. “Now, what do you want? Can you at least manage that?” she asked. I managed to mumble the words “Cider please,” and thankfully she heard me clear enough. “Okay cutie, I’ll be back soon. Go find us a good table by the stage.” I’ve never been to this pub before, but it was quite nice. Then again I haven’t been to a pub since… oh… since Sam. Ugh. No. Not tonight. No pining over the woman you still have feelings for. You’re on a date for fucks sake, Chlo! Focus on this gorgeous woman in front of you! “Good pick with the table, cutie,” she said, her heavenly voice making me melt in an instant. “T… thanks…” I mumbled. Honestly? It was just the furthest table away from all the others, so it seemed a bit quieter. I wasn’t thinking romantically or anything, purely just for my anxiety. “So… tell me about yourself.” “Umm… new to… you know…” I said, nervously, trying to say the word but finding it impossible right now in my melty state. “Kink?” she said, finishing my sentence for me. “Yeah…” “Figured, with the fact you still get embarrassed to even say the word ‘kink’...” she said, giggling. Even her giggles were adorable. “Have any that you’re into? I don’t usually talk kink straight away, I like to get to know people first, but clearly that’s on your mind so let’s go with that first.” Ugh. Did I already fuck up? I’m not used to talking about kink. Is there some forbidden rule that you don’t talk about kink on a first date? “Are you sure?” I asked, worried that I fucked up. “I… I don’t have to talk about it… I just thought I’d get it out in the open, just so… so if you’re looking for someone more experienced...” “Don’t worry about it, Chloe. Happy to talk about it anyway, and if it’ll make you feel at ease I’m happy to cover it, and don’t worry, you being new to it doesn’t scare me off. I assume Becks has warned you about me?” “Sam did, actually.” “Yeah that makes sense. Look, I know I appear all big and scary, like some big goth badass, but I’m a softie at heart. Not that I won’t beat someone's backside until it turns purple… but you do get extra cuddles after it. So… what are you into?” “Umm… Ageplay? You know… n… n… umm padding and stuff…” “Oh cool! Yeah, not really my thing but I’d be okay with you calling me Mommy if things progress that way with us. I don’t do nappies though, I hope you understand that. And I’m not really maternal.” Okay… that was expected. Still disappointing, but hey… she’s okay with being called Mommy. I can work with that. “Yeah. That’s cool. Becks and Sam told me that you’d be cool with me not being super into any of the hardcore stuff.” “Yeah it’s no problem hun. As long as you enjoy a good spanking, that’s my favourite.” I nodded, taking a sip of my pint, trying to hide my burning face with the glass. “So if we’re unloading all the big things straight away, I’m trans.” I nearly spat out my drink in shock. “Ha… wait, what? Really?” FUCK. And no, I didn’t mean that in a transphobic way. Just in a… I really didn’t expect that. Aaaaaand now I probably sound super transphobic. Fuck. “You sound surprised. I assume the girls didn’t tell you?” “No…” “Does that bother you? It’s okay if you don’t date trans women.” “No! Not at all! I just… I wasn’t expecting it. You look so…” “Sweetie, be careful with your next words…” she growled, in a confusing way that sounded both alluring but also threatening… “Sorry! I know, usually people follow that with horribly transphobic things. I had a trans friend at uni, so I know. Just… sorry. I don’t know what I was about to say.” “How about, ‘Oh Miss Lydia, you are such a gorgeous trans woman’?” “I mean… I was hoping by the fact I’ve not been able to keep my eyes off you the whole time we’ve been here that you’d have figured that out…” That was peak flirting for me. I hope she’s proud of me for being so flirty, because I can’t promise it’ll happen again. “Oh I noticed. But it’s still nice to hear…” she grinned at me… followed by a wink. “You look amazing.” “Thank you, cutie. So… have any questions about me being trans?” “Nope.” This surprised her. And by the smile on her face, it was a pleasant surprise. “Really? No ‘have you had the surgery yet?’ or ‘what’s your real name?’ or any of the other transphobic crap I usually get asked on dates?” “They really ask that? Wow… I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realise it was that bad for you.” “Oh hun, they are the nicer questions I tend to get...” “Then how about… What made you come up with Lydia as a name?” That seemed to impress her a bit, as her head shot back an inch as if shocked, but then she leaned her whole body forward, leaning her arms on the table, staring at me with the biggest smile on her face. “Video game.” I burst out laughing. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to… but…” “Hey! It was a very good game!” she cried out, laughing. I’m glad I didn’t insult her… but I may do with this next sentence… “I mean… it was mid at best…” I replied, purposely muffling my comment with my drink. “So you know which game I got it from?” “You liked the follower in it so much you named yourself after her?” I giggled. “She looked a little like me and I liked the name… so yeah…” “It’s a pretty name. For a pretty woman…” “You trying to butter me up, buttercup?” “Hey! No cute names! Illegals!” I whined. “What are you going to do about it, sweetie?” she said, putting emphasis on that last word. “...Pout!” I replied, pulling my best over the top pouting face at her, sticking my face forward, closing my eyes, sticking my lips out and everything. But before I could retract them… I felt another pair of lips connect with mine… and I… I… …I was gone. “NO FAIR!” I said, a little too loudly as I retracted in shock, realising maybe I was a little too loud. “Too far too soon? I apologise hun, I just… those lips looked so…” “So what?” “Kissable…” I was stunned into silence, but as if some other being took over my body, I started flirting back. “I… think I need another experience… this time where I’m not taken by surprise so much, so I can confirm that my lips are indeed kissable…” “Keep being cute and maybe you will at the end of our date…” “Well if someone has to do it…” “Thank you for your sacrifice…” she teased, sticking her tongue out before lifting up her drink to her face and taking a large sip. “So… I have a very big question…” I said, nervously. “Oh wow, you look so adorably serious. Go on then sweetie. Is it about my transition?” “Nope. More important than that.” “About kink?” “More important.” “More important than kink? Oh wow… umm… go on, ask away.” “Well I know you like fantasy games… but what do you think about fantasy movies… particularly ones made into a trilogy…” A few hours later, with the pub dying down after such a long and very loud gig, after people had been pouring out of the doors just before closing until it was just the band inside getting their stuff packed up again, Lydia and I were the only ones outside… holding hands… lips locked… after I earned my goodnight kiss from her. As she finally released me from her kiss, leaving the taste of cherry wine on my tongue, she held me close, towering over me, whilst I was just glad I had brought a coat as it’s freezing in this cold winter air. “So… this was a lot of fun,” she said, smiling sweetly at me. “Want… ummm… want to do it again?” I asked, mumbling half of my words. “I’d love to. Maybe somewhere a bit more romantic?” “What are you thinking?” I asked, wondering what could be more romantic than this perfect moment right here. “My place. I’ll cook.” “You cook?” “I mean I’m no chef, but I can try to make something really good. And hey, if that fails I order a mean fish and chips…” I giggled without even thinking. I love her silly sense of humour. Her nerdiness. How cute she is considering how scary she looks. “Sounds good. Either one does.” “And how about we watch the first of the trilogy… in 4k?” she suggested. “You have it in 4k? Oh my… you really know the way into a woman’s heart…” “And her bed…” she growled, making my knees nearly buckle after becoming so weak. “I… I should get going…” “Okay poppet. Let me call you a cab.” “One more kiss first though… please?” She looked at me, eyebrow raised. “Do you even realise you’re pulling that face?” she asked. “What face?” “The one that looks like a little kitten begging for attention.” “I do not!” She quickly pulled her phone out and took a photo of me, before turning the screen around to show me. “...Okay maybe I do a little…” “And that face you’re pulling is ‘illegal’ as you kept saying tonight. Just like you said teasing was ‘illegal’. Cute names ‘illegal’. Stroking your leg under the table to get you all squirmy ‘illegal’.” “...That’s fair. I’m just glad you don’t seem to care for the law…” I mumbled, nervously… That’s when she grabbed my head from behind and pulled me close to her body, pressing her soft, cherry laced lips on mine… ====================================================== Don't forget I'm on Subscribestar! 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My journey back to babyhood – Part 3 Susan went to work during the week and I stayed at home. In the morning, I spoke to my boss about our move to Seattle. He confirmed what my wife had already told me: I didn't have to come into the office for the time being. I hated my job. I was just an accountant at a small shipping company. Invoices, balance sheets, numbers. I had earned my Master of Arts degree at university, but hadn't been able to find a suitable job afterwards. With my infertility and my underpaid job, I felt completely inferior to Susan. She made most of the decisions anyway. And I sometimes wondered why she hadn't left me long ago. But during the day, I had other things on my mind. Susan had asked me to put on Pull-Ups and wanted me to change into a pink Megamax at 4 o'clock. “I might be home a little later tonight — but probably around 8 o'clock I will be home.” She looked very sexy and content again. She was wearing a nice mid-length skirt with black tights and a new patterned red blouse. Alone at home, I turned on the computer and started working. But my thoughts revolved around my strange fondness for diapers. Where did it come from? According to my mother, I had wet my pants until I was three years old. Since then, I had only had one major accident during a sleepover at my friend's house. I was 6 years old, and two nights was a long stay. And I wet the bed both nights. Of course, my friend's parents were very upset and reported it to my mother. At home, I got a scolding, and because she was worried that I would now wet my own bed, she bought me boys' diapers to wear for the next four weeks. Even though she now called me a “bedwetter” or “baby,” for some reason it felt good. I liked being padded, being cared for, and getting more attention from my mother than usual. She made me feel guilty about the accident, and I understood completely that I deserved to wear diapers again. Over the next two weeks, I wet my diapers again at night. Sometimes without realizing it, sometimes on purpose, perhaps to prolong the time I was being pampered. It was only when my parents promised to buy me a big Micro Machines truck if I stopped wetting, that my bed stayed dry again. Susan came home at 8. She told me that she had already had dinner with her new boss from Seattle, who was visiting her office for this week. But she made me a small meal while she checked how wet I had gotten. “That'll do for a while,” she smiled, handing me the food, and we sat down in the living room to watch the first part of Pirates of the Caribbean. For the night, she put me in another colored diaper. This time with little pirates on it, which somehow matched the movie we had watched. The next two days were similar. Susan met with her boss, came home late, and I worked from home. Only on Thursday did she tell me that she had put my car up for sale on a sales platform. I was very surprised by this. My BMW convertible was my little baby, and I had owned it for over 15 years. “You won't need a car when we're in Seattle,” she explained. “And you have to admit that it's not in good condition anymore. The engine is noisy and the roof leaks.” “But I love this car,” I argued. “There are so many memories that I and we associate with it. Maybe it can be easily repaired?” But it was hard to argue with Susan. And she already had a potential buyer who wanted to look at the car on Monday. “You really don't need it anymore. And with the proceeds, we can buy you lots of new diapers and other useful things.” ...to be continued

Chapter Eighty-Two: The digital clock on the Range Rover’s dash read 2:25 p.m. Rain came down in heavy, relentless sheets, the kind that erased edges and turned the world into streaks of motion and sound. Water raced down the windshield faster than the wipers could keep up, blurring the street into a gray smear. The doors flew open almost in unison. Laughter burst out first—unfiltered, loose, the kind that only comes when you forget yourself for a moment. Bryan was already shrugging out of his spring coat, laughing as he tried to stretch it wide enough to cover both his and Lilly’s heads as they jogged the last few steps to the front door. “This is not what waterproof means,” Lilly laughed, ducking under the coat anyway. “Still worth it,” Bryan said, breathless, fumbling with the keys. They made it inside mostly dry—hair damp, jackets spotted with rain, cheeks flushed from cold and laughter. Bryan kicked the door shut with his heel, still grinning. “Hey, T,” he called out easily. “Lilly and I are home. Picnic got completely washed out. Why don’t you head home early and we’ll pick up Paul from school?” The words echoed just long enough to feel wrong. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Martina appeared at the landing. She was smiling. But the smile didn’t reach her eyes. It was thin. Careful. Held together by willpower alone. Lilly’s joy collapsed instantly. “What’s wrong?” she asked, already moving forward. Martina paused halfway down the stairs. One hand rested on the banister like she needed the support. She inhaled slowly—once, twice—then spoke. “Paul’s already home,” she said quietly. “He’s upstairs. In his room.” Bryan frowned. “Home? What do you mean, home?” She didn’t rush. She didn’t soften. She told them everything. She told them about standing at the sink, wiping down the counters, watching the rain swallow the canal until it vanished completely from view. About hearing the back door unlock and turning around to see Paul standing there—soaked. Not damp. Not caught in a drizzle. Drowned. “His hoodie was plastered to him,” she said, voice steady but strained. He looked… smaller. Not physically. Something else.” She told them about rushing to him, she told them how he didn’t respond. “How he walked right past me,” Martina said. “Didn’t even look at me. Like I wasn’t there.” She described him opening the fridge, grabbing a vitamin water and an energy bar with shaking hands. How she blocked the stairs then—gentle at first. “I told him to sit. I told him I’d help him change, get warm, talk.” Her voice tightened. “And then he snapped.” She repeated the words exactly, even though they hurt. “She fucking knows. She knows.” Lilly’s breath left her in a sharp exhale. Bryan’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Martina swallowed. “I grabbed his arm. Not hard. Just—trying to ground him. And then…” Her voice broke just slightly. “He called me a bitch. In Spanish. Said Amber knows.” Silence swallowed the entrance way. “He ran upstairs,” Martina finished. “Locked himself in his room. That was two hours ago. He hasn’t answered me once.” Bryan’s first instinct was anger—not explosive, but hot and immediate. “That’s unacceptable,” he said tightly. “I don’t care what kind of day he’s had.” But even as he said it, fear bled through. “Two hours?” Martina nodded. That was enough. Bryan was already moving. “I’m going up.” He took the stairs two at a time, the anger bleeding rapidly into worry. He knocked once, hard. “Paul.” Nothing. He knocked again. Louder. “Paul, open the door.” No response. His jaw tightened. “That’s it. I’m taking the hinges off. We don’t know if he’s okay.” “Wait,” Lilly said suddenly. Both of them turned. “The nanny cam,” she said. “In his room.” Martina froze. “There’s a camera?” Bryan didn’t look at her. “Is it still on?” Lilly hesitated. “I… I never turned it off.” Bryan exhaled sharply. “Get the tablet.” They regrouped in the hallway minutes later—Bryan with tools in hand, Lilly gripping the tablet like a lifeline, Martina hovering just behind them, guilt and dread coiling tight in her chest. Lilly rewound the feed. They watched. Paul slammed the door shut behind him and leaned into it with everything he had—shoulder, spine, head. His breath came fast, jagged, like he was trying to hold the world back with his body. For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then his legs gave. He slid down the door slowly, scraping against the wood until he hit the floor. The sound was dull. Heavy. Quiet sobs filled the room. The back of Paul’s skull struck the door once. Twice. Soft but they still made a loud enough sound. “Stupid,” he choked. “Stupid… stupid…” Lilly’s hand flew to her mouth. Martina pressed her palm to her chest. Bryan’s throat tightened painfully. Paul shivered. Wrapped his arms around himself. The cold finally catching him. He stood and stripped—hoodie, socks, jeans, jersey & finally oneise- dropping them where they fell until only his plastic pants and diaper remained. He paused, breathing hard, then unclasped the tracker. He stared at it. Set it on the desk. Shook his wrist—once, twice—like testing freedom. “Do you think he saw it?” Bryan whispered. Martina frowned. “Saw what?” Both Bryan and Lilly answered together. “His diaper pail.” The soft thud came next—Paul kicking the folded changing table in frustration. The discreet diaper pail wobbled beside it, the tiny carton-shaped diaper icon on the lid suddenly glaringly obvious. Paul disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, a towel was wrapped around his waist. In his hand: his used diaper, rolled tight. He looked away as he opened the pail and dropped it in. He glanced at the changing table. Then shook his head and turned away. “All right, buddy,” Bryan murmured. “Your move.” Paul tore open the protein bar and took a massive bite—too fast. He choked, coughing hard, then forced it down like refusing to lose another fight today. He opened his drawer. Hesitated. Pulled out a new diaper. No cream. No powder. Standing, he struggled to tape it on himself. His hands shook. He stomped his foot once in frustration, then stopped. Breathed. Did the best he could. The job was uneven. Sloppy. He gave up. Pulled on plastic pants as well for extra protection. Then he opened his diaper bag, laid the safari changing pad on the floor beside his bed. Tossed down two pillows. He disappeared back into the closet and returned with the Batman plush held tightly up against his chest. And then disappeared from view as he sat or better yet laid down on the changing pad with the bed giving him cover from the camera. Martina whispered, “Oh, Paul…” Lilly felt like her chest was collapsing inward. Bryan moved first. He knelt and began removing the hinges. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I really do. But this doesn’t excuse everything. His life’s harder—but that doesn’t mean he gets to hurt people who love him.” The door came free. They stepped inside. Paul was curled tight on the changing pad, fetal, Batman tucked under one arm. His thumb was in his mouth. A small trail of drool glistened on his chin. His diaper was soaked. The sight broke something open in all three of them—grief, tenderness, memory colliding at once. Martina picked up the spilled bottle and bar. Lilly fetched a towel. Bryan wiped the water away in silence. Then Lilly knelt beside Paul, stroking his hair gently, rhythmically. “Paul,” she whispered, soft but firm, like a preschool teacher coaxing a child back to the surface. “Hey, sweetheart. We need you awake now.” His eyes fluttered open. He saw them. All three. Six eyes. Struggling for a way to some how explain his side of the story, his two subconsciousness we’re racing towards the driver’s seat, however his little side got the best of him and surfaced first. Thumb still in his mouth. “Uh-oh?” he asked softly, the word barely more than a breath. Bryan swallowed hard. “Yes, bud,” he said, not yelling, not gentle either. “Yeah. Uh-oh.” Together, he and Lilly helped Paul to his feet—steadying him, grounding him, bringing him eye-level with what came next. Paul stood there swaying slightly, the weight of the day—and the soaked padding—pulling him downward. His thumb slipped from his mouth on its own, leaving behind a shine of drool he didn’t bother to wipe away. The room felt too small now. Too many adults. Too much truth. The moment Bryan said his name—Paul—his body reacted before his mind did. A hot flush swept through him, chest tightening, ears ringing. The air felt too loud. Too close. His hands curled inward instinctively.The little side surged first. It always did when fear hit this hard. Bad. I did bad. They’re mad. I’m in trouble. His breath came shallow, uneven. Without the tracker on his wrist, he had no external proof of what was happening inside him—but his body didn’t need confirmation. His heart raced. His legs felt weak. His mouth went dry. Bryan’s voice cut through it again. “You don’t get to talk to Martina like that.” Not loud. Not sharp. Steady. Immoveable. Paul flinched anyway, shoulders hitching up toward his ears. His gaze dropped to the floor like gravity had suddenly doubled. The shame was immediate and thick. Sticky. The kind that didn’t just burn—it sank. “I don’t care how bad your day was,” Bryan continued. “I don’t care how embarrassed you felt. That line doesn’t move.” Paul’s chest stuttered. His lips parted, but nothing came out. Lilly felt it—the moment he started to spiral. She recognized the signs the way you recognize the first bars of a song you’ve heard too many times. She stayed still on purpose. Let Bryan hold the line. Let Paul feel the structure before the softness. Martina folded her arms—not in defense, but to keep herself from shaking. Her voice, when she spoke, carried a tremor she didn’t bother to hide. “Paul,” she said. “I am not angry because you were hurting. I am angry because you hurt me.” That landed differently. Paul’s head snapped up, eyes wide, wet. The fear shifted—less explosive now, more fragile. “I didn’t— I was just—” His voice cracked, splintered. He swallowed hard. “Everything fell apart.” Lilly moved then. She knelt in front of him, grounding herself at his level, hands resting gently but firmly on his knees. Her voice softened—not babyish, but rhythmic. Familiar. The cadence she used when emotions ran too big to name. “Okay,” she said quietly. “We’re here. You’re not alone. We’re going to talk this through.” Paul’s breath stuttered again. He nodded once, like a child agreeing to sit still. “Am I… am I in trouble?” he asked. “Yes,” Bryan said at the same moment Lilly said, “And no.” Paul blinked, confused, that small crease forming between his brows. Bryan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Be the parent, he told himself. Not the buddy. Not the fixer. The parent. “You’re in trouble for the behavior,” Bryan said. “Not the feelings. Those matter. But how you handled them—that’s where we stop you.” Paul’s shoulders sagged just a fraction. The little side loosened its grip. Lilly nodded. “You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be embarrassed. You’re allowed to hate what’s happening to your body.” She leaned in slightly. “You are not allowed to turn that pain outward.” Martina stepped closer then, her tone shifting—gentler, warmer, the way she spoke when she fed people who were sick or grieving. “Mi amor,” she said. “You came home soaked. Shaking. Humiliated. I saw all of that. I wanted to help you.” Paul’s lips trembled. The word slipped out like a confession. “She knows.” The room stilled. “Amber knows.” Lilly sucked in a breath through her teeth. Bryan closed his eyes briefly—just long enough to feel it, not long enough to fall apart. “And you panicked,” Lilly said softly. Paul nodded hard. “I didn’t know how to make it stop.” Bryan stepped closer. “Running. Locking yourself in. Taking off the—that’s not stopping it, son.” “I know!” Paul snapped—then recoiled immediately, horror flooding his face. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I just—” His hands shook. “I feel trapped. Like this is it. Like I’m stuck like this forever.” There it was. The real fear. The adult side surfaced then—not strong, but present. Enough to put words to the panic instead of letting it scream. Lilly cupped his face, thumbs warm against his cheeks. “This is your present,” she said. “It is not your entire life.” “It feels like it is,” Paul whispered. “Feelings lie when they’re scared,” Bryan said quietly. “They sound loud. That doesn’t make them true.” Martina nodded. “Storms shout,” she said. “They still pass.” Paul’s knees buckled slightly. The fight drained out of him, leaving only exhaustion. “So… what happens now?” he asked. Bryan exhaled. “You’re apologizing,” Bryan said. “Now.” Paul turned immediately, shame burning hot—but the little side surged again, raw and earnest. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Martina’s middle without thinking, face pressed into her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said thickly. “I didn’t mean it. I was scared.” Martina melted instantly, arms folding around him. She kissed the top of his wet hair and—without thinking—gave his damp backside a firm, affectionate pat like she had a hundred times years ago, a lifetime away. “I know,” she murmured. “I forgive you.” Paul sagged into her for a second longer than necessary before pulling back, embarrassed but calmer. “And,” Bryan continued, “you’re grounded from leaving the house or school without telling us.” Paul nodded. No argument. Lilly added gently, “And no more disappearing. You ask for space—you don’t vanish.” Paul nodded again. “Okay.” Paul stood there between them, arms wrapped loosely around himself now, shoulders slumped, the fight finally drained out of him. The room felt quieter—not calm yet, but no longer on fire. Lilly was the one who broke the silence. “There’s one more thing,” she said. Her voice carried that particular steadiness she used when she was about to change the rules of the game—not to punish, but to protect everyone playing it. Paul’s stomach tightened. His little side braced first. More trouble. More rules. Bryan watched his son closely. He saw it—the flinch, the readying-for-impact posture. He softened his stance just enough. “This isn’t a gotcha,” Bryan said. “This is us deciding how we move forward.” Lilly continued, “What happened today didn’t just happen because you had a bad moment. It happened because too many people had pieces of the truth… and nobody had the whole picture.” Paul swallowed. Amber’s name sat heavy in his chest. Bryan nodded. “Secrets create pressure. Pressure finds a crack. Today was the crack.” Paul’s voice came out small. “I didn’t mean for her to find out like that.” “I know,” Lilly said immediately. “And this is where we stop pretending that keeping it hidden is keeping you safe.” That landed. Hard. Paul shook his head slowly. “I don’t want everyone talking about me.” “No one is talking about you,” Martina said firmly. “They are talking with you.” She stepped closer, her tone warm but unyielding. “Paul, cariño, this is not shameful. It is medical. It is emotional. And it is happening whether we whisper or not.” Lilly reached for Paul’s hand and squeezed. “So here’s what we’re going to do.” Paul’s heart started to race again—but this time it wasn’t panic. It was anticipation. Dread mixed with something like relief. “Next week,” Lilly said, “we’re going to sit down together. You. Me. Your Dad on speaker. Martina.” Paul’s breath caught. “And Amber,” Martina added gently. Paul’s eyes snapped up. “What?” “Not to interrogate you,” Bryan said quickly. “Not to shame you. And not to make you explain anything you don’t want to.” Lilly nodded. “But to make sure everyone hears the same truth. So no one fills in the blanks with fear, assumptions, or guilt.” Martina tilted her head, watching Paul carefully. “So that Amber understands what’s happening—and what is not happening.” Paul’s chest tightened. “She probably hates me now,” he whispered. “No,” Lilly said firmly. “She’s confused. And worried. And that’s different.” Bryan added, “And she deserves clarity just like you do.” Paul rubbed his face with both hands, dragging them down slowly. When he looked up again, his eyes were glassy—but focused. “So… no more secrets,” he said quietly. “No more secrets,” Martina confirmed. Lilly smiled softly. “Only boundaries.” Paul nodded once. Then again. The adult side was fully back now—still shaky, but present. “Okay,” he said. Bryan felt it in his chest—a release he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. Lilly’s eyes softened with something like pride. Martina exhaled, long and relieved. “We’ll do it together,” Bryan said. “All of it. The hard conversations. The awkward ones. The ones you wish you could skip.” Paul managed a weak smile. “That sounds… terrible.” Martina laughed quietly. “It will be.” Then, softer, almost sing-song the way she used to speak when he was little and scared: “But you’ll survive it.” Paul nodded. A beat passed. Then he shifted his weight, cheeks flushing again as the physical reality caught up with the emotional one. Paul swallowed. “Can I… can I get changed? I’m cold.” Martina was already stepping back toward the door. “I’m heading out,” she said warmly. “You’re in good hands.” She paused, pointing gently at him. “Next week,” she reminded. “No hiding.” “No hiding,” Paul echoed. As she left, Bryan clapped his hands once—quiet, resolute. “Alright, champ,” he said. “Punishment’s not over yet. Let’s get you sorted. Fresh change. Then we’re doing a time-out.” The word hit Paul like cold water. Time-out. Rejection. Punishment. A label. His little side flinched hard—I’m bad. His adult side clenched—This is humiliating. Paul’s breath sped up. He could feel it in his ribs: fight-or-flight trying to light itself again. Lilly moved immediately—reframing before the spiral could take him. “Not a scary time-out,” she said gently, almost sing-song without being mocking. “It’s a quiet one. A calm-down one.” Bryan stepped closer and lowered himself until he was at Paul’s eye level. No raised voice. No lecturing. Just a boundary spoken like a hand offered instead of a fist. “This isn’t just because you did something wrong,” Bryan said. “This is because your body is running too fast, and we’re going to help it slow down.” Paul blinked fast. The words didn’t erase the shame, but they gave it a different shape—less judgment, more containment. Paul’s bedroom felt smaller than it ever had. The overhead light was off. A lamp by the dresser threw a warm, honeyed pool across the corner where the changing table stood unfolded—sturdy, familiar, waiting like a checkpoint. Paul hovered in the middle of the room, still in his wet, rumpled reality, trying to stand like he wasn’t seconds away from falling apart. Bryan didn’t waste time with questions that would drown Paul in choices. “Alright, buddy,” he said, low and steady, the way you talk to someone whose nervous system is already sprinting. “Up we go.” Lilly stayed close—soft voice, softer eyes, her words sliding into that gentle, nursery-smooth cadence that Paul’s body always responded to before his pride could argue. “Come on, sweetheart,” she coaxed. “Let’s get you comfy, okay? Just a quick change and then we can breathe.” Paul climbed onto the changing table like it was a stage he’d never rehearsed for—awkward, stiff, trying to keep his face neutral. The mattress pad beneath him was cool at first, then warmed quickly beneath his thighs. He stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, listening to the tiny, betraying sounds his clothing made when he shifted. Bryan reached for the supplies with a kind of practiced efficiency—wipes, cream, powder fresh diaper, plastic pants within reach. Lilly adjusted the lamp slightly so the light was warm instead of harsh. And then—right as Paul tried to settle into endure this, survive this—Bryan and Lilly exchanged a look. Not angry. Not disappointed. Deciding. Lilly spoke first, voice gentle but firm, baby talk wrapped around a boundary so it didn’t cut. “Okay, honey… we need to talk about your choices today.” Paul’s stomach dropped. Bryan’s tone stayed calm, but serious—parent, not pal. “As an added reminder to help reminder you of making the right choice instead of the wrong one,” Bryan said, “you’re going to lose access to your electronics this weekend.” It hit Paul like a slap he hadn’t braced for. His eyes widened. His breath snagged. Then the dam broke. “No—no, you can’t,” he blurted, voice warping into something smaller, rawer. The sound that came out of him wasn’t just protest—it was begging. “Please—please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” Lilly’s hand went to his shoulder immediately, gentle circles, soothing. “Shh, shh, sweetheart—” Paul shook his head hard, tears already spilling, words tumbling out like he couldn’t get them out fast enough. “I can’t— I can’t, I have a date,” he choked. “I have a call with Ellie from the restaurant—please—she doesn’t know about me, she doesn’t—” His voice cracked so sharply it almost sounded like it hurt. “I want— I just want to talk with somebody who doesn’t judge or pity me.” The sentence landed like a confession and a wound at the same time. Paul’s little side was screaming now—don’t take the last normal thing, don’t take the last door out. His adult side tried to grab the wheel mid-crash—tried to sound composed through tears that wouldn’t stop—tried to negotiate like a grown man while his body begged like a child. Bryan’s face tightened. Not with anger—with understanding that hurt. Lilly’s eyes glistened. She didn’t flinch from the mess of it. She leaned in, pressing her forehead gently against Paul’s temple for a moment, the way you might do when someone is panicking and needs a physical anchor. “Hey, hey, hey…” she murmured, voice soft like a lullaby. “We hear you.” Bryan stepped closer, and between them they wrapped Paul in a hug that was firm enough to interrupt the spiral. Not trapping. Containing. “This isn’t helping anybody,” Bryan said quietly, the words aimed at the panic more than the boy. “Breathe for me.” Paul made a sound that was half sob, half plea. His fists clenched , like if he held on tight enough the world wouldn’t take anything else. “That’s it, baby. In through your nose… out through your mouth… good boy… good boy…” Paul’s breathing stuttered. Then slowed. Not calm yet—just less explosive. He swallowed hard and tried to pull himself together, wiping his face with the heel of his hand like he was embarrassed to be seen like this. “I’m— I’m sorry,” he managed, voice trembling. Then he tried to sound older, tried to regain the dignity he felt slipping. “I just… I just need… one thing that’s normal.” Bryan didn’t fight him. He didn’t twist the knife. He looked at Lilly, then back at Paul. “Here’s the deal,” Bryan said. “You can have your electronics until nap time at noon tomorrow. After that, for the rest of the weekend, you agree you won’t use them.” Paul blinked. Like he hadn’t expected mercy to be on the table. Lilly nodded, her voice warm and sing-song sweet without a hint of mockery. “And tomorrow afternoon, Harley is coming over,” she reminded gently, as if listing it made it feel safer. “And then Sunday we’re all going together to another football game—yes we are—and then a late lunch as a family before Daddy leaves.” The words before Daddy leaves made Paul’s chest tighten, but it also made the plan feel urgent in a different way—like this weekend mattered, like it was a bridge. Paul’s shoulders sagged with relief so visible it almost looked like exhaustion. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you. I— I’m sorry for the outburst.” Bryan exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his own breath. Lilly brushed Paul’s hair back from his forehead, and her voice softened into something that sounded like an old version of herself—guiding, steady, almost teacher-like beneath the baby talk. “See what happens when you don’t look for help?” she said quietly. “Your body overcompensates, honey. You don’t have to do that. You have to listen.” Paul nodded. He hated that she was right. He also hated how much relief lived inside being heard. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.” He lay back on the changing table—more relaxed now, drained from the tantrum like a storm that had already spent itself. Bryan reached across him and clipped the safety strap gently across Paul’s chest. “There we go,” Lilly cooed softly. “Safe and steady.” Bryan and Lilly moved into the practical care with a quiet teamwork that didn’t ask Paul to perform. Their baby talk stayed constant—Lilly’s was more obvious, Bryan’s carried more of that grounded gentleness, but both held the same intention: regulate his body, not shame his mind. As Bryan gathered the clean supplies, Lilly glanced at Paul with a small, warm smile seeing the poor job he did tapping up his diaper this afternoon. “And for the record,” she said lightly, “you did a really good first try today.” Bryan nodded, approving. “Yeah,” he added. “You did. Better than most people would’ve managed on a day like this.” Paul’s cheeks warmed—embarrassment braided with the smallest thread of pride. Lilly’s eyes brightened, teasing but affectionate. “But moving forward…” she said, and her tone turned playfully firm, “…until we deem you ready, we’re gonna leave the changes to us, okay?” Bryan chuckled softly, like he was trying to make it easier to accept. “Doctor’s orders,” he said, even though it wasn’t—because sometimes humor was a handrail. Paul gave a weak, shaky exhale that almost resembled a laugh. The room smelled faintly of clean detergent and the soft, familiar scent of baby powder waiting unopened on the dresser. The air felt cool against Paul’s skin for a few seconds as wet layers were removed and replaced with dry warmth. The wipes were briefly cold at first touch—enough to make Paul flinch—and then quickly turned neutral, careful, methodical. Lilly’s hand stayed on his shoulder while Bryan worked, a constant point of contact to keep Paul grounded in his body without drifting back into panic. The fresh diaper underneath felt like a soft, thick cushion—pillowy, absorbent, warm as it settled against him. When Paul shifted a fraction, the plastic pants made a faint, unmistakable crinkle—louder now, sharper, because the pajamas were thinner. The sound made Paul’s jaw tighten again, but Lilly’s voice slid in immediately. “Shhh, sweetheart,” she soothed. “That’s just your cozy clothes talking. You’re okay.” When the change was finished, Bryan’s hands paused on Paul’s wrist. He reattached the tracker—snug, secure. His voice stayed gentle, but the seriousness underneath was unmistakable. “This stays on at all times,” Bryan said. “It helps everybody know where your body is at. Even you. And taking it off…” He held Paul’s gaze. “It hurts everyone trying to get you better. Do you understand me, bud?” Paul nodded obediently. Inside, his adult side flared with resentment—handcuffs—even as his little side felt the strange comfort of being monitored, noticed, protected. He hated that both feelings were true at once. Lilly took over from there, lifting the safari-themed pajamas with a small smile, like she was presenting something gentle instead of something loaded. “Okay, baby,” she murmured, “new jammies.” She dressed him with slow, careful movements that didn’t rush him through the vulnerability. The set was designed differently—an adaptive convertible PJ set with an extra panel in the crotch to accommodate and support the bulk beneath. The fabric stretched and settled without pulling, without pinching. The cuffs at both the hands and feet were extendable; Lilly unfolded them with a soft little “there we go,” making it longer, warmer, more cocoon-like. It looked cozy, practical, strangely thoughtful—like someone had built comfort into the design on purpose. Paul’s face tightened anyway—because it was still proof of what he needed now. Lilly then clipped his pacifier to his chest again, the clip catching the light briefly like a tiny silver punctuation mark. “All set, sweetheart,” she whispered. “There,” she said softly. “So you don’t have to chase it, honey.” Paul’s throat tightened as he immediately popped the rubber blub back into his mouth. Bryan glanced at the tracker. Then at Paul. “Twenty minutes,” he said. “You’re gonna stand in the corner. Quiet body. Quiet mouth. Just breathing.” Paul flinched again. The corner wasn’t framed like exile. It was framed like a dock: a place to tie up the boat before it smashed itself against the rocks. Paul stepped into position. At first, it felt like humiliation anyway. He could feel the heat in his cheeks. He could hear the faint crinkle every time he shifted his weight. His adult side wanted to turn and argue. His little side wanted to cry. Paul stood in the corner and felt the first sting of it land exactly as he’d feared: I’m bad. His little side pressed that thought against the back of his ribs until it almost hurt. His adult side tried to argue back. I’m not bad. I’m overwhelmed. But the adult side was shaky right now, still recovering from the storm of the day. The little side was loud. The quiet of the corner did what it was designed to do: it reduced the world until Paul’s nervous system had fewer places to dart. Stand here. Breathe. Wait. Paul’s eyes drifted to the bed. Then to his phone—out of reach, out of mind, like temptation behind glass. His thoughts snagged on Amber—next week, the meeting, the answers, the way her voice had sounded when she whispered it. The shame flared again—hot, choking. Then, unexpectedly, his mind pulled forward instead of backward: Ellie. Tomorrow. A video call. His stomach fluttered with something that wasn’t panic. Excitement. He clung to it like a life raft. He imagined Ellie’s face, her laugh, her voice that didn’t sound like pity. He imagined talking about anything—food, work, music—without the moment sliding toward diapers and regression and medical plans. More excited than nervous, he realized—and that realization felt like a tiny patch of sun breaking through clouds. Chapter Eighty-Three: They left Paul alone inside his bedroom, and closed the door most of the way—just enough for him to feel privacy, just enough for them to remain close. In the hallway outside, their footsteps were soft. Present. Not watching him like a guard. Just nearby—like anchors Lilly kept her voice low, careful, as if the hallway itself could carry sound into Paul’s room. Bryan spoke first—plain facts, a controlled cadence. “Mindy, it’s been a rough day,” Bryan said. “He’s safe. He’s changed. We’ve put him in a time-out in his room—twenty minutes—because the behavior crossed a line.” Lilly added the emotional context, her voice tight with worry and love braided together. “He had a full panic reaction,” she explained. “Crying, begging… he’s terrified about someone finding out. We needed to set a boundary without escalating him.” Mindy listened more than she spoke. Then her question came, calm and clinical: “Did he regress before school?” “No,” Bryan answered immediately. A pause. Not judgment—assessment. “Alright,” Mindy said. “Then yes. Continue regression. This isn’t indulgence. It’s a reset. His system is burned. You don’t calm a burned system by pushing it harder.” Bryan’s shoulders loosened slightly. Lilly swallowed. Mindy continued, her voice steady like a hand on a fevered forehead. “You made the right call setting a consequence for the behavior,” she said. “That matters. But after the consequence, you need to repair. Embrace him. Re-ground him. And moving forward—someone should always be in the room with Paul. Good days and especially bad ones. Not to watch him. To keep him grounded. To remind his nervous system he isn’t alone.” Lilly closed her eyes briefly at that, feeling the weight of it—and the clarity. “Okay,” Lilly whispered. “We can do that.” Following Mindy’s guidance both Lilly & Bryan re entered the room, Lilly was purposeful telling Paul his time out is almost over. Bryan stayed close enough to be felt, not so close it felt like surveillance. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Paul’s shoulders more than his face, reading the way tension climbed and fell. Lilly sat on the edge of the bed, eyes soft, hands folded, her own nervous system working to stay calm because she knew Paul’s would mirror it. When the twenty minutes ended, Lilly spoke again. “Time’s up, baby,” she said. “Come out of the corner.” Paul turned from the corner, cheeks still damp, body quieter now. His little side was still forward, but less frantic. His adult side hovered behind it, trying to reassemble itself. Lilly spoke first, voice gentle and forward-looking. “Tonight, we’re going to help your body feel safe again,” she said. Bryan continued, steady, clear. “That means you don’t have to do anything except let us take care of you.” Paul’s shame flickered, reflexive. Fear came next: How little? How long? Then exhaustion won. He didn’t say yes like a brave declaration. He said it like surrender to something kinder than his own pride. “Okay… I guess.” Bryan held out a hand. Paul took it. Lilly took the other. Together they led him out of the room and down the hall and down the stairs—hands steady, steps paced so Paul didn’t feel dragged through his own humiliation. They moved into the kitchen. Lilly reheated the meal Martina had made earlier, the scent filling the room again—sweet spice, warm beef, steam rising like breath. Meanwhile Bryan told Paul to a take a seat in the middle of the banquette as he set the table. Only two plates. Paul’s stomach tightened with confusion. Only two? Then Bryan set down a bowl of the composed food as one—everything together, ready to serve. Meanwhile, Lilly placed the toddler plate in front of Paul. The plate’s three sections were obvious. Shredded beef in its sauce in one. Steamed brown rice in another. Steamed veggies in the last. Paul stared at it, confused, heat crawling up his neck again. As Lilly slid in from one side and Bryan from the other, basically sandwiching Paul in the middle of them both Bryan lifted the bib and secured it around Paul’s neck with a gentle tug, baby talk softened but present. “There we go, bud,” Bryan murmured. “Nice and neat.” Lilly leaned slightly so she could meet Paul’s eyes. “We’re going to take turns feeding you tonight,” she said softly. “Just like a reset. You don’t have to work so hard, sweetheart.” Paul’s adult side tried to protest—I can eat. His little side, exhausted, didn’t fight as much as it normally would. Bryan offered a drink choice—simple, manageable. “You want water,” Bryan said, “or juice?” Paul blinked. “Water,” he whispered. “Good choice,” Bryan said, like it mattered. Like Paul mattered. Bryan filled Paul’s safari sippy cup to the top with water and ice, the cubes clinking softly. The sound was bright, grounding. Lilly picked up the spoon first. She didn’t rush it. Didn’t treat it like a task to get through. She settled into it the way you do when you know the how matters more than the what. She leaned in, exaggerating everything just enough to make it playful without tipping into parody. “Alright now,” she announced softly, sing-song but steady, eyes warm and locked on Paul’s face. “Here comes the airplane—oooooh—look at that big ol’ plane, baby. See it? It’s circlin’ the runway… comin’ in nice and slow…” She lifted the spoon and made a gentle looping arc through the air, dipping it low over his bib before bringing it back up. The sauce clung thickly to the shredded beef, steam curling faintly upward. She added sound effects under her breath—barely louder than a whisper. “Vrrrrr… vrrrrr…” Paul’s eyes tracked it despite himself. His shoulders were still tight. His jaw still clenched with leftover shame. But his mouth—traitor to his pride—responded before his thoughts could interfere. He opened. The spoon slid past his lips. The food hit his tongue—sweet, savory, warm. Comforting in a way his body recognized before his mind could argue. He swallowed. Lilly didn’t praise him loudly. Didn’t clap. She smiled and nodded, like this was exactly what she’d expected. “That’s my good boy,” she murmured, wiping the corner of his mouth with the edge of the bib before any sauce could escape. “Nice job takin’ your bite. Plane landed real smooth.” Across the table, Bryan took a sip of his drink and exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing a notch as he watched Paul settle. He picked up his fork and took a bite of his own dinner, chewing thoughtfully. “Damn,” Bryan said quietly, nodding toward the plate. “Martina really outdid herself. That sauce has a kick, but not too much.” Lilly glanced up briefly, still holding the spoon poised for the next bite. “Mmm,” she agreed. “It’s that slow heat. You don’t notice it at first, then it sneaks up on you.” She turned back to Paul, her focus snapping right back to him. “Okay, baby,” she said, loading the spoon again. “Next airplane’s ready. You see it? It’s comin’ in from the clouds this time—woooosh—” Paul hesitated for half a second. His adult side flickered, embarrassed by the sounds, by the attention, by the way his body leaned toward it anyway. Lilly noticed immediately. She didn’t scold. She didn’t coax harder. She softened. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re safe. No rush. Plane’ll wait for you.” That did it. Paul opened his mouth again. Spoon. Swallow. Breath. Bryan took his turn next. He picked up the spoon with less theatrics, but no less care. “Alright, bud,” he said gently, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Looks like the race car’s up next.” He angled the spoon slightly and rolled it forward along the table just a bit, making a low, quiet sound in his throat. “Vrrrm… vrrrm… gotta make the pit stop…” Paul’s lips twitched despite himself. Bryan guided the spoon up. “Pit stop right here,” he said softly. Paul accepted the bite. Bryan wiped his face after, careful and unhurried, adjusting the bib where a drop had landed. “There we go,” Bryan murmured. “Clean racer.” Lilly took another bite of her own dinner now, letting Bryan feed Paul while she ate. She leaned back slightly in her chair, relaxed but watchful. “This is really good,” she said conversationally, as if Paul weren’t sitting between them in a bib and pajamas. “We should ask Martina for the recipe.” Bryan nodded, chewing. “Yeah. Might actually try cooking more this year,” he said. “Between travel slowing down and… everything else. Could be a good goal.” Lilly smiled faintly. “You and your goals,” she teased. “I’m just trying to survive property tax season.” Bryan snorted softly. “Don’t remind me,” he said. “County assessment came in last week. I swear they think this place is made of gold.” Lilly laughed quietly, clinking her glass lightly against his in a casual, domestic gesture. The sound was soft and normal and grounding. Paul listened. Not included. Not excluded. Just… allowed to exist while the adults talked around him. That mattered. Bryan brought the spoon back. “Alright, champ,” he said. “Race car’s back from the pit.” He waited. Paul opened. They alternated like that—airplane, race car—each bite coming with a gentle ritual, a predictable rhythm. Lilly wiped Paul’s mouth every few bites, tucking the bib back into place when it shifted. Bryan paused occasionally to let Paul sip from his sippy cup, the ice clinking softly as Paul tilted it. Water. Swallow. Breath. Paul’s shoulders dropped another inch. His eyes lost their sharp edge, lids growing heavier, blinking slower. The tension that had been buzzing under his skin all day finally began to unwind. This wasn’t punishment. It was containment. It was repair. Lilly leaned in again for her turn, voice lowering into something almost musical. “Okay, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Last little airplane for Step-Mama. Comin’ in real gentle now…” She traced a slow path through the air, giving him time. Giving his body permission to stay where it was. Paul opened. She smiled—not big, not performative. Just proud. “Good job,” she whispered. “All fueled up.” Bryan glanced at Paul, then at Lilly, something quiet and grateful passing between them. They finished their own plates while Paul finished his, the three of them moving in an easy, unforced rhythm. Like you could hear the fork scrape softly against ceramic, smell the sauce, feel the warmth of the room. By the time the last bite was gone, Paul was slumped slightly between them, full, calmer, his system finally catching up to the care it had been craving all day. Lilly smoothed his hair back gently. “There we are,” she said softly. “Dinner all done, baby.” Paul didn’t argue. He just nodded—small, tired, safe. After dinner, Bryan refilled Paul’s sippy cup—this time with pineapple/beet juice, the color vivid against the safari print, the smell sweet and earthy, something between fruit and soil, grounding in a way water never quite managed. The juice sloshed softly as he twisted the lid on, the ice chiming once before settling. He set it down carefully in front of Paul, making sure it was within easy reach, then rested a hand briefly at the center of Paul’s back—warm, steady, anchoring. “Stay sitting, bud,” Bryan said gently. “We’ll be right back.” Paul nodded, small and obedient, fingers curling around the cup as if it were a talisman. His body stayed where it was—hips heavy against the chair, legs still, the faint crinkle under his pajamas a reminder of how contained he was right now. There was relief in that containment, even if his adult side still felt a dull embarrassment at needing it. Lilly and Bryan cleaned up the dinner dishes together, moving around the kitchen with the quiet choreography of people who had done this a thousand times before. Plates scraped softly. Cutlery clinked. The dishwasher hummed to life. Their shoulders brushed once, twice, neither of them making a thing of it. Paul stayed put. Small. Contained. Safe. From his seat, he watched them with half-lidded eyes, the way kids do when they’re full and warm and no longer afraid they’ll be asked to do anything else. The house felt different now—less sharp. The corners of the room seemed farther away. His breathing slowed to something that almost felt normal. Lilly dried her hands and leaned back against the counter, folding her arms loosely, her gaze drifting toward the living room like she already knew where the night wanted to go. A smile tugged at her mouth—not forced, not performative. The kind that sneaks up when you realize you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. “You know what we need?” she said, voice light, almost conspiratorial. “A family movie night.” Bryan glanced up from the sink, a plate still in his hands. He didn’t hesitate. He nodded, slow and certain, like the idea had already been living in his chest. “I’ve been thinking of a Disney film,” he said. “Hercules.” Paul’s response was immediate and unmistakably little. He clapped his hands—quick, excited, unguarded. The sound was sharp and joyful, cutting clean through whatever lingering heaviness had been clinging to the room. His face lit up without calculation, without shame, without the careful masking he’d worn for so long. Bryan felt it in his chest like a bloom of warmth. Moments like this—unfiltered joy, pure and sudden—always did that to him. They reminded him that beneath the complications, the diagnoses, the strategies and plans, Paul was still here. Still capable of delight. Still reaching toward the world instead of away from it. Lilly watched Paul clap and felt her own chest tighten—not with fear, but with something dangerously close to gratitude. She smiled like her heart had just found something it hadn’t even known it was missing. “Hercules it is,” Lilly said brightly. She moved toward the pantry and pulled out a big metal bowl, setting it on the counter with a satisfying thunk. As the popcorn began to pop, the kitchen filled with sharp, cheerful sounds—kernels exploding like tiny fireworks. The smell of butter bloomed into the air, rich and comforting, the kind of scent that rewires memory on contact. It smelled like sleepovers. Like blankets on the floor. Like being allowed to stay up a little too late. It smelled like normal, reshaped but no less real. They settled on the couch. Paul again in between Lilly and Bryan, tucked close, his body naturally angling toward the space where their shoulders and arms created a soft boundary around him. His sippy cup rested against his stomach, the plastic cool through the thin fabric of his pajamas. Every time he shifted—even just a little—the faint crinkle underneath followed him, present but no longer alarming. The movie started. The screen cast flickering blues and golds across the room. The opening notes filled the space, and for a while, the house held a kind of gentle magic: bright animation dancing across the walls, popcorn crunching between bites, the quiet rhythm of shared breathing. Outside, the storm still existed. Rain still pressed against the windows. But it couldn’t reach them here. Bryan watched Paul more than he watched the movie at first. He noticed the way Paul leaned into him without thinking. The way his foot tucked slightly under Bryan’s thigh. The way his head tipped just enough to rest against Lilly’s shoulder when the music swelled. These were things Paul never would’ve allowed himself before. Then Go the Distance began, and Bryan’s throat tightened. The song hit him square in the chest. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t metaphorical. It was painfully literal. He looked at Paul—his nearly adult son, regressed for treatment, wrapped in care instead of expectation, still fighting for a future he couldn’t yet articulate—and Bryan felt it with sudden clarity: Paul wasn’t giving up. He wasn’t failing. He was trying—in the only way his body could right now. Still reaching. Still running. Still trying to go the distance. And in the middle of that realization, another thought surfaced—quiet, almost incidental, but heavy with promise. I need to make a video appointment with Andre, Bryan thought. Paul’s future. The idea arrived like a breadcrumb dropped on purpose, leading somewhere Bryan couldn’t see yet—but trusted enough to follow later. He didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t explain it to himself. He just held onto it. Then Zero to Hero burst onto the screen. And Paul—Paul exploded with it. His little side surged forward, bright and fearless. He started singing along, voice too loud, off-key, cracking with enthusiasm. He clapped again, bouncing slightly where he sat, the words tumbling out of him like he’d been waiting all day for permission to be this visible. “Zero to hero—just like that—” It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t restrained. It was him. That was his dream. Not the stage. Not applause. But the quiet, impossible idea of going from where he was… to somewhere better. Lilly watched him sing and felt something settle deep in her chest. She was in her mid-thirties. It was a Friday night. She was on a couch with her husband and her nearly adult stepson—dressed and acting like a toddler, yes—sharing popcorn and songs and laughter. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt more exactly where she belonged. She leaned down and kissed the top of Paul’s head, slow and affectionate, her lips lingering just long enough to let the moment root itself. Paul turned his face and—without overthinking it—kissed Lilly on the cheek. The gesture was soft. Instinctive. And then his cheeks flushed. A real blush—bright and shy—as his adult side flickered back in, just long enough to realize what he’d done. He ducked his head slightly, embarrassed. Lilly smiled, touched, and didn’t tease him. Didn’t comment. Didn’t make it something he had to carry. Bryan’s arm tightened just a fraction behind Paul’s back—solid, present, a wordless I’ve got you. On the screen, Hercules kept running toward his impossible path. Paul’s head nodded forward, jerked back, nodded again—like his body was losing a quiet argument with gravity. Each time his chin dipped, it came back a little slower, a little less convinced. His eyelids blinked in long, syrupy intervals, lashes clinging together as if they weighed too much to separate. Lilly noticed the change in him first. It wasn’t dramatic. It never was. It was the way his legs stopped fidgeting. The way his shoulders, usually braced like he was waiting for impact, slumped just enough to signal surrender. Lilly’s heart skipped. She leaned closer to Bryan, keeping her voice low, careful not to break whatever fragile spell was forming. “He’s going,” she murmured. Bryan followed her gaze, watched the slow blink, the unfocused stare, the softening mouth. His chest tightened—not with fear, but with that specific kind of parental nerves that came when you were about to try something that mattered. “You remember what Kim said,” Lilly added quietly, her fingers twisting together at her waist. “About the bottle. About how he responded when Savannah fed him. How it wasn’t about the feeding—it was about who was doing it.” Bryan swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember.” They both did. Kim’s voice at the mall, steady and sure. You’d be amazed what safety does when it comes from family. Lilly exhaled, then nodded toward the stairs. “If we’re going to do it,” she said softly, “we should do it now. Before his brain wakes back up and talks him out of it.” Bryan hesitated only a second. “Go get the bottle ready,” he said, already shifting forward. “I’ll get him upstairs.” Lilly stood quietly and went to prep the bottle—warm milk with honey and vanilla, familiar sensory grounding, a care technique passed down like a family recipe courtesy of Kim. As she worked, her hands moved on instinct, but her mind raced—not with doubt, but with awe. This, she thought, warming the bottle, testing the temperature against her wrist, this is the part people don’t see. Not the crisis. Not the diagnosis. But the quiet repair. Bryan scooped Paul up before Paul could argue himself awake. Paul made a small sound of protest—habit more than refusal—then melted against Bryan’s chest as he was carried upstairs. His body fit into the hold in that way that made Bryan’s throat tighten: not because Paul was small, but because Paul was letting himself be held. He fit there. Not because he was small—but because he trusted. That trust tightened Bryan’s throat. Once reaching the landing up the stairs, Bryan didn’t go straight to the chair. Instead, he set Paul down gently on his feet. Paul blinked, confused—standing there in front of the rocking chair, swaying slightly, his brain lagging behind his body. For a split second, his adult side flared awake. “What—?” he murmured, unsteady. “Dad, I don’t—” Bryan crouched just enough to meet his eyes. “I know,” he said quietly. “This feels weird. And you don’t have to like it.” Paul swallowed, shame threatening to climb back up his spine. Bryan didn’t rush him. “You trusted Kim,” Bryan went on, voice low and steady. “You trusted what she was trying to do for you. I need to know something, bud.” Paul’s brow furrowed. “Can you trust your dad, too?” That landed. Not as pressure. As invitation. Paul’s chest tightened—guilt and love tangling together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Slowly, deliberately, he nodded. Bryan didn’t smile. He didn’t comment. He gently pulled Paul into his lap as best as he could—awkward for half a second because Paul was grown, because knees didn’t fold the way they used to, because life wasn’t designed for this anymore. But Bryan’s arms were firm and steady. Non-negotiable in the way only a parent could be. I’ve got you. You can stop now. Paul resisted for half a second—the adult side flaring with embarrassment, the instinct to straighten, to apologize, to make it less strange. Then his body sank. Fully. Heavily. Gratefully. Lilly came up with the bottle and handed it to Bryan. Before stepping away, she paused, then moved behind the chair, placing her hands lightly on the backrest. She began rocking them both—slow, measured, barely perceptible—letting Bryan focus entirely on feeding. Their fingers brushed. No big moment. No dramatic look. Just quiet teamwork. As Bryan tilted the bottle, Lilly’s mind wandered—not away from the moment, but deeper into it. I want to tell this story, she thought suddenly. Not for views. Not for validation. But for the parents sitting on their own couches, exhausted, terrified, loving kids who needed more than the world made room for. Would Paul ever let me do this someday? she wondered. If things got bad again—would he trust me the way he trusts Bryan? The thought scared her. And warmed her. Bryan tilted the bottle just enough, testing the flow the way muscle memory told him to. His hand was steady, but his chest wasn’t. For a second, Paul hesitated. Not because he didn’t want it. Because he knew exactly what it meant. The nipple hovered near his mouth, warm milk fogging the air with honey and vanilla, and Paul’s whole body stiffened—just for a breath. This wasn’t like being fed with a spoon. This wasn’t playful. This was surrender at the most intimate level there was. A voice inside him screamed. This is too far. This isn’t childhood. This is infancy. His adult mind flared, panicked and sharp. If I do this, what does that say about me? How do I come back from this? How do you walk toward manhood after stepping this far back? His jaw locked. The nipple brushed his lip. Paul turned his face slightly away. Bryan noticed immediately. He didn’t push. He didn’t coax. He simply paused, bottle hovering, and leaned in just enough that Paul could hear him—not as a command, not as persuasion, but as truth. “Hey,” Bryan said softly. “You don’t have to be brave right now.” Paul’s eyes flicked up. “You’ve been brave all day,” Bryan continued. “You’ve been brave for years. This isn’t about going backward.” Paul swallowed. “This is about resting,” Bryan said. “About letting someone else carry you for a minute.” The words landed differently than the fear. Not losing ground. Resting. Paul’s breathing shuddered. Slowly—almost imperceptibly—his resistance softened. He turned back. And he opened his mouth. The nipple slipped between his lips. For a fraction of a second, Paul felt ridiculous. Then instinct took over. Warmth spread across his tongue. The gentle pull of suction, rhythmic and grounding, bypassed thought entirely. His body remembered something older than shame, older than identity debates and futures and expectations. The world narrowed. Suck. Pause. Swallow. Breathe. The fear didn’t disappear all at once—but it drifted. Like screams heard from underwater, growing faint. The idea of manhood—of proving himself, of earning adulthood—slid to the side, not erased, just… postponed. It can wait, his nervous system whispered. Right now, there was only this. Bryan watched the change happen in real time. He felt it before he saw it—the way Paul’s spine eased, the way his shoulders melted against Bryan’s chest, the way the tension drained from his hands as they relaxed against Bryan’s arm. There you are, Bryan thought. The bottle rested perfectly in Bryan’s hand, his thumb adjusting without thought, his other arm firm around Paul’s back. It felt achingly familiar—like riding a bike you hadn’t touched in decades, only to realize your body never forgot. Paul’s eyes lifted again. This time, they weren’t searching. They were soft. Behind the bottle, Paul smiled. Not wide. Not dramatic. Just a small, unmistakable smile that said everything he couldn’t. Thank you. I trust you. I love you. Bryan’s throat closed. He kept rocking. Inside him, something shifted—not regret, not sadness—but a fierce, steady hope. This doesn’t mean he’s broken, Bryan realized. This means he’s healing. And if healing meant more nights like this—more care, more patience, more holding than fixing—then Bryan would be there. Every time. As long as it took. A tear slipped free before he could stop it. Bryan blinked, looking up instinctively, breath catching— And for just an instant, he saw her. Rachel. Not as memory, not as grief—but as presence. Her face warm. Proud. Certain. You’re doing good, her smile seemed to say. He’s safe. You’re doing right by him. Bryan exhaled. The tear fell. And he kept rocking, bottle steady, heart full, holding his son—not as a man who had failed to grow, but as a boy who had trusted his way back to peace. The room was dim now, lamplight low and golden, the edges of the day blurring into evening. Outside, the world was still wet and loud, rain ticking against glass, wind worrying the trees. “This isn’t forever,” Lilly said softly—not to make a speech, not to reassure herself, but to place a truth gently where Paul’s adult side could find it later, like a note left on a nightstand. “This is how we make sure tomorrow doesn’t feel impossible.” Paul didn’t respond with words. But his breath softened. His shoulders dropped. His eyes fluttered once… twice… then closed for good. Bryan kept rocking, bottle tilted carefully, his hand steady at Paul’s back, feeling the exact moment when wakefulness slipped fully away. When the bottle was empty and Paul’s mouth stilled, Bryan didn’t rush to move him. He stayed, rocking, because there was nowhere else to be. When Paul’s eyelids finally stayed shut, Lilly stepped in and kissed his cheek—gentle, lingering, the kind of kiss meant to be felt even in sleep. Bryan kissed the other cheek—warm, grounded, protective. Paul’s face smoothed completely as sleep took him. Still held. Still rocked. Still loved without condition. Outside, the storm didn’t disappear. But inside, it softened into background sound—rain becoming rhythm instead of threat. And in that quiet, structured love—care that didn’t shrink him, only held him—Paul drifted into the first real stillness he’d felt all day. The kind that makes room for morning. As promised two additional chapters on your Christmas morning, I'm extremely grateful and personally proud of the wonderful reception this story has gotten and I can not wait to continue the journey with each and every person who's read a chapter, all the way to those who have read the entire thing twice so far and your comments are always welcomed and reviewed and carried with care. To you and yours's on this special time a year......

Chapter 9 - Mall Rat Breakfast was a silent affair as George alternated between chewing wordlessly on slices of wholemeal organic toast (with slightly too much butter) and slurping from a large glass of fresh orange juice. His Nintendo DS sat heavy in his pocket, but he didn’t feel like playing right now. Besides, Alice would likely scold him for taking it out at the table. She sat opposite him, drinking coffee as she ate her own jam-covered slices and browsed a paper that had been delivered in the early hours, before he’d even woken up. Apparently paper rounds were still a thing in a world of smartphones and constant internet access. Speaking of which, he’d need to ask Alice for the Wi-Fi password at some point... “George?” He looked up at her as she put her coffee cup down. “You’re getting crumbs all over your shirt.” George looked down at the toast crumbs speckling his top and clumsily wiped them down. “I thought you said we were getting new stuff for me?” He huffed. “We are.” She paused to take a long sip of coffee again then resumed “But that’s no excuse to not look presentable. I won’t have people thinking I can’t take care of you.” George tried to think of something snide to say back, failed, and settled for munching on another bite of toast. “And that reminds me, we need to finish taking care of your little performance from last night.” She stood up, tucked her chair in and took her coffee mug and plate over to the sink to stack them with the growing pile of dirty dishes there. George watched her and had a suspicion he was going to get drafted to help clean those later. Then she mentioned his accident and he wilted. “Come on over when you’re done with your food. I’m going to show you how to use the washing machine. Don’t look at me like that, it's never too early for you to start learning important life skills. Besides, if your new protection works you won’t need to wash your bedding like this very much.” George had no real counter to this as he gulped the last of his orange and reluctantly walked over to join her in the adjoining utility room, trying to ignore the feeling of his unusual underwear as he walked. A small corridor that led to a door to the garage and which was mainly occupied by a washing machine, a drier, an outlet for the boiler, and not too much else. “Do I have to?” He sighed. “Yup. Now come on. It's not hard. Start with turning that dial there...” She spent the next minute walking him through how to operate it. Getting him to open the drawer and pour in powder, turn the dial to the right setting, then stuffing his bedding, plus his old jeans and a capsule inside and shut the door with a thud. There was a quick double beep, and the machine came to life and started whirring. The jeans and bedding whirling round and round inside at speed. “That should be done by the time we get back.” Alice nodded. “Now go get your shoes on, time to get you something new to wear.” He met her smile with a forced one of his own and trudged to the shoe stand to get ready. Happy to get out of this house for a bit. He quickly did up his laces and stepped outside, not even bothering with his usual trip to the toilet before leaving. It was only about an hour later, stuck in traffic, that he realised that had been a mistake. George didn’t know much about the area he and Alice were living in, but he knew their little tucked away suburb was relatively close to the city. As such he had just assumed they would only be driving for a short while. Definitely no more than an hour. And if the traffic was light, they might well have made that time. But that wasn’t to be. Instead, they were stuck dead still, staring at the back of the same garish red van that had been in front of them for what felt like eternity but which the time on his phone insisted was merely twenty minutes. All around them the traffic stood as it was, frozen in time, as Alice tapped her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, occasionally stealing a look back at George in the mirror above her. He looked away from her each time, not in the mood to talk. George for his part was forced to squirm and shift in place as best he could without making his situation obvious. After this morning's events he wasn’t about to give in and admit he needed the toilet. So he suffered in silence as the cars creeped forward, no obvious end in sight, as his bladder twinged and ached, growing in intensity by the minute as the orange juice from breakfast seemed to go right through him. Rapidly approaching the point where he was having to actively hold it. Not for the first time he tried to distract himself and play his Pokemon game, but found it impossible to enjoy in his current state. Shoving the DS console back into his pockets with a frustrated sigh, he glanced around, half hoping there was an empty bottle laying somewhere. No such luck. Alice’s car looked as spotless as the day it rolled out of the factory. “Finally!” He glanced up as Alice exclaimed, and he felt the car lurch forward. The sudden motion shifted him back in his seat from where he’d been leaning forward, and the pressure in him spiked suddenly. He clamped down even harder than before, but he was slightly too late. He felt a small warm dribble escape him and quickly soak into his clothing - as he remembered he wasn’t wearing his usual boxer shorts today but those stupid goodnites. Oh no, that did not just happen. He hadn’t just had an accident. He hadn’t! It was like, a couple of drops at most, and it wasn’t even his fault. It was the stupidly big glass of juice he’d had at breakfast, and stupid Alice making him forget to go before they left, and this stupid traffic jam… The excuses and explanations swirled rapidly in his head. He bit his lip and tried to stay as still as possible, practically willing them to get to their destination in that instant so he could go and find a toilet before any awkward conversations were had with Alice. “George, are you alright?” His dour revery shattered at her voice.Her eyes staring intently at him from the front mirror. “I-I’m fine!” He managed after a few seconds. “I just- I really need to find a bathroom soon.” He admitted. Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds and George braced himself for a dressing down, but she stayed quiet, and focused on navigating them out of the sea of cars. With his bladder throbbing now, every action Alice took seemed to take an age in itself. George clenched his fists and tried not to groan in frustration at every slight stop, every slow turn, and every moment that wasn’t taking them closer to promised relief. After over two minutes of driving about a parking lot looking for a free spot, George could stay quiet no longer. “Alice, I really, really need to find a bathroom. Can you hurry up?” He didn’t mean it to come across as aggressively as it ended up coming out, but it had been a long, desperate morning for the boy. “I am going as fast as I can George.” She replied in a displeased tone. “And don’t you take that attitude with me mister, you’re not exactly in the good books right now.” George winced a little at this. “I will park this car just as soon as a spot opens up, then I'll take you to the toilet.” “Fine.” He huffed, visibly squirming and trying to cross his legs in his seat by this point. After what felt like another hour of prowling the asphalt jungle they finally came across someone’s car that was in the middle of backing out, and Alice jumped for it. As the car lurched forward suddenly, George was pulled forward against his seatbelt by the change in velocity, and it was enough for his control to be broken yet again. His eyes went wide as he felt the gates of his bladder slip open and a small stream of pee escaped this time, out into the padding of his girly goodnights before he slammed them closed again. But the damage was done. A nervous glance up told him Alice was too focused on reverse parking into her claimed spot to notice, which was just as well because his reflection in the window told him of the look of shock plastered on his wide eyed face. His legs shifted, and for once he was grateful for his disposable underwear as it absorbed his accident rather easily, leaving him with only the slightest feeling of dampness against his skin, rather than wet and clingy cotton boxer shorts. “At last. Alright George, put your game away and stay close to me. I’d rather not have to tell the mall to put out a missing child announcement.” George winced at this as he unbuckled his belt and followed her out of the car, stopping only to double check he’d taken his DS and phone with him before shutting the door behind him. Diligently he walked behind Alice as she made a path through the maze of cars and trucks that seemed to go on forever. Each step making his Goodnite shift in place under his jeans. He might have been able to forget he was wearing them - he was certainly trying - but the faint feeling of wetness in the small patch that had caught his accidents seemed to make it impossible. He was also quickly finding out that Goodnites generally weren’t meant to be used when in constant walking motion. The flimsy elasticity of the waist and leak guards were rubbing against his waist and thighs, enough that by the time they made it to one of the mall entrances the chafing was noticeable and the urge to reach down and pull them away from his skin was growing. “Come on then, clothes first, then we can try some of the more exciting places, as long as you behave.” Alice made the peace offer as she reached out a hand. After a second of hesitation, he reached out and took it. George was of an age where it was seen as embarrassing to cling to parental figures like this. But being in a foreign country, away from all his friends and usual family, was enough to bring out the little boy that still lurked inside the angsty pre-teen. He stepped forward with her hesitantly as the automatic doors glided open, and he was taken aback by the sheer amount of noise and commotion all around him. The only context George had was the old shopping centre back home. A dingy, run down complex with grimy floors and dim lighting that smelt of cigarette smoke and social decay. This mall didn’t seem like that at all. Large crowds milled around through shopfronts and portable stalls selling everything from phone cases to hotdogs. Colorful lighting decorations hung above, illuminating posters advertising the movies shown in the theatre on the 2nd floor and the array of clubs and organisations that seemed to use the mall as a meetup place. At the end of the hallway in front of him stood a plaza of some sort, with escalators leading up to a food court upstairs, which overlooked a stage, whilst elaborate looking fountain structures flanked the staircases on the other side of the square, which George assumed must also lead up towards the food court. “Wow.” George spoke aloud. Taken aback by the size of the crowds but also feeling genuinely impressed with what he saw before him. For a few moments the feeling of trepidation and awe that had filled him when he’d first arrived in the country returned, only to be washed away just as quickly by the constant ache of his need for the bathroom. “Impressed?” Alice smiled down at him. “They did a big renovation and reopening a few years back. We can get lunch upstairs later and you can pick, but I expect stellar behaviour from you this morning in return. Does that sound fair?” George nodded quickly. “Uh, can we go to the toilet first?” He asked sheepishly, glancing about. “I really have to go, Alice.” Alice sighed in a tone of exasperation that was universally familiar to all children George’s age who had annoyed any sort of parental figure. “Didn’t you go before we left?” She asked, visibly irritated. “I must have forgotten.” George admitted and looked at the ground. “Alright, fine, let's go and find the toilets in this place. Then we go clothes shopping. I’m not delaying that any longer. I’m not having you going about all summer in stained jeans and dirty shirts.” George felt his ears grow hot as his accident was brought up yet again. “It was one time.” He muttered. Alice simply ignored him and proceeded to pull him after her. Moving with surprising speed down the wide avenues of shopfronts towards the main square. George struggled to keep up,practically having to skip after her as she kept a firm hold on her hand. “Can you slow down!” He whined as he stumbled and scarpered forward as Alice pulled him into the more crowded interior of the mall, not letting up for a moment. It felt like he was stuck on a treadmill gym machine that someone had set a couple of settings too high for him. “We don’t have the time to dawdle George, and I’m not having you getting lost out here.” She told him as they kept going, Alice confidently guiding them through the mass of people all around them now. “You’re a bit big for a toddler harness, so just hold my hand, we’re almost there.” She lectured as she looked up above them, having spotted the blue and white signage that directed them towards the restrooms on this side of the mall. Only mostly sure she had been joking, George almost let his hand slip from hers, only for her to redouble her grip and stop to yank his hand back into hers, as the finally stumbled out into the side of the main plaza, where the toilets were located. The ones with lines that looked about a mile long. “Oh perfect.” Alice muttered as she pulled them over to what looked like the shortest of the lines, which still contained a dozen or more people in front of them. “This is ridiculous, aren’t there any other toilets in a place like this?” She lamented. A woman in a green shirt turned around to face them. “The other ones are all closed.” She motioned vaguely in the direction of the other side of the plaza. “Something about renovations. These are the only ones that are open. I know, it's completely unacceptable.” “Well, I just hope we get in before this one ruins his pants again.” Alice nodded her head towards George, who stifled a whine as he looked away. “Poor guy.” The woman said to Alice. “I did tell him to go before we left the house, but you know what boys are like, always think they don’t have to listen to you.” The woman laughed politely. “My nephews are the same. Never listen to dear old aunty, no matter what their mother tells them.” She looked past Alice at something closer to the sets of doors that led to the various bathrooms. “You know, if you’re that desperate, you might be able to join the line for the changing room. There’s toilets in there I’m sure.” George whirled around and looked back up at Alice, a look of silent pleading on his face. But she was already convinced of the merit of this idea. “Really? Well, I never would have thought of trying that. You might have just saved me more washing tonight. Thank you so much! George, come on, quickly now.” He barely had time to move himself before she resumed her act of pulling him along by that hand, towards the far side of the set of lines of waiting mall patrons, until they stood in front of a door with the mother and baby sign on it. There didn’t seem to be anyone waiting in line, but the door handle sign was marked occupied. George glared up at the signage as if it was a high voltage warning. He looked back at the lines swarming the “proper” toilets, and found himself feeling angry at whomever had decided not to finish the mall renovations before he’d gotten here. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. “Can’t we just see if one of the other lines gets moving?” He pleaded to his caretaker. But the judge was unconvinced. “George, this is faster, and I am not risking you having another accident. I doubt those goodnites of yours will hold all that much anyway, and I’m not letting you go commando either mister, so just hold on, it won’t be a minute or two.” George felt like he wanted to scream with how nonchalant she was in talking about his accidents and underwear right out in public like this, even if no one else seemed to notice. She was treating him like some bratty toddler. He sniffed. Now that they were all standing still in line, the pressure on George’s bladder was back with a vengeance and he found himself shifting in place, unable to keep still as he waited for what seemed like an eternity for the door to the disabled bathroom to open. What was taking so long? Shifting his legs together and back again was also making his goodnites crinkle under his jeans, and the sound of the hated underwear was very much not helping his current mood. After what felt like several torturous hours, he heard the bold slide back and the door opened forward. Another woman emerged, pushing in front of her a rather large blue stroller with two individuals sitting side by side in the double seating. To George, they looked like they were brothers with their matching bright blond hair and green shirts over blue jeans. One looking about three or four years old, and the other a few years older than that. The younger one was busy playing some noisy game on a tablet in an orange casing, but the older brother gazed at George for a few moments, fidgeting in his seat. Alice and the boy's mother were somehow stopping to make smalltalk, and being stuck where he was, he felt obligated to push a smile onto his face and half raise a hand as if to wave hello. The older boy in the stroller responded in kind, and in doing so the bottom of his shirt lifted up giving George a glimpse of a white plastic cover sticking out of his trousers. It was only visible for a second, but he instantly clocked it for what it was. “Alice, can we go, I really need the bathroom!” He didn’t mean to sound as fed up and whiny as he ended up being when he spoke, but he was getting truly desperate to pee now, it was almost painful to hold it. Alice turned from her conversation looking visibly annoyed. “Yes, George, we can go. And I shouldn’t have to tell you it's rude to interrupt someone else’s conversation. Your mother taught you better than that before she sent you to me.” George felt ashamed at getting a dressing down right in front of a set of strangers like this, but it still wasn’t over as the other lady felt the need to chime in. “Oh, it's alright, really. I think your little one is just a bit desperate for the facilities.” “Little one! Lady, I’m twelve!” George thought as Alice turned back to the lady and her boys. “Well, he’s old enough to remember to go before we leave the house, or so you’d think. I told his mother I’d look after him this summer and it's been a bit of a handful getting used to having a kid running around the place.” “Oh I sympathise! My two can run me ragged on a good day!” The two women both laughed lightly as she moved her hands across the bar of the stroller. The older boy inside had lost interest in looking at George by now and was leaning to his side to get a better view of his brother’s tablet. “At least your ones are potty trained!” “Well, you say that- “ALICE I NEED TO GO!” The words were out of his mouth before he realised just how loud he was being, and there was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity, as the background rumblings of the people in line quietened a little and a few heads turned his way. Alice gave the other woman a silent look that said “Sorry about this” then looked at George with a glare that told him he’d officially worn out her patience. “Right. Come with me then.” The words came heavy and almost emotionless, as she grabbed his hand and yanked him around the stroller and the woman, and into the disabled toilet. Before he could really think George found himself past the door and door clunked shut behind them. That proved to be the final straw. With a muted whine of desperation, he took a single step towards the porcelain throne in the opposite corner of the tiled floor before the dam’s defences were overwhelmed. Alice had opened her mouth to speak, presumably to give him a serious dressing down for the little outburst he’d had outside, but she stopped mid breath, her eyes darting down to his trousers and the muffled hissing sound that announced he was having an accident in his goodnites. “Are you- “I couldn’t hold it!” George choked, wetness still flowing into the padding between his legs and swelling quickly to leave the feeling of soggy absorbent pulp against his groin area. He could feel a hollow sense of relief where the ache of his bladder had been replaced by the radiating warmth of his absorbed accident. He swallowed hard. He wanted to wake up in his bed and for all of this to have been some sort of nightmare. “Oh I can see that!” Alice snapped and stepped up to him. She hooked both of her thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers and yanked them down to above his knees with a single frustrated yank. The sight that greeted her confirmed what they’d both heard and George had felt. The girly goodnite, now visibly swollen and drooping between his legs, tinged and mottled yellow slightly. “Unbelievable! I can’t take you anywhere!” George just sniffed in reply as he stared at the worn black and white tiling beneath his shoes. “Why didn’t you go before we left!” “I forgot!” George blurted, struggling to stay under control. “I was just, I was just upset about last night, and you being angry with me, and forgot, alright!” Alice looked down at the boy in front of her. Tears started to form in his eyes, cheeks red, breathing quickly, on the verge of a full breakdown, and felt her own frustrations with him start to recede. Her expression softened and she reached out with a hand to squeeze his shoulder gently. “It’s ok George. I’m sorry for yelling at you, I just - I don’t have a lot of experience with looking after older kids with issues like this. When I planned out this summer I really wasn’t expecting to have to deal with this sort of thing.” She motioned at his soaked Goodnite. “I suppose it did its job at least.” Though as she peered closer, she could see she spoke too soon. At the leak guards on his right leg where it hugged into his thigh there was a slight wetness that moved down his leg. “Actually buddy, take your shoes off and take your trousers and that diaper off as well. I think you’ve leaked.” She sighed. At this George looked down and spotted what Alice had seen, and gripped his fingers into his palms in frustration and anger. Bad enough he had to wear one of these things, but it didn’t even work! “George, get them off for me please, we need to get you cleaned up.” She gave him a verbal prodding that seemed to get him moving. Slow, automaton-like movements executed in heavy silence. First the unlacing and pulling off of shoes, then the trousers, which Alice took and folded over to hold in her hands. She’d been right. There was a large,long dark stain where a line of urine had escaped his padding and soaked into the trouser material. He wouldn’t be wearing these again today. “That as well big guy.” She said as she saw him hesitate, now down to just his shirt and soaked undergarments. George paused for a second as if trying to muster some resistance to being stripped of his last shred of dignity. But it never came. Silently, slowly, he pulled down the soaked pink Goodnites and held them awkwardly, gravity pulling the swollen, warm padding down in a droop that stretched the rim he was holding it between two fingers. Not quite sure what to do with it and trying to ignore his current state of undress as much as he could, he spotted a bulky plastic container beside the folded up changing table and quickly darted over as Alice was gathering together his latest pair of ruined trousers. He pulled the lid open by the handle and deposited it inside, catching a glimpse of two pairs of swollen looking baby diapers within before he shut the lid again. He wondered if it was the two boys in the stroller he’d seen earlier who’d been changed in here then. They both seemed a bit old to still be in nappies. But he could hardly talk. He turned around, wondering if he was going to have to go commando for the rest of their mall trip, and he hesitated, eyes wide as he saw Alice retrieve a pristine Goodnite from her bag. “Guess it pays to be prepared.” She smiled at him as she opened up the garment between her hands, then lowered them. Waiting for George to step into them, like he was some toddler who still had trouble getting dressed by themselves. “Do I have to wear.. I mean, can’t I just…” He tried to think of arguments for why he shouldn’t have to wear another pair of those infernal pink garments, but his thoughts refused to coalesce. They floated off, absorbed into the aether like his accidents in his Goodnites had been. “Sure you can, just step in.” Alice encouraged him. “I’m not having you walk about a mall without underwear on George, I’m not looking after some feral child.” She chided him, stretching the undergarments a little more for emphasis. With a deep and shaky breath, he took two steps forward, then lifted his left leg first into the appropriate leg hole, followed by the right. He reached down to try and pull them up his legs but Alice beat him to the punch, lifting them into place around his waist in one smooth movement, checking again to make sure there was no chafing or biting against his skin. It was only then that George realised his ruined jeans, currently folded over the edge of the upright changing table like an improvised drying line, would not be going back on him. “I -I’m not wearing these out there!” He glanced around, starting to panic like a deer in headlights. “George, relax. George, just listen.” Alice placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and the distraction was enough to stop his spiraling for now. “The first place we go out of here is somewhere that sells trousers. Until we get you into a fitting room, just wear this.” George blinked as Alice took off her own long coat and handed it over to him. Looking it over, it would be comically long on him, but it would definitely cover up his Goodnite. “I’m gonna look so stupid. People will look.” He sniffed in protest. “A lot less than they will if you go out there in just your protection, mister.” Alice retired. ”They’re much too busy getting on with their own days to pay much attention to you. Unless you kick up a fuss I suppose.” George shook his head vigorously, then awkwardly pulled the overly big jacket around him. Maybe if he wore the hood up it would keep people from seeing his face too. But then again maybe having the hood up would just draw more attention in a busy indoor mall… “Come on, the faster we go the faster we get you into something you can walk around in.” Alice pulled his jeans off the changing table and stuffed them in a plastic carrier bag that had somehow materialised from inside her bag, then reached out a hand. George felt like a toddler as he took it. Alice led the way, swinging the door to the outside world open once more and George followed her. He could feel the Goodnite moving against his skin with every step.

Chapter Eighty: Paul stared at the ceiling. He lay flat on his back on the changing table, hands resting on his chest, fingers laced together the way he did when he was trying not to think too hard. It didn’t work. Beneath him, the table was cool through the mat, firm in a way beds never were. He hated that he knew the difference now. Hated that his body had learned routines his mind still rejected. This wasn’t how seventeen-year-olds were supposed to start a school day. His thoughts slid backward whether he invited them or not. Yesterday afternoon replayed itself whether he wanted it to or not. The waddle. The way the swollen padding between his legs had forced his steps wider, slower. Clothing meant for someone half his size, bright and soft and forgiving in all the wrong ways. The pacifier—God—still bobbing stupidly from his mouth as if his hands hadn’t known what else to do with themselves. And worse than all of it, the thing he still didn’t have language for yet: the need. The pull. The insistence that he hold that stupid Batman plush like it was oxygen before he could walk down the hall and find— Mommy. Daddy. No. Step-mom. Dad. Dammit, I’m not a toddler. The thought had come sharp yesterday, cutting and panicked. This morning it arrived duller, heavier, like a bruise pressed from the inside. That scared him more than the panic ever had. He blinked slowly and tried to anchor himself in now. The edge of his father’s shoulder in his peripheral vision. The soft click of a drawer opening. The faint crinkle of packaging. The smell of powder—sweet and clean in a way that made the room feel smaller, more domestic, more real. He remembered the pergola in the backyard—ironwork shadows striping the patio table like a cage you could pretend wasn’t there. He remembered Bryan’s laugh, lighter than it had been in weeks. He remembered Lilly’s fingers on his shoulder, the way she’d moved through the afternoon like she was holding a glass full to the brim: steady, careful, determined not to spill. What did you think of Harley today? His answer replayed clearly. “I don’t know.” Not avoidance. Not fear. Just honesty. Harley had been extremely nice. Almost overwhelmingly so. She’d listened—really listened—the way Amber listened during rehearsals when Paul talked through lines and blocking. The way Savannah listened when Paul talked about nothing important at all and made it feel important anyway. Harley listened. But she also leaned in fast. Like she wanted to gather everything about him all at once and hold it tight. “She was really into caring for me,” he’d admitted. “It kind of felt like a lot.” He hadn’t meant it as criticism. Just observation. It was the closest thing he could say to the real feeling, the one he didn’t want to look at too long: That Harley didn’t just enjoy taking care of him. She lit up. And that was… complicated. Bryan and Lilly hadn’t reacted the way he feared. They’d nodded. Asked questions. Treated him like a person who got a vote. Like an equal partner at the table. That mattered. Adult. Equal. It made him feel tall even when everything else made him feel small. He’d asked them for one more test—another visit, but different. “If we try again,” he’d said, voice steady, “can we do it with you both out of the house? That’s the only way I’ll know for sure who she is.” It had been brave. He knew it was brave because the tracker flicked yellow for half a second when he said it, then settled back to green the moment his dad nodded. “Fair,” Bryan had said. “Fair,” Lilly echoed. And then—because the universe didn’t care about fairness either—time squeezed in on them. With Bryan getting ready to leave for Tokyo in just 72 hours, time wasn’t on their side. Lilly taking the lead called Harley right there in the backyard and asked if she could come over to the house Saturday afternoon around twelve thirty to three pm to hang out with Paul? Harley sounding more adult but still with that undertone of a very enthusiastic babysitter she would absolutely love hanging out with little Pauly again. Great he had a nickname. The nickname sat in Paul’s head the way a new bruise sits on skin. Little Pauly. A part of him hated it on principle. Another part of him—quiet, traitorous—felt a small, warm tug in his chest that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with being seen. He tried not to chase that feeling. That was how you got hurt. That was how you ended up relying on something you weren’t ready to rely on. The tracker stayed green anyway, like it was watching him lie to himself and didn’t bother calling him out. “Hey, champ.” His dad’s voice cut through the memory softly, but cleanly, like sunlight hitting a room you forgot had curtains. Paul’s breath hitched as the nightmare shattered. For a split second he’d been back in class—Whitney standing at the door, green diaper bag slung over her arm, smiling too wide. His teacher—beautiful in that effortless, almost-supermodel way—droning on about something meaningless until the knock came. “Oh hey,” the teacher had laughed. “I didn’t know it was time for Paul to get a fresh diapee so soon?” Whitney grinning like this was routine. Normal. “Oh yeah,” Whitney said brightly. “He certainly does, he’s like a little pee-pee machine needs a fresh change every thirty minutes.” Laughter. Heat crawling up Paul’s neck. “Come on, champ,” Whitney said. “Lift your legs, sport.” The words weren’t Whitney’s. They were his dad’s. Gentle. Full of love and concern. Paul blinked hard, and reality snapped back into place. Bryan stood beside him now, fluffing out a new diaper with practiced hands. No rush. No commentary. Just care. “Help me out here, sport,” Bryan said softly. “Lift your legs.” He kept staring at the ceiling while he complied, because looking down made everything feel too real, too humiliating, too final. He could feel the fresh padding settle under him, the powder’s soft coolness, the methodical certainty of his father’s hands. His body accepted the help. His pride tried not to. Bryan’s mind wasn’t quiet either. He remembered another ceiling. Another room. Paul at six—small enough that diapers still made sense to the world even when they didn’t make sense to him. “What if the big kids make fun of me?” “How do I not cry, Daddy?” “Why can’t I be a big boy?” Bryan had gone to school with him that day. He couldn’t now. That loss pressed into his ribs as he pulled the adult-sized onesie down over Paul’s head—white this time, neutral, simple—and snapped it into place. He worried about independence. About the future. About how much care Paul would always need. And still—uninvited—there was warmth. The strange, guilty gratitude of being allowed back into moments he thought were gone forever. Care given. Care received. Like love had been handed back to him in a form he didn’t ask for. Do I get to do this right this time? his mind whispered, and he hated himself for the thought even as he held it close. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” Bryan said quietly, voice clearing as if to keep emotion out of it. “We’ll head out together. I’ll drive you.” “Okay,” Paul muttered, then after a beat, “Thanks.” Bryan paused like he wanted to say more—like he wanted to offer a guarantee he didn’t have the right to offer. Instead, he rested his hand briefly on Paul’s shoulder. A squeeze that said: I’m here. I’m trying. Then the door closed. Paul sat up slowly. He was dressed in a cloth-backed preschool diaper under navy plastic pants. The rustle registered immediately—quiet but obvious, the kind of sound that only the person wearing it heard as thunder. He wasn’t scared. He was tired. And there was something else too—something he didn’t want to name. A low-grade dread that wasn’t about diapers in general. It was about school. Less than a week ago, the diagnosis had made everything official. The body he’d spent his whole life trying to “manage” had finally won the argument. This wasn’t a fluke. This was a routine now. He slid off the changing table and crossed to his closet. Clothes were no longer fashion. They were armor. He chose deliberately—layers, longer tops, specific fabrics. First: his white St. Louis Rams 2010 NFL jersey, navy blue and gold striping bold enough to distract the eye, long enough to cover. It fell past his hips like a curtain, plus because it game worn it was heavy, forgiving, swallowing outlines and sound. Then loose-fitting jeans. Not tight. Not trendy. Practical. The kind you could sit in without drawing attention to posture. The kind that let you move without the fabric catching and announcing every shift of padding underneath. He tested it in the mirror. Turn left. Turn right. Sat on the edge of the bed and listen. Rustle. Barely. He adjusted. The tracker flicked yellow. Then green again. Like it was grading him not on dignity, but on survival. His parents told him the new rule: check in with Whitney every morning. She would assess the “state of his protection” and decide if he needed a change before first bell. Just thinking about it made his stomach tighten. Whitney wasn’t cruel. Whitney wasn’t the nightmare version his brain invented. But she was still Whitney—still a person with eyes, with a smile, with opinions, with the power to make things real in a place where Paul wanted nothing real. He could handle wearing a diaper. He’d already handled that. What he didn’t know how to handle was being perceived. Being perceived as the thing he was trying not to become. He paused, then opened it again and added something he hadn’t planned on: a Bishop’s Gate school hoodie, thick and soft, something he could wrap around his waist if he needed extra cover. Armor on top of armor. He was on a clock, all ticking towards the rehearsal, Amber would be there. Newly engaged. A ring on her hand like a spotlight. Amber who listened. Amber who saw him. Amber who would look at his face and know something was different even if she didn’t know what. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for her to be happy about her life while he felt like his own was shrinking. He wasn’t ready for the jealousy that made him feel ugly. He wasn’t ready for the part of him that still wanted to impress her, to be the version of himself that stood tall under stage lights and didn’t have to think about bathrooms or bags or plastic pants. Paul’s throat tightened. The daycare wing sat off to the side of the main campus like its own small world, tucked behind a set of double doors marked with bright laminated signs and a hand-drawn sun that had faded from too many months under fluorescent lights. The air always held the same gentle mix: disinfectant, vanilla hand soap, and something faintly sweet from the kids’ breakfast snacks. Whitney moved through it with routine precision. A chair pushed back into place. A stack of tiny paper cups aligned. A bin of sensory toys re-labeled after yesterday’s “sorting” incident that had ended with a teacher crawling under a table for the third time in one hour. She checked the changing area next—sanitized surface, paper lining stocked, gloves in their dispenser, trash bin emptied and re-bagged. She didn’t rush. She didn’t need to. Then she crossed the short hall to the supply closet and flicked on the light. The shelves looked like the anatomy of care—organized, predictable, calm. Nipples for baby bottles on the top shelf, assorted sizes. Two boxes of wipes. A row of baby powder bottles with their blue caps. Packages of pull-ups for the little ones, labeled with names in thick black marker. Whitney took inventory the way some people prayed. It steadied her. Her gaze stopped—without meaning to—on a section of shelving marked with neatly printed initials: P.G. Her fingers lifted, almost absentmindedly, and “walked” up the plastic and juvenile packaging of the adult-sized diapers stacked there, the crinkle of it whispering under her touch. The packages looked out of place in the closet the way a winter coat looks out of place hanging in July. Except they were here. They were real. And they were staring back at her like a responsibility with a name. Whitney’s face softened. A half-hearted yet warm smile tugged at her mouth as she thought about the young man—her “biggest” student now, the one her care had expanded to in a way she hadn’t expected when she took this job. Most days, she still couldn’t quite wrap her head around it: a senior. Nearly grown. Brilliant eyes when he let you see them. And yet— She remembered how they first met. Eye contact limited. Pride like armor. His jaw set when he said he’d keep his pull-ups on him at all times, like the words themselves could turn it into a choice instead of a need. The first time he asked for a change—quietly, carefully—because he’d forgotten his spares and had nothing left to hide behind. The look of fear and humiliation when she’d first had to tape him into a brief. The way his whole body had stiffened, then loosened, when she kept her voice normal and her hands steady. Whitney had asked around quietly after that. Not gossip. Not prying. Just… context. His teachers were consistent: intelligence, comprehension, speaking ability—“a politician in waiting,” one of them had said with a kind of wistful certainty, like it was a story that should’ve been simpler than it was. But then the softer voices. A guidance counselor had mentioned an innocence, said with a fondness that didn’t fully hide the worry. Another teacher used the word immaturity—outside the classroom, socially, developmentally—not as an insult, not as punishment, but as a fact that sat beside everything else. Not troublemaker. Not delinquent. Just… young in a way that didn’t match his age. His history teacher had once told Whitney, quietly, that sometimes when she looked out and saw him sitting at his desk, there was a youthful, childlike naivety in his posture that seemed to hold him back—not academically, but in the space between people. Whitney let her fingers linger on the packaging a second longer than necessary, then pulled down a fresh diaper and shut the closet. Today would be his first day back. And she’d promised herself—silently, firmly—that she would be what she’d always been in this room: Safe. Professional. Unshockable. She stepped into the changing room and set the diaper on the counter like it belonged there—because it did. She glanced at her watch, then at the table, then at the door, and waited with patient stillness that looked easy but was built from practice. In her hands, the diaper unfolded with a soft crinkle. The pattern felt almost more mature than Paul’s Step-In trainers—almost. Geometric shapes, ABCs and 123s printed on the top of the waistband. It was trying, in its own way, to bridge a gap that shouldn’t exist. Whitney’s mouth pressed into a line that wasn’t judgment. Just thought. Then—right on cue—the blue annex door opened. And in stepped Paul. He looked ever more “puppy dog” than pitbull this morning, his shoulders slightly rounded, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of his school hoodie. His eyes stayed low, like eye contact would make the moment heavier. “Good morning,” he said—quiet, polite, thin. Whitney saw the signs immediately. The way he carried his breath. The tension in his jaw. The split-second pause before each step, as if he was listening for sound he prayed nobody else could hear. She answered with her own quiet, “Good morning,” and let warmth live in her tone without making it a big deal. As she spoke, her fingers began unfolding the diaper on the spot—no dramatic movements, no “announcement,” no pause that told him this was strange. In Whitney’s hands, it was routine. Paul blushed anyway. Because to him, none of it felt routine. His thoughts wandered backward, dragged by the anxiety that always tried to write his story for him. Bryan kept his eyes forward, hands steady on the wheel, but his attention was split three ways: the road, the clock on the dash, and his son in the passenger seat. Paul sat stiffly, hoodie zipped too high, shoulders drawn in. He stared out the window like the neighborhood houses were something he had to memorize before they disappeared forever. Bryan spoke gently, not like a lecture, not like a warning—more like a map. “So,” he began, voice low and even, “Whitney walked us through the school side of things. I know we touched on this a few days ago but I wanted to make sure you hear it again before school starts. Same facts. No surprises.” Paul nodded once, jaw tight. Bryan continued, choosing words carefully, “So once the school is officially responsible for your care during the day, certain rules kick in. State rules. They’re not optional, and they’re not personal.” Paul swallowed. “It means,” Bryan said, “when you arrive wearing one, your first stop is Whitney’s office. Not class. Not homeroom. Her office.” Paul’s fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “She checks if you’re dry,” Bryan went on, steady, “and”—a pause, brief but deliberate—“clean. Before the day starts.” The word sat between them. Paul’s tracker pulsed. Yellow. “If you need the restroom,” Bryan said, “and the brief can be reused, you can take it off, use the toilet, and come back to be retaped. But school bathrooms are off-limits unless you’re accompanied.” Paul shifted in his seat. “The staff member who will accompany you,” Bryan finished quietly, “will be Whitney.” The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was thick with meaning—law, safety, dignity, all braided together whether they liked it or not. “I know,” Bryan added, softer now, “this feels like control. Like something being taken from you. But it’s not about trust. It’s about risk. And the school has to answer to the law before it answers to feelings.” Paul nodded again. And that’s when his body chose to speak. The tracker flared—not red, not dramatic—just enough. A sharp spike of sensation bloomed low and warm, spreading fast, unstoppable. Paul froze, breath hitching, as the reality settled in. He was soaking his diaper. Right there. Right now. His face stayed neutral by force of will alone, but Bryan saw it anyway. He always did. The slight tightening around Paul’s eyes. The way his shoulders lifted like he was bracing for impact. Bryan glanced over just once—quick, careful—and read his son’s face like a second language. “Hey,” he said gently. “Do you want to go back home and change before school?” It was an offer. An exit. A kindness. Paul’s chest burned. Upset at his condition. Upset at his life. Upset at the wet diaper he could feel pressing against him, heavy and accusing. Upset that even when he tried to be grown, his body pulled him backward. For a split second, the urge to run—to rewind the morning, to pretend none of this was happening—rose sharp and tempting. Then something steadied. A stubborn line inside him. A refusal. “No,” Paul said. The word came out quieter than he meant. He cleared his throat and tried again, voice firmer, forcing dignity into every syllable. “I can’t—I mean, I don’t want to go home.” Bryan waited. Didn’t rush him. “I’m just,” Paul continued, swallowing hard, “going to go to Whitney and ask for a change.” He said it like a decision. Like a promise. Bryan nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Okay,” he said. But his tone said so much more, layered with pride in son’s determination to try and get back a sense of normalcy. That’s facing it head-on. I’m proud of you. Now—back in the annex—his courage felt like it was down to its last breath. Whitney’s voice stayed calm, professional, warm without being sugary. “Go ahead and take off your hoodie and jeans,” she instructed gently. “So I can help inspect your diaper.” She didn’t say brief. She didn’t soften it into something cute. She used the real word. And for a moment, the air in the room thinned, like language itself had weight. Paul’s fingers moved slowly, awkwardly. Hoodie first. Then the jeans. His tracker pulsed. Yellow. His face stayed neutral anyway. Whitney kept hers steady too. What she saw next didn’t shock her—not really. If it had been any other student, maybe it would’ve landed differently. But Paul’s care leaned on the younger side of things in a way that had become part of her reality. What other eighteen-year-old still had a pediatrician instead of just a family doctor? Whitney thought it without judgment, just context—one more example of how his life had been rerouted in ways most people never had to imagine. Paul stood before her now in an adult-sized onesie. Whitney could see his padding was soaked, the bulk heavier than it should be this early. And—were those plastic pants? Whitney didn’t blink. Whatever his needs were, she would provide the care she was professionally entrusted to give—and personally wanted to. Not because she pitied him. Because she respected him. She pointed to the table with a gentle nod. “Go ahead and lie down.” Paul obeyed, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. Whitney gloved both hands with practiced efficiency. The snap of latex was quiet but sharp in the small room, like punctuation. She looked down at him with a warm, gentle smile that made her professionalism feel human, not sterile. Then she began unsnapping Paul’s onesie. And Paul—staring up at the ceiling again, the fluorescent light blurring at the edges—tried to keep his mind somewhere else. Anywhere else. But the tracker on his wrist stayed awake. And it kept telling the truth, even when Paul didn’t. Martina stepped back into the Goldhawks’ home the way someone does when a chapter has already turned—but the pages are still warm. The door barely had time to close behind her before Lilly was pulling her into a hug, coffee forgotten on the side table, Bryan’s voice already layered over it with an easy, genuine warmth. “Congratulations,” Lilly said first, breathless, her smile wide and unguarded. “Truly,” Bryan added, stepping in to squeeze Martina’s shoulder. “We’ve been dying to hear everything.” For once, the living room wasn’t a place where bad news had to be managed or softened. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, catching on the polished wood of the coffee table. Fresh pastries—still flaky, still warm—sat on a ceramic platter between mugs of coffee that steamed lazily into the air. The furniture was pulled closer together than usual, as if the room itself wanted to lean in. They gathered there easily, knees angled toward one another, the way people do when the story is good and the ending—at least for now—is happy. Martina let out a small, disbelieving laugh as she sat. “It still doesn’t feel real,” she said, shaking her head. “The last three days have been a whirlwind. I don’t think I’ve stopped crying since Tuesday—and not all of it sad, I promise.” She spoke like a mother still catching her breath. “Tears at the airport. Tears at dinner. Tears in the car for absolutely no reason,” she went on, smiling through it. “Happy ones. Grief ones. Pride ones. All tangled up together.” Lilly nodded, understanding that language immediately. She had lived in that liminal space long enough to recognize it—where joy doesn’t erase fear, and fear doesn’t cancel pride. “And Amber,” Martina continued, her voice softening in a way that made Bryan sit up just a little straighter. “Amber got accepted to the University of South Carolina. Full ride.” She pressed a hand to her chest, as if steadying something that still felt too big. “First in our family. First one. I can’t even—” Her voice broke, just slightly. “I couldn’t be prouder if I tried.” She didn’t rush past it. She let the words sit, let them breathe. “She walked around Orlando like the world had finally tilted toward her,” Martina added quietly. “Not loud about it. Just… lighter. Marcus never let go of her hand. Not once. At dinner, at the engagement party, even walking between cars. Like he was saying, I’ve got you, without making a show of it.” Bryan could see it without trying—the way Amber used to tuck herself inward, the way she now stood taller without forcing it. He felt a tug in his chest that wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but recognition. “They hosted us at this little restaurant near the water,” Martina went on, warming to the memory. “Long tables pushed together. His family, ours, laughing too loud, ordering too much food. Someone started a toast that turned into three. Marcus’s aunt cried so hard we had to pass her napkins like communion.” Martina laughed softly. “And Amber—she just kept smiling. Like she finally believed she was allowed to have all of it.” Lilly felt a pang she didn’t immediately name. Not envy. Not resentment. Something closer to mourning for the version of the future she once assumed would be symmetrical. Bryan reached across the table without thinking, his hand finding Martina’s and squeezing gently. “You know,” he said quietly, “it wasn’t the house that gave Amber such a solid foundation. It was the people in it. Especially her mother.” Martina’s eyes shimmered. “Still,” she said, squeezing back, “if it hadn’t been for you—and for Rachel’s memory living in those walls for so many years—I don’t know if Amber would’ve had the same start. I really don’t.” The room went still for a moment. Not heavy. Just honest. As Martina continued describing Orlando—the dancing, the late nights, the laughter that came easier than expected—Bryan felt his thoughts begin to drift. Not intentionally. Not cruelly. But images rose unbidden. Amber, radiant and anchored, stepping into a future built on motion and choice and independence. And then Paul. Paul navigating a present that required routines and layers and planning just to stay upright. Lilly felt it too. The comparison wasn’t spoken, but it hummed beneath the conversation like a second frequency neither of them could quite turn off. Two kids who’d grown up side by side. Two futures now pulling in different directions. It was Martina who brought it gently into the open. “So,” she asked, folding her hands together, her tone careful and kind, “what news do you have about Paul?” The shift was immediate. Not abrupt—but unmistakable. Bryan and Lilly exchanged a look that carried more than words ever could. Then Bryan stood, offering Martina his hand. “Come upstairs,” he said. “We’ll show you.” Paul’s room felt different these days. Not worse. Just… reorganized around need. Bryan demonstrated how the changing table opened and closed, the hinges soft and deliberate, designed for repetition rather than emergency. Lilly explained the routine in careful layers—daily diaper changes timed around meals and school, naps that were no longer optional but necessary resets, clothing choices that balanced dignity with access. “At home,” Lilly said, opening a drawer, “we keep things simple. Soft. Predictable. He can have a really rough morning—angry, withdrawn, overwhelmed—and then twenty minutes later he’s carrying around that Batman plush like it’s oxygen, asking for a hug like nothing else exists.” She paused, swallowing. “And both of those things are real,” she added. “The struggle and the softness.” “This isn’t about taking anything away from him,” Bryan said quietly. “It’s about making sure his body doesn’t sabotage him when his mind is already exhausted.” Lilly knelt and opened the baby-blue plastic bin. Inside were toys—some familiar, some new. Blocks. Plush animals. Simple things chosen not to diminish Paul, but to meet him where his nervous system could breathe. “Some days he pushes these away,” Lilly said softly. “Other days he clings to them. Yesterday he asked if Batman could ‘stay with him’ during his nap.” Her voice caught. “He’s still Paul. He’s just… carrying more than his body knows how to hold.” Martina watched quietly. She saw the fear in Lilly’s eyes—the unspoken question of whether she was asking too much. She saw the guilt and anger braided together in Bryan’s posture—the helplessness of a father who couldn’t fix what he loved. And in herself, she felt the impossible math of it all. A daughter stepping forward into love and independence. A boy she loved just as fiercely learning how to live inside new limits. How do I scale back? Martina thought—not aloud, but deep in her chest. How do I hold both without losing either? She turned back to them with a smile that was gentle, not performative. Reassuring without being dismissive. “I’m here,” she said simply. “For Paul. And for my daughter. Their lives are changing, yes—but my love doesn’t need to shrink to make room. It can stretch.” She reached for Lilly’s hand, then Bryan’s. “However you need me,” Martina continued, voice steady now, “I’m here. For both of them.” The room exhaled. The stage itself breathed. Every shuffle of feet, every cough, every whispered line echoed and softened at the same time, absorbed by velvet curtains and scarred wooden boards polished smooth by decades of blocking marks and nervous pacing. Ghost light off. House lights low. Stage lights warming to half, casting long amber pools across the floor. Paul stood just inside the wing, toes hovering near the tape mark, not crossing it yet. His wrist buzzed faintly. Not loud enough for anyone else to hear. Just enough for him to feel. He didn’t look down, but he didn’t have to. Yellow. Not danger. Not panic. But warning. Elevated. A body quietly saying pay attention even while his face stayed neutral, carefully composed. He rolled his shoulders once, subtly, like loosening a knot, then pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth—grounding habits he’d picked up without realizing when. He felt too visible. Too exposed. The stage lights weren’t even fully up yet and already it felt like they could see through him. Then the lights shifted. A tech adjusted a barn door, and the beam swept across center stage—clean, white, unforgiving—and something caught it and flashed back brighter than anything else in the room. Amber’s ring. Paul clocked it instantly. Before thought. Before defense. A precise glint, sharp as a bell tone. Engaged. His tracker pulsed again. Still yellow. Holding. The word didn’t hurt the way he’d imagined it might. It landed quieter than that. Heavier. Like a weight settling somewhere behind his sternum, changing the balance of everything else without cracking it. He looked up fully then. Amber stood near center stage, script folded neatly against her chest, posture open and assured in a way that came from repetition, not arrogance. She looked… settled. Confident. Happy in a way that wasn’t loud. Adult happiness—the kind that doesn’t need to announce itself because it expects to be believed. Paul felt the split happen immediately. I should be happy for her. I want to disappear. Both thoughts existed at once, parallel and incompatible, neither winning. Amber turned. Her eyes found him instantly. For a fraction of a second—less than a breath—the world narrowed to that shared look. From Paul’s side, it felt like stepping into a photograph he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. He saw her confidence first, the ease in her shoulders, the future that sat so naturally on her now. The ring was proof of trajectory—forward motion, plans that made sense. She looked like someone who knew where she was going and trusted that the ground would be there when she stepped. It made him feel… paused. His tracker flickered—yellow holding steady, not spiking, not easing. Suspended. Amber’s perspective cut differently. She saw Paul standing just off the light, half in shadow, shoulders drawn in slightly as if he were bracing against a breeze no one else could feel. He looked thinner to her—not physically, exactly, but emotionally compacted. Smaller than she remembered, yes, but not diminished. There was apprehension there, a carefulness in how he held himself, like someone learning a new gravity. And underneath it—she saw it. The glint. The passion hadn’t gone anywhere. It sat behind his eyes, quieter now, banked like coals instead of flame, but unmistakably alive. The stage still had him. He just wasn’t sure yet if the rest of the world did. Amber’s chest tightened. She smiled. Paul felt the pull to wait—to let her speak first, to take the temperature—but his big side pushed forward before his little side could retreat. “Hey,” he said, stepping fully onto the stage. His voice carried. The boards felt familiar under his shoes. The tracker buzzed once more—yellow, but softer now, less insistent. “Welcome back.” Amber blinked, surprised—and then genuinely warmed by it. “Thank you,” she said. Paul nodded once, then added, because it mattered that it comes from him, “And… congratulations.” He gestured lightly toward her hand, not staring, not avoiding it either. Just acknowledging the obvious. Amber’s shoulders softened. Relief crossed her face before she could hide it. “Thank you,” she said again, quieter this time. “That really means a lot.” She stepped forward before he could recalibrate. The hug happened fast. Too fast for Paul to brace for it properly. Amber wrapped her arms around him with earnest warmth—no hesitation, no calculation. It was meant to reassure, to reconnect, to say I’m still me. For Paul, it was… awkward. His arms hovered a fraction too long before returning the gesture, his body stiff for half a beat before he forced himself to soften. He was acutely aware of everything at once—the way the stage lights caught the dust in the air, the sound of his own breathing, the proximity of another person when he already felt overexposed. His tracker buzzed sharply— Yellow spiked. Then steadied. Amber pulled back quickly, reading the tension, not offended—just adjusting. “You okay?” she asked gently. “Yeah,” Paul said, immediately. “Yeah, I’m good.” It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth. She studied him for a second longer, eyes kind but perceptive. “You look… different.” Paul huffed a soft, humorless breath. “So I’ve been told.” Not accusation. Not invitation. Just an observation hanging between them. Paul felt his shoulders loosen a notch. The tracker pulsed again. Yellow… then green. Amber smiled at that. She believed him. Around them, the room shifted. Scripts rustled. Someone dropped a pencil. The casual energy of warm-up began to sharpen. Then Declan’s voice cut through it all like a snapped baton. “Alright, lads and ladies—let’s stop flirtin’ with the idea of rehearsal and actually rehearse, yeah?” His Irish lilt rolled through the theater, equal parts charm and command. “Marks on stage, heads outta your arses. We’re workin’ like professionals today.” The effect was immediate. Paul exhaled. Fully this time. The stage claimed him back. Declan’s voice had called them into this sequence like a drumbeat. “Positions. Quiet in the house. We run it clean.” Clean. Professional. It was Paul’s favorite kind of instruction because it gave him somewhere to put himself: inside the work, inside the line, inside the rhythm. Jem was safe. Paul wasn’t. Declan signaled. And the speakers crackled to life. A recording began—Amber’s voice, older and reflective, playing through the theater system the way a memory plays through the body even when you don’t invite it. SCOUT (VOICE — older, reflective) That was Jem. Always checking the edges. Always standing where the wind hit first. Amber stood there in the present, listening to her own voice, and it made something inside her tighten—because the words were about Jem, but the person in front of her was Paul, and she wasn’t sure how far the overlap went anymore. Paul drew in a breath. The stage lights shifted slightly. And the scene began. They entered together, closer than before, their pace unhurried—two shapes moving through a quiet that felt loaded. JEM “You ever notice how the town feels different when it’s quiet?” Paul delivered it gently, like he was letting the line land in someone’s hands instead of throwing it. Amber answered in step, her face set in Scout’s blunt honesty. SCOUT “That’s because nobody’s watching.” JEM “Exactly. No eyes. No opinions. Just… space.” He stretched his arms wide, taking up room. And for a split second, a truth slipped under the character: Space is what I don’t have anymore. JEM (CONT’D) “I like nights like this. Makes you forget who you’re supposed to be.” Amber nudged him, Scout teasing Jem, but Amber’s eyes stayed on Paul’s face a beat longer than the blocking required. SCOUT “You saying you don’t like who you are?” Jem considered this. Shrugged. JEM “I like who I am right now.” A beat. JEM (lighter, teasing) “Tomorrow—different story.” Somewhere offstage, a cast member shifted weight and whispered, barely audible: “Jesus… that sounded too real.” Leo—Atticus—stood in the wing, half-hidden by curtain, watching like he’d forgotten he was supposed to be waiting for his entrance. His face wasn’t neutral. It was openly enthralled, like he was witnessing something rare and didn’t want to break it by blinking. Amber—Scout—nudged again. SCOUT “You worry too much.” JEM “Someone has to.” He slowed. Looked at her. JEM (CONT’D) “You good?” SCOUT “I’m fine.” They walked again. The speakers carried Amber’s recorded voice over them like a shadow of the future: SCOUT (VOICE — older, reflective) That’s when his shoulders changed. Like he already knew the ending. A sound joined theirs. A soft, irregular footstep. Paul stopped completely. Not because the blocking said to—because his body recognized threat the way it always did now: before his mind could rationalize it. JEM (low, steady) “Scout.” Amber stopped. SCOUT “What?” Paul’s voice tightened into control. JEM “Stay close.” She did. Another step. Closer. The sound system didn’t add music—Declan had insisted: No score. Let the silence work. Let them carry it. The light shifted. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the boards. The Shadow appeared—never fully visible, a shape at the edge of sight, exactly as the staging required. Paul angled his body subtly, instinctively, between Scout and whatever was coming. JEM (voice firm, controlled) “We’re just walking home.” Silence. Then—The Attack. The Shadow hit Jem first. Stylized, choreographed, safe—except Paul’s nervous system didn’t care what was safe anymore. The impact echoed through his arm in a way his body interpreted too literally, too fast. Amber was thrown backward into a tight pool of light. The music cut. Completely. Every sound became the stage breathing and Paul’s body. They held tableau. Everyone froze. Scout mid-reach. The Shadow mid-motion. Only Jem moved. Only Paul moved. And this was where the line between acting and living snapped into something frighteningly thin. Paul tried to breathe. Failed. He gripped his arm. A sharp, involuntary sound escaped him—not a scream yet. JEM (through breath) “No— no—no—” He tried to straighten his arm. Bad choice. His body betrayed him. And the betrayal was familiar. Not because he’d ever broken his arm before—because he knew that sensation of my body is not listening to me. JEM (raw, uncontrolled) “Ah— God—Scout—” Paul dropped to one knee. Still no music. Every sound was him. Breath. Fabric. A choked cry he tried to swallow and couldn’t. JEM (voice cracking, not heroic) “I can’t— I can’t feel—” He looked at his arm like it didn’t belong to him. Panic hit. Real panic. Not character panic. Paul panic. The tracker on his wrist vibrated hard against his skin—yellow flaring hotter, edging toward orange, begging him to regulate—but regulation required safety, and safety required control, and he didn’t feel like he had either. JEM “Scout— Scout, I can’t—” His voice broke fully now. A guttural, human sound—pain without words. He tried to stand. Failed. Offstage, someone whispered again, louder this time because they couldn’t help it: “He does know this is practise right?” Leo—still in the wing—didn’t laugh. Didn’t flinch. He stared like he was watching someone drown and couldn’t decide whether to jump in or pray. In the audience, Julia sat frozen. Not because she thought it was just good acting. Because she knew. She knew what had changed. Earlier that morning, the school’s head nurse—and Paul’s parents—had called her. Quietly. Carefully. They’d told her the rules now. The privacy. The care needs. The promise that nothing would be made public, nothing would become gossip. Julia had agreed immediately.\ And watching him now—watching Paul pour something raw into Jem’s pain—her heart fractured in a way she couldn’t show anyone. Because what broke her wasn’t the scene. It was the realization that Paul’s gift—the thing that made him shine—was now braided tightly with the thing that made him vulnerable. Onstage, Paul’s breathing became shallow. His eyes fluttered. JEM (soft now, fading) “Hey… hey… don’t—” He lost consciousness. His body went slack as he “fell” face first down onto the stage. It was perfect. It was terrifying. It was too believable. Declan stood near the edge of the stage, arms crossed, jaw tight—not the hardness of critique, but the restraint of someone deeply moved who refused to show it. Veteran instincts told him this was rare: the kind of performance you didn’t teach, you only witnessed. The tableau broke. Scout rushed to Jem. SCOUT “Jem— Jem—no, no, no—” Amber’s recorded voice threaded over it again like a prophecy: SCOUT (VOICE — overlapping, helpless) That’s when I knew. Before the doctors. Before the cast. I heard it in his voice. And then it happened. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t intentional. It was physics. Her foot slipped on the edge of a tape mark. She pitched forward—caught herself—and fell onto him. Declan, from his position, had a flash of instinctive approval before his brain could correct it. But Amber’s right hand landed square on Paul’s behind. The squish and crinkle was impossible for Amber to ignore. The world narrowed. She froze for a fraction of a second. Not because she was judging. Because she suddenly understood something she hadn’t been told. Her palm stayed there a heartbeat too long before she pulled it back like it had been burned. Paul’s eyes flashed open. Fear first. Then guilt. Then embarrassment so sharp it felt like his skin turned inside out. His body screamed: run, run and never look back. But Jem couldn’t run. And Paul—Paul didn’t know where he’d even run to. Amber’s mind spun, fast and quiet. Pull-ups. She had thought pull-ups. Temporary. She had thought temporary. Manageable. But this—this was different. This was heavier. This was… more. What changed? What happened to my friend? Her face stayed in character because the stage demanded it. But her eyes were no longer acting. Amber gathered him instinctively, awkwardly, protectively—her arms cradling his head the way a person does when they’re not acting at all, when they’ve forgotten the audience exists. Paul stayed limp, as scripted. She turned Jem over, cradled his head in her arms, and leaned down—close enough that to the audience it looked like urgent tenderness. To Paul, it felt like the edge of a cliff. His eyes closed again in character. His breathing shallow. And Amber—still holding Jem, still Scout in the body—whispered into Paul’s ear, voice so quiet only he could hear it: “Paul why are you wearing diapers?”

Chapter 14 – Is this what I want? I think I fell asleep quite soon after that, but I was quickly awoken by a knock on the door. It was dark, but there was a little bit of light coming in via the slightly opened door. “Are you awake?” I heard Sophia whisper. “Yes.” I said, and she opened the door completely and came in. It looked like she wore the same shirt I had worn when I slept in Tom’s bed some time ago. For me it had been too long and it had covered the diaper. Now Sophia was wearing it, and I had a view of her from a bit down, I could see she wasn’t wearing a diaper. She wore a tiny slip that barely covered anything. She came to the bed and sat on the edge. She looked at me with affection like she would look at a child. She caressed my head, and moved my hair aside. “I think I need to thank you.” She whispered. The bedroom door was still open, and the light from the bathroom made it possible to see anything. It was a small light, and the bathroom door was largely closed, so you couldn’t see a lot. I knew why she wanted to thank me. She didn’t need to say it. She bended over and kissed me on the forehead. “Thank you.” She said. I didn’t know how long I had been asleep, but it couldn’t have been long. “I had a good time. And you?” “Me too.” I said. “And I need to thank you too. Thank you for picking me up and bringing me here.” “Did you really have a good time?” She asked carefully. “We did some bad things to you. You got spanked, and diapered. You got diapered twice, once by Tom and once by me.” I did feel some shame, but I still smiled. Sophia kept looking at me, probably to see if she could sense my real feelings, and not the ones that I wanted her to see. “It’s OK. Really.” I said. “You didn’t mind wearing a diaper?” She asked and I shook my head. She kept looking at me, curious and maybe a bit worried too. “Are you wearing one now?” She asked after a few seconds. She smiled a bit. I think I started to blush again, but she probably couldn’t see that in this light. But she did know the answer by just looking at my reaction. I saw that she was a bit surprised. She knew that nobody made me wear a diaper anymore, so she realized that I had did it voluntarily. It had been my choice to wear a diaper, and I saw she couldn’t not understand why anyone would do that out of their own free will. “Did Tom help you?” She asked and I shook my head. “You diapered yourself?” I nodded. Sophia kept looking and I saw her smiling again. I realized that my diaper was wet and that there wasn’t a good explanation for it, except that I had done it on purpose. I didn’t want Sophia to know that, but I expect she read my mind. She seemed to sense that something was wrong. She was sitting on the duvet, so she had to stand up a bit before she could pull it off me. She pulled it all the way down to my knees and the short that I was wearing didn’t cover my diaper at the moment. A little panicked I pushed my short down, covering the evidence that I had done something mischievous. I think Sophia already knew what I had done. She could have read that from my face, and by the way I had reacted on the reveal. My panic was caused by shame, not because I was afraid what she was going to do. “No, no… Please.” I begged, but her hand slipped under my shirt. “Let me see, Jessica.” She said and looked at me with a stern face. I knew she was playing with me, and she knew that I knew that she was playing with me. I surrendered and slowly pulled my shirt up. I revealed my diaper. Her hand slipped between my legs and I had to push my knees out to make room. I felt her hand on my diaper and she kept it there for several seconds. She looked at me. “Did you wet your diaper, little girl?” She asked me straight up. I nodded. This was a game, so I started to get into my role. “Yes, Sophia. Sorry, I… It was an accident.” I said. Sophia smiled. “I don’t think you are sorry, and I also don’t believe that it was an accident.” She said from close up. She had brought her face closer to mine, while her hand was still on my diaper. I felt small, extremely humiliated, but by my own doing. I had wet my diaper, I had humiliated myself, but at the same time I felt something that I hadn’t expected. I enjoyed it. “I will forgive you these little lies, this time.” She winked. “Let me see how bad it is.” She pulled the tabs open and I felt a shiver through my spine for each of the tabs that came loose. She really took her time for it, as if she was enjoying it. Or because she saw that I was enjoying it. Without any consideration for my shame she opened the diaper and exposed my private parts. I couldn’t see, but Sophia looked down and inspected the inside of the diaper and my moist skin. I felt cold air on my wet body and I shivered again. I laid perfectly still, embracing my shame and humiliation. Her eyes prying at the result of my naughty action. But my shame became even worse. A soft knock on the door and we both looked at an almost naked Tom. He was only wearing briefs and it didn’t hide much. He looked at us very surprised. From the door he looked almost straight at the bed, with my face furthest away. I saw his gaze from my feet moving upward, stopping a moment at the wet diaper and my private parts, before he looked me in the face. “What… What is happening here?” He asked, and I think he started to blush as he thought he walked into something inappropriate. He now looked at Sophia, and I saw her smile and look up to Tom. “I was checking her diaper, and she definitely needs to be changed.” I heard. I was still lying perfectly still and I let Tom see everything. His eyes made my humiliation even bigger and although for a moment I had thought about protesting and covering myself I did not. “Can you get a clean diaper for me, love? And something to clean her up a bit?” Sophia asked it as if she was asking for something quite normal. Tom shook his head and seemed to have decided that he shouldn’t interfere. He seemed to understand that what was happening here was something between me and Sophia. Hu turned around and I heard him walk into the bathroom. Sophia looked at me now, smiling, but at the same checking if I was OK with this. She quickly seemed to realize that she could continue with the diaper change, and she grabbed my ankles and pulled them in the air. My ankles were crossed and my knees pointed outside, and in that humiliating, uncomfortable position we waited for Tom to return. It took a bit longer than expected and we both listen quietly to Tom rumbling around in the bathroom. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get you cleaned up and in the nice and dry diaper again soon.” She said, and at that moment we saw Tom return. He walked into the bedroom, switched on the light and put a clean diaper, a bottle of baby powder and a yellow package on the bed close to the edge of my wet diaper. He then first kissed Sophia on her head and then looked at me. “Are you OK?” He asked me. “You know that you don’t have to…” He started, but Sophia interrupted. “O yes, she does. If she wets her diaper, she will get changed.” She said it while looking up at her boyfriend, but then she looked down on me. “And if this is to become something regular, then we might have to do something about this hair. That’s very unhygienic.” Sophia was firm and her finger touched my pubic hair. I kept it in check but I had never removed it completely. Tom looked down at his girlfriend and then at me. He didn’t seem to understand exactly what was going on between me and Sophia, but he seemed to understand that it was mutual. Confused he turned around and walked back to the bathroom. Sophia smiled at me and I tried to smile back. My shame prevented me to really smile, and smiling didn’t seem to fit in the narrative, anyway. Sophia managed to open the yellow package of wet wipes, and while we both heard Tom peeing in the bathroom, I felt the wet wipes doing their job. I felt so small, but I also felt that this was the repercussion for what I had done. I let her wipe me clean. Each wipe touched me at a place I was never touched like that, at least not as I could remember. Each wipe was a shameful touch, and I felt helpless and childish. Tom left the bathroom, didn’t look our way and retreated to the master bedroom. He even closed the door. Sophia finished cleaning me up and pushed the clean diaper underneath me. She powdered me and again I felt her fingers over my skin. She let my legs down and closed the diaper with the tapes. She checked the diaper with her finger, checked the elastic leg openings and then seemed to be satisfied with the result. “All done. You did well.” She said, complementing me for good behavior. She pulled the shirt down and then pulled the duvet back over me. She kissed me on the forehead before looking me in the eyes. “Does it feel like I stole Tom from you?” She asked softly. She almost whispered. I thought about that for a moment and shook my head. “You can’t steel something from me that I never had.” I said and Sophia smiled. She seemed relieved. “Good. I was a little bit worried. And it seems that I will be staying for a few days…” She said, and then she smiled again. “And I think I can speak for Tom too when I say that we are more than OK if you are staying a bit longer too.” Sophia stood up and didn’t wait for a reply. Maybe she thought that I needed some time to think about that. In the door opening she turned around one more time. “You don’t need to wear a diaper, but if you do, then I will be checking on you, and I will change you if needed.” She said, and she turned the lights off. She couldn’t see my reaction, but I think she already knew what my reaction would be. I had just undergone the biggest humiliation in my life, and I had never felt so childish and vulnerable before. And I wanted more.