Mommy Influencer: The Road to becoming a Teenage Toddler (Update Ch 117: Part Two)

[Lost Little Neppy]

Finally binged my way through this. A lot of my reflections on the story vibe with WBDaddy's comments, so I won't repeat too much.

But I am focused on a couple of things here that haven't been talked about much. First, Amber and Marcus. These two are absolutely toxic for each other. They seem to bring out the best and worst in each other, and now that we know how manipulative Marcus is, it makes me wonder if he got an engagement ring at 40% off and made up the story about it being an heirloom. I'm keeping that in mind. But Amber is no saint either. She still keeps people around who bring out her worst traits and being a teenager, I'm not sure how she'll salvage through this, if she will at all. I wouldn't be surprised if she dug in her heels and decided to stay with Marcus out of a spiteful love.

The second is the school. The bullying is increasing to harassment and even assault. The parents are suing, which is good, and if I were the principal, I would be increasing security. Given how much they charge for tuition, he can afford it.

I also forgot about one wild card in this. Danny. I don't know if he's going to make a comeback. Maybe yes, maybe no. He's a spiteful little shit, and a crypto bro along with Marcus (irredeemable in my eyes), but I wonder if he's going to try and get revenge on Paul somehow. Maybe find a way to get him back somewhere off-campus later on.

[Babylukes]

Hope the move went well! Really excited to see where this story goes but just thank you for writing such an incredible story!

[Frostybaby]

Finally got most of my unpacking done yesterday, and I wanted to get this first update up. With more to come shortly today and into Monday. Thanks for your patience. 

Chapter One Hundred & Sixteen: Part One
The hospital room had settled into that soft, golden hush only late-afternoon light can create, the kind that turns ordinary walls into something warmer, almost forgiving. The lights are dimmed just enough to take the edge off the clinical brightness, the soft glow of the TV filling the gaps with flickering blues and whites as the Panthers were up against the Blue Jackets—fast cuts of skates carving ice, sticks clacking, the roar of the crowd swelling.

Bryan sits forward on the left side of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped together like he’s ready to spring up at any second—even though he’s already seen this game. It doesn’t matter. His Tkachuk jersey stretched across his broad shoulders as his eyes track every pass, every shift, every near-miss with the same focus he would have had live. His jaw tightens slightly as the puck moves into the offensive zone, his body leaning just enough to suggest that if he could will it in, he would.

 

Paul sits in the middle.
But he isn’t sitting the same way.

 

He’s leaned in—half tucked into Lilly, his head resting against her chest in that quiet, unspoken space between needing comfort and pretending he doesn’t. His body curves toward her naturally, like it’s learned where it’s safest to settle. His Barkov jersey hung loose over his legs relaxed but still angled slightly outward, that subtle waddle never fully leaving even when he’s still. The faint crinkle beneath his teal shorts shifts when he adjusts, barely audible under the broadcast, his eyes half-lidded on the screen, but present.

Lilly sat on the right, her black capri pants fitted but soft, her posture relaxed yet supportive as she angles herself just slightly toward Paul, creating that space for him without ever making it obvious. Wearing the pink paisley Panthers jersey that had arrived as a quiet birthday surprise from Bryan years ago—soft fabric hugging her frame, the black shoulders and bold “FLORIDA” crest across the chest making her look both stylish and unmistakably part of the family. Her right arm was wrapped around Paul’s shoulder, fingers moving in slow, soothing strokes from the top side of his head down his cheek, over and over, like she could brush away every bruise and worry with each pass. Paired with the quiet hum in her throat, barely louder than breath, the melody simple, almost absent-minded—but steady enough to anchor him.

 

“Mmm… my sweet boy’s doing so well…” she murmurs softly, the words barely breaking the hum.

 

Another slow stroke, another hum.

 

“Shhh, just breathe with me, little lion… that’s it, nice and easy, Mommy’s got you.”

 

Another pass. Gentler this time.

 

“That’s it… just relax… let it all go… good boy…”

 

Paul’s response is quiet. Instinctive. His pacifier moved in steady, calm sucks, the Safari clip swaying lightly against his jersey. The big side inside him still carried the faint sting of embarrassment at being held like this in front of his father, but the little side melted into the warmth of Lilly’s chest, the steady heartbeat under his ear, the gentle fingers in his hair. For once, they weren’t fighting. They were simply resting together, letting the game, the cuddles and the pacifier do what medicine sometimes couldn’t—make the world feel small enough to handle.

 

A soft knock at the door interrupted everything.

 

All three Goldhawks turned their heads at the exact same moment, the motion synchronized like a family that had already learned to move as one through storms. Bryan’s eyebrows lifted in quiet curiosity. Lilly’s hand paused mid-stroke, protective instinct flaring. Paul, still suckling gently, felt the familiar tug of both sides of himself—the big side wanting to prove he could handle whatever was on the other side of that door, the little side wanting to stay curled against Lilly forever.

 

But it was Paul who moved first.

 

He sat up slowly, gingerly, using Lilly’s thigh and Bryan’s thigh as anchors to push himself to his feet. The rib pain flared sharp and bright, a hot knife under his left side that made him grimace even with the pacifier still in his mouth.  He inhales sharply through his nose, the pacifier still between his lips, dampening the sound but not the sensation. He steadies. Finds his balance.

 

“…I’v g’it…” he mumbles around the pacifier, the words thick, softened by the silicone.

 

Bryan watches him closely but doesn’t move to stop him. Lilly’s hand lingers for half a second longer on his arm before she lets him go. The thick diaper crinkled softly under his teal shorts, the waddle unmistakable but unnoticed by anyone who loved him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Hand on the handle. Pauses just long enough to steady his breath.

 

Then—opens it.

And freezes.

 

Because standing there—

isn’t what he expected.

 

Amber.

 

She looked exactly as she had that morning—fitted black knit top tucked neatly, cropped camel jacket with sharp shoulders and gold buttons catching the light, polished white leather sneakers immaculate on her feet. She held a brightly wrapped gift bag in one hand and a cluster of silver, blue, and gold “Happy Birthday” balloons in the other, the strings wrapped around her fingers as if she were afraid they might float away.

 

Martina stood beside her, elegant in her own quiet way—casual but unmistakably Cuban in spirit. She wore a flowing cream blouse with delicate lace trim at the neckline and sleeves, tucked into high-waisted dark jeans that flattered her figure without trying too hard. A colorful silk scarf in soft coral and gold tones was knotted loosely at her throat, and simple gold hoops caught the light. In her arms she carried a medium-sized vase bursting with birthday flowers from the South—sunflowers nodding their golden heads, bright pink lilies, fragrant gardenias, and delicate sprays of baby’s breath, the whole bouquet wrapped in crisp white paper and tied with a satin ribbon the color of sunrise.

Paul’s eyes widened. The pacifier slipped from his mouth, swinging across his chest on its Safari clip like a tiny pendulum.

 

“…Amber?” he whispers, the word barely formed, confusion lacing through it like he’s not entirely sure she’s real.

 

Amber’s own voice was just as quiet, almost as shy, the balloons bobbing gently above her head.

 

“Happy birthday, Paul…”

 

Soft.

Careful.

 

Like she’s afraid anything louder might break the moment. Martina didn’t hesitate. She repeated it brighter, bolder, the Spanish rolling off her tongue like warm honey.

 

“¡Feliz cumpleaños, mijo!”

She stepped forward without hesitation and wrapped Paul in a gentle hug, careful of his ribs, her free hand giving his padded bottom a discreet, motherly pat—the kind only someone who had known him since he was small would dare. Amber noticed the subtle movement, her cheeks coloring slightly, but she said nothing.

 

Paul blushed hard, the heat rushing up his neck. Martina pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes soft with concern and love.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Paul swallowed, the pacifier still dangling against his jersey. His voice was quiet but honest, the words carrying the weight of everything he had carried that day.

 

“Better than I’ve been in a few days.”

 

The hallway light caught the balloons, the flowers, the quiet hope on two familiar faces. Inside the room, Lilly’s hand found Bryan’s on the couch, squeezing once—grateful. Martina and Amber stepped inside, bringing with them the faint scent of sun-warmed flowers and the soft rustle of balloons tugging at their strings. Bryan reached for the remote without a word, muting the Panthers highlights mid-play. The screen went dark, the roar of the crowd fading into the quiet hum of monitors and the distant laughter from the hallway playroom. Lilly rose first, crossing the small space in three quick steps and folding Martina into a deep, heartfelt hug—the kind that said more than words ever could. She pulled back just enough to admire the vibrant bouquet in Martina’s arms, sunflowers nodding their golden heads beside bright pink lilies and fragrant gardenias.

 

“Martina, these are absolutely beautiful,” Lilly breathed, her voice warm with genuine gratitude. “Thank you for bringing them—they’re perfect.”

Martina smiles, pleased but never surprised, her hands adjusting the vase slightly as she glances around the room—and then toward the window. There, on a small table bathed in soft evening light, sits a collection of other bouquets, gift bags, cards—some opened, some not—layered together in a quiet testament to the day.

 

Her eyebrows lift slightly.

 

“Well,” she says, a hint of playful warmth in her tone, “somebody is certainly popular and loved.”

 

Paul feels that one.

Right in the chest.

 

His face warms, the blush rising again as his eyes flick toward the table, then quickly away. Amber sensing the shift, felt herself drifting back to how she used to be around Paul. She nudged his shoulder lightly—just enough to feel familiar without pushing—and pointed toward the small basketball hoop standing behind the table.

 

“From Coach?” she asked, her tone light but careful.

 

Paul nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who else?” The words hung there, heavy with the name he didn’t say—Marcus—but he left it unspoken, sparing her the sting. Amber’s eyes flickered with the memory. They weren’t that close anymore. The thought settled in her chest like a quiet ache, a reminder of how much had shifted since the hallway, since the fight, since everything.

 

Bryan stepped forward then, wrapping Martina in a warm hug. “T,” he said, using the nickname he’d given her years ago when she was more like family than friend. Smiling as he pulls back, “thank you for all this. You didn’t have to go this big.”

 

Martina waves it off lightly. “Of course we did.”

 

Then Bryan turns to Amber.

No hesitation.

 

He pulls her into a hug too—just as genuine, just as real. Lilly follows right behind him, wrapping her arms around Amber with a softness that doesn’t question whether it’s deserved.

 

“How are you?” Lilly asks gently.

 

Amber exhales as she steps back, her shoulders rising and falling once.

 

“I’m okay,” she says.

 

It’s not a lie. But it’s not the whole truth either. Martina waits just long enough for the room to settle again—for everyone to be in it, fully present—before she speaks.

 

“I think…” she begins, her tone shifting, grounding, “we should all have a conversation.”

 

The words land carefully. Not heavy. But intentional. She looks at Amber. A small nod.

 

“Amber, why don’t you start?”

 

And just like that—it’s her turn. Amber inhales.

Deep.

Long.

 

Her fingers tighten slightly around the handle of the gift bag before she sets it down on the nearby table, the balloons drifting upward beside it, their strings catching softly against one another with a faint whisper.

 

Her thoughts are everywhere. Messy. Loud. But underneath all of it—there’s a single, clear line. Say it. She looks at Paul first. Then at Bryan. Then at Lilly. Then back to Paul again. Her voice steady but laced with the raw honesty her mother had encouraged her to find.

 

“…the boy who set you up,” she starts, her voice quieter now, more careful, “not the one who… hurt you. But the one who thought it would be… funny to humiliate you…”

 

A beat.

 

Her throat tightens,

 

“…that’s my fiancé.”

 

“Marcus,” she adds, softer.

 

The name lands heavier this time.

 

The room shifts. Amber’s fingers tightened around the chain at her neck, the ring still hidden beneath her top. Amber swallows, her hands clasping together in front of her as if holding onto something physical will keep her from unraveling completely.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and this time there’s no hesitation in it. “Not just for what he did. But for me. For how I’ve been… through all of this.”

 

Her eyes flicker downward briefly before she forces herself to keep going.

 

“I got… caught up in things. In him. In what that meant. And I stopped seeing things the way I should have.” Her voice steadies, not because it’s easy—but because she’s choosing it. “I was selfish. I was focused on myself, on what I wanted, on how everything looked instead of what it actually was.”

 

A glance at Paul.

 

“I didn’t show up the way I should have for you.”

 

That one sits.

 

“I let things slide that I shouldn’t have. I ignored things that didn’t feel right because it was easier than… dealing with them. And I let my attitude—my behavior—reflect that.”

 

Her fingers tighten again.

 

“But that’s not who I want to be,” she continues, a little stronger now. “And it’s not who I’m going to stay as.”

 

She exhales.

Grounds herself.

 

“Marcus and I—we’re still planning on getting married,” she says, honest, direct. “But we both have a lot to figure out. A lot to fix. And that starts with actually becoming responsible adults who don’t tear other people down to feel bigger. Becoming… better. More aware. More empathetic.”

 

Her eyes soften again as they land back on Paul.

 

“I’m not asking for forgiveness right now,” she adds quietly. “I just… I hope that in time… you can.”

 

Lilly’s reaction was immediate and protective. Hurt flashed across her face, sharp and surface-level, the mama-bear instinct rising like a tide. She subconsciously pulled Paul closer to her side, one arm wrapping around his waist as if she could shield him from every cruelty. How dare they, she thought, the model in her warring with the mother she had become. He’s been through enough. But beneath the surface anger was something deeper—gratitude that Amber was here, owning it, even if it hurt to hear.

 

Bryan felt the words pierce deeper. He had known Amber since she and Paul were kids running through their kitchen, laughing over Cuban sandwiches and homework. The sweet, smart, caring girl he remembered was still in there—he could see it—but the disappointment settled heavy in his chest. She was better than this, he thought, the father in him aching for the boy he’d just carried through therapy. Yet he was the first to move. He reached gently for Amber’s left hand, squeezing it with quiet support and forgiveness. No words yet—just the steady pressure that said I see you trying.

 

Lilly noticed. She placed her right hand on Amber’s shoulder, nodding in agreement with Bryan, her own protective grip on Paul never loosening. Martina couldn’t help but smile—small, proud, the smile of a mother who had watched her daughter take the harder road and choose it anyway.

 

The moment stretched, fragile and hopeful, until Bryan broke it with a soft chuckle and a glance at his watch.

 

“You know what? I think we could all use a little fresh air and something decent to drink. Lilly’s been raving about that Starbucks in the lobby since we got here.”

 

Lilly’s eyes lit with quiet relief—she had been holding Paul a fraction tighter since Amber’s apology, her protective instincts still humming beneath the surface. She gave his shoulder one last gentle squeeze before standing, smoothing the front of her pink paisley Panthers jersey.

 

“It really is good,” she said, voice warm but laced with that new-mother softness she had grown into over the last few months. “The vanilla cold foam is worth the trip.”

 

Martina smiled, gathering her purse with the easy grace of someone who had navigated a thousand family crises and still knew when space was the kindest gift she could give.

 

“Then let’s go, mija. We’ll bring something back for everyone.”

 

Bryan stood, already moving toward the door with that effortless dad energy that masked how deeply Amber’s words had landed. He paused at the threshold, turning back with a grin that reached his eyes.

 

“Oh, if Lilly says THIS Starbucks is good, then T, you know it’s gotta be good.”

 

Martina and Lilly both laughed—light, genuine, the sound carrying down the hallway like a promise that the world outside this room was still turning, still full of small joys. The door clicked shut behind them with a soft, final thud, sealing Paul and Amber inside together.

 

Silence rushed in. 

 

Paul had been helped to the bed moments earlier. Lilly had guided him with careful hands, one arm around his waist, murmuring soft encouragement as he eased down onto the mattress. Amber lingered by the small table near the window, leaning against its edge as if she needed the support to stay upright.

They were in the same room, only a few feet apart, yet it felt like they were still worlds away.

 

Paul’s big side wrestled with the old hurt, the gym, the flyers, the way Amber had once looked at him with something close to pity. She apologized, he told himself, the words tasting both bitter and sweet. She’s trying. But the little side, still raw from the therapy session and the messy change earlier, wanted nothing more than to curl back into Lilly’s arms and hide behind the pacifier still clipped to his jersey. His tracker pulsed a steady yellow on his wrist, a quiet warning that the emotional storm wasn’t fully over.

 

Amber’s thoughts churned in tight circles. He probably hates me. The memory of Marcus’s jealousy, of her own selfish need to protect her perfect image, sat like lead in her stomach. She had rehearsed the apology with her mother in the car, but saying it out loud in front of Paul, Lilly, and Bryan had cracked something open inside her. I was cruel. I was small. The ring on its chain felt heavier than ever—Marcus’s promise, their future, the work they both still had to do. Yet here she was, standing in a hospital room on Paul’s birthday, balloons bobbing above a table of flowers and gifts, wondering if any of it could be salvaged.

Paul finally spoke, voice quiet but steady, the pacifier still clipped and waiting if he needed it. “You didn’t have to come.”
 

Amber met his eyes, her own glistening with unshed tears she refused to let fall. “I wanted to. I needed to.”

The words hung between them, fragile as the balloons tugging at their strings. Two eighteen-year-olds who had once shared a stage, shared laughter, shared a childhood, now sat on opposite sides of a chasm built from jealousy, shame, and unspoken apologies. Paul’s big side wanted answers, wanted to know if the play would survive, if the school would ever let him walk those halls again without whispers. His little side just wanted the safety of being seen and still loved anyway.

 

Amber’s mind raced with everything she hadn’t said—the flyers she had torn down herself that morning, the way she had confronted Marcus in the theater, the promise she had made to be better. She wanted to tell him everything, but she remembered her mother’s words: Give him the truth without so much detail.

 

Paul sits back against the raised bed, shoulders slightly hunched—not from pain alone, but from everything pressing inward at once. His fingers fidget absentmindedly with the edge of the blanket, then with the pacifier clip still resting against his jersey, then with nothing at all. His body doesn’t quite know where to land, so it keeps moving in small, almost invisible ways. Amber stays where she is at first. Leaning against the table. Watching him. Not in a way that demands anything. Just… waiting. Because she knows this part. The part where words don’t come easy.

 

Paul inhales.

Shallow at first. Then deeper.

Testing.

 

And when he speaks, it’s not what either of them expected—but it is exactly what it needs to be.

 

“How’s the play?”

 

It comes out a little rough. A little too quick. Like he had to say it before he lost the nerve. His eyes flick up to her, then away just as fast, like the question itself might give something else away if he lets it linger too long.

 

“…I mean—like… is Leo still…” he trails off, searching for footing, “…and Jordan—did he—like, is he doing okay or…”

 

The question wraps around itself. Too many meanings packed into something that sounds simple.

 

Do they miss me?

Does any of it still matter?

Did I disappear the second I wasn’t there?

 

Amber hears all of it. Every layer. She pushes off the table slowly, arms folding loosely across her chest before she lets them drop again, choosing not to hide behind them.

 

“Declan moved the first dress rehearsal,” she says carefully, stepping a little closer but not too close yet. “He pushed it until after winter break.”

 

A beat.

Her voice softens just slightly.

 

“He’s still banking on you coming back. His exact words.”

 

Paul’s eyes lift at that. Really lift. And something inside him—shifts.

 

Amber continues, steady but honest. “Jordan’s good, Paul. He’s… doing what he can. But—” she exhales, not dressing it up, “he was an understudy for a reason.”

 

She looks at him directly now.

 

“The show… it’s missing something.”

 

Another step closer.

 

“That’s why we’re all pulling for you to come back.”

 

A pause.

 

“If you want to.”

 

That lands differently. Not pressure. Choice. Paul leans back slightly into the pillow, his jaw tightening as both sides of him collide in real time.

 

His big side latches onto it first—I can do that. I can get back. I can stand there again. I can prove I’m still me.

But his little side— quieter. More honest.

What if they’re all looking?

What if they hear it?

What if I mess up?

 

His fingers press harder into the blanket.

He swallows.

 

“…how bad is it?” he asks, voice lower now. “The school.”

 

Amber exhales slowly through her nose. This part—this is where her mother’s voice sits in her head.

Tell him the truth… without hurting him more.

 

“They laughed,” she says.

 

No padding. No softening.

 

“They did?”

 

Paul nods once. Like he expected that.

 

“Some people… picked on Leo for sticking up for you,” she adds, her voice tightening slightly. “But you know how high school is, Paul. People embarrass themselves, and then the school just… moves on.”

 

Paul’s head lifts sharply at that.

 

“No,” he says immediately, the word sharper than anything he’s said so far. “School doesn’t forget.”

 

His chest rises faster now. He leans forward slightly despite the pull in his ribs.

 

“It doesn’t just—reset. Not when it’s like this.”

 

His voice cracks— just barely.

 

“…Zach and Mitchell already dropped me.”

 

Amber freezes.

 

“What?”

 

“Text,” Paul says, his lips pressing together hard after. “Didn’t even call.”

 

His eyes drop.

 

“And I—” he exhales, shaky now, “I want to go back. I do. I want to finish the play. I want to graduate. I want to just—be there again but—”

 

His voice fractures.

 

“How?”

 

He looks up at her now.
Fully. Raw.

 

“How do I walk back onto that stage with everyone staring at my—” he stops, jaw clenching hard, then forces it out anyway, “my crotch, wondering if I pissed myself like a retard instead of watching the show?”

 

The word hangs there.

 

Ugly.
Heavy.
Real.

 

Amber doesn’t flinch.

 

“You’re not the only one they’re talking about,” she says quietly, stepping closer again.

Paul frowns slightly.

 

“What?”

 

“Danny,” she says. “They’ve been calling him ‘Paul’s baby bitch.’”

 

Paul blinks. Caught off guard.

 

“A few people,” she continues, “actually think it’s kind of insane that you knocked him out before everything went… sideways.”

 

A small, sad breath leaves her.

 

“It got bad enough that he’s gone, Paul. Expelled. His parents pulled him out and sent him to Oklahoma—or some other place in the middle of nowhere, he’s staying with his uncle.”

 

Paul processes that slowly. Too slowly.
Because it doesn’t land like a win.
It just lands.

 

“And Marcus…” Amber continues, and this part costs her something to say out loud, “he’s suspended for the rest of December. Off the team until after January.”

 

Paul’s jaw tightens again.

 

“He’s taking it hard,” she admits. “But he should. He earned it.”

 

A beat.

 

“He’s doing community work now. Parks, camps, senior homes… helping at my mom’s church with clothing drives and food programs.”

 

Paul lets out a quiet breath through his nose. Not impressed. Not angry.

Just… distant.

 

Amber shakes her head slightly. “I can’t apologize for him, Paul. He needs to do that himself. He needs to be the man he says he wants to be.”

 

She pauses. Then adds, softer—

 

“But I need to say this.”

 

Her voice shifts. Less controlled now. More her.

 

“He told me what you said to him. About him poisoning me.”

 

Paul stiffens.

 

“You were right,” she says.

 

And that lands harder than anything else.

 

“He did.”

 

Amber swallows.

 

“I just… accepted it.”

 

Her voice cracks then.

Small.
Real.

 

“I didn’t say anything that day. I didn’t stop it. I laughed. I went along with it because it was easier than defending you—especially when you could hear us.”

Paul closes his eyes. That memory—

sharp. Immediate.

“God, Paul…” she breathes, her hands shaking slightly now, “I wish I could take all of that back. Every second of it. But I can’t.”

 

She looks at him again.

 

“And then I made it worse. I sat there… and rubbed it in your face.”

 

Her voice drops to almost nothing.

 

“It was so fucking cruel of me.”

 

Silence. Heavy.

 

“And then after… after everything we said to each other…” she exhales, wiping quickly under her eye before anything falls, “I’m sorry.”

 

A beat.

 

“But I know that doesn’t fix anything.”

 

That’s when she moves. Not fast. Not dramatic. But with enough courage then to walk over and slowly sit next to her former friend on his hospital bed, the mattress dipping under her weight.

 

Close enough to matter.
Not close enough to assume anything.

 

Paul stares forward for a second longer.
Then exhales.

 

“…I’m sorry too,” he says quietly.

 

Amber turns her head slightly.

 

He doesn’t look at her yet.

 

“I shouldn’t have said that about Marcus… about him hurting you. Putting you in a hospital.”

 

His hands tighten slightly.

 

“That wasn’t fair.”

 

A pause.

 

“That was… jealousy.”

 

He lets the word sit there.

 

“I said it because he has something I don’t. Something I’ll probably never have.”

 

Amber doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t correct him. He finally looks at her. And there it is—in his eyes.

 

Sorrow.

 

And something else. Something sharper.

 

Jealousy.

 

Not just of Marcus— but of a life. A path. A version of himself he doesn’t get to be.

 

“I was wrong,” he finishes.

 

Amber meets his gaze. And in hers—there’s regret. Deep. Layered. Not just for what she did. But for what he’s living through now. Her eyes drift for just a second—to the mobile above his bed, gently turning in slow circles… to the open bag near the chair, where a bright white, patterned diaper sits half-visible among the supplies.

 

And it hits her fully. This is his reality.

Not temporary. Not a phase.

This is who he is—

 

Who’s he’s trying to become at the same time.

A man.

And something softer.

Both fighting to move forward together.

And she— has been standing in the way of both.

 

Her hand moves.

Slowly.
Carefully.

Just a few fingers—resting lightly over his.

Not gripping.

Not holding.

Just—there.

 

Paul turns his head toward her. Their eyes meet again. And this time—they both understand.

 

There’s no reset.
No return to what they were.
No clean ending.

 

But maybe—something else. Something quieter. More honest.

They both manage a small smile.

[Babylukes]

Awesome chapter! Great writing I hate it because Amber still wants to marry Marcus ugh he’s such a scumbag! I just feel awful for Paul. I’d love Amber to see Paul with savanna and her get her own kind of jealously as well!

[NjoNjo056]

Good to see you back!!  Loved this chapter.  I had watery eyes reading the part from when Amber and Martina showed up.  I know it’ll be unpopular to say, and newly forming thought for me, but I want to believe there is a prospect of growth and redemption for Marcus.  That bullies can become better people.  Amber is still in love with him so for her sake I hope so.  Also, I do believe people deserve the chance to prove they’ve changed.  Looking forward to more soon based on what you said about today again and early tomorrow.  Thanks. 

[bj & the bear]

Oh what a great chapter,  and I have to agree with baby luke, Marcus is just a scum bag and I do hope Paul and savanna get together so maybe Paul gets to have some happiness in his life and he can move on from Amber. 

 

I hope there's a serious discussion coming between savanna and Paul at some point.  

 

Glad to hear your getting settled in your new place. 

 

Keep cranking out the awesomeness. 

[WBDaddy]

I... don't feel like Amber really *gets it*.  

Yeah, her dad ran off.  And that hurts.  But having someone exit your life because they *wanted to* hits different than watching someone who is your whole world get sick and then die.  When you're still small enough to be fully dependent on that person.  

Until Amber realizes what's really happening here, she's not going to *get it*.  Paul's regression is back to a place where none of this shit happened.  The last time his life was truly *happy*.  When he had a Mommy and a Daddy who cared for him and loved him and there were no bad people who wanted to hurt him in his sphere of existence.  

Kinda surprised that none of the medical professionals in his life have addressed this reality.  

[butters11]

Glad your back and your move went well  can’t wait to see what happens nextttt

[babywittleone]

glade the move went well great chaptor hope things move a bit better

[Babylukes]

My issue right now is I can tell Amber is still trying to fix everything with Marcus so she can marry him, Marcus is only thinking about what gets him ahead. Honestly I feel like Martina would be having a conversation about Marcus to Amber. Martina saw who Marcus truly is shocked she hasn’t pushed back harder on Amber about him since Amber has been back. 

[bj & the bear]

2 minutes ago, Babylukes said:

My issue right now is I can tell Amber is still trying to fix everything with Marcus so she can marry him, Marcus is only thinking about what gets him ahead. Honestly I feel like Martina would be having a conversation about Marcus to Amber. Martina saw who Marcus truly is shocked she hasn’t pushed back harder on Amber about him since Amber has been back. 

Yeah,  im kinda shocked in that aspect too. I think she needs to have a come to meeting with her and get her to really open her eyes about him. 

He's a no good scum bag plain n simple. Kinda the way I feel about Harley as well, she's just creepy in my book and her ways just seem like there's some underlying blackmail with her. 

[Babylukes]

7 minutes ago, bj & the bear said:

Yeah,  im kinda shocked in that aspect too. I think she needs to have a come to meeting with her and get her to really open her eyes about him. 

He's a no good scum bag plain n simple. Kinda the way I feel about Harley as well, she's just creepy in my book and her ways just seem like there's some underlying blackmail with her. 

Agreed, but Martina actually saw who Marcus was, I feel Martina next time she’s alone with Amber she should explain to her the boy she saw in Marcus and maybe even how Marcus reminds her of Ambers Father

[wetdiaper55]

I am sure Lilly ,Pauls mommy is keeping up on her web page .

I think the visit from Amber when well , at least that is over with . Maybe Paul can move on with his hurt baby sit for a while . I love the family all resting together , love that seen ,loving mommy daddy , and baby . 

[Babylukes]

Super excited for the chapter today things are really starting to build!

[bj & the bear]

4 minutes ago, Babylukes said:

Super excited for the chapter today things are really starting to build!

Oh indeed they are. The suspense builds, i wonder what lay ahead for our characters.  

[Lost Little Neppy]

22 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

I... don't feel like Amber really *gets it*.  

Yeah, her dad ran off.  And that hurts.  But having someone exit your life because they *wanted to* hits different than watching someone who is your whole world get sick and then die.  When you're still small enough to be fully dependent on that person.  

Until Amber realizes what's really happening here, she's not going to *get it*.  Paul's regression is back to a place where none of this shit happened.  The last time his life was truly *happy*.  When he had a Mommy and a Daddy who cared for him and loved him and there were no bad people who wanted to hurt him in his sphere of existence.  

Kinda surprised that none of the medical professionals in his life have addressed this reality.  

Amber absolutely doesn't get it, and reading back, I noticed something. When Amber talked about her dad, she talked about how it affected her mom. Not her. Not that much. It makes me wonder if her dad was ever involved in her life or if he was always distant from Amber before just leaving.

And I think Mindy made a mention of how Paul regresses to a time before his mother died, but given that his care is more about management to what I see as a bit of an extreme degree (why a mobile in his hospital room? Is that necessary?), as someone with anxiety, I recognize that tools are needed to manage it.

[bj & the bear]

9 minutes ago, Lost Little Neppy said:

Amber absolutely doesn't get it, and reading back, I noticed something. When Amber talked about her dad, she talked about how it affected her mom. Not her. Not that much. It makes me wonder if her dad was ever involved in her life or if he was always distant from Amber before just leaving.

And I think Mindy made a mention of how Paul regresses to a time before his mother died, but given that his care is more about management to what I see as a bit of an extreme degree (why a mobile in his hospital room? Is that necessary?), as someone with anxiety, I recognize that tools are needed to manage it.

Well as for the mobile he is in the peds ward and that could just be a thing standard for that wing.

Kinda makes ya wonder about her dad though. There's some issues Amber needs to get through and hopefully her mom can make her see the light. 

[Wittlebabiboi]

This chapter really stood out to me because of how much is happening under the surface in the interactions, especially coming right after how bad things actually were for Paul at school. As per usual for me lol. But I have very much toned down my comments on the chapters overall in general. 

The hospital setting itself also feels important. The children’s wing, the room setup, even the tone of it all leans younger and almost reinforces regression. It doesn’t feel neutral—it feels like an environment that subtly pushes him in that direction. Even something like the coach sending a little kids-style hoop stood out. I get the intention, but it adds to that same dynamic instead of helping him move forward.

At the same time, it highlights how isolated Paul really is right now. Even the person trying to support him is softening the truth, which doesn’t give him a stable footing.

Which also makes the absence of others stand out more. Why hasn’t Leo checked in? Why haven’t any of the adults connected to the play reached out, especially after how serious things got? That silence feels noticeable.

Overall, the dynamic between Amber and Paul here feels like progress on the surface, but still fragile underneath—especially with things being left unsaid and an environment that doesn’t seem to be helping him move forward.

I also don’t read Paul as completely naive here. It feels like he knows, at least on some level, that his friends have pulled away from him. That makes some of these moments hit harder, because it’s not just confusion—it’s awareness without anyone really acknowledging it.

Amber coming to see Paul feels genuine in terms of her trying to be better, but she’s still not fully honest about how bad things actually are. Perhaps she is trying to protect herself and Paul. Or she doesn't know how to be true to herself. Given what we saw leading up to this, it feels like she’s filtering reality rather than confronting it. It reads less like she’s lying and more like she can’t bring herself to say it out loud, but the effect is the same—Paul isn’t getting a clear picture of what he’s walking back into.

Marcus also stands out in contrast, even though he’s not present in this chapter. Based on what we’ve already seen, his role still feels very calculated. He benefited from what happened, avoided real consequences, and now just has to maintain the appearance of remorse. That makes Amber’s inability to see through him more frustrating, especially when it feels pretty clear what he’s doing.

[Frostybaby]

14 minutes ago, Wittlebabiboi said:

This chapter really stood out to me because of how much is happening under the surface in the interactions, especially coming right after how bad things actually were for Paul at school. As per usual for me lol. But I have very much toned down my comments on the chapters overall in general. 

The hospital setting itself also feels important. The children’s wing, the room setup, even the tone of it all leans younger and almost reinforces regression. It doesn’t feel neutral—it feels like an environment that subtly pushes him in that direction. Even something like the coach sending a little kids-style hoop stood out. I get the intention, but it adds to that same dynamic instead of helping him move forward.

At the same time, it highlights how isolated Paul really is right now. Even the person trying to support him is softening the truth, which doesn’t give him a stable footing.

Which also makes the absence of others stand out more. Why hasn’t Leo checked in? Why haven’t any of the adults connected to the play reached out, especially after how serious things got? That silence feels noticeable.

 

@Wittlebabiboi,

Thanks so much for your insights here, I really enjoy better understanding how certain chapters & story beats are being viewed by the readers. 

About the basketball hoop and maybe I need to do a better job desicribing it but it was meant to resemble the pic below, not so much a kiddi basketball set but something more like an episiode of "Saved By the Bell" when Zach's knee got hurt and the team brought him a practiuce hoop that could be used in door so he could practice shooting from his bed. 



Also, we did have a text message from Leo, which Paul didn't open due to him reading the "breakup " texts from Mitchell & Zach. But we are seeing some reach out, and you're totally right about being isolated. It's an intentional move on my part, setting up something better and more meaningful for Paul as we get closer to closing out vol. 1. He won't be alone. 

Also, Marcus's story is just beginning in smaller doses, and while Amber is still blinded, the material is wearing thin, so more light is coming through. 

 

[Wittlebabiboi]

@Frostybabyyeah no doubt I know theres been a slow burn . Maybe I skimmed the text threads. I assumed there'd be more to come with Marcus and Amber. You know I've been on the train since the beginning and used to be more active as a commenter but have stepped away from being more active on the comment thread. I mean there is a ton to unpack from even then adults processing information and as we have more characters there's more story to unpack. I certainly know Bryan will have alot to process through this.

I still would say the hoop is a kids hoop considering Paul's size listed in the earlier chapters where you list his height in relation to Lilly and Bryan and Savvy. It definitely fits though like a subtle reminder of he's not big enough for fitting into the school team. It's a great subtle add that doesn't look out of place in Paul's room in the hospital, only out of place for the age and size of the patient. 

There's also the subtle notes that Lilly, Bryan, Martina, and Amber all harbor grief and loss that they really haven't seemed to process and for the adults they seem to look to caring for Paul as a means for escaping their grief from a time before Amber's dad (he really needs a name lol) left and Rachel died. Subsequently it might even be a similar subconscious trauma bond that draws Harley to Lilly. 

I still say it would be cool to have Marcus and crew have subtle nods to marvel since Paul and co are DC fans lol. 

I did kinda like the nurse taking away his phone a bit like it's a subtle regressive tactic.

Also will be getting a birthday call or anything from Ellie?

Thank you and as mention congratulations on the new place. 

[WBDaddy]

2 hours ago, bj & the bear said:

Kinda makes ya wonder about her dad though. There's some issues Amber needs to get through and hopefully her mom can make her see the light. 

Seeking out a strong man in spite of him being toxic as fuck = Daddy issues.  Maybe she does need a little regression therapy of her own. 

[bj & the bear]

1 minute ago, WBDaddy said:

Seeking out a strong man in spite of him being toxic as fuck = Daddy issues.  Maybe she does need a little regression therapy of her own. 

I agree, some regression therapy of her own just might do her some good. 

[Frostybaby]

Chapter One Hundred & Sixteen: Part Two:
The Van Buren house had slipped into that peaceful hush only a Monday evening after dinner could bring. Golden lamplight spilled from the living room windows onto the front porch, and the faint crackle of the dying fire still carried down the hallway like a lullaby. Kim stood at the bottom of the stairs, one hand resting lightly on the banister, her cream cardigan draped loosely over her shoulders. Charles stood beside her, his broad frame filling the space with quiet strength, the kind of steady presence that had anchored their family through every storm & celbration. They had decided together—quietly, after Mya & Robert had finished their evening chores—that tonight was the night they would tell both of them about Paul ahead of their near two week late December trip.

 

Kim’s voice was soft, the gentle Southern Georgia drawl wrapping around her words like warm honey. “Robert first, I think, then Mya-we can tuck her in after that.”

 

Charles nodded, his Mobile Alabama tone straight and warm. “Let’s do it right. No rush. They deserve to ask whatever they need to ask.”

 

The two parents climbed the stairs side by side, their footsteps soft on the carpet. Down the hall, Robert’s bedroom door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of lamplight spilling out. The space was a scholar’s sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two walls, packed tight with hardcovers on Roman history, constitutional law, political philosophy, and thick mystery novels —some stacked on the desk, others marked with folded pages or tabs. A neat wooden desk sat under the window, laptop closed and perfectly centered, a chessboard beside it with pieces arranged mid-game. A world map covered one wall, pinned with small flags marking places he had researched but not yet visited. Everything was orderly, logical, a reflection of the sixteen-year-old who already carried himself like someone twice his age.

Robert was sitting at his desk when his parents entered, a thick book on constitutional law open in front of him. He looked up, eyes sharp behind his glasses, as Kim and Charles step in, his posture straightening just slightly—not stiff, just attentive.

 

“You thinkin’ about Utah?” Charles asks, his tone easy, that Mobile drawl settling into the words like they’ve been there all along.

 

Robert shrugs lightly. “A little. I might try snowboarding. Or just take pictures. Depends how it looks out there.”

 

Charles nods. “Ain’t a bad way to spend your time.”

 

Kim steps a little closer, resting her hand lightly on the back of his chair. “We wanted to talk to you about Paul, sweetheart.”

 

Robert’s expression shifts—not alarmed, just focused.

 

“What about him?” he asks.

 

Charles exhales slowly, leaning his weight onto one foot. “Boy’s been through somethin’ rough,” he says, plain and direct. “And he’s dealin’ with the after of it.”

 

Robert watches him closely.

 

“What kind of after?” he asks.

 

Kim answers this one, her voice soft but steady. “His body’s havin’ a hard time keepin’ up with him right now. When he gets stressed… or overwhelmed… it reacts faster than he can control.”

 

Robert’s brow furrows slightly.

 

“…like panic attacks?” he asks.

 

Charles shakes his head. “Deeper than that. It hits his muscles too. Makes him weaker sometimes. Throws off his balance. Even how he moves.”

 

Robert nods slowly, processing.

 

“And… there’s more,” Kim adds gently. “Sometimes…well, just in case he wears protection.”

 

Robert’s eyes flick down for a second.

Then back up.

There’s a pause.

Robert leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair.

 

“That’s… a lot,” he admits.

 

Charles nods once. “Sure is.”

 

Another pause.

 

Then Robert asks the question that’s been sitting there.

 

“…what do you want me to do?”

 

Charles doesn’t hesitate.

 

“You treat him the same,” he says. “Respectfully. Like you always would.”

 

A beat.

 

“But you don’t ignore it either,” he adds. “If he needs space, you give it. If somebody else says somethin’ stupid, you shut it down or you walk away. You don’t join in.”

 

Robert nods. Firm.

 

“I wouldn’t,” he says.

 

Charles studies him for a second longer, then gives a small nod back.

 

Kim’s voice softens again. “He may act a little differently than you remember, sweetheart. There might be times where he leans younger than 18 but that doesn’t change who he is.”

 

Robert exhales slowly.

 

Then nods again.

 

“…it doesn’t,” he agrees.

 

 

Mya’s room is alive in a way only a nine-year-old’s world can be. String lights loop loosely along the wall, casting soft gold against a collage of drawings—animals, trees, a carefully labeled “Eagle Trail Map” she’d made herself, complete with hand-drawn badges and checkpoints. A green sash hangs proudly from a hook near her closet, patches stitched in uneven rows—camping, first aid, wildlife tracking—each one a story she’s already told a dozen times and will tell a dozen more. Soft pastels spill across the walls, hand-drawn pictures taped in uneven rows—flowers, animals, a very ambitious but slightly crooked snowman labeled “Elsa’s Friend.” A small pile of stuffed animals crowds the corner of her bed, arranged like an audience waiting for something to begin. There’s glitter somewhere it shouldn’t be. There’s always glitter somewhere it shouldn’t be.

 

Mya sits cross-legged on the bed, already bouncing slightly with energy she hasn’t spent yet, her eyes lighting up the second Kim and Charles step in.

 

“Are we packing tonight?” she blurts, unable to hold it in. “Because I already know what I’m bringing—my pink boots and the fuzzy hat and—”

 

Kim laughs softly, settling onto the edge of the bed beside her, one hand smoothing over Mya’s hair. “Slow down, sugar,” she murmurs, her voice warm like honey. “We’ll get there.”

 

Charles leans casually against the dresser, arms folding loosely as he watches the two of them, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

 

“You excited about the trip?” he asks.

 

Mya gasps like it’s the best question anyone’s ever asked her. “YES. I’m gonna build a snowman—like Elsa—but better. And I’m gonna drink the sweetest hot chocolate ever and—and—and—” she stops, breathless, then adds in a whisper like it’s sacred, “with marshmallows.”

 

She stops mid-breath, her mouth still slightly open, eyes darting between her parents as she finally registers the way they’re standing.

 

Not rushed. Not laughing.

 

Just… there. Her smile softens.

 

Curiosity takes over.

 

“…what?” she asks, quieter now.

 

Kim moves first, sitting beside her, one hand immediately finding its place in Mya’s hair, smoothing it gently back.

 

“Nothin’ bad, baby,” she says softly, her Georgia drawl wrapping warm around every word. “Just somethin’ we wanna talk through with you, alright? You remember Paul? Aunty Lilly’s son?” Kim asks softly.

 

Mya beams. “He’s the tall one who lets me win games.”

 

Charles huffs a quiet laugh. “Sounds about right.”

 

Kim smiles, then brushes her thumb lightly along Mya’s cheek. “Well… Paul’s been a little sick lately.”

 

Mya’s expression changes—not fear, not panic—just… processing. Her brows pull together slightly, her lips pressing into a small line as she thinks it through.

 

“…like a fever?” she asks.

 

Kim shakes her head softly. “No, baby. Not that kind.”

 

Mya tilts her head, eyes narrowing just slightly in concentration.

 

“Sometimes,” Kim continues, slower now, choosing words Mya can hold onto, “Paul’s body gets a little confused. When he feels big feelings… or gets tired… or even just overwhelmed… his body reacts before he can stop it.”

 

Mya’s face scrunches slightly.

 

“…like when I trip ‘cause I’m runnin’ too fast?” she asks, testing the idea.

 

Charles nods once. “That’s close enough.”

 

Mya nods slowly back, but her eyes flick down, then back up again, thinking harder now.

 

“And… sometimes,” Kim adds gently, “he wears a little extra protection to help him when that happens.”

 

There’s a pause.

Mya’s eyes widen just a touch.

 

“Oh… like William?” she asks, softer now.

 

Kim nods.

 

Mya’s lips part slightly, her expression shifting through a quick series of reactions—surprise, confusion, then something softer, more understanding.

 

“…oh.”

 

She looks down at her hands for a second.

 

Then back up.

 

“Okay,” she says.

 

Not dismissive. Not careless.

Just— accepting.

 

Kim watches her closely, brushing her thumb along Mya’s cheek again. “And sometimes, he might act a little younger. Like he might wanna play more with toys, or you might see him drinking from a sippy cup, or take naps as William does.”

 

Mya’s face brightens again almost instantly, her eyebrows lifting.

 

“That’s okay!” she says, a small smile breaking through. “I like doin’ that stuff sometimes too.”

 

Charles chuckles under his breath.

 

Kim smiles warmly. “We know you do.”

 

“But listen to me,” Kim adds softly, her voice just a little firmer now. “That doesn’t make him any less of who he is. He’s still grown. Still just like Savvy.”

 

Mya nods again—this time more serious.

 

“I won’t make fun of him,” she says quickly, almost like she needs to say it out loud to make it real.

 

“We know you won’t,” Charles replies.

 

Mya pauses. Her face shifts again—this time into something brighter, more purposeful.

 

“Can I invite Paul and Savvy for a hot chocolate tea party after we all build snowmen? And I could help Savvy read both William and Paul a story before they take a nap together? I’ll make sure they have all their favorite stuffies!”

 

She stops, looking between them, hopeful. Kim’s expression softens deeply.

 

“I think some of those ideas sound super fun, baby girls, especially about the snowmen and hot chocolate. So keep those ideas in that big, smart, and caring head of yours, and when we get to Utah, we can ask to see what memories we can make happen.”


The string lights in Mya’s room don’t switch off all at once. They fade. Softly. One tiny bulb dimming, then another, until the glow becomes less about light and more about memory—warmth lingering in the shape of something that just happened. The last strand flickers faintly against the wall, casting small golden halos that blur at the edges—and then—that glow stretches. Pulls. Becomes something else.

 

Morning.

 

The early sunrise was just beginning to peek over the low clouds, turning the sky into a watercolor wash of soft pinks and oranges that spilled through the tinted windows. Bryan sat in the driver’s seat, hands steady on the wheel, his posture the careful, protective one he had worn the night he and Rachel drove Paul home from the hospital as a newborn—slow, deliberate, every turn taken with extra caution.

Lilly rode in the captain’s chair beside him, her pink paisley Panthers jersey was thrown on last minute when the hospital called and cleared Paul for an early morning discharge. One hand resting on the center console as if she could reach back and steady her son with a single touch. He’s finally coming home, she thought, the words wrapping around her heart like a warm blanket. My boy. My sweet, brave boy. The ambitious woman she used to be—the one who chased red carpets and sponsorship deals—felt like a distant memory now. That version of Lilly would have been checking her reflection in the visor, worrying about how the hospital stay had affected her skin or her next shoot. This Lilly, the one who had spent the last few months learning what it meant to be someone’s safe place, only cared that Paul was breathing easy in the back seat.

 

Paul was only half-awake, the OxyContin Dr. McGinues had given him thirty minutes before discharge was doing its gentle work. His sunglasses hid the heavy eyelids, the blue lenses reflecting the sunrise in faint streaks. He sat slumped against the seat, posture telling the whole story: Batman plushie clutched tight in one arm, the prescribed pillow pressed firmly against his broken left rib in the other. The thick diaper beneath his teal shorts crinkled softly with every small shift, but Paul was past caring. Home, the little side whispered, safe and sleepy. Daddy’s driving. Mommy’s here. The big side, still fighting to stay present, managed one last coherent thought before the medication pulled him under: I made it through the fight. I made it through the talk with Amber. Maybe… maybe I can make it through whatever comes next.

 

Lilly reached back gently, her fingers stroking Paul’s right arm in slow, soothing circles. “Are you still with us, honey?” she whispered, voice soft and full of that new-mother tenderness she had grown into over the last few months.

 

The only answer was a slight snore, quiet and content.

 

Lilly couldn’t help but smile as she turned to Bryan. “Guess not.”

 

Bryan’s eyes crinkled at the corners, the careful driver momentarily softening. “It’s a good thing we got his room ready. Seems like he’ll be testing it out sooner than expected.”

 

Lilly closed her eyes for just a moment, the sunrise warming her face through the windshield. In her mind she pictured the new room waiting at home—the soft teal paint on the walls, the accent wall with its bright superhero mural watching over the rail bed like silent guardians, the sports-themed mobile already wound and ready to spin above Paul’s head. She could almost hear the gentle lullaby, see Paul tucked in safe and sound.

 

The early-morning sun now fully risen and casting long golden beams across the front porch as Bryan rolled the car into the driveway. He killed the engine and stepped out, the cool morning air brushing against his face as he circled to the passenger side. Lilly was already there, opening the opposite rear door with quiet care. She gently removed the pillow from Paul’s arms first, then eased the Batman plushie free, setting both on the seat beside him. Paul didn’t stir—deep in the heavy, healing sleep the medication had granted him. Bryan leaned in, unbuckled the seatbelt with practiced hands, then bent down and slid his arms beneath his son. In one smooth, careful motion he lifted Paul out of the car, the weight of his eighteen-year-old body familiar yet still surprising in its vulnerability. Lilly was right there, guiding Paul’s rubbery arms up and around Bryan’s neck so they draped loosely over his shoulders. Paul stirred just enough to mumble, voice thick and sleepy.

 

“Dad…?”

 

“Easy there, buddy,” Bryan murmured, voice low and steady, the same tone he had used when Paul was small and scared of thunderstorms. “I’ve got you. We’re home and we’re just gonna get you tucked in for a quick nap, okay?”

 

Paul didn’t answer with words. Instead, he instinctively nuzzled his head into the crook of Bryan’s collarbone and shoulder, the simple trust of it hitting Bryan square in the chest. My boy, Bryan thought, the father in him swelling with a fierce, protective love that had only grown stronger through every hospital visit, every late-night worry, every step of this long road. Still my boy, no matter how big he gets.

 

Bryan carried Paul through the front door, Lilly holding it open and then following close behind. They moved through the living room—past the couch where family movie nights had happened, past the kitchen where meals had been shared—and into the east wing where the new room waited. Bryan lowered Paul gently into the rail bed, the soft teal bedding welcoming him like an old friend. Lilly was quick to help, carefully removing the San Jose Sharks hockey jersey and the teal shorts, leaving Paul in just the black onesie. The thick diaper peeked out at the leg holes, a quiet reminder of everything they were still learning to navigate together.

 

Lilly draped a baby-blue blanket with white trim across Paul’s legs and midsection, tucking it snugly around him to keep him cozy. She leaned down and pressed a quick, loving kiss to his forehead, lingering just long enough to feel the steady warmth of his skin. Sleep tight, my sweet boy. Bryan reached up and gently turned on the sports-themed mobile above the bed. Footballs, basketballs, baseballs, and hockey pucks began to spin slowly, the soft instrumental lullaby filling the room like a promise of rest. Lilly leaned back into Bryan’s chest, his arms coming around her waist as they both stood there watching their son sleep soundly. The rail bed enveloped him protectively, the superhero accent wall standing guard, the morning light filtering through the curtains in soft golden beams.

Relief washed over them both—deep, bone-tired, and profoundly grateful.


A gentle mechanical hum layered with something lighter—tiny chimes, the faintest lullaby threading through the air like it’s afraid to be too loud. It doesn’t pull him awake all at once, it coaxes him there, tugging gently at the edges of his consciousness until the darkness behind his eyes begins to thin.

 

His breathing shifts first. Slow… then slightly deeper.

 

And somewhere between one breath and the next—he starts to come back. Not fully. Not yet. But enough.

 

The light behind his eyelids changes.

Warmer.
Softer.

Morning has already passed—this isn’t that sharp, early brightness. This is something quieter. Afternoon light filtering in through curtains, diffused, patient… the kind of light that waits for you instead of demanding you wake up to it.

 

His eyes flutter.

Once.

Twice.

Heavy.

 

Still weighed down by everything that had been given to him—everything his body is still working through—but eventually they open, just a fraction at first, the world bleeding in slowly, out of focus, like a lens trying to find its mark. Above him—movement. Shapes. Blurred colors spinning gently against a pale ceiling. He doesn’t understand it at first. His brain lags behind what his eyes are seeing, trying to piece together something that isn’t quite there yet. The motion is too soft, too repetitive to feel threatening. If anything… it feels familiar.

 

Safe.

 

The lullaby continues.

 

And as his eyes begin to adjust—the shapes sharpen.

Footballs. Basketballs.
Baseballs. Hockey pucks.

 

Turning lazily overhead.

 

A mobile.

 

A slow blink.

 

Then another.

 

Reality begins to settle.

 

Paul exhales quietly, his lips parting just slightly as he stares up at it, watching the way the pieces catch the light as they turn. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all. Doesn’t think. Just… watches. His head shifts slightly against the pillow, the movement slow, careful, his body reminding him immediately that it’s still not ready for anything sudden. The dull ache along his ribs hums beneath the surface—not sharp, not overwhelming, just… present. Constant. Like a reminder his body refuses to let him forget.

 

He turns his head.

 

Left.

 

And that’s when he sees it.

 

At first—it’s just color.

 

Muted tones blending together, edges soft, undefined. His vision takes a second longer to catch up this time, the world still swimming just slightly as his brain struggles to sharpen what it’s being given. But slowly—it clears. And the wall comes into focus.

 

Heroes.

 

Not towering. Not overwhelming. Batman stands slightly to the side, grounded and steady. Superman beside him, strong without needing to prove it. Wonder Woman at the center, calm, confident. Green Lantern, Nightwing, Batgirl—all arranged not like something larger than life, but something closer.

 

Something watching.
Something protecting.

Paul’s eyes linger there, his expression softening without him realizing it. There’s something about it—about the way they’re painted—that doesn’t feel loud or dramatic. It feels… intentional. Like they were put there for him. Not to impress.

 

But to comfort.

 

His chest rises slowly.

Then falls.

 

And only then does he realize—how warm he feels.

 

Not hot.

Not suffocating.

Just… wrapped.

 

His fingers twitch slightly against the fabric beneath them, and instinctively, without thinking, he tugs the blanket down just a bit, needing to feel it, to understand it. The texture meets his skin immediately—soft, impossibly soft, the kind of fabric that almost melts under his touch.

 

His hand moves over it slowly.

 

Once.

Twice.

 

Grounding himself in it.

 

It’s real. He’s here.

Another breath.

 

And as the blanket lowers just slightly—the air touches him. Cool. December. Not harsh, not biting—but enough to make the contrast noticeable, enough that his body reacts before his mind fully does. A small shiver runs through him, subtle but present, his muscles tightening just enough—and then— that feeling.

 

Familiar.

Unavoidable.

 

The soft, unmistakable squish beneath him. The reality of another night (or morning nap) of his body doing what it needed to do without his full control. The little side inside him accepted it with quiet resignation, finding a strange safety in the padded protection. The big side winced, embarrassment flickering hot in his chest even in the privacy of his new room. Eighteen years old, he thought, the words heavy with old shame and new acceptance. And still waking up like this.

His jaw tightens just a fraction— then releases. And he breathes again.

 

Slow.
 

Measured.
 

Okay.

 

His head turns. Right this time. His arm follows, moving carefully, his fingers extend outward until they meet something.

 

Solid.

Smooth.

Wood.

 

He blinks, his vision tracking down to where his hand rests against the small wooden rail beside him, his fingers curling slightly around it as if testing it, confirming it’s there. The bed rail. His bed. A small shift of his weight—careful, cautious—and he begins to sit up, using the rail for support, his other hand pressing lightly into the mattress. It takes effort. More than it should. His body trembles just slightly, not violently, just enough to remind him that control isn’t fully his yet.

And as he lifts his head— as his eyes move past the rail—the room opens up. And that’s when he sees her.

 

Lilly.

 

Sitting in the rocking chair. Moving gently back and forth, the soft creak of wood against wood finally synced with the sound that had been pulling him awake all along. Her posture is relaxed, one leg tucked slightly beneath her, her arms resting loosely in her lap, her head tilted just enough that she’s been watching him longer than he realizes.

 

Waiting.

 

The motion of the chair slows slightly as she notices him fully awake now, her eyes softening instantly, that same warmth—the same steady, unwavering presence—wrapping around him before she even says a word. The sight brought Paul fully back to the world of the living. For a fleeting, dream-like second, his vision played a trick on him. He saw Rachel there — his mother’s gentle smile, the way she used to rock him when he was small, humming the same lullabies that still lived in his memory. Then the image shifted, overlapping with Mama Kim’s warm Southern presence, the soothing voice and comforting hugs from the Van Buren house that had felt like a second home during the hardest days. All three women — Rachel, Kim, and now Lilly — blended in that moment, each one having watched over him while he napped, each one waiting patiently for him to wake up.

 

Paul’s throat tightened. They’ve all been here, he thought, the big side feeling the ache of loss for Rachel and the complicated gratitude for Lilly’s new role. The little side felt safe, held, loved in a way that made tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Mommy… all of them… waiting for me. Rachel would have loved this room. Mama Kim would have made sure the blanket was the softest one in the house. And Lilly… she’s here. Really here. Not just the girlfriend who moved in with Dad. She’s my mom now, and I don’t know how to tell her how much that means without sounding like a little kid. The conflict inside him — big side wanting independence, little side craving the safety — felt less like a war in the moment and more like two parts of the same person finally learning to share the same bed.

 

Lilly’s eyes met his, soft and full of that deep maternal love she had grown into. She leaned forward in the rocker, voice gentle.

 

“Hey there, sweet boy. Welcome back.”

He exhales softly, his voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?” he murmurs, shifting just slightly, his ribs reminding him they’re still there, still healing. A beat passes, then a faint, almost sheepish add-on, “I’m kinda hungry…”

 

Lilly’s smile deepens, something warm and grounding in the way she looks at him—not amused, not surprised… just present.

 

“It’s just about 12:30,” she says gently, her voice carrying that quiet reassurance. “Your dad’s just finishing up some sourdough B.T.L.T. sandwiches on the panini press. Does that sound good?”

 

Paul’s lips lift into a small, genuine smile, the kind that doesn’t need effort. “That sounds great…” he pauses, his hand instinctively brushing down over the blanket, over himself, awareness catching up again, “…but could I get a change first?”

 

“Of course, honey,” Lilly answers immediately, no hesitation, no shift in tone—just calm certainty.

 

Paul nods, taking a slow breath before he moves. Carefully—deliberately—he swings his left leg over the low rail… then his right, the motion controlled but not effortless. Lilly is already there, one hand steadying his arm, the other hovering just enough to catch him if he needs it—but not taking over.

 

His feet meet the floor.

And he pauses.

 

Because the first thing he notices—is the texture. Soft. Springy. The foam padding gives slightly beneath his weight, cushioning him in a way that feels unfamiliar but… intentional. His toes flex instinctively against the deep steel blue and grey puzzle panels, the surface cool but forgiving, stretching out across most of the room like a quiet promise of safety.

 

He takes a step.

Then another.

And that’s when he sees it.

 

Right in the center. The rug. Large. Round. It was a vibrant safari wonderland on a cream background, framed by a decorative geometric border of warm triangles. A cheerful lion with a golden mane roared proudly in one section, a gray rhino ambled nearby with a friendly smile, zebras with bold black-and-white stripes stood tall, a pair of tigers lounged together with playful grins, a tall giraffe reached for leaves on a tree, a crocodile grinned from a winding blue river, a green snake coiled curiously, and an elephant trumpeted with joy. Palm trees, baobab trees, patches of grass, bright flowers, and meandering river paths connected the animals in a joyful circle, turning the rug into a living storybook map under his feet. The soft, thick texture felt incredibly inviting and plush against his bare toes, like stepping into a gentle, comforting adventure that wrapped the whole room in warmth and playfulness.

 

His eyes lift—and land on the wall.

 

And this time—he doesn’t blink. The mural stretches across the wall in front of him, color and motion captured mid-moment—Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo—all gathered around, pizza in hand, laughter frozen in paint. April’s there, smiling, Splinter calm and proud… and off to the side, Shredder—knocked flat, defeated in a way that somehow still feels playful.

 

It hits him all at once.

 

And for just a second—his world splits. The little side inside Paul absolutely squealed with delight. Turtles and pizza! it thought, the words lispy and babyish. All my favorites! They’re eatin’ pizza just like me and Daddy watch on the TV!

The big side focused on the practical—the brand-new, permanent changing table, prominently positioned in front of the mural. It was white, sturdy, and fully stocked. On the bottom left, stacks of his diapers were neatly arranged: Safari prints, Dino designs, and Critter Caboose all piled high and ready, layers of protection waiting without apology. To the right, wipes, powders, creams—all organized, all visible, all part of a system that doesn’t pretend it doesn’t exist.

“Wow…” he says quietly, his voice thoughtful more than anything. “You guys really went all out with the room and everything… the painting is really something…” his eyes flick back briefly to the mural before returning to the table, “…but what happened to the other table? You know… the one we could fold away and hide?”

 

Lilly doesn’t answer immediately. She reads him first. Sees the hesitation—not fear, not rejection… just uncertainty.

Then she steps beside him, her voice calm, grounded, steady.

 

“Oh, honey… we got you an upgrade,” she says softly, her hand brushing along the edge of the table. “See how the sides come up and down? That way you’re completely safe without needing a strap.”

 

She turns slightly, meeting his eyes now. “And Paul… we can lock this room when we have company over. Nobody who doesn’t need to see this… will ever see this. Okay?”

 

Paul breathes in. Slow. Then out. And the tension that had crept into his shoulders eases just slightly.

 

“Okay,” he nods.

 

He steps forward. Sees the stool. Climbs up. Carefully turns, lowering himself onto the changing pad with a quiet, deliberate motion, the surface beneath him firm but padded, supportive in a way that feels different from the hospital—less clinical… more home. With Lilly’s help, he shifts onto his side, then slowly back, his head settling onto the foam pillow as she guides his legs in gently before lifting the side rail and locking it into place with a soft click.

 

There’s a pause.

Then—

the soft snap of fabric.

 

Paul glances down slightly as Lilly begins undoing the onesie, the motion routine, practiced—but then she moves. Around. To the other side. And without hesitation, she slides his arms free, lifting the fabric up and away, removing it entirely until he’s left in nothing but the thick, well-used diaper beneath. He blinks.

 

“What gives?” he asks, a hint of curiosity in his tone. “The onesie wasn’t that dirty… or smelly, was it?”

 

Lilly lets out a small, warm laugh, shaking her head. “No, no—nothing like that,” she reassures him gently. “We just need to get a new patch on you.”

 

Paul’s brow furrows slightly. “Patch?”

She held up a small, medicated Lidocaine patch.

 

“They probably gave you that medicine before they talked about your pain management plan. That’s okay, honey. They want to help you manage the pain without relying on oral painkillers like opioids, but instead things like Tylenol. They also want to see if Lidocaine patches like this one can help numb the area — 12 hours on, 12 hours off. So we’ll try this first, and then when we wake you up later tonight at twelve-thirty a.m. for a pill, we’ll remove the patch. Okay?”

 

Paul nods slowly.

 

“Okay.”

 

Her touch is gentle as she applies it to his left side, careful around the ribs, pressing it down just enough to secure it without causing discomfort.

 

Then she got to work on the change itself — the soft rustle of wipes, the faint crinkle of the soiled diaper being folded away, the quick, efficient sounds of cleaning and powdering. Paul stared at the ceiling, the little side finding comfort in the routine while the big side stayed quiet, grateful for the privacy and care. As Lilly fluffed out a fresh Dino diaper — white with colorful cartoon dinosaurs and playful “ROAR” lettering — she asked,  “Do you want another onesie, a romper, or some big-kid clothes?”

 

Paul thought for a moment, the big side weighing the options, the little side quietly excited at the memory of the last time. He let go of overthinking and simply said,

 

“Can I match? You know, with the dino romper. I liked it when I wore it the last time.”

 

Lilly smiled, soft and approving. “Of course.”

 

She finished the change with the same gentle efficiency, then helped him into the matching dino romper — soft, comfortable fabric patterned with bright cartoon dinosaurs, red trim at the sleeves and legs. She slipped fuzzy white socks onto his feet for extra coziness. Paul gingerly got off the changing table, feeling steadier now.

 

“Do you want your paci?” she asks gently.

 

Paul shakes his head, a small, quiet confidence in the motion. “I don’t think I need one right now.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Lilly smiled and, without thinking, took Paul’s hand gently in hers. They walked out of his new room together, the soft foam floor cushioning every step, heading down the hall toward the kitchen.

 

They heard Bryan’s voice before they saw him, warm and teasing from the kitchen island. “Hey, sport, how was your nap? All comfy and rested for some lunch and a tour upstairs?”

 

Paul squeezed Lilly’s hand once, a small, grateful smile on his face as they stepped into the kitchen together. The room smelled of toasted sourdough and sizzling bacon, the panini press humming softly.

 

 

 

Paul stands at the base of the staircase tucked behind the second-floor bookcase, his hand resting lightly against the wall beside him, his body already anticipating what’s coming before he even lifts his foot. There’s a quiet in the space—different from the rest of the house—like this part of it has been waiting.

 

Behind him, Bryan stays close.

 

Not hovering.

Not crowding.

Just… there.

 

A presence more than anything, his hands occasionally brushing near Paul’s back, ready if needed, never forcing it.

 

“Take your time,” Bryan says softly, his voice low and steady. “No need to rush it.”

 

Paul nods, more to himself than anything, and lifts his foot. The first step is careful. Measured. His body shifts with it, weight transferring slowly, the slight waddle more pronounced here—not exaggerated, not awkward… just honest. His hand slides along the wall, fingers brushing against it lightly, grounding himself with every inch gained. The stairs aren’t steep, but they feel longer than they used to. His breathing deepens slightly, not from exhaustion, but from focus. The bookcase shifts with a soft mechanical click, the hidden passage opening just enough to reveal the hallway beyond—and Lilly. Waiting. Exactly where she said she’d be.

 

And before he can even process it fully, his body moves forward, instinctively leading the way down the hall, Lilly and Bryan falling in step just behind him as if this was always meant to be his pace to set.

 

They stop. Right in front of a door.

His door.

 

Bryan’s voice breaks the quiet, light but carrying something deeper underneath. “Go on,” he says with a small smile. “Open it up… check out part one of your birthday gifts.”

 

Paul blinks.

 

“Gifts?” he repeats, the word landing somewhere between confusion and excitement, his hand already finding the doorknob before his brain catches up.

 

The smile hits him before the breath does.

 

It spreads fast—too fast—stretching across his face until it almost hurts, until his cheeks ache with the weight of it, until his eyes widen just slightly as if they need more space to take everything in.

 

Because it’s—his.

All of it. Exactly how it was.

Before.

 

The bed sits perfectly made, untouched by rails or reinforcements, the mattress smooth and open, sunlight spilling across it from the window in a way that feels almost unreal—like the room had been frozen in time and only just now allowed to breathe again. There are no plushies scattered across it, no pacifiers clipped nearby—just clean lines, quiet space, and something that feels undeniably him.

 

Paul steps inside slowly, his eyes moving without stopping. The closet. His chest tightens just slightly as he crosses toward it, pulling the door open and finding—his clothes. All of them. Hanging the way they used to. Organized. Open. Breathing. The space that had once been crowded, repurposed, reshaped around necessity—now restored. The absence of what had been there isn’t jarring.

 

It’s… intentional.

Like something was moved, not taken.

Given back.

 

All the diapers, toys, and baby clothes had been moved out, giving his adult attire room to breathe once more. The corner where the old changing table had stood was now completely free, the space open and normal.

 

Then he noticed it.

 

Bryan had added a second part to the desk—an extension with brand-new professional recording equipment. High-performance computer, a digital audio workstation the Pro Tools model, a quality audio interface, and industry-standard microphone the  Shure SM7B, all wrapped with a bright red ribbon like the most thoughtful gift imaginable.

Paul stops breathing for a second. Then turns. And he doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate. He just moves. Closing the distance in two quick, uneven steps before throwing his arms around both Lilly and Bryan, pulling them in tight, his voice breaking free without control.

 

“Thank you—thank you—thank you,” he repeats, the words tumbling over each other, raw and real and completely unfiltered. “This is amazing—this is—”

 

His voice catches.

Doesn’t finish.

Doesn’t need to.

 

Bryan’s arms come around him fully, strong and steady, Lilly’s wrapping just as tightly from the other side, the three of them folding into something that feels bigger than the moment itself. Bryan and Lilly completed the embrace, pulling him in tight between them. Bryan’s voice was thick with tears he didn’t bother hiding.

 

“It was our pleasure to help set you up for a future that is so rightfully yours, and how amazing the journey will be.”

He pulled Paul back just enough to look him in the eyes, tears glistening. “Paul, you have an amazing talent for performing—on stage or behind the microphone. Whatever path you take, I know you’ll succeed.”

Paul swallows.

Hard.

 

“But it’s more than that,” Bryan continues, his hand tightening gently on Paul’s shoulder. “What you’ve done these last few months… what you’ve pushed through… that’s what makes you incredible. Not the talent—the strength.”

 

A pause.

Then softer.

 

“We’re proud of you. Every part of you. And whatever comes next… we’re right here. Always. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. Ever. Not with us.”

 

The words settle into Paul slowly.

Not like a speech.

Like something he’ll carry.

 

The moment swelled with joy, sadness, and happiness all braided together—Paul’s big side drinking in the pride, the little side feeling safe and seen in a way he hadn’t in months. The emotional current was interrupted when Paul’s computer screen suddenly came to life across the room. Zoom flashed brightly: “Incoming call from Ellie.” His eyes widen instantly, the emotional weight shifting in an entirely different direction, something sharper, more nervous, more immediate.

 

“Oh—my—” he stumbles slightly, looking between the screen and his parents, energy rushing in all at once. “Dad—Mom—it’s Ellie—she’s calling—can I—can I take this?”

 

Lilly’s smile returns immediately, bright and encouraging. “Of course,” she says, already nodding. “Do it.”

Then she glances down—just briefly—and lets out a soft laugh. “You might want to throw something on over… that.”

 

Paul looks down at himself—then back up, nodding quickly. “Yeah—yeah—my Marlins jersey—that’ll work. She loves the color orange.”

 

“Hop to it, bud,” Bryan adds, stepping back slightly. “Call us after, alright? Just for the next week or two, one of us wants to make sure you’re good on the stairs.”

 

“Sure,” Paul says quickly, already moving, his fingers flying across the keyboard to type out a quick one sec. As he waddled quickly into the walk-in closet, the dino romper crinkling softly with each step. Bryan and Lilly made their way out of the room, closing the door gently behind them. In the hallway, they shared a quiet, proud look—parents who had just given their son back a piece of himself.

He pulled the bright orange Miami Marlins jersey over his head, the fabric sliding easily over the dino romper underneath. The jersey was loose and comfortable, the bold “MARLINS” lettering across the chest and the team logo on the sleeve a splash of normalcy that hid everything else—the thick diaper, the padded waddle, the vulnerability he still carried. It felt like armor, not for hiding, but for stepping back into the world as himself.  He slipped on the new headphones, adjusting the mic with careful fingers, his heart hammered with a mix of excitement and nerves as he clicked the green button on Zoom.

 

Ellie’s face lit up the screen almost immediately, her familiar smile bright and warm. A smile that hits fast and easy and real—until it doesn’t. Because she sees him. Really sees him.

 

And the smile fades.

Not dramatically. Not harshly. Just… softens.

Shifts.

 

Her eyes track across his face, taking in the black eye, the faint stitching along his cheek, the small discoloration that hasn’t quite faded yet, and something in her posture changes—leans in, just slightly, like distance suddenly matters more than it did a second ago.

 

“Paul…” she says, her voice quieter now, concern threading through it without hesitation. “What happened?”

 

“I uh…” he starts, his hand instinctively brushing against the edge of the desk before settling. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to connect. Things have just been… complicated.”

 

Ellie blinks.

 

Then tilts her head just slightly, her expression sharpening—not in judgment, but in clarity. Ellie leaned closer to her camera, her expression softening but staying direct.

 

“No. Every university student’s life is complicated, Paul. Your life looked like ‘complicated’ left after you got hit by a bullet train. What happened?”

 

Paul’s tracker pulsed yellow on his wrist, the familiar anxiety bubbling up. She deserves the truth, the big side whispered. But what if she sees me differently? What if she leaves like Zach and Mitchell? The little side curled tighter inside him, wanting the comfort of a pacifier not present, but he forced himself to stay present.

 

“I got into a fight,” he says finally, the words feeling smaller than they should. “At school. Because… well… it’s a long story.”

 

His jaw tightens slightly.

 

Ellie could see the nerves etched across his face—the way his shoulders tensed, the slight tremor in his hand. Her first reaction was gentle, protective.

 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, but I never figured you for a fighter at all.”

 

Paul huffs out the smallest breath, something almost like a humorless laugh.

 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’m… usually not.”

 

His fingers tap lightly against the desk once.

 

Twice.

 

“I just—he picked on me first,” Paul continues, his words starting to come a little faster now, not quite rushed, but not fully steady either. “It was stupid. We were playing pickup basketball, no real rules, kinda rough, and we both got into it. I mean, I won, but…” His voice falters, his thoughts catching again. “After that, he just—he…”

 

He swallows. Hard.

 

“My school saw what I was,” he says, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I… I kinda lost it because they saw—they saw—”

 

His breath stutters.
His chest tightens.

 

The spiral hit fast—memories of the gym, the laughter, the pantsing, the exposure. His ribs ached with every shallow breath despite the Lidocaine patch. They laughed. They all saw the diaper. They saw me as broken. The little side wanted to hide; the big side wanted to run from the shame.

 

“Hey,” she says quickly, her voice grounding, steady, cutting through the noise before it can build. “Breathe. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

 

She softens again immediately after, giving him room.

 

“You don’t have to say anything else, Paul. Whatever happened… it sounds like it hurt you. A lot.”

 

That kindness cracked something open in Paul. His brain—not the big side, not the little side, but the core of who he was becoming—spoke clearly: You can tell her. She trusted you with her diabetes. She checked her blood sugar right in front of you like it was nothing. She deserves the same honesty..only if you’re ready.

 

He took a few deep breaths, the pain flaring in his ribs, but he pushed through it.Then he looks back up. Right at her. And shakes his head slightly.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “I’m just… I’m in pain. I broke a rib in the fight.”

 

Ellie’s eyes widen just slightly. “A broken rib?” she echoes, leaning forward again. “Paul, that doesn’t sound like a fight—that sounds like a street fight.”

 

Paul lets out a breath through his nose, a faint, tired smile ghosting across his lips. “Yeah… it kinda was.”

 

A pause.

 

Then—he goes.

 

“The reason I got into it…” he says, slower now, more deliberate, like each word is being chosen instead of forced. “After the game… the guy I beat thought it’d be funny to pants me. In public.” His jaw tightens again, but he doesn’t stop. “And he did. And some of the school saw that…” He swallows again, but pushes through. “They saw that because of a medical condition… connected to stress and… muscle control… I have to wear… extra protection. Just in case.”

He doesn’t say the word.

He can’t.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

 

“But they saw it,” he finishes quietly. “They laughed. And then he hit me. And… yeah. We fought.” A small breath. “I’ve been in the hospital since Friday. Just got home today.”

 

 

There’s silence on the other end.

 

 

Paul feels the weight of everything he just said hanging there, exposed, vulnerable, too much, too real, and his next words come faster, defensive, already trying to close the door he just opened.

 

“I know it’s a lot,” he says quickly. “And if it’s too weird for you, we can just—like, we don’t have to talk again, because that’s what some of my—”

 

“No.”

 

 

Ellie cuts him off immediately. Not harsh. Not loud. But certain.

 

“No,” she repeats, softer this time, but just as firm. “I don’t want to stop talking to you.” Her eyes lock onto his, unwavering. “And no, I don’t think it’s funny that you have to wear protection.”

 

A beat. Then—

 

“I’m sorry,” she adds, her voice shifting again, warmer now, grounded in something real. “I’m really sorry you have to deal with that. But Paul…” She leans in just slightly. “You’re not alone. Okay?”

The words landed like a lifeline. Paul’s tracker, which had been climbing toward orange, slowly eased back to a fading yellow, inching closer to green. The nerves, the stress, the sharp pain in his ribs—they all subsided at once. The big side and little side inside him settled into a fragile peace. He wasn’t alone in this. Someone outside his immediate family knew, and she hadn’t run.

 

His shoulders drop just slightly, the tightness in his chest loosening as something close to a real smile finally breaks through.

 

“Really?” he asks, almost hesitant, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to believe it yet.

 

Ellie smiles back instantly.

 

“Yeah,” she says, a small laugh slipping in now, lightening the space between them. “Really.” She tilts her head just slightly, a spark returning to her eyes. “Now tell me you opened up a can of whoop ass on that piece of shit.”

 

That—that gets him. Paul’s cheeks flush immediately, the warmth rising fast, but this time it isn’t shame.

 

It’s something else.

Something lighter.

 

He looks down for a second, then back up, a shy grin finally settling in.

 

“Oh yeah,” he admits, softer now, but with a quiet pride underneath it. “I did enough to knock out a front tooth… and break his nose.”

 

Ellie’s eyebrows shoot up, impressed.

 

“Damn,” she says, shaking her head with a small grin. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

 

The nursery was wrapped in the soft hush of late evening, the kind of quiet that felt both peaceful and alive with the day’s lingering warmth. Paul sat on the Safari-themed carpet in the center of the room, the plush fibers cushioning him like a gentle embrace. He could hear the soft crinkle of his diaper with every small shift, a familiar sound that had become part of his evenings now. The gentle, rhythmic sucking of his pacifier filled his ears, steady and comforting, his little side was in the driver’s seat tonight, content and sleepy, while the big side hovered nearby, watching with quiet acceptance.

 

Bryan knelt down in front of him, one knee down first, then the other, the subtle shift of weight intentional as his hand moves behind his back, hiding something just out of sight for a moment longer than necessary—not for suspense, but for timing.

“Happy Birthday BUDDY”

Bryan reveals a sprawling, multi-level fortress of molded gray stone and sharp black panels, rising in jagged layers like a mountain carved into purpose, the centerpiece unmistakable—the bold, glowing bat emblem set into the front like a beacon, framed by angular supports that stretch outward like wings mid-spread. To one side, a command center unfolds in tiers—curved consoles with bright, colored panels, tiny embedded screens that look like they’re alive with information even when they’re not, the kind of detail that makes it feel like something important happens there, something controlled.

 

There are platforms that rise and connect, ladders molded into the structure, narrow walkways leading to lookout points, a side tower capped with blue and red accents that adds height and balance, giving the entire thing a sense of scale far beyond a toy. A circular chamber sits off to the right with a bold bat insignia stamped across it, while below, a central opening suggests hidden doors, secret passages, a place where things move unseen.

Even the colors feel intentional—deep blacks, slate grays, flashes of yellow and blue that break through just enough to keep it from feeling cold, turning it instead into something alive.


Paul’s big side froze in disbelief. He remembered. The offhand comment from that Saturday afternoon weeks ago—when Paul had casually mentioned how he never got a Batcave as a kid—came rushing back. Dad actually listened. He remembered something so small, so silly, and turned it into this. The little side erupted with pure, unfiltered joy. His body lifts before he can think about it, a soft bounce on his padded bottom, hands coming together in quick, uneven claps as joy bursts out of him in a way that doesn’t ask permission, doesn’t filter itself, doesn’t care if it makes sense.

It just is.

 

“Fank you, Dada!” he blurts, the words pushed through the pacifier, softened, rounded, but filled with something so bright it almost spills over.

 

Bryan’s face breaks into a smile that isn’t surprised. The moment felt dream-like, wrapped in the soft purple glow and the gentle sounds of the nursery, but it was real. Paul’s little side was fully in control, bouncing and clapping and making happy noises around the pacifier as he explored the Batcave’s levels.

 

Then the world shifted again.

The edges blur again, colors pulling back, warmth thinning just enough for something else to seep in underneath, and Paul’s voice echoes—not as bright this time, not as clear, but still reaching.

 

“Dada…”

 

The word stretches.

 

Softens.

 

“Daddy…?”

 

Darkness answers.

 

“…Dad…?”

 

The room is different now. Gone is the soft glow of imagination—replaced instead by the low, steady purple hue from beneath the bed, the LED lights casting long shadows across the floor, enough to shape the room but not enough to fill it.

 

Paul blinks.

Slow.

Heavy.

 

“…what’s… what’s going on…”

 

Bryan stands over him, the outline familiar even in the dim light, his presence grounding in a way that cuts through the haze without breaking it completely.

 

“Hey buddy,” he says gently, leaning forward just enough for his voice to land softly. “Come on, I just need you up for a few minutes.”

 

Paul groans faintly, his body resisting more out of instinct than intention, still caught halfway between sleep and waking.

 

“We gotta take that patch off,” Bryan continues, calm, steady. Then, lighter—just enough. “And… smells like a little stink bug might need a fresh change before getting back to bed, bud.”

 

Paul’s nose wrinkles faintly. Not fully aware. But aware enough. Bryan didn’t guide him out of bed. It was simply easier—and kinder—for him to slide his arms beneath his son and lift him gently, carrying him the short distance to the changing table. Paul felt the mess squishing underneath him as Bryan laid him down, cold and heavy, the unmistakable evidence of a full night’s need. He winced—not from pain, but from a quick flash of shame and disgust as the smell became more present in the quiet room. Not again, the big side thought, a flicker of embarrassment rising. But the little side stayed quiet, trusting, knowing Daddy was here.

 

Bryan worked with the same steady care Lilly had shown earlier. He gently lifted the left side of Paul’s Safari pajama top, carefully rolling Paul onto his right side to help as he peeled away the Lidocaine patch. He slid the top back down, then eased Paul’s pajama bottoms down until they bunched just below his knees. Paul, still in that slight regressed state, began to wiggle a little, the realization of the messy diaper and being woken up not sitting well with him.

 

Bryan’s voice took on that gentle “Daddy” tone—natural and warm, never forced. “Easy there, little man. Stop squirming. Daddy will get you all cleaned up as fast as he can.”

 

He leaned forward in the dim purple light, gently fished the pacifier up from where it hung on its clip, and slipped it back between Paul’s lips. The sucking started immediately, helping Paul settle as Bryan began the change.

 

“That’s it…” Bryan hums softly. “There we go… nice and easy…”

 

His words stayed soft and loving, baby talk that felt completely natural coming from a father who had learned how to meet his son exactly where he was.

 

“There we go, buddy… let’s get this stinky one off you. Daddy’s got you nice and safe.”

 

The motion of the wipes was gentle and thorough, the soft rustle as the dirty diaper was folded and set aside. Bryan kept Paul’s legs raised carefully with one hand while fluffing out the new diaper underneath. He added one stuffer, then paused, thinking to himself, Last one was near leaking. He could use a second for tonight. He slid in another, then rubbed in rash cream with careful, loving strokes before sprinkling a generous amount of baby powder—enough to ensure his son’s protection and comfort. The powder cloud rose softly in the purple light as Bryan taped the fresh diaper up snug and secure.

 

Both Bryan and Paul felt the added thickness immediately—the crinkle louder, the padding noticeably bulkier between Paul’s legs. A small whine escaped around the pacifier.

 

“It’s okay, buddy,” he murmurs, hands smoothing over the sides, grounding him. “Daddy just wants your nigh-nigh diaper to be extra comfy cozy, alright?”

 

The whining lingers.

Even as the pajama bottoms are pulled back up.

 

Bryan leans over him, brushing his fingers along Paul’s cheek.

 

“What’s wrong, bud?”

 

Paul pulls the pacifier free, his hand lifting sluggishly as he points toward his side.

 

“Hurt…” he mumbles. “It hurts…”

 

Bryan nodded, understanding immediately. First, helping Paul sit up, then reaching for two extra-strength Tylenol, and showing them to him, then placing the tablets into his mouth before guiding the sippy cup forward.

 

“Drink.”

 

Paul does. Swallows. A small sigh escapes him. Relief—partial, but real. Bryan then helps him down of the changing table and back toward the bed, one arm steadying him, but just before they reach it— Paul stops. Just slightly. The pacifier back between his lips, his words come out soft, garbled, small.

 

“No… sleep…” he murmurs. “Daddy… could you… rock me… please…”

 

His hand lifts weakly, pointing toward the chair by the window. Bryan nodded without hesitation.

 

“Yeah, bud,” he says quietly. “I got you.”

 

The chair creaks softly as he sits, adjusting Paul into his lap with careful precision, mindful of every angle, every pressure point, making sure he’s supported, safe and close. Bryan hums under his breath, the melody unstructured but warm, something old, something carried more in feeling than memory. His thumb brushes lightly along Paul’s temple, then back through his hair, over and over, until the motion becomes less about doing and more about being there. Adding a few loving & gentle diaper pats through the thick padding, the crinkle soft and reassuring under his palm.

 

He presses a kiss to Paul’s forehead.

 

Lingers for just a second longer than before.

 

Then pulls back, just enough to look at him.

 

Really looks.

 

The swelling has gone down a little. The bruising is still there, faint shadows against skin that used to be untouched, untested in this way. His lips part slightly around the pacifier, his expression soft, unguarded in sleep—no tension, no defense, no fear.

 

Just… peace.

 

Bryan exhales quietly.

 

Not relief.

Not completely.

But something close to it.

 

His hand moves lower now, resting lightly against Paul’s side, careful of the ribs, steadying him without waking him, and the rocking slows even further until it’s barely motion at all—just enough to keep the moment from breaking.

Outside the window, the night stretches on. Still. Unmoving. But inside—something has shifted.

 

Not fixed.
Not solved.
But held.

 

Bryan leans his head gently against Paul’s, just for a moment, his voice so quiet it barely exists beyond the space between them.

 

“I’ve got you, buddy…”

 

No response comes.

Not in words.

 

But Paul shifts slightly closer, his head settling more firmly into his father’s shoulder, the smallest, unconscious trust anchoring him there.

 

Bryan doesn’t move. Doesn’t need to. Because right now— this is enough. The chair rocks once more.

 

Then slows.

Then stills.

 

And in the quiet that follows, under the soft glow of the room and the steady rise and fall of his son’s breathing, Bryan simply sits there… holding him… long after sleep has already claimed him, as if letting go—even just to stand—would mean breaking something that had only just begun to mend.

[Babylukes]

Ellie is the best! We absolutely need Amber to see how true adult women treat Paul. This is another sign of how mature everyone else in Paul’s life is over Amber. Honestly Amber could absolutely use a drastic reset. I’ve hit the point Amber needs to be single so she can grow into a mature woman. Also regression for her is such a must. I’m so hoping the story goes that route but overall another great chapter! Can not wait for more chapters!

[NjoNjo056]

Great stuff.  Ellie, a breath of fresh air.  And her saying ‘you’re not alone’, telling!!  Starting to really look forward to the Utah trip now too!   Full of possibilities, especially if Paul can’t do winter sports, with his injury, and with Savannah around, and Kim too.