The Maid Chapter 10 November 28

[Ishigreensa]

character Notes:

Lena Moyoa- Main Protagonist

Nadia- Main Character's younger sister.  Mom- only support.  Dad- died named Authur.

Jennifer- Main antagonist

Max and Shawna- Antagonist's Parents

Brenda, Barbara, Cindy, and Angela- Antagonists' friends

Hannah- girl trapped in sick game with Angela.

 

This is the story of a family in real hardship… and some sacrifices that go too far!

I'm still writing Sent Away.  Just had been promising this one fo someone, and hopefully after a couple of Chapters, it will start making sense and become recognizable to someone that has been looking for it for a long time.

 

 

The Maid Child

by Ishigreensa

My name was Lena Moyoa. I don't really know what its from to tell the truth, but I was fifteen years old when life really f*cked with me.

One day, we had a nice house, dad and mom were happily planning my birthday. I sometimes snuck around a corner and listened in when I thought they might bring it up. I didn't really care what they got me, as long as I didn't hate it, so I was listening so that I could drop hints not to get things that I was outgrowing, or that didn't interest me.

But on one dark stormy summer night, dad never made it home.

Mom's frantic pacing wore grooves into the kitchen tiles. Her knuckles were bone-white against the phone receiver. "He's not answering," she kept repeating, voice cracking like thin ice. Rain lashed the windows like thrown gravel. I pretended to read comics on the couch, but the panels blurred into meaningless shapes. My stomach churned with the sour tang of dread. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

My little sister, Nadia who was ten, was sitting near me on the sofa, almost pleading with those soft brown eyes of her for me to do something that I hadn't done for at least two years. She was a big girl, now after all, and we all had our own friends, but I could see she was upset.

"Lena, what's happening?" Nadia whispered, clutching her stuffed rabbit so tightly its ears flattened. "Is Daddy lost?"

I frowned as I looked from Nadia to mom still pacing around, and the bright flash of light and a thunderous roar of lightning had suddenly startled even me. I yelped and shivered. It took a moment to recover.

"Nadia," I whispered. "Daddy doesn't get lost, does he? He might have just been smart about it and pulled into a safe place. That's why he's late, right?" I wanted to believe this as much as I was trying to convince my little sister. She was shaking so much. I sighed. Opening my arms, I waved her in. "Nadia, you better not tell anyone I let you sit in my lap," I joked with her. I doubted she would tell her friends. She was getting too old for that, anyway.

Nadia scrambled onto my lap, burying her face in my shoulder. Her rabbit's worn fur pressed damply against my neck.

Mom slammed the phone down. "That was Sergeant Diaz," she said, her voice unnaturally flat. "They found the car."

Rain hammered harder, a relentless drumbeat on the roof. "It's... totaled. In the ditch off Old Mill Road." Her knuckles weren't white anymore; they were grey, like old newspaper.

"No sign of him."

I pulled my little sister into me, and I rubbed her back. I didn't know they did that by phone these days! What a cold way to say it! I shivered.

Mom stared at the wall above the sink, her eyes unfocused. "Sergeant Diaz said... they're searching the woods now. With dogs." Her voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the storm's fury.

Nadia whimpered against my collarbone, her rabbit dampening my shirt. I held her tighter, my own fear a cold stone in my gut. Dad always called if he was late. Always.

I fought tears because if dad's car was in a ditch, but he wasn't in it, then this wasn't just a storm driving him off of the road. I had to think... some one was after him, but why?

Nadia lifted her head, her wet lashes sticking together. "Lena, is Daddy... dead?"

The word hung in the air, sharp and ugly. Mom flinched like she'd been slapped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Before I could stammer a denial, the phone rang again, a shrill scream cutting through the drumming rain. Mom lunged for it, fumbling the receiver. "Hello? Yes? Diaz?" Her voice trembled.

Nadia buried her face deeper into my shoulder, her small body rigid.

That's all I really cared to remember from that night when it all happened. They never found out exactly what happened, nor who or what did it, but daddy's body was torn to shreds, and barely recognizable by mom.

That had been near the beginning of August. But that's when trouble really started for us.

Mom was never the same after that. She became withdrawn, and quiet, and she was always looking over her shoulder. She started locking the doors and windows even during the day, and she even put up extra locks on the doors.

She was always jumpy, and she would sometimes scream at night. I would hear her crying in her room, and I would just lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what was going on.

Nadia would sometimes crawl into bed with me, and we would just lie there, holding each other, listening to the sounds of the night. That's when my little sister started peeing in the bed, and I had to sleep with her, so I smelled sometimes, but you have to do what you have to do, when you have to be the rock for your little sister because your mom is overwhelmed on top of not being able to hold things together financially.

The police came to our house a few times to ask questions, but they never found anything. They said it was probably a wild animal attack, but I knew that was bullshit. Dad was too smart to be taken by a wild animal. He was a hunter, and he knew how to handle himself in the woods. There was something bullshit about the story, but I had no proof. What was important... and what was so impossible at the time for mom... was, we needed to move on, but she couldn't do it.

Fast forward to August 28th....

 

Chapter One

The Shelter for a Night

 

“Mom?” we were walking away from our home of nearly 13 years, unable to afford the mortgage that my parents had been paying on it for all that time. I was a kid, so it didn’t strike me as funny, how being not even a month behind on rent…, we weren’t given any extra time at all. I just accepted it, that mom said we had to go.

The house was starting to get smaller in the distance as we walked, strangely, three ladies, one -- our mother, a full grown adult pushing a giant suitcase roughly down the sidewalk, Me-- fifteen years old, a backpack on my back and a smaller case in my arm, and finally my little ten year old sis, Nadia-- a child with a bunny in her arms and a backpack on her back like she was going to school. Well, except no toys at school, of course.

We had been evicted.

Mom didn't say it, but the landlord’s shouting echoed in the cracks between her silence.

 

Nadia clutched Mr. Flops, her rabbit’s ear frayed where she’d chewed it raw. "Are we going on vacation?" she asked, dragging her pink backpack over uneven pavement.

Mom’s suitcase wheel hit a crack and lurched sideways.

"Just... away," Mom muttered, righting it without meeting our eyes. Her shoulders were hunched, a fortress collapsing inward.

I looked from mom to Nadia, and no, Nadia would know tonight. She needed the truth though harsh as it was. The trick, was how to land it softly for her. I knew she had basically been born in that house. Everything she loves was in that house, except mom, me, and the rabbit she clung to in her arms.

"Vacation?" I echoed Nadia’s question.

I shifted the duffle digging into my shoulder, sort of to give me a moment to collect my thoughts as much as to find a more comfortable position for it.

"Kind of. We’re... finding a new place. Smaller. Cozier."

Mom flinched at the word 'smaller,' her knuckles tightening on the suitcase handle.

Nadia’s brow furrowed. "But Mr. Flops likes his room," she mumbled into the rabbit’s fur.

"He’ll get a new one," I lied smoothly. "Maybe with nicer wallpaper."

Mom’s pace quickened, her eyes fixed straight ahead on the bus stop sign two blocks down.

I wasn't sure what mom's plans were. I wondered if she had gotten a hold of Aunt Linda, or if grandma on dad's side would help. I knew her family had nothing to do with us, and I wouldn't take their help anyway with the way they treated Nadia and my mom! Who does that to their own daughter, what they did to mom?

"Mom," I asked cautiously, catching up to her jerking suitcase. "Where are we going?"

"I... I don't know," she kept looking straight without looking at me. "I just don't know. Your dad's family, they... they haven't been the same with us since your dad died two weeks ago. I don't think we can count on them, and I just don't know of anyone else...."

Nadia's grip tightened on Mr. Flops. "But Mommy, where will we sleep?" Her voice was small against the rumble of a passing truck.

Mom finally stopped walking, the suitcase tilting dangerously. She looked down at Nadia, then at me, her eyes wide and lost. "The bus," she said, her voice cracking. "We'll take the bus downtown. There's... there's a shelter in the park. We can sleep there, if we get there and block the bathroom door so no one can get in…."

"The park restroom?" I shook my head. "Really, mom?"

"Honey, there isn't any choice right now. We lost everything. I can't even get the money from the bank. They froze our assets. We don't have anything but what we have on us, and right now, that's just about fifty dollars, that I have to make that stretch as long as I can."

Nadia tugged Mom's sleeve. "But Mommy, I'm scared of the park at night." Her voice trembled, muffled against Mr. Flops.

Mom knelt, her worn coat scraping the pavement. "Me too, baby," she whispered, her hand brushing Nadia's cheek. "But we'll stick together. Lena will watch out for us, won't you?" Her eyes met mine, desperate and pleading.

I nodded, swallowing hard.

The bus stop bench felt like a sore ass through my jeans.

I heard the water from my sister's jeans falling through the open slats of the bus bench to the concrete below it. She had told us ages ago she had to go. It wasn't her fault. I put a protective arm around her, and looked around to dare anyone for laughing at her, but the stop was empty except for the three of us.

"I've got you, little sis," I whispered to her. "Just try to get to the park and then we can change your pants there, okay?"

The bus groaned to a halt, its doors folding open like a tired accordion. Mom shoved the suitcase inside first, a shield against the driver's bored stare. Nadia clung to my leg, her wet jeans cold against my skin.

"Step lively," the driver mumbled, not looking up from his crossword.

We shuffled down the aisle, the bus empty except for a man sleeping under a newspaper at the back. His snores vibrated through the vinyl seats. Mom chose a spot near the middle, sliding the suitcase sideways to block the aisle. Nadia scrambled onto the seat beside her, pressing Mr. Flops against her damp thighs. I sat across from them, my backpack heavy on my lap.

This was it. We were going to the only place mom could think of for shelter for now, and I really didn't know what to think about it. It wasn't like we had a choice, but why did dad's family turn on us? What was going on? I couldn't understand it.

The bus lurched forward with a hydraulic sigh.

Nadia whimpered, pressing her soaked jean covered legs together. "It's itching," she mumbled into Mr. Flops.

Mom stared out the rain-streaked window, her reflection ghostly against the passing streetlights. "Just a little longer, baby," she murmured, but her hand trembled where it rested on the suitcase blocking the aisle.

The sleeping man at the back snorted, shifting under his newspaper. The driver whistled tunelessly, steering us deeper into the city's grimy heart. Downtown loomed ahead, its tall buildings dark teeth against the bruised evening sky.

As the bus got closer to the park in the city, it filled up with people. Some people had trouble stepping over mom's suitcase, but what else could we do?

The bus driver yelled at mom to move her suitcase. "Lady, I'm not going to tell you again! Move that thing!"

Mom looked away and pretended not to hear him. She was staring at the window, but I could see her eyes were wet.

Nadia was shaking against her.

Finally, I got up and pushed the suitcase as close to mama’s seat as I could, and I sat on it so that people could step over my legs. People gave me dirty looks, but I stared back at them. What did they know? They didn't know we were homeless.

I wanted so much to tell people to stop being ‘the south end of a north walking donkey’ to my mother and sister.

Even if they didn't understand that this was all we had, that we could take with us, and that we were going to spend our first night on the streets in some filthy park toilets, at least they could act like they understood that there was no other place for our suitcase.

I was glad to sit on the suitcase, to be honest. Now, I was right next to mommy. I shivered. I needed her as much as Nadia did right now. And not just mom, but actually, mommy like I was five. I should have been ashamed to admit it, I know, but I was getting scared.

"Mommy," I whispered, leaning toward her. "Are we going to be okay?"

Mommy was shaking as she turned to look at me. She would never ignore my sister or me, and the only reason she ignored the driver, is the driver knew damn well there was no place we could have put that big suitcase out of the way, and it was the only way we could bring what we could with us--that and our bags that Nadia and I had.

"Honey, a lot of people live on the streets," she said trying to give me an answer without making it a committed possible lie. I saw through it. It meant, she didn't know, and that caused me to shiver a little.

The bus hissed to a stop downtown, its brakes squealing like a wounded animal.

Rain slicked the pavement, reflecting neon signs that screamed "PAWN" and "CASH ADVANCE."

Mom wrestled the suitcase off the bus, its wheels catching on the curb. Nadia clung to my hand, Mr. Flops dangling limply from her other fist.

"It smells funny," she whispered, wrinkling her nose at the damp exhaust fumes and stale fryer grease hanging in the air.

Mom scanned the street, her shoulders rigid. "The park's this way," she said, pointing down a shadowed side street choked with overflowing dumpsters. A distant siren wailed.

I looked through the darkening streets with a wide-eyed frenzy, making sure we weren't being watched, that we weren't being run up on, that nothing threatening was approaching.

Nadia had her bag in one hand and her bunny in the other. She walked with the rabbit now under her chin, and her legs shook. She stayed right up on mama, trying to keep in contact even though they couldn't hold hands. Mom's free hand, when it wasn't steadying the large roller-wheeled suitcase, was resting on Nadia's shoulder. I was just behind them, watching. The streets seemed to get darker.

The alley Mom turned down reeked of rotting food and stale urine. Water dripped from a broken fire escape overhead, splattering onto the cracked pavement.

Nadia whimpered, pressing her face against Mom's coat.

"Almost there," Mom murmured, her voice tight.

Ahead, the wrought-iron gates of the park loomed, rusted and chained shut. Beyond them, shadowed benches and skeletal trees waited. A flickering streetlight cast long, dancing shapes on the wet grass. I frowned at the chain that closed the gates of the park. How did mama expect us to get in there, now? Maybe we were later than she had planned. But would she have another idea?

"Lena, can you scale the fence?" she asked me. You go up first, and then help Nadia up," Mama started giving directions.

"What about you?" I asked mom.

She gave a tight smile. "I'll toss the bags over, then climb. Go." Her voice held a brittle optimism that didn't reach her eyes.

The wrought iron was slick with rain and city grime, cold biting through my thin sleeves as I gripped it. My sneakers slipped on the wet bars, but desperation lent me strength. I hauled myself up, the metal groaning under my weight, and dropped onto the damp grass inside.

Nadia stared up, wide-eyed.

It would be a very terrible climb for her, and she could get hurt. I looked back at mom. "I don't think Nadia can climb it."

"I can...," Nadia sniffled.

"No," mama snapped, sharper than I'd ever heard. "Nadia, climb onto my shoulders." She braced herself against the fence, knees bent.

Nadia scrambled up, clutching mama's coat collar, her sneakers digging into mama's hips. The fence groaned as mama pushed upward, straining. Nadia's fingers brushed mine. I grabbed her wrist, hauling her over the top. She tumbled onto the grass beside me, Mr. Flops landing face-down in the mud.

The large suitcase was the hardest part, and I had to climb back up to help mama lift it up high enough, and then balanced on the top of the fence, I looked at mama not knowing what to do.

"Just let it drop," mama told me. "Nadia, step back to the side, there, away from it."

I pushed the suitcase off the fence and it crashed onto the grass, splattering mud across Nadia's jeans.

Mama climbed next, her movements slower, heavier. Her coat snagged on a rusted spike near the top. She tugged sharply, fabric tearing with a sound like wet paper. When she landed beside us, breathing hard, a jagged flap of polyester hung loose at her shoulder.

Nadia picked up Mr. Flops, wiping mud from his face with her sleeve. "He's dirty," she whispered.

"I know," Mama said with a soft frown. "But at least you still have him. The bathroom's water should still work when we get there. You can try to wipe it off better with the water, baby."

I got down, and we all ran into the bushes. The gate was closed. Even Nadia knew that meant we weren't supposed to be here, but hopefully that meant, no one else had claimed the park bathroom.

The park was unnervingly quiet after the city's rumble, the storm having passed leaving dripping trees and sodden earth. We hurried avoiding the winding path slick with wet leaves. The suitcase wheels grinded through mud. Nadia stumbled beside Mom, clutching her muddy rabbit.

"The bathroom smells," she whispered as the small brick building came into view, its door hanging crookedly off one hinge.

Inside, the single stall reeked of stale urine and damp concrete. Mom propped the suitcase against the broken door. "It'll block it," she said, her voice thin. "For tonight."

Mama reached for Nadia’s rabbit while I secured my dufflebag against the suitcase, trying to make a pillow of sorts that we could brush against, hopefully keeping anyone else out. The door couldn’t be locked, and it wasn’t even fully on it’s bottom hinge. I wondered if someone could get in or not.

"Let me wash him," Mama offered softly, taking Mr. Flops and turning on the faucet.

Rusty water sputtered out, staining the porcelain sink brown. Nadia watched anxiously as Mama scrubbed the mud off with trembling hands. "See?" Mama held up the cleaner, though still damp, rabbit. "Good as new."

Nadia took him back, pressing her nose into his fur. "Still smells like park," she mumbled.

I was getting tired of her whining. I looked at her with that look, like I imagine I always gave her just before I’d tell her to shut up, and her lower lip went out in a pout, as if she would obey me, but she was having strong emotions.

“Lena, your sister is not a teenager. She’s not doing this on purpose. Give her a break, okay?”

I sighed. “Alright.”

Nadia curled up on the concrete floor, using her backpack as a pillow, Mr. Flops tucked under her chin. Her damp jeans clung to her legs. Mom sank down beside her, leaning against the suitcase barricade, exhaustion etching deep lines around her eyes. The single bulb overhead flickered erratically, casting jumpy shadows. Outside, the city’s distant hum felt like another world.

I opened the large suitcase, and noticed that it got dented a little, but at least it still opened and closed and nothing inside it was fragile enough to break from that fall earlier. I pulled out a pair of Nadia's panties and a thick pair of pajama pants, like for winter. We didn't have blankets.

"Nadia, change your pants," I told her. "You'll freeze to death in those wet jeans."

She blinked at me. "But Mommy said..."

"Nadia," I motioned for her to come to me. "Mommy said that you could change in the bathroom, remember? We are in the bathroom. Look, I know you're scared. Do you need help?"

She shook her head, and I handed her the dry clothes. Nadia scrambled behind the suitcase barricade, her small frame hidden as she peeled off the soaked jeans. Mom watched, her eyes hollow in the flickering light, fingers tracing the jagged tear in her coat sleeve.

"Your dad... he'd have known what to do," she murmured, almost to herself. "He always had a plan." Her voice cracked on the word 'plan,' raw and exposed.

"Dad was a hunter," I touched mom's torn sleeve. "But mom? You have a plan. We may not be in the safest place yet, but we have some shelter from the rain, and we will know if someone tries to get in our little shelter. You have a plan."

Mom's fingers stilled on the torn fabric. "Do I?" Her voice was flat, hollow.

Nadia emerged from behind the suitcase, her pajama pants pooling around her ankles. She clutched her wet jeans, shivering. "Lena?" Her whisper cut through the dripping faucet's rhythm. "Can you hold these?"

I took the cold, sodden denim, wringing them out over the drain. Water splattered, echoing too loud in the cramped space. Her panties fell from the insides of the jeans for she had been embarrassed and tried to hide them, but I grabbed them from her wrong, so when I wrung them out, the panties fell out of them.

"Let me try to wash them a bit," I whispered to Nadia as I took her panties and jeans to the sink and started to try to wash them. I tried to pump some soap, but there was no soap in the dispenser.

"Don't bother," Mom murmured, her eyes fixed on the cracked brickwork above the sink. "We'll hang them to dry overnight." Her voice sounded distant, like she was speaking through thick glass.

Nadia curled back onto her backpack pillow, Mr. Flops clutched tight. The flickering bulb buzzed like an angry insect, its light stuttering across Mom's face. She flinched with each pulse, her fingers digging into the suitcase fabric.

 

 

 

 

[Parkin]

Wow, that's one dark chapter 1! Really strange how the mother got paranoid and their money got frozen. There is something the father did or maybe he knew too much? Anyway very promising opening.

[Salsa]

Ooooh, okay. I am liking where this is going.

[Ishigreensa]

Chapter Two

A Mission for Safety

I sat on the hard concrete floor that smelled of strong smells from the sewers, or maybe it smelled that way because some girls peed on the floor? I had heard sometimes homeless people trying to use park places didn't always get to the toilet in time.

Nadia's embarrassment still hung over a steel pipe near one of the cubicles to a porcelain thrown. Nadia was clutching her rabbit, still wide eyed shaking terror in her bones--far too much so, than to sleep yet.

"Mama," Nadia asked the air, the whisper echoing in the dingy room we shared. "Are we supposed to be here?"

"No," mom whispered back a shaking jaw as she responded. I knew that mom hated breaking any rules, but we were desperate. "Why would we have to climb over a fence and sneak in here, baby, if we were allowed?"

"I... I don't know," Nadia looked down.

"Nadia, I'm not trying to chew you out. I just need you to understand, we are desperate and this is the only place we can stay right now that is as safe as we can get. I need you to stay quiet the rest of the night. I think they have a night guard here. It's one of the reasons I chose this place. While the night guard could be trouble for us if he discovers us, it is harder for someone else to get to us that way, too."

"Who would be trying to get us?" Nadia looked through the cracks in the broken door. "The people that got daddy?"

My mom flinched, her knuckles whitening on the suitcase handle. "We're not talking about that now," she said, her voice tight as a tripwire.

"First light, we move. Into the city. Find food, maybe... wash up." She avoided looking at Nadia's damp pajama bottoms or the wet jeans I'd hung over a pipe. The flickering bulb finally died with a sputter, plunging us into thick, greasy darkness smelling of urine and mildew.

I shivered, knowing that mama was right. Talking about it would give me nightmares, let alone Nadia.

I reached out and held Nadia's hand. "Sleep next to your sister," I said with a sly smile. "I'm scared. You'll protect me, won't you?"

Nadia giggled softly despite her terror. "You're silly!" she whispered, but she scooted over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist as we huddled together against the cold concrete wall of the shelter.

I lie there for a while, my eyes sometimes slipping into sleep getting heavier by the moment, and then a startling sound from some small animal outside would cause them to pop open, looking for the source.

I was a nervous wreck, and it didn't help that everything seemed pitch black now that the overhead light had given out. The floor was hard, it was cold, and there was a cool breezy that spilled through the cracks in the door.

My mom stirred beside Nadia, her breathing shallow and uneven.

"First light," she murmured again, more to herself than to us. "We move before anyone notices. Find food. Find somewhere... clean." Her voice cracked on the last word.

Outside, the distant wail of a siren echoed through the wet stillness, a reminder of the city’s indifferent sprawl.

I kept waking every little bit, throughout the night. At one point, Nadia nearly on me, sleeping and holding her rabbit against me, I felt the warmth spread into my lap as she wet herself on me. I sighed. Waking her was not an option. She needed her sleep, and I felt a little bit relieved, actually.

I had to go, and now she was peeing on me.... It was too dark to see anything. I was scared, and if I made any noise at all while a guard was nearby, he would catch us. I couldn't see, at all....

Maybe I could have held it longer, but Nadia's warm wetness soaking through my pajama pants broke the dam. My bladder emptied in a hot rush, pooling beneath me on the cold concrete. Shame prickled my cheeks in the pitch black.

Nadia slept on, oblivious, her damp rabbit pressed against my hip. Outside, footsteps crunched on gravel—too slow, too deliberate. Guard? I froze, breath catching, listening to the scrape of wet jeans against my legs as I shifted slightly. The footsteps paused near the door, then faded. Relief tasted metallic in my dry mouth.

I was just about to drift off again, having finished wetting myself like... I don't know what, and that's when Nadia whimpered. "I wet, again."

"I know, sis. It's okay. We can't see right now to change you. Just go back to sleep. We'll sort it in the morning. I promise. It's okay...," I was whispering my cheeks even redder, hoping she didn't realize that the new wave of wetness between us was because of me.

Morning arrived not with sunlight, but with a creeping gray dampness seeped into the shelter through the broken door. Rain had stopped, leaving the world slick and cold.

Nadia stirred against me, her pajama bottoms soaked through again, sticking to my own wet pajama pants. Mom was already moving stiffly, packing the suitcase with jerky movements, her eyes darting to the door.

"Up," mom whispered, her voice raspy. "Now. Before anyone comes." The air tasted stale, thick with the smell of urine and wet concrete.

"Mommy," Nadia started a little soft whimper. "I... I did it again. I ..."

"Shh," Mom cut her off, her eyes scanning the cracked door. "Later." Her voice was a cracked whisper, worn thin by the long night.

She stuffed the suitcase closed, the metal zipper scraping loud in the damp stillness.

"We move. Now."

The wet jeans hung limp and heavy over the pipe; she snatched them down, shoving them unceremoniously into the top of the suitcase, leaving Nadia's damp panties forgotten on the drain. The air clung to us, thick with the sour tang of urine – hers, mine, the floor's – mingled with mildew and cold concrete dust. Nadia shivered, the wet seat of her pajama pants dark against the faded flannel.

She ushered us getting the bags we had the night before, and getting my sister's stuffed rabbit, and then we were slipping out into the gray morning, my wet pajama bottoms sticking to my butt, my thighs, and smelling like I had just popped out of the sewer drain.

We walked along the park path, the wet grass slick under our shoes. Mom kept glancing over her shoulder, her movements stiff and jerky. The city loomed beyond the iron fence, a jagged skyline swallowed by low, heavy clouds. Nadia clung to my hand, her small fingers cold and damp. "My pants are wet," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's cold."

"I know," I whispered. "I peed my pants last night, too. But you better not tell anyone. I swear, I’ll deny it and tell everyone of your friends you pee the bed every night, right?"

Nadia mumbled. “I wasn’t going to, I promise.”

“I know,” I rubbed her back. “It’s just…. I over-re… I mean, I panicked when I realized I told you. I should have known better. I hugged her.

We came upon the entrance, which was still chained closed. The guard had not opened it, yet.

I don't know how long we were hiding behind the bush for the guard to open the park entrance. It seemed like ages. But when we saw a fat brown uniform clad man whistling as he approached the gate passing by where we hid, my nerves jumped a little.

 

Finally, we were being let out of the jail of our own making. I felt myself shiver in the crisp morning dew, the rain clouds still hovering over us.

"Just a few more minutes," mom's whisper was barely above her moving her lips, now as we waited. "We don't want to see him at all when we move, or he might turn around and catch us all."

My sister nodded silently. I squeezed one of her hands.

"When I say go," mom whispered as the man got further down the road, "we go fast, quiet, and straight for the bus stop."

Her gaze stayed locked on the guard's retreating back. Nadia's grip on my hand tightened, her nails digging into my skin. The chain clinked as the guard unlocked the gate, swinging it open with a rusty groan before ambling toward a small guardhouse. "Now," Mom hissed, pulling us forward.

Fearing my sister would drop her rabbit, and then want to turn around for it, I took her rabbit from her, and I ran so she'd have to stay caught up to me. Her bag lay forgotten on the ground. I hoped mom had the presence of mind to get it. It wasn't fair though because she also had the bigger case, but even if she did get caught, maybe she could make up lie on the spot that would be more useful without us there, giving her away, standing there in soaked urinated clothes that we obviously had just slept in.

Nadia ran after me, with my own bag on my back, it wasn't too hard for her to keep up. I was able to stay just out of reach, leading her towards the bus stop. Mom mentioned that was our destination, so obviously, we'd have to get the bus again.

When Nadia caught me, we were at the bus stop, and I pushed the rabbit back in her hands and pushed my back up her shoulder. "Just hold this, for now, Nadia. I'm going to go help mom." We could both see her struggling with both the giant suitcase that got stuck in every crack in the cement ground it could find, trying to keep her purse on one shoulder and Nadia's bag on the other.

Mom was a good twenty paces behind us, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she wrestled the suitcase over uneven pavement. The guard hadn't turned; he was still humming tunelessly inside his booth.

I sprinted back, grabbing the handle of the suitcase just as it tipped. "Got it," I hissed, heaving it forward. Mom’s eyes met mine, wide with panic and something else—gratitude?—before she nodded curtly.

Together, we dragged the heavy case towards the bus shelter, its plastic roof slick with dew. Nadia huddled inside, shivering violently in her soaked pajama pants, Mr. Floppy clutched like a shield against her chest.

Mother and I got in under the shelter, and we sighed. I looked down at my soaked pants as I sat and then at mom, sheepishly. First, I left her struggling to get away from the guard on her own and then I peed in the night in my pants because I was too scared of the pitch dark that the place was... too scared of making noise... too scared period, and I lie there, peeing my pants, even though I was awake. I sniffled at the shameful way I had behaved.

Mom scanned the street, her gaze darting from the grimy bus schedule to the mist-shrouded buildings beyond.

"Downtown," she muttered, pulling wet strands of hair from her forehead. "We find a diner. Somewhere... anonymous."

Her knuckles whitened on the suitcase handle. Nadia pressed against my side, her shivers transferring to me through our damp clothes. The sour scent of urine clung to us, sharp and humiliating in the crisp morning air. That's when I noticed that mom smelled too, but I didn't comment. At least…, if she was allowed, then I guess it was okay that I did it, then.

"You two hungry from some breakfast?" mom asked us.

"Do we have money for that?" I asked her.

"Well, I wanted to stop at the diner, like I said, and we have some money. It just has to last us until I can clear up a misunderstanding with the bank."

Nadia looked at mama with hopeful eyes. "Pancakes?"

"Yes, honey, you can get them, but no ice cream toppings or anything fancy, okay?"
Nadia nodded.

Sheepishly, as the bus came to a stop, I noticed the damp patches on mom's trousers too—dark streaks down the backs of her thighs. She didn't mention it, just hoisted the suitcase onto the bus with a grunt, her movements stiff. The driver wrinkled his nose but said nothing as we shuffled to the back, leaving wet footprints on the rubber floor.

Nadia pressed her rabbit to her face, hiding from the early commuters’ tired stares. The city slid past the fogged windows—grey buildings bleeding into gray sky—and I focused on the rhythmic thump of the wheels over seams in the road, the sour smell of our clothes thickening in the humid air.

"I think we can stop in a gas station toilet or something," mom whispered to us. "Just long enough to clean ourselves off and change our clothes. I don't think we can go in the diner the way we are."

Nadia nodded. Neither of us questioned mom's wet clothes. I figured mom was probably either as scared as I was in that dark place we had camped the night before, or…, she was on guard duty, protecting her children. I couldn't fault for her for either reason. She was being a mother, and I was scared out of my mind. If I had seen mom wasn't right there when we woke up, I might have panicked, even.

The bus bounced around as we went stop after stop to get others on, and every time the bus felt fuller, I felt a fiery crimson creeping through the skin of my face, my neck, and just burning me up likely looking more and more guilty to anyone looking.

The sour smell of my wet pants seemed to intensify with every new passenger who shuffled past our back-row seats. Nadia huddled closer, her damp pajama pants clinging to my thigh.

Mom’s gaze stayed fixed on the rain-streaked window, her jaw tight, fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the suitcase handle wedged between her knees. The city blurred outside—gritty brick walls, flickering neon signs muted by the fog.

"Next stop, Maple and 5th," the driver droned over the intercom.

Mom’s head snapped up. "That’s us," she whispered, already rising. "Gas station across the street. Quick and quiet."

We stumbled off the bus into the damp chill, the pavement slick beneath our worn shoes. The gas station loomed ahead, its fluorescent lights harsh against the gray dawn.

A bell jangled as Mom pushed the door open, her eyes scanning the empty aisles. "Restroom key," she said to the bored cashier, her voice low and steady despite the tremor in her hand.

He slid a chipped plastic key attached to a hubcap across the counter without a word. Nadia’s teeth chattered as we hurried past shelves of chips and motor oil, the smell of stale coffee and gasoline thick in the air.

I kept my head down and tried to keep from being recognized by anyone. I felt so worried about the judgment of others, and I felt shame at my mom having had to endure this predicament, just to keep me safe, well, my sister and me. I wanted the ground to swallow us, and give us a private out of world space, where we could collect ourselves, but that wasn't happening except through the means of this tiny bathroom that we were all entering. It was big enough for the three of us to get in together, but it still felt rather small.

The fluorescent light flickered above the stained sink, casting a sickly yellow glow on the peeling wallpaper. Mom slammed the lock into position behind us, her breath ragged.

"Five minutes," she ordered, already yanking the suitcase open. The sharp chemical tang of urinal cakes mixed with the sour reek of our wet clothes.

Nadia pressed herself against the chipped tile wall, shivering as Mom thrust dry sweatpants into her hands. "Change. Fast."

Mom's own fingers fumbled with her belt buckle, her movements stiff with cold and exhaustion. Water dripped steadily from a leaky faucet into the grimy basin.

I quickly stripped my clothes off myself, all the way to the nude, and I went to the sink, trying to use hand soap they put there, to help wash off the grime of the night before, and the urine smells from between my legs, around my butt and whatnot, but it felt insufficient. The paper towels I tried to use tore, and the paper was rough on my skin. Still, I had no other choice. This was all I had.

Mom helped Nadia into dry clothes, her movements efficient but distant, like she was performing a task learned by rote. She avoided looking at the wet clothes piled on the floor—my pajamas, Nadia's pajamas, her own trousers—a damp, shameful heap in the corner.

The air hung thick with the smell of cheap soap and lingering ammonia. "Hurry, Lena," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the locked door. "We can't stay that long, you'll just have to wait for a better chance later."

Sighing, I nodded. The paper towels were not cooperating anyway, and I felt like I still smelled despite washing between my legs several times. The slimy wetness was gone, but the stench seemed to linger.

Once we had changed, had our clothes packed up in our luggage again with a plastic bag borrowed from a place mom noticed behind the trash bin to put our wet things into, and our faces and hands at least cleaner, we exited. I brought the key back to the man at the counter, and then we crossed the street where the diner was.

While we waited for our breakfast, sis getting pancakes like she wanted along with sausage and toast, and I got some eggs, bacon, and toast, and mom, mom just a coffee and a piece of toast from my plate with jam on it, we discussed the plan that mom had.

"After this," Mom said, her voice low over the clatter of plates and the sizzle of the grill behind the counter, "we go to the bank first. I need to see what's happening with our money."

Her knuckles tightened around her coffee mug, the steam curling around her tired face. "Five thousand in savings, four hundred checking... it should be enough to get us a room somewhere safe tonight. Somewhere with locks that work and walls that don't smell like piss."

She glanced at Nadia, who was methodically drowning her pancakes in syrup, her focus intense. "Then I start looking for work. Anything. Dishwashing, cleaning offices... I just need something steady. Fast."

Her eyes met mine, sharp and urgent. "But I need you two somewhere predictable. Somewhere I know you'll be safe while I'm out. The library, maybe. All day, if you have to. Quiet. Invisible."

"We'll do anything we can to help, mom," I looked at Nadia for support in that decision, and she nodded with a serious frown knowing how grave this was.

Mom smiled at us, and I think she realized just how much her babies had grown by that time. She was so out of it for those weeks leading from dad's demise up to our predicament yesterday, I don't think she realized I was handling the day to day for her while she tried to pull herself out of the glum and depression she was in.

I got Nadia up and took her to the park. She cleaned the house without being asked, picking up this and that as she noticed it laying around. We had really pulled together as a family in the last couple of weeks, and now, we had mom back, too.

"What if... what if it happens again?" Nadia asked looking down pointedly at her dry lap. "What if I get scared, and it just comes out again before I can go?"

Mom smiled at her and put a finger to her lips.

"We'll talk about that at the library, sweetie. Don't worry about it. I know you are trying." Her words were calm and calculated, but you could see the shame in her face, that she didn't provide us with a place where my little sister could feel safe enough to even use the toilet.

I didn't know how to help mom at this time. I was sort of scared to use the toilet last night, so I realized now, just how justified my sister's fear was. I would never tell her there was no excuse for this ever again.

We ate quickly, the pancakes and eggs disappearing faster than the tension.

Outside, the city had woken up—a blur of honking cars and damp sidewalks. Mom paid with crumpled bills, her hand shaking as she counted out the change.

"Library first," she said, hoisting the suitcase. "Stay close."

We wove through the morning crowd, the suitcase wheels catching on every crack, a constant, grating reminder of our instability. Nadia clutched Mr. Flops with one hand and my sleeve with the other, her eyes wide as she scanned the unfamiliar faces rushing past. I had to put her bag on her shoulder to remind her that she had to carry that, too. We were all ladened with something, and mom most of all with the clumsy giant suitcase.

We stumbled our way through the streets, bumping people and generally being jostled about until we saw the welcoming sight of the library, but it was only eight in the morning by now. The library didn't open until nine. I looked up at mom.

"I guess there is no help for it," mom told us. "I'll just have to wait with you until the library opens. I'm not going to leave you until I know you are in a safe place. Besides, the suitcase is too big for me to lug it everywhere, and I'll need you girls to watch it for me."

"What if I pee my pants, again?" Nadia decided this was a good time to find out what to do.

"Sweetie, the place has a clean bathroom in it. You can ask your sister to take you to the toilet, and if you don't make it, just bring some extra clothes with you when you go, that way, if you don't make it... you have something dry to change into. Right now, I don't care how often you pee your pants, baby. No one is going to yell or anything. We are in a desperate situation, just like I haven't gotten mad about you wetting the bed lately. You lost your daddy. You are feeling stress, so there is no reason to worry about it. Worrying, will only make it happen for sure, honey."

I rubbed her back and whispered. "I won't yell at you either. I know you're scared. I am too."

Mom leaned against the library's cold stone wall, her eyes scanning the street.

"Thirty minutes," she murmured, shifting the suitcase between her feet. The city's morning rush swirled around us—briefcases, steaming coffee cups, sharp clicks of heels on wet pavement.

Nadia pressed her nose against the library's glass doors, fogging them with her breath as she traced the etched letters. Her rabbit dangled from her fist, one ear brushing the concrete.

It seemed forever, but finally, there was movement in the front window, and by then, there was a small crowd at the entrance as we heard the commotion of them letting people in. Most of the people getting in that early were older than kids, but definitely not as old as mom. They might have been in college, I wasn't sure.

Mom walked us through the library's heavy doors, her hand firm on my shoulder as we navigated the quiet hush of polished floors and towering bookshelves. She found a secluded corner near the periodicals, where sunlight streamed through tall windows, dust motes dancing in the beams. "Stay here," she whispered, placing the suitcase against the wall. "No wandering. I'll be back by closing." Her eyes lingered on Nadia, who clutched a fresh set of underwear and sweatpants from the plastic bag. "Use the restroom down that hall if you need to. Together."

Nadia nodded. "Okay."

I frowned at mom. "Don't worry, mom. I got her. You do what you need to do to help us get a better situation for tonight. I promise, Nadia will listen to me, and I'll try to make it easy on her."

Mom smiled. She looked at me. "I know you do, Lena. You always have." Her voice cracked. She squeezed my shoulder, a fleeting warmth before she turned and vanished into the stacks. Nadia immediately sank onto the floor beside the suitcase, pulling Mr. Flops into her lap like a shield. The library air smelled old and comforting—dusty paper, wood polish, a faint whisper of rain on the stone steps outside. Sunlight warmed the patterned rug beneath us.

"There isn't anything kid friendly here, to read," I whispered to Nadia. "How about we go over to the children's section for just a few minutes so you can pick out a few books to look at. Better than staring at the carpet, right?"

She nodded, rising slowly. We left the suitcase tucked against the wall—hidden behind a study carrel—and crept through the hushed stacks. Children's books exploded with color near the back: bright covers showing pirates and dragons, princesses and talking animals. Nadia's fingers trailed along spines as we walked, her steps lighter, Mr. Flops swinging at her side. I spotted a worn copy of *The Secret Garden* and pulled it down. "Remember? Dad read this to us." Her small smile was the first real one I'd seen since the park.

"Do you want me to read it to you?"

"I can read my own books, now, Lena." She didn't say it sharply or like she was being short with me at all, more of... please stop treating me like a baby. Yes, I'm not really okay, but you aren't mom, and even mom can't fill the hole in my soul right now. I imagined that's how she said it, because placing myself in her place, that's how I would have thought--even at ten years old, too.
"I know you can," I whispered a hand on her shoulder. "I just thought sharing would be nicer."
She smiled up at me. "But a library is supposed to be quiet, so maybe some other time?"

She browsed a little more, and when we returned, she had nine books to look through, more than enough to keep her preoccupied for a while. I pulled out a book that looked like I was doing research, and opened it, but actually, I wasn't looking at it at all. I was in my head, only aware enough to know if anyone approached Nadia, our stuff, or me.

A couple of hours passed. I could tell Nadia was getting restless. She shifted positions, stretched, and glanced toward the hallway where the restrooms were. She didn't say anything, but I saw her face tighten. I leaned in. "Do you need to go?" She nodded, eyes wide with that familiar fear. "Okay," I whispered, grabbing the spare clothes. "Let's do this together."

She grasped my arm tightly, Mr. Flops squeezed, its leg against my arm as she walked with me. Her steps were shaky and unsettled. I could tell she was trying so hard to be brave. I didn't dwell on it. I just walked with her at her pace, not caring if she peed on the floor or in the toilet. Her feeling safe was more important, and we had dry things for her now.

The restroom was empty, thankfully, with clean white tiles and the sharp scent of bleach. I locked the stall door behind us, the metallic click echoing as Nadia fumbled with her sweatpants. "Deep breaths," I murmured, rubbing her back. "No rush." Her knuckles were white on the waistband. Outside, distant footsteps thudded down the hall—a librarian pushing a cart. Nadia froze, trembling. "Just us," I whispered. "Only us."

"What if the library people see our stuff?"

"Then I'll get it back from lost and found," I told her. "Right now, concentrate on getting your pants down before..., but it's okay if you don't make it. Just relax."

She nodded, tears welling as she finally pushed her sweatpants and underwear down. I turned away, giving her privacy while staying close. The toilet flushed with a loud gurgle, and when I glanced back, her eyes were wide with relief.

"I made it," she breathed, pulling her clothes back up. Her smile was wobbly but real. We washed our hands at the sink, the water icy cold. "See?" she whispered, drying her hands on the scratchy paper towels. "I can do it." I squeezed her shoulder, feeling a knot loosen in my own chest.

"Of course you could," I smiled at her. I knew she could, but I didn't say it. Taking away her victory by telling her it was expected felt like robbing her of what dignity she still had left. "Now, let's go make sure our stuff is still there, so we can feel safe, okay?"

She nodded with a quiet whisper. "Okay."

We were in the library long enough that Nadia went two more times, and of course, I had had to go twice, too. But then, something else happened….

[Ishigreensa]

Chapter Three

What Started It All

We had been to the bathroom twice since mom dropped us off earlier, and I was now watching the clock, hoping mom would be coming for us soon. We were there for five or six hours... there abouts, from about nine until around two-fifteen. We still had plenty of time, of course, we could be there, but I was a little worried.

I looked over at Nadia. She was sitting at a table near mine, flipping through a picture book with animals. She looked small in the oversized chair. Her shirt was clean today, but I could still smell the faint sting of ammonia clinging to her hair from when we both peed on ourselves in the night trapped in the park bathroom.

As we waited for mom, I was very surrprised when this girl I knew from school last year walked towards us with her dad. Her name was jennifer, and she as definitely one of those "mean" girls. She would just spread a rumor or cause you embarrassment for walking on the same side of the school halls as her—if she didn’t like you, and she definitely didn’t like me.

The man was dressed in a suit, and you could smell the money in his threads from yards away. He reeked of it. His clothes smelled cleaner than normal clean. His hair was perfect in place, and when he bent down to talk to us, not one strand fell out of place. He had shiny brown shoes for church, only we were in a library, so here, it was quite overdressed.

"Are you Lena and Nadia?" he asked.

I hurried over to Nadia's table taking her hand, ready to run--ready to leave all of our bags and larger suitcase behind if necessary. How did this man know us, and how did Jennifer know about my sister to have been able to tell her dad I had Nadia? I hoped they were not here to make us disappear.

Jennifer smirked, flipping her blonde hair. "Dad's been looking for you," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "He's a lawyer, you know. Very... important."

"A... a lawyer? And... and what does taht have to do with me? I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Well, as we understand it, Department of Child Protective Services wouldn't like it if you didn't have a home to go to... right?"

I narrowed my eyes at her. How in the world did she know about that?

Jennifer’s father kept his eyes locked on mine. He didn’t blink. “I represent your father’s employer. We have some concerns regarding your family’s… stability.” His voice was smooth, low. Like gravel wrapped in velvet. He smelled faintly of expensive aftershave and something metallic beneath it, like polished brass. “Your mother’s financial difficulties are unfortunate. We understand she attempted to withdraw funds tied to your father’s death benefits this morning. There are complications.”

"Okay, but it should be illegal for you to talk to children," I told him trying my best to steel my defiant eye on him. I mean, I was right, wasn't I? As much as I didn't like being a child or called one most of the time, I found this to be the perfect time to call into question his intentions, and was ready to scream to draw attention of everyone in the library!

"Well," the man straightened his tie, which really hadn't needed it, and he let us think a moment before he calmly told us something that.... "You see, your mother is out in my car right now. There seems to be a question about her role in your father's death. Now, I can represent her, and help her with her case, but you children will be put in foster care even if I can keep her out of jail, unless you have somewhere to go."

"But... No!" I reached for Jennifer's father, pleading with both hands.

He caught my wrists gently, fingers cool as marble, and held me away. Jennifer giggled behind him. I saw the librarian glance over, frown, then look away—busy reshelving books. No help there. My breath hitched. "Mom wouldn't—couldn't—hurt Dad! She loved him!"

"Oh, I do believe you, dear," he smiled slyly. "However, that doesn't solve the issue that your mom could be detained in jail while they investigate, and I think she'd like to know you were safe while whatever happened, happened. You wouldn't want to worry her, would you? She's right out in my car right now. All you have to do, is take your stuff and come and sit in the car and talk with her."

Nadia whimpered beside me, her small fingers digging into my arm. Jennifer’s father didn’t blink, his polished smile unwavering.

"Come now, Lena," he murmured, gesturing toward the library entrance. "Your mother is distressed. Seeing you safe will calm her."

The lie slithered through his words like oil on water. I knew Mom would never willingly sit in this man’s car—not after Dad’s suspicious death, not with her bank account frozen.

Jennifer smirked, tapping her designer sneaker impatiently.

"My father is going to help your mother, Lena. We just want something in return. Obviously, your mom can't pay him money, at least not right now. Everything you guys had is frozen other than some minor cash she might have kept out, but how long do you think that will last? You two don't smell like you sayed the night in a motel, do you? I'd go so far as to say you both smell... like someone wets the bed?"

Nadia looked down.

"Don't look at my sister," I eyed Jennifer with fury. "She is of no consequence to you."

"No? But you are. Just come to the car, and you will see that you can save your sister a lot of hardship, especially if she wets the bed. Foster kids will call her names if they find out. And you can help your mother." She looked to her dad for his approval.

He nodded, pulling out a sleek phone. "You have five minutes to collect your belongings. If you refuse, I call Child Protective Services immediately. They’ll take Nadia somewhere... far. You might never see her again."

Nadia’s grip tightened on my arm, her nails biting into my skin like tiny claws. The metallic scent of the man’s aftershave mixed with the stale library air, making my stomach churn.

Jennifer’s smirk widened as she watched us, her eyes flicking between Nadia’s trembling shoulders and my clenched fists.

"Tick-tock, Lena," she sang softly, tapping her foot on the linoleum floor. The sound echoed in the sudden silence of the library.

"We have to go with them," I turned to Nadia. "Even if they are lying, we have to. I don't want them taking you where mom and I can't find you, and anyway he has some presence in the city. One thing he can't afford is a kidnapping investigation on him."

I looked up at the pair of them, snakes both of them, but still willed some kind of hint that they really couldn't afford that kind of attention.

Jennifer's father raised an eyebrow, a flicker of respect crossing his face before vanishing beneath the polished mask. "Smart girl," he murmured. "Now hurry."

They ushered us out into the parking lot, where we saw something you might only see when you watch the Grammy's or when the movies tried to make someone seem like a millionaire. This family had a car that had truck like tires on it, and it was nearly two car lengths long! That family definitely had some money.

"Stay quiet," I told Nadia afraid of her making Jennifer or her dad angry.

They opened the back door, and when I peeked in, mom was actually in there. They hadn't lied about mom being with them, at least.

"My name is Max," Jennifer's dad said as he ushered us in. "That's Shawna, Jennifer's mother talking to your mom," he smiled. "Go on, get in. We have a lot to discuss and maybe we can keep your mom out of jail, and keep Social Services away from you two."

I slid into the backseat first, keeping Nadia behind me like a shield. The leather seats were ice-cold against my thighs, smelling faintly of lemon polish and something sterile, like a hospital.

Mom sat rigidly in the middle row, facing Jennifer’s mother—Shawna—who perched elegantly on a swivel seat. Mom’s knuckles were white where she gripped her knees, her eyes red-rimmed and darting between us. She didn’t speak, didn’t even nod. Just stared at us with a trapped-animal panic that made my throat close up.

"Good, we are all here and ready to talk about the arrangements," Max put four of his finger tips to the four on his other hand and held them in front of him as he stared our mother in the eye.

"You were lucky I had seen you before you got to the teller, or the police might have arrested you on the spot."

"They froze the account," Mom whispered, her voice cracking. "They said... fraud. But it's Arthur's money. Our money."

"It doesn't matter whose money it is right now," the man cruely smirked. "Can you get to it? Do your children have a decent place to sleep? One of them or maybe both didn't even find the bathroom in time. You can smell it."

Shawna leaned forward, her perfume—orchids and something chemical—washing over us. "We're here to help, darling," she purred, tapping manicured nails on the armrest. "Max can clear your name. But we need something from Lena." Her eyes slid to me, cold and assessing.

"You see, you have no place to keep her dry and safe anyway at night, and actually, we'd be happy to keep all three of you comfortable, for your... er... status," Max frowned at me with a calculating expression.

"Whatever Jennifer thinks I'm doing at school, I have no boyfriend interests. She can have any boy she wants.... just please."

"It's not that simple," Max tapped his forefinger and middle finger on his splayed hand formation as he sat watching me. "That's not what she wants, nor what we are about her getting. She can do the man thing all her own, I have confidence in that."

"What do you want from Lena, then?" Mom asked.

Max smiled thinly. "I need to teach our daughter how to run an empire, and that starts with one personal assistant. Your daughter will be our daughter's personal assistant...."

Mom narrowed her eyes at him.

"Don't give me that look," he said. "Jennifer will be taught what she can do and not do, and of course there are child labor laws besides of which, a personal assistant isn't a laborer... as in getting her hands dirty laborer. She'll really just be doing the things any other high school girl has to do for herself, she just... will have help my daughter, too."

I frowned. That didn't sound too bad when put that way, except... I knew Jennifer. I was sure she had somehow put her dad up to this, but... how would she know about my dad? What was really going on?

Max leaned back against the plush leather.

"It would be a live-in position. You'd all stay with us—proper beds, warm showers, meals…."

He gestured vaguely toward the tinted windows. "Far better than... public facilities."

His gaze lingered on Nadia’s wrinkled skirt, the faint ammonia scent still clinging to her clothes. Nadia shrank against me, pressing her face into my shoulder. Her breath hitched—dry, panicked little gasps. I squeezed her hand, hard. Don’t cry. Not here.

"Speaking of money," Jennifer now looked me in the eye. "If you do as I say, when you are on the clock, then dad can also pay your mom to be the main house maid, and you know that since you can't get your own money from the bank, that money will help your sister and your mom get things they want. Oh... daddy, didn't her position come with a weekly salary anyway?"

He smiled. "Jennifer, you don't discuss money until you know you have your adversary where you want them, honey. You are tipping our hand too soon." His smile was relaxed though, and he wasn't exactly scolding her.

"Now the cat is out of the bag, yes, we have a room for you all to share at our estate. You will have clean showers every morning, and Lena will get some money every week for her own duties, and mommy will get money every week, if mommy accepts a maid position in the house, mostly cooking and keeping the kitchen clean."

Nadia sat stiffly in the long car--the limousine. She kept a hand on my arm, stiff and strong. The other hand had her rabbit in the crook of her arm, and her hand was near her mouth, though her thumb had no gone into her mouth. She hadn't sucked on her thumb since I could remember, so I didn't think she would, but she definitely looked nervous enough, she could have.

Mom was stiff and straight, her legs together, and her head listening to every detail. The deal was not all one sided.

"How much would my daughter be getting if she was to be your daughter's personal assistant?" mom wanted to know that up front. "And what kind of hours will she bothered at? Will she be doing things at all hours of the night for your spoiled angel?"

Jennifer rolled her eyes at mom's words. Max just chuckled softly in his leather seat. The car smelled like leather cleaner and coffee. It was nice smelling, but it was making me nervous.

Nadia squeezed my hand tighter when Jennifer started talking again.

Jennifer leaned forward to mom, her shiny hair bouncing as she moved. "It's very simple," she said, her voice crisp like glass. "Lena would help me with homework, organize my closet, run errands around the house, and keep me company during the evenings. Nothing too demanding. She'd be free during school hours and most weekends." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "As for pay... daddy?"

Max looked from mom to me. "We'd be providing your whole family with a warm room to sleep in, one that his safe. You'd have meals all taken care of, and you'd have anything else we thought important so you don't bring shame on our house if a guest sees you. But on top of that... yes, she would be getting twenty dollars a week to start. If she does well, and my daughter is pleased with her after a month or so, it will increase."

Mom frowned and thought about it. "Eighty dollars a month doesn't seem quite fair...," she started. But Max gave her a look as though mom might be asking too much.

Jennifer jumped in, leaning toward mom again. "Oh, Mrs. Miller, Lena wouldn't just be assisting me. She'd be helping dad too, sometimes! Little errands, fetching things, helping with his briefcase. That's worth more, don't you think?" She flashed a bright, brittle smile at Max. "Daddy? Thirty dollars a week? For all that extra?"

Max shook his head. "Jennifer, we talked about this. I have people to do things for me. This girl is your full responsibility. If you want her to do extra for more pay, then you must find the work for her. I'm not going to interfere with my own worker's responsibilities just to help you train your staff."

I looked at them back and forth as they argued about what work I should do, and what I should be paid.

Jennifer's eyes narrowed at her father's refusal.

"Fine," she snapped, leaning back with a huff that made her glossy hair shimmer under the car's muted lights. "But thirty dollars, Dad. For me. Lena deserves it."

She turned that sharp gaze on me, her voice softening into something sickly sweet. "You'll be my shadow, Lena. Where I go, you go. Parties, shopping trips... everything."

Her fingertip traced a pattern on the leather seat beside her. "Think of the clothes you could buy Nadia with that. Proper clothes. Not... rags." Her eyes flickered dismissively to the worn hem of Nadia's skirt.

"And... if I do this...," I looked from Jennifer to Max her dad. "You will help my mom stay out of jail, and keep us all here together?"

Jennifer crossed her arms in triumph. I think she sort of knew I was already on board just with that. It was more my mom that needed convincing.

"Look," my mom looked them in the eyes. "Even if you try to help and make me pay zero, there are problems I see with this. If my daughter is going to be shadowing your daughter all the time, I want a contract, that says she gets at least 35 a week, and that she will have a ride from wherever she is…, home, no matter what fight they get into. Young teenage girls get mad at each other all the time, and I don't want Lena stranded."

Max smiled. "Well, if we agree on that. Then you will need to work, too because that means, she's not paying off your lawyer fees for me to represent you, right?"

"I have no problem with whatever our contract might look like, but I want to make sure my daughter isn't taken advantage of."

Max chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the car's plush interior.

"Mrs. Miller, contracts imply trust is absent. We're offering sanctuary." His eyes drifted pointedly to Nadia's trembling form pressed against my side. The faint ammonia scent of her fear hung heavy between us. "Sanctuary includes rides, naturally. Lena would be part of the household."

"Trust, however, is earned," mom told him. "Threatening me with a call to CPS or the police to separate me from my daughters was not a good way to start, if you wanted my trust. I never said anything about you being my lawyer, yet. You have been assuming I'd use your service, but I really don't know if you are doing this for some other reason of your own or not, maybe even a reason to cover something up, maybe."

He frowned a moment considering mom, and then me. He looked at Jennifer, and Jennifer look back at him. Was he going to just throw us out and call the people to ruin our lives? I wasn't sure, but I was sure mom thought she knew what she was doing.

"Mommy," Nadia whispered, her voice muffled against my shoulder. Her small hand gripped mine tighter, knuckles white. "I don't wanna go back to the park bathroom."

Mom put a hand over her hand, and she looked down softly.

"I know, baby. But I don't want them treating you like Cinderella either, neither you, nor your sister. You remember the story of Cinderella, right?"

Nadia nodded against me, her rabbit trembling in her grip.

"Look, you at least make a work contract for Lena, and I'll consider the rest of what you are doing with trust. I just have to protect my child. Tell me you wouldn't, if roles were reversed?" She looked directly at Shauna perhaps seeing the hardness in the stare that Max wore.

"That's fair," Jennifer’s mom told max her voice suddenly smooth as the leather beneath her.

Max pulled a slim phone from his breast pocket. "I'll have my assistant draft something standard. Hours, duties, pay rate... thirty-five dollars weekly, as requested." His thumb tapped the screen with practiced ease. "Sent. You'll have it by morning."

He paused, his gaze sliding to Nadia's rabbit, its threadbare ear crushed against her cheek. "Though sanctuary shouldn't require paperwork."

"No," mommy agreed. "Just a fair contract for work, but the contract should state that nothing else provided to her should be considered as payment. After all, sanctuary is something you do willingly, or it would be a part of her job, right?"

As he agreed, the limo slowed, tires crunching over gravel as it turned onto a driveway flanked by towering iron gates. Beyond them, manicured lawns unfurled like green velvet, dotted with sculpted hedges that looked sharp enough to cut. A sprawling mansion loomed ahead, all gleaming windows and pale stone. Nadia lifted her face from my shoulder, her eyes widening. She’d never seen anything so big. Her rabbit’s button eyes seemed to stare too.

"I need you and your family to stay in the car a few minutes," Max told mom. Then he, Jennifer's mother, and Jennifer got out and walked to the front door laughing. I didn't care what they were laughing about. I knew they were doing something mean. That was Jennifer, after all.

"Well," mom sighed and looked between us, her eyes alert and her mouth taut. "I'll not lie, I don't like the mess we are in. I don't like them helping us, but we really don't have a choice. I'm not as worried about jail, as about you two being separated. I am especially afraid of Nadia never being same after that. But I am afraid we might have put you in a very bad situation."

She looked down seemingly ashamed after telling me that.

"Mom," I looked at her sternly. "I know that girl. It wouldn't have mattered what you did, they would have called CPS on Nadia had you not done what they wanted. I've seen this girl work at school. She's not easily foiled, either. I don't mind working for her, if Nadia keeps her mommy, and I know you are both going to be okay."

"We don't know about me," mom stared into my eyes. "As powerful of a man as he thinks he is, the charges they are talking about, if what he is saying is true.... He will have a battle to fight if the prosecuting side thinks they have a halfway decent case."

"They can't have," I told mom. "How can they? Dad would never do something like that, and you wouldn't."

"Honey, justice is not blind, and it is not fair. If they want it, they can make it happen, put evidence where they want or whatever. A good lawyer would be the only way they don't get away with it."

"Then... you had agreed to let him lawyer you from the start?" I asked mom.

"I wasn't just going to tell him that, though, with your life in his hands the way he wanted it, or rather the way that spoiled girl wanted. I had to protect you the best I could. There was no getting you out of it all together, but at least now, I hope the contract will be fair."

I nodded. "I knew I trusted you for some reason."

Mom managed a thin smile, but her eyes remained fixed on the mansion's heavy oak door. Inside, silhouettes moved behind frosted glass panels—Max gesturing expansively, Jennifer's sharp profile tilting toward her mother.

The car’s leather seats suddenly felt clammy against my thighs, the lingering ammonia smell sharpening with my rising dread. Nadia pressed the rabbit’s worn fabric to her nose, muffling a sniffle. "Do they have real carrots?" she whispered. "For Mr. Flops?"

"They might," I smiled trying to encourage her. "They just might."

Someone came out of the house and opened the door for us.

"The Grievere family need you to come with me while I show you, your room, then I need to take the children to the bath, where Jennifer is going to supervise them washing so they are clean for dinner. Once that is done, I will take you to the bathroom that you can use...," he was using the most snobbish voice I thought I had ever heard as he was talking to our mother.

"I'm their mom," mom told the man.

"Ma'am, if you have a problem with the arrangements, then I'll send Jennifer out to explain it."

Mom glanced at us, breathing deeply through her nose. The ammonia smell from my own jeans seemed suddenly louder. She nodded sharply. "Fine."

The chauffeur didn't bother with pleasantries. He gestured toward a moss-slicked stone path winding around the mansion's east wing. "This way." His polished shoes clicked against the flagstones, indifferent to Nadia's stumbling steps behind me. We didn't enter the grand double doors. Instead, he led us past towering rose bushes, their thorns catching at Nadia's skirt, and onto a dew-slick lawn toward the back of the property.

I frowned. I wasn't sure where we were going to be put up, but I could just see Jennifer sending the butler or someone to show us the doghouse or something for a laugh, however, what we did see... well, I hadn't been expecting that.

The chauffeur led us past the manicured hedges, their shadows lengthening in the late afternoon sun. The scent of damp earth and roses mixed uncomfortably with the stale urine-scent clinging to our clothes.

Nadia stumbled, again, on the uneven path, her worn sneakers slipping on moss-slicked flagstones.

Ahead, tucked against a towering oak tree, stood a miniature wooden cottage. It looked like something out of a fairy tale book Nadia might have borrowed from the library before everything went wrong—steeply pitched roof, painted shutters, even a tiny porch with flower boxes (empty, of course). Jennifer’s childhood fort, maybe? But scaled up. Way up.

I expected derision, maybe a joke about kennels.

Instead, the chauffeur unlocked a heavy padlock on the sturdy plank door. Inside, the air was surprisingly warm and still, smelling faintly of cedarwood and dust. Dim, flickering light came from battery-powered lanterns perched on rough-hewn shelves. One room stretched before us, cleverly partitioned: a lumpy sofa facing a large, blank flat-screen TV dominated a ‘living area’; a counter with a plastic sink and a camp stove defined a ‘kitchen’; and crammed into the back, two beds—one sagging single, one narrow twin pushed close together. Nadia’s breath hitched again, but this time it wasn’t panic. It was wonder. She darted toward the beds, running her small fingers over the faded patchwork quilt on the twin. “Real beds?” she whispered.

I frowned.

While we were not sleeping in the mansion, this was definitely nicer than the night before. I shook my head at what I was seeing. And as I thought about Jennifer, this playhouse seemed sort of perfect for one of her meanest scemes yet. It was almost like I was her toy or something, I think.

I was going to see how far it would go the next day when I saw the contract, and she started to put me to work, for sure. For now, the butler frowned at us.

"Ladies, you are filthy," he said with that snobbish voice. "Please, stay off the beds and furniture until you've cleaned yourselves up. The beds will be smelling like piss before you even get to use them to sleep.”

[Guilend]

Interesting story. I noticed that Ritchie woman only commented on the kids smelling like they had peed themselves and not on the mother, who probably did as well since she cleaned up as much as her kids did. I’m curious if the mother will be dealt with differently on that issue. I doubt the family “taking them in” approve of an adult woman wetting herself on purpose, even if it was to keep her child safe. They seem to take appearances more seriously than anything else. 

[JE PUNK]

I have a feeling they been setup somehow 

[Parkin]

Very good 3 chapters yet. There seems to be some conspiracy with the dads. I'm looking forward how it will develope.

[Ishigreensa]

Chapter Four

The Truth Scrubbed Clean

 

The strange man took my sister by the arm and looked at me expectantly. "Excuse me, miss, but either you can take your little baby sister's hand or I shall drag her in, but your mistress is awaiting your prompt arrival."

I glared at the man who had taken my sister's arm before he even told us what was up. "You could say something before just grabbing," I mumbled. "I know she wants us to do something. Sheesh."

He seemed to have ignored the statement though, nearly shoving my sister at me.

"Disgraceful," was said in one of those sly ways, where it seemed like it should have not been heard, but he made himself heard to us anyway, in an accidentally-on-purpose...or an on-purpose-accidentally sort of thing? You know, where people are doing it on purpose, but it is supposed to seem accidental? Anyway, I cuddled my sister and walked with her towards the house rubbing her back.

Even through the servant's entrance, through the kitchen, you couldn't deny the extravagancy of the place. There were gleaming copper pots hanging above an island wide as our old living room, a smell of roasting meat mingling strangely with the bleach scent the maid scrubbing the floor used. Nadia clutched my hand tighter, her small fingers trembling against mine. The butler’s polished shoes clicked sharply on the marble as he led us past pantries stacked high with jars and sacks – enough food for months. He stopped before a heavy oak door. "The mistress awaits," he announced, his voice devoid of inflection, yet dripping with judgment as his eyes swept over our stained clothes again. He pushed the door open without waiting for acknowledgment.

Beyond the heavy oak door, there was a huge room with all manner of nice places to sit. A couple of very nice bookshelves decorated two of the walls meeting in the corner, and spread out on a sofa, one leg propped up bare on the cushions with her lounging sideways, and the other foot on the floor, Jennifer's blue icy eyes met my own.

"Well, I take it you found your room fitting?" she asked her eyes lazily taking us in. "And yes, we left your old rags out there. You couldn't possibly dine with my folks in those old things, all of it smelling like you came crawling out of the sewers as you were."

I kept my head down. Right now, I was in no condition to argue our situation with this girl. She knew too much as it was, so it wouldn't go well anyway, I was sure of that.

"I told my dear friends last year—called it; that you never went into the washrooms at school. I knew you were just sitting there... not caring that you smelled and caused trouble for the rest of us having to smell your poorness. Now, however, that is going to change. You will get cleaned up every time I so much as think you made yourself smell in the slightest." Her voice was lazy and dripping with snobbishness as she spoke.

"I didn't wet myself at school last year," I frowned at her.

"You didn't? Then you are admitting that you never took baths, and that your sister... ten years old, peed herself like a baby."

"Stop," I frowned glaring at her. "You and I? We have a contract or will have. You don't have one with my sister, so you don't get to pick on her. Leave. Her. Alone."

"My, my, my," Jennifer purred, swirling the ice in her lemonade glass. The clink echoed sharply in the vast room. "Such ferocity over baby sister. How... quaint."

Her bare foot slid off the sofa cushion, toes curling into the thick Persian rug as she leaned forward. That predatory gleam was back – the one that saw weaknesses like cracks in concrete.

"But you're right. The contract is yours, Lena. Nadia?" Her gaze flicked dismissively to my trembling sister. "She’s merely… collateral."

The word hung in the air, thick as the bleach smell still clinging to us. Nadia whimpered, burying her face deeper into my side, her small fists clenching my stained shirt.

"Nevertheless," she smiled satisfied that Nadia was far too scared of her to respond, and I was holding myself back for fear of what she could do or have done to my sister and mother. "She smells like a sewer just like you, and you both need baths. Obvious because you just admitted you went to school all last year not being clean enough..., I could never expect you nor your sister know how to clean yourselves up properly, could I?"

Jennifer snapped her fingers and the maid who'd been scrubbing the floor earlier entered, pushing a cart laden with towels, soaps, and brushes. The sharp scent of lavender oil mixed with the bleach stung my nose.

"Martha," Jennifer ordered lazily, "take the little one, the one nearly sucking her thumb and scrub her until she doesn't reek of poverty anymore."

Nadia whimpered, clinging to me like a frightened animal. Martha’s gaze was impassive as she reached for Nadia’s arm—her hands rough and reddened from work. I stepped between them, shielding Nadia with my body.

 

"I’ll bathe her," I said flatly, my voice tighter than I intended.

Jennifer shook her head, a small smirk gracing her lips as she stared me down. "We've been over that. Dear Lena, you couldn't even keep yourself from smelling. How do you think you are going to get your sister clean? She no doubt went to school causing discomfort to her classmates the same as you did--if you were bathing her. I doubt your mother kept her clean."

I shook with fury trying to hold back every comment that flashed in my head. I didn't want to lose my sister.

"Now, I can see you are finally appreciating the situation you find yourself in, Lena. So, either Martha here, can take her gently into the bathroom to clean up, or I can take her in there, and trust me, I will not be gentle."

Jennifer's voice cut through the air like ice.

Nadia's whimper became a choked sob against my ribs, her small frame shaking violently. Martha’s rough hand clamped around Nadia’s wrist with startling speed, pulling her away from me before I could react. Nadia gasped, eyes wide with terror, her thin legs scrabbling uselessly on the polished marble as Martha dragged her toward a side unmarked door. The sharp scent of antiseptic soap followed them, mixing with the lingering ammonia from Nadia's skirt.

My fists clenched, knuckles white, but Jennifer's cold stare pinned me in place.

"Don't even think about it," she murmured, sipping her lemonade. "You move, and I’ll instruct Martha to be... thorough. You wouldn't want her scrubbing your sister raw, would you?"

"So... what now?" I asked watching as the door had already closed, trying to listen for anything beyond that sounded like anything more scary than the sobbing of my little sister. Provoking Jennifer at this point seemed worse than letting my little sister cry, but I still hated it.

Jennifer sighed dramatically, setting her lemonade aside. "Now, we deal with you. Martha will handle Nadia adequately—she’s scrubbed stubborn stains before." Her gaze traveled slowly from my mud-caked sneakers to the frayed hem of my jeans, lingering on the damp patch at my thigh. "Honestly, Lena. Fifteen? Still wetting yourself like an infant?"

She rose, silk robe whispering against the sofa, and circled me like a hawk assessing prey. The scent of her perfume—something expensive and floral—clashed violently with the sourness clinging to my skin. "Strip."

"Right--right here?" I mumbled feeling like her parents or other people could walk in on us at any time.

"Why not here?" Jennifer's attitude dripped with indifference to modesty.

"You behave like a mutt, and surely you can't expect to be taken to my room or anywhere else in filth, can you? You should count Nadia lucky we didn't march both of you naked across the yard! Believe me, I would have, but dad said that that might look worse than letting you in here, the servant's areas—in your... predicament. So strip. Or next time, you strip as does your sister before you even leave your private room."

My fingers trembled as I fumbled with the button of my jeans. The cheap denim was stiff, crusted with dried mud and something else—that faint, lingering dampness.

Jennifer watched, arms crossed, her eyes sharp and unblinking. Each rustle of fabric echoed too loudly in the stillness. My shirt came off next, the thin cotton sticking to my skin where sweat and panic had soaked through.

I kept my gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the rug beneath my bare feet, its soft fibers a stark contrast to the cold marble chilling my soles. The air prickled against my exposed skin, carrying the scent of lemon polish and Jennifer’s perfume—cloying and suffocating.

She walked over when I was in just my dingy panties, and my bra that was stained from months of use because I only had three that I interchanged with, and because sometimes, we didn't have any way to wash them, so I had to wear them for two or even three days at a time before I could change them.

"You don't change your clothes very often at all, do you?" she commented. "Not even your pissy panties!"

My face burned as I tugged at the elastic waistband. "I... we didn't have..." The excuse died in my throat under her contemptuous stare.

There was no explaining poverty to someone whose silk robe probably cost more than everything I owned. The damp underwear peeled away slowly, revealing skin mottled pink from irritation. The sharp ammonia scent intensified as the fabric dropped to the floor. Jennifer wrinkled her nose, stepping back as if avoiding contagion. "Disgusting," she breathed, not bothering to lower her voice. "Absolutely vile."

She called for someone immediately to come and deal with my stuff on the floor, calling them a toxic waste. I shivered at being gawked at by her, and by anyone she might call into the room including this man that was pinching my things up as though he was touching something that had been in a sludge pit.

Jennifer circled me slowly, her silk robe whispering against the rug. Her gaze felt like icy water trickling down my spine—clinical, assessing every visible scar, every patch of irritated skin. She paused behind me. "Turn," she commanded softly. I obeyed, my arms instinctively crossing over my chest, though it did nothing to shield me from her scrutiny.

Her eyes lingered on the faint bruise blooming along my ribcage—a souvenir from last night’s frantic scramble over the wrought-iron fence where we’d broke into a park bathroom to sleep.

"Filthy and battered," she murmured, almost to herself. "How delightfully pathetic."

She snapped her fingers again. A butler came wheeling in a cart of towels, soaps, and other manner of bathing accessories. "Charles, take this disgusting creature to the servant's baths, and have her water drawn. I shall be there shortly to attend to the supervision of her care."

Charles nodded, his expression impassive as he gestured for me to follow. The marble floor chilled my bare feet with every step, the sensation sharp and humiliating. We passed through a narrow corridor lined with closed doors, the air thick with the smell of starch and cleaning chemicals. Nadia’s muffled cries still echoed faintly from somewhere ahead, each sob tightening a knot in my stomach. Charles stopped before a heavy, unmarked door and pushed it open.

Inside, there was not even a bathtub or toilet or anything like that, as yet, but actually another glass door, the kind that couldn't be seen through, stood opposite of our door. Between, there was a long bench of some kind and there shelves of nice and neatly placed nicknacks. This room smelled like some kind of flower that I couldn't put my finger on. I shivered a little as the door behind me opened, and I saw two younger girls, one around our age, and one not much older accompanying my new boss.

"These girls are on lend to me from my mother," Jennifer whispered, her voice cool and collected. "And when they came to work for mother...," she gestured at the younger one. "This one just last year, and...," she gestured at the one a bit older "this one the year before; I thought they were dirty…."

The way she said that, settled in on me, and she gave a nod to keep the others quiet so that she had the full effect of me understanding how shameful she saw me.

"This girl," she turned to the girls on loan to her. "She was in my class last year. Some of us used to think she pissed her pants at school, and I'm still not so sure she wasn't lying when she said she didn't, but it seems far worse than that. She doesn't even know how to clean herself up, at least as well as you two could do when you first came here, so of course, I need both of you to help instead of just one of you. I will supervise and make sure you get everywhere."

Charles had left already. The two girls nodded silently. Their expressions were blank, practiced masks, but I caught the flicker in the older one's eyes—a quick glance at my bare, trembling legs, then away. Shame or recognition? The scent of that unknown flower intensified, cloying and sweet, masking nothing. Jennifer gestured toward the frosted glass door. "Open it."

When they opened the door, I had to close my eyes instinctively. The room as so bright, and she smell of bleach and other agents to keep it pristine, were overwhelming. My eyes watered and my nose felt like it was assaulted.

"This is the cleaning room," Jennifer said. "You will be cleaned properly here." She gestured to the two girls. "Prepare her."

The older girl stepped forward first, her movements economical and precise. She didn’t meet my eyes as she took my arm—her grip firm but not cruel—and guided me toward a metal stool in the center of the gleaming white-tiled room. Bright, sterile lights reflected off every surface, making the chrome fixtures glare. The younger girl followed, pulling thick rubber gloves onto her hands with a snap that echoed sharply.

I was put on the stool, and the older girl started a shower head that sprayed water so powerful, I wasn't so sure it couldn't strip paint off a car. The second girl retrieved a much smaller stool, one that she had to sit with her legs settling out from her to the sides because it was so low, and she got right up next to my legs. Together, they started to tackled washing my hair and my legs at the same time.

The older girl started shampooing my hair with a shampoo that smelled like lemons and chemicals. She scrubbed so hard that my scalp stung and tears pricked my eyes. The younger girl, meanwhile, grabbed a washrag and was putting soap on it ready to wipe me, not only along my legs, but it seemed she planned to wash me as though I was three, or younger, and they both got way too personal with the bath.

I could hear Jennifer's voice sometimes from the front, sometimes from behind, or the left and right--she was walking around, and instructing, just like she said she would be. "Gentle," she told the girl that had been washing my hair. She's not used to this, yet. We don't want to bruise her."

They had me stand up when they were ready to wash, too personal for comfort, an area I wished I had privacy over, so much so, I would have loved to have been struck without any feeling while it occurred, but no such luck. Finally, they had gotten me as clean as they were probably going to get it. Then, I was taken into a large room with a square tub, and I found Nadia, sitting quietly near the water.

She looked terrified still, but she wasn't wetting herself again, and she was clean. She looked at me and smiled weakly. "They didn't hurt me," she whispered.

I nodded at her acutely aware of Jennifer coming in behind us. "You two will soak here for an hour until my parents have dealt with your disgusting mother. I swear, she really shouldn't have been allowed children."

"Keep it together," I mumbled to myself. "She's just pushing buttons because she knows if you react, she can have something done to Nadia or mom. Just ignore her words. We know who she is.... Evil incarnate."

Jennifer chuckled softly behind me. "Evil incarnate? That's actually flattering, Lena. Though maybe a touch dramatic." Her silk robe brushed my damp shoulder as she leaned close, her breath hot against my ear. "Call it... motivation. You'll learn quickly that cleanliness here isn't optional. It's survival." She gestured toward the tub. "Get in. Both of you. And don't dawdle."

We sat in the water, there being more than enough room for more, and that was the plan after all. The girl that was nearer to my age that had bathed me, stripped, too, and she climbed into the tub with us.

"An example," Jennifer smiled at us. "You can see how clean she keeps herself, now. She was of course a lot cleaner than you were when she first came to us, but now, she is even so much better about it, aren't you sweetie?"

The girl dipped her chin slightly, her eyes fixed on the water's surface. Her skin was scrubbed pink and raw around the knuckles, her movements unnaturally still. Nadia pressed closer to my side, her small hand clutching mine under the warm water. The tub smelled faintly of antiseptic beneath the floral bath oils—a scent that couldn't quite mask the lingering bleach from the cleaning room.

"My name is Elise," the girl murmured without looking up, her voice barely disturbing the water's surface. She traced a raw, reddened knuckle along the tile edge.

"I was twelve when I came." Her gaze flickered to Nadia's trembling fingers gripping mine.

"The... scrubbing gets easier. Eventually." The antiseptic-floral scent thickened as Jennifer circled the tub, her shadow falling across Elise's shoulders.

I frowned. "Twelve? That can't be legal," I whispered like this was a scandal. "How did they get away with that?"

Elise gave me a look that was halfway between pity and exhaustion.

"Same way they got you," she murmured. "Debts. Threats. Parents desperate enough to sign anything."

She smoothed a droplet of water off her forearm, revealing pale lines like faded scars beneath her scrubbed-pink skin.

Nadia stared wide-eyed at those marks, her breath catching again—a soft, terrified sound that echoed slightly in the tiled room. I squeezed her hand tighter under the water.

"Just try to be brave," I whispered to Nadia. "We have no choice right now, but I'll be looking for a way for you and mom out of this."

"Out of this?" I heard the evil serpent seem to splutter from up behind me. A cruel giggle escaped her lungs as she shrilly explained Nadia's situation so that even Nadia could understand that she was trapped.

"You can easily leave, little girl. But here, you will have food, beds, and even toys. Out there, no one will care if you die."

Nadia's grip tightened on my hand until her small knuckles whitened. Her breath came in shallow, panicked bursts against my shoulder.

Across the tub, Elise stared fixedly at the swirling bath oils, her face a mask of resignation. The antiseptic scent clawed at my throat, mixing with the cloying sweetness of the oils Jennifer had poured in earlier.

I wanted to scream—to drag Nadia out of this tiled prison—but the memory of Mom’s hollow eyes when she’d begged me to "just cooperate" stopped me cold. Debts. Threats. Desperation. Elise’s words echoed bitterly.

"It's not so bad," Eloise whispered to Nadia. "Trust me, she is right that the world out there can be a lot worse. We were homeless for almost a month when they found my dad and me. My dad... he tried to defy them. He's gone. It's just me, now."

Jennifer leaned over the tub, her silk robe slipping slightly to reveal a diamond-studded collar beneath.

"Eloise is right. You should listen to her." Her perfume—something expensive and musky—cut through the antiseptic floral haze. "She knows what happens to people who don't appreciate kindness."

Nadia whimpered, burying her face against my arm. The water suddenly felt colder, though steam still rose in lazy curls toward the ceiling.

The rest of the hour passed in near silence as Jennifer had given Eloise a look, and she clammed up. I suppose that she had been told to share that with us, just so we'd know how helpless our situation was. I shivered. Well, played, Jennifer. I got it. Trapped as I am, though, you will find that I don't buckle easily. I just have to make sure my mom and sister are going to be okay, first, somehow. Then I could defy her.

[Guilend]

I knew she was evil. I’m worried what else she’s going to do to them and what will she make them wear? 
 

Since she said that her parents are taking care of their mother, If she’s getting similar treatment, or even worse since it’s obvious they view her as a pathetic adult and probably view her as too immature to be a mother. 
 

I am interested to see what happens next and how all three of them are dressed when they meet up again at dinner and if the mother winces when she sits down or not. 

[Ishigreensa]

Chapter Five

Getting Presentable Sucks

 

The hour seemed to pass rather quickly, and there was a knock outside of the bath area.

"Miss, you wanted to know when the hour was up," Martha had called through the door.

"Very good, Martha. You can go back to your regular chores now," Jennifer called back and then looked towards Eloise. "And thank you, Eloise, you'd been very helpful, and I'll let mother know that you earned your special treat for the evening."

Then she turned to me....

Her gaze slid over my wet hair, my wet bruised body—and landed on Nadia clinging to my side. “Out,” Jennifer commanded, her voice soft but edged like a blade. She didn’t gesture; she didn’t need to.

Eloise scrambled from the tub, water sluicing off her thin frame as she grabbed a towel and vanished into the changing area without a backward glance.

Nadia flinched, her fingers digging into my forearm. The air thickened, heavy with steam and that cloying perfume. Jennifer’s diamond collar glinted under the harsh bathroom lights, a cold, hard promise. Don’t move, I told myself. Don’t give her anything.

"Nadia, you may go out that door. You will find something to cover yourself in, and then beyond that, you should see someone that will take you to wait in your room until we get you for dinner. No wetting your pants before, then, got it?" Jennifer's words were slow and purposeful, as if she was talking to someone she thought needed to have the words said one at a time to.

I clenched my fists at my sides, not liking how she was talking to Nadia, but still, uncertain about anything I could do about it for now.

Nadia hesitated, glancing up at me with wide, frightened eyes. Her fingers trembled where they curled at my sides. I gave her the tiniest nod—go.

"It's okay," I whispered, my throat tight. "I'll be right behind you."

She shuffled toward the door, dripping water onto the tiles, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with Jennifer in the humid stillness. Only the drip-drip of a faucet broke the silence.

"You are not going to be right behind her," Jennifer had waited until she had gone to correct my statement. "You need to be taught to be clean, to be dressed properly, and to use your words wisely while at dinner. You are going to know how to act in public. You don't have to like me, but you do have to obey me and make our family look good. So...."

She gestured towards the outer room we had come through, the one with the harsh showering. I flinched a bit, but stood from the bath and when she wrapped me in the borrowed robe, we walked through that, out to the waiting area for the baths, and then beyond and down the halls.

I wasn't certain where we were going, but I was sure I was not going to like what she had in store next. I was glad she had told Nadia she was going back to the room though. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to endure much more, though I did hope they were going to put her in clothes before she had to march all through the house.

We went through several hallways, decorated with paintings and sculptures, and then she opened a door into what looked like a salon. There were mirrors everywhere, counters with sinks, drawers, and chairs that looked like barber chairs. There were several people waiting there. They didn't look like servants, but rather... professionals? They wore uniforms that were crisp, white coats with black trim. One woman stepped forward, her eyes appraising me critically, lingering on my tangled, wet hair.

"You are a disgrace, from your filth of earlier, to everything about your appearance," Jennifer told me with cold daring eyes. "These people, will help you look presentable. We'll decide what actual clothes to put you in after they are done with their wonders, turning you into any resemblance of a lady they can."

The salon smelled strongly of chemicals—ammonia and peroxide mixed with a cloying floral air freshener. Bright lights reflected harshly off the mirrors, making my damp skin prickle. The woman in the white coat approached, her fingers surprisingly cold as she tilted my chin upward.

"Hmm. Acne scarring, uneven skin tone... and this hair." She clicked her tongue, running a hand through my wet tangles. "We'll start with a deep cleanse. Then exfoliation. Then, perhaps, a chemical peel."

Her words felt clinical, detached. Like I was livestock at an auction. Behind her, another technician wheeled a cart forward, laden with bottles and jars. The clink of glass was unnervingly loud.

Jennifer pulled my robe open on me. "And take care of any skin abrasions here, too," she ordered them. "I know of one bruise just here," and she poked where I had fallen from the wrought-iron fence top the night before when we had slipped into the park for the night, and took refuge in a broken down bathroom.

The woman’s cold fingers traced the bruise—a dark purple bloom just below my ribs. “We’ll apply arnica gel,” she murmured, already reaching for a jar.

Her assistant began mixing a thick paste that smelled sour, like spoiled milk. They stripped the robe away entirely, leaving me shivering under the salon’s pitiless lights. Steam still clung to my skin from the bath, but here, the air was dry and biting. The assistant rubbed the paste onto my face first; it stung, sharp and chemical, making my eyes water.

I flinched, but Jennifer’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Hold still,” she hissed. “Or Nadia gets the treatment next.”

I shivered, but held still.

"...And," Jennifer clicked her tongue. "You had best not pee on the floor while they are working on you, or else."

The chemical paste burned like tiny needles across my cheeks and forehead. I squeezed my eyes shut against the sting, forcing myself not to twitch as the assistant smoothed it over my jawline and neck. Jennifer's fingers dug into my bare shoulder, a silent anchor keeping me upright and still. The technician’s cold, clinical gaze swept over my body, noting every scrape, every bruise earned scrambling over concrete and rusted metal. She dabbed arnica gel onto the tender purple mark below my ribs, the scent sharp and medicinal. Her touch was impersonal, efficient—like scrubbing grime from tile.

When they had tended to any blemishes on the rest of my body, I was then put in a chair, naked but a towel covered the chair I sat in. Then, they started to apply stuff on my face, to hide anything natural, like any freckles, as light as they were.

The technician leaned in, her breath smelling faintly of mint. “Eyes closed,” she ordered, dabbing a cold, thick cream over my eyelids. It smelled like chalk and roses. Behind me, the clatter of tools intensified—scissors snipping, combs scraping against scalp.

Someone began tugging at my hair, sectioning it with brutal efficiency.

“Severe damage,” the woman muttered, fingers probing a split end. “We’ll need to cut it back to the shoulders. Then a keratin treatment.”

Jennifer loomed nearby, arms crossed. “Make it sleek. Nothing… wild.” Her gaze flickered to my hands, clenched white-knuckled on the armrests. “And trim those nails. Properly.”

Overall, I didn't understand how the rich and famous enjoyed this stuff. Even if it wasn't as brutal as it felt at the time, it was just so much sitting and waiting. You couldn't move when you wanted, and every tiny flinch was micromanaged for you. It was like asking permission just to adjust a leg or scratch a nose. You had to be absolutely still, or at least I did during all of this.

I sighed when it was finally over, and I was allowed to stand up, and though my body was naked, and they made me move my arms so they could see every inch when they were assessing if they were finished--eventually, I was allowed to move on.

"Come on," Jennifer said gruffly holding my upper left arm. "You are going to the toilet before you make a mess and destroy all that lady had prepared all down your legs. And after that, we will see a designer who will choose an outfit for you for this evening. You are not to complain one bit about what you are put in. It will be a lot more expensive than anything that has ever touched your skin, so really, you have no right to complain."

I shivered.

Jennifer’s grip tightened as she marched me naked down a hallway lined with frosted glass panels, my skin prickling in the air-conditioned chill. The bathroom she shoved me into was all marble and gold fixtures, smelling faintly of lemon cleaner and something floral—jarringly sterile compared to the sour chemicals still clinging to my pores.

"Don't touch anything but the toilet," she snapped, leaning against the doorframe. Her silk robe shifted, revealing the diamond collar again—a glint of cold promise. I obeyed, trembling as I perched on the icy seat, too aware of her watching eyes. My body felt raw, exposed under the harsh recessed lighting. Every movement echoed.

Nervousness flooded my senses, and that made it nearly impossible to urge or tempt anything to come out....

Jennifer sighed sharply. "Don't be pathetic. You were fine in the tub earlier."

Her gaze was impatient, drilling into me as I sat there, cold marble beneath me and colder air raising goosebumps on my skin.

The scent of roses from the salon still clung to me, mixing unpleasantly with the lemon cleaner. I focused on the tiles—veined gold against white—anything but her eyes. My stomach churned. I couldn't relax, not with her watching, not after everything. I shifted slightly, the towel they'd draped earlier long discarded. Silence stretched, broken only by the hum of distant ventilation.

"Lena, if you don't go right now, you might not get another chance before dinner. If you make a mess on the floor, you will be... given a harsh consequence. Do you understand?"

I clenched my jaw, focusing on the faint pattern in the marble—swirls like frozen smoke.

Jennifer’s perfume was suffocating now, that musky luxury scent sharpened by impatience. My bladder screamed, tight and insistent, but every muscle had locked under her scrutiny. The cold seat bit into my thighs. Just breathe, I told myself, but each inhale tasted like roses and dread.

Nadia was somewhere beyond that door, probably trembling just like me. Eloise’s warning echoed—my dad tried to defy them—and I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Alright, up! You've had your chance," Jennifer had probably given me all of about two minutes. I don't know if the rich and famous have to go while people watch and how easy that is for them, but for me.... Well, I couldn't go.

Now she was pulling me off the toilet seat, her fingers digging into my arm. My legs felt shaky beneath me, and I stumbled slightly as she yanked me upright. The harsh light gleamed off the polished marble floor, reflecting my own pale, naked form like a ghost trapped beneath the surface. I was flushed everywhere except my face, which felt unnaturally smooth and tight from the treatments.

"One minute, Ms. Stinky," she shook her head at me. "I'm going to show you how it is done. A lady never uses her panties when she has a choice. It is a shame your mother never taught you such basic things."

She pulled down her own skirt and panties right in front of me.

Jennifer settled onto the toilet with impossible grace, her movements fluid and unselfconscious.

The diamond collar flashed as she leaned forward slightly, her silk robe pooling around her waist like spilled cream. A soft, steady stream began almost immediately—effortless, controlled.

The sound echoed sharply in the marble chamber, mingling with the faint hum of ventilation. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, cold and evaluating, while I stood frozen, naked and shivering. The scent of her expensive perfume overpowered the sterile lemon cleaner now, thick and cloying.

She did all of her business including her wipes, and then stood up watching my face. I probably had my mouth open in the stark unsettling awe of her being able to, to be willing to, she just peed in front of me, fully naked.

"If you are surprised it is that easy," Jennifer seemed to taunt. "Maybe you aren't even toilet trained at all?"

My cheeks burned as she flushed, the roar of water drowning out my sharp inhale.

Her robe slipped further, though I couldn’t tell if that was on purpose, or if she was trying to taunt me further; revealing the cruel glint of that diamond collar—a shackle disguised as luxury.

She didn't break eye contact as she smoothed her skirt back into place, her movements practiced, dismissive. The air hung thick with her musky perfume and the lingering odor of urine, sharp and acidic beneath the floral facade. My own bladder throbbed, a dull ache now buried under humiliation.

Nadia’s terrified face flashed in my mind—Eloise’s hollow eyes. Defiance meant disappearance. Jennifer’s lips curved in a thin smile as she stepped closer, her polished nails tracing the unnaturally smooth skin of my cheek from the salon’s work. "Cleanliness is obedience," she murmured. "Remember that."

I shivered a little as she got off of the toilet. "Um... can I try again?"

"You had your chance," she pointed at the door. "We might have time to try again depending on how long it takes to get you dressed. And remember, you need to not make any messes, or else."

Jennifer's grip on my arm was like iron as she pulled me back into the hallway. The cold air raised goosebumps all over my bare skin, and the lingering scent of her urine clung to her robe, mixing with the sterile hallway air. We passed a maid carrying folded towels—her eyes flickered to my nakedness, then quickly away, face blank.

Shame burned hotter than the chemical peel. Ahead, double doors stood open, revealing a room lined with racks of clothes under soft track lighting. A thin woman with severe silver hair and a tape measure draped around her neck turned, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Ah, the project," she said, not smiling.

Even as the atmosphere of the room was tense, you couldn't help wonder at the workmanship of the room, the expense of the money they poured into it, and the manner of all things of fashion on display there.

I was led to a raised platform in the center, the cold wood biting into my bare feet. The silver-haired woman—Madame Claudette, Jennifer called her—circled me, her tape measure snapping against my ribs, hips, shoulders.

"Hmm. Narrow waist, but bony," she murmured, her accent crisp and French. "Hips still undeveloped. We'll need structured pieces."

Jennifer watched from a velvet chaise, sipping something sparkling from a crystal flute. Her perfume drifted over, clashing with the sterile linen scent of the salon still clinging to my skin.

"Oh," Jennifer addressed Madam Claudette from where she was sipping her drink. "I want the girl to have thicker cotton panties on with a liner in them... just in case. She's not trained yet, you know."

Claudette nodded curtly, rummaging through a drawer before producing plain white underwear thicker than any I'd ever worn. They felt stiff and bulky as she slid them up my legs, the elastic digging into my hips.

Next came a corset-like garment—boned and laced tight enough to force my shoulders back. Each tug of the strings stole my breath, compressing my ribs until my lungs burned. The scent of new fabric, synthetic and chemical, filled my nose.

"Posture is essential," Claudette muttered, her fingers icy as she adjusted the clasps. "Slouching is for peasants."

In my mind, only for I was too scared to show much defiance at the moment, but in my mind, I smirked with a quip. "I am a peasant, so there!"

Madame Claudette’s tape measure cinched around my thigh like a snake.

“Hold,” she commanded, her voice devoid of warmth. I stood rigid on the platform, the stiff cotton underwear already chafing, the thick liner a humid embarrassment against my skin.

Jennifer’s earlier humiliation in the bathroom echoed—the ease of her stream, the diamond collar’s glint—making my own bladder ache with renewed urgency.

Claudette draped a bolt of midnight-blue silk over my shoulder; it slithered cold and heavy against the salon-smoothed skin. “Too mature,” Jennifer declared from her chaise, swirling her drink. “She’s not a debutante. Something… breakable.”

I glanced back at her, a few unfriendly thoughts flooding my mind, but I knew better than to say them. I was starting to feel a little fearful of what was going to happen if I broke the no messes rule. Would they let me take a break if I asked now?

Madame Claudette nodded sharply at Jennifer’s command.

She replaced the silk with a delicate blush-pink chiffon, whispering against my skin like a sigh. Tiny pearls were sewn along the neckline—beautiful but sharp under the track lights.

"Lift your arms," Claudette ordered. The moment I raised them, a vicious cramp seized my bladder. Panic flashed through me; I clenched my thighs together, biting my lip hard enough to taste blood. The boned corset dug deeper, trapping the urgency inside. Across the room, Jennifer watched over her flute, a faint smirk playing on her lips. I think she knew. Maybe She’d even timed this.

Claudette tugged the dress over my head. The fabric settled, cool and gossamer-thin, pressing against the bulky cotton underwear beneath. Every pearl felt like a bead of ice. The zipper rasped up my back—slow, deliberate—each tooth a tiny click in the tense silence. My breath hitched. Sweat prickled beneath the stiff boning of the corset. The faint ammonia scent of my own fear cut through Jennifer’s perfume.

Hold it, I begged myself. Hold it or Nadia pays. Eloise’s hollow eyes flickered in my mind. Defiance means disappearance.

Jennifer got up from her seat, placing her drink down, and she walked over to take in my form. My legs were quivering lightly at the strain of trying not to disobey, to not shame myself, to not get my mom or Nadia in trouble. It was getting hard though, and it seemed Jennifer was taking a very slow and calculated look at me, assessing everything from hair to foot.

"Her legs need to be shown more," she told Madame Claudette. "They are probably the prettiest part of her body."

Jennifer reached out, her polished nail tracing the chiffon hemline just above my knee. The touch was light, deliberate.

"Shorten it," she commanded. "To mid-thigh."

Claudette nodded, pins already flashing between her fingers. As she knelt to pin the hem, her elbow brushed my thigh—a casual pressure that sent a fresh wave of agony through my bladder. I gasped, my knees buckling slightly. The corset’s boning stabbed into my ribs.

Hold on, I pleaded silently, staring at the ceiling’s recessed lights until spots danced. The thick cotton liner felt damp now, hot and suffocating. Jennifer’s perfume—musky and oppressive—filled my nostrils, mingling with the musk of my own perspiration.

"You will learn control," Jennifer breathed in my face while Claudette worked. "Everyone that works for our family learns."

Her perfume choked me—a thick layered fog over my own fear producing scent.

Claudette’s pin pricked my thigh as she lifted the hem higher, exposing bare skin to the refrigerated air.

I trembled violently now, my bladder screaming, the corset’s boning—a cage; trapping the confines of where waters needed to be released. The thick cotton liner absorbed nothing; it was a damp, hot weight between my legs, a humid shame.

"Ankle socks," Jennifer barked at Claudette keeping with the showing off my legs theme. "And she needs some Mary Jane buckles. She's still too immature, and likely doesn't have the balance, for proper heels yet."

Claudette nodded briskly, pulling out delicate white ankle socks and a pair of polished patent leather shoes with gleaming silver buckles.

As she knelt to slide the socks onto my feet, her shoulder bumped my hip—a jarring nudge.

White-hot pain lanced through my abdomen. My knees buckled; I swayed, grabbing Claudette’s shoulder for balance. The corset crushed my ribs, stealing my breath. Beneath the chiffon, sweat soaked through the stiff cotton liner, hot and clammy. Almost there, I thought desperately. Just a little longer.

"A lady," Jennifer was nagging at me as though she knew something. "A lady controls herself. She never makes messes, and never ever allows others to know if she is trying, even. She composes herself at all times. If it's too hard to fully wait, she knows how to control it. No one will ever see a lady shame herself. You will learn. You will be a lady, and soon."

I gasped as her words hit me. The pressure in my bladder sharpened into a knife-twist of pain. A slimy layer of film, sweat, coated my palms; I dug my nails into Madame Claudette's shoulder to stay upright.

The corset squeezed tighter with each shallow breath, ribs protesting. Below, the thick cotton liner was soaked now—warm and heavy against my skin, a secret humiliation beneath the blush chiffon. Jennifer’s eyes seemed to narrow as if tracking the tremors in my thighs. She knew.

"As long as you don't show on the outside, and especially make no puddles on the floor..., any little mistakes, can be forgiven. But a shameful patch of soaked material on your rump, any puddle on the floor at all..., and someone will pay for it." Jennifer’s whisper was ice against my ear.

Claudette fastened the final buckle on my Mary Janes—the leather pinching my ankles—just as another cramp seized me. My vision blurred a moment. I focused on the pearl buttons at Jennifer’s throat, anything to distract me from the scalding pressure—building inside.

Beneath the chiffon, the cotton liner was saturated now, warm and clinging, but no wetness had seeped through the delicate fabric yet. Not visibly. Not yet.

"Well, it looks like dressing went alright then," Jennifer smirked. "Now, if you can hobble your way to the toilet before you make a puddle, we'll see if you can avoid getting anyone in trouble."

Anyone! That anyone was probably Nadia. I had to make it!

The Mary Janes pinched my ankles with every step as Jennifer guided me back towards the bathroom corridor. The corset squeezed my ribs tighter with each desperate breath, making every movement a shallow gasp. Beneath the blush chiffon, the soaked cotton liner clung hot and heavy—a dam straining against the flood. Jennifer’s perfume, thick and musky, mixed with the sharp fear induced odors from my body. My bladder screamed with each jarring step on the marble floor. Hold it, hold it, hold it!—the mantra pulsed with my frantic heartbeat.

I was just at the door. It was being opened. A little bit sprayed into the liner just as I got into the toilet, but somehow, it had stopped. I hoped there was nothing showing. I didn't see a puddle.

Jennifer shoved me toward the toilet, her diamond collar flashing under the harsh light. "Go. Now." The door slammed shut behind her—locking me in alone this time.

Relief warred with terror. I fumbled with the chiffon skirt, trembling fingers clawing at the boned corset’s laces. Too slow. Too slow. The pressure built to a white-hot agony, burning through my abdomen.

Not Nadia, I pleaded, wrenching at the stiff fabric. The corset resisted, cruel and unyielding. A sob tore from my throat—dry and panicked.

"I need help in here!" I screamed for Jennifer.

My fingers scrambled at the corset's laces, slick with sweat. The knots held fast, biting into my skin. Above the toilet, my reflection stared back—pale face strained, chiffon skirt bunched around my waist, soaked cotton underwear dark and shameful beneath. A hot trickle escaped, burning down my thigh before I clamped my legs shut. Not Nadia. Not Mom. Jennifer’s diamond collar flashed in my memory—a glittering threat. The scent of lemon cleaner choked me, mixed with the acrid tang of panic.

Jennifer opened the door, as I had my legs together, trying to keep the shame from leaking further, and hoping that it didn't show.

"Aw..., can't even get your clothes undone?" She tortured me.

Jennifer leaned against the doorframe, her gaze tracing the damp patch darkening the cotton underwear visible through my bunched chiffon skirt. A slow smile spread across her face—cold, satisfied. "Poor little peasant," she murmured, stepping closer.

Her polished nail tapped the soaked fabric. "Wet yourself again?" The scent of her perfume couldn't mask the sharp ammonia now blooming in the small room. Shame scalded my cheeks hotter than the salon’s paste.

"Still," she somehow pushed the right place or something, and I was able to sit in time before it all went all over the floor, and mostly, the skirt and dress was saved. Only the panties were wet. "Still, you didn't show. You can just adjust your clothes when you are done. No one is in trouble just yet. Remember that, though. No puddles on the floor and no visible wetness on the outside of the skirt, got it?"

I nodded, my throat tight as she stepped back outside. Relief washed over me—cool and shaky—as I finally emptied my aching bladder into the toilet bowl. The sound echoed loudly in the small marble room, mixing with my ragged breaths. Sweat dripped down my temples, stinging the salon-smoothed skin. When I finished, I carefully peeled off the soaked cotton underwear, balling them up in my trembling hands. They felt heavy, shameful. The chiffon skirt had stayed dry. No puddle. No visible stain. Nadia was safe. For now.

When I flushed the toilet, the door opened immediately. She had just been waiting, always seeming to be there, reminding me that I was probably going to be watched until I went back to the playhouse, where they had set us up to sleep.

"Those," Jennifer pointed coldly at the wet bundle in my hands. "Did I tell you to remove them?" She snatched the underwear before I could respond, her knuckles brushing mine—a fleeting touch like ice. The damp cotton unfurled slightly, revealing the dark stain spreading across the gusset. She held it pinched between thumb and forefinger, dangling it toward me waiting for me to take them. "Put them back on. They serve a purpose." Her diamond collar caught the light as she tilted her head. "Unless you'd prefer accidents ruin Madame Claudette's work?"

I whimpered shaking my head no.

"Then put them back on," Jennifer ordered softly, her eyes drilling into mine. "Unless you'd prefer everyone seeing your sister wetting herself like a baby?" She kept holding the damp underwear out, making no move to give them to me.

The humiliation burned hotter than her salon paste. Slowly, I reached out, my fingers trembling as I took the cold, wet cotton. They felt heavier than lead. I fought the urge to cry as I bent to step back into them—the damp fabric clinging instantly to my skin, chilling and shameful. Jennifer watched without blinking. "Good girl." Her silk robe whispered against the marble floor as she turned. "Now hurry. Daddy’s guests are expecting us."

We walked down the corridor, her heels clicking a sharp rhythm against the tiles. My wet underwear rubbed with every step, a constant, humiliating reminder. The scent of ammonia seemed trapped around me, despite the lemon cleaner drifting from hidden vents.

Nadia waited in the drawing room, apparently a rich person's waiting room for those that are expected, perched stiffly on a velvet chair beside Eloise.

Her eyes widened when she saw me—a flicker of terror crossing her face before she looked down at her own lap, her hands twisting in her freshly pressed dress. Eloise gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head.

 

 

[Guilend]

Great chapter. I have a feeling that little sis is also wearing cotton training panties or pull ups. Though I bet they’re dry. Now I can’t wait to see if their mother is dressed in childish looking clothes. While I doubt we’ll find out, at least right away, I do wonder if the mother is also wearing cotton training panties. I bet they’re all three going to be forced to wear thick night time diapers for bed to make sure the beds stay dry until they can prove they don’t need them over a few weeks period. 

[Parkin]

Jennifer is such a psycho. Thank you for the recent chapters. The story is pretty neat.

[Ishigreensa]

Chapter Six

The Eviction Scheme

 

Nadia, my ten-year-old sister, waited in the drawing room, apparently a rich person's waiting room for those that are expected, perched stiffly on a golden velvet chair with a dark redwood frame beside Eloise.

All around that room, bookcases lined three of the walls towering over the doors, one set of which were double, the ones I came through, one was a single that went to one side, and the other was nearly hidden, a sliding three-piece-panel like wall that when pulled to one side, revealed a large oak table that would see twelve on each side plus one at the head and one at the foot.

Nadia's eyes widened when she saw me—a flicker of terror crossing her face before she looked down at her own lap, her hands twisting in her freshly pressed dress. Eloise gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head towards both her, and then me. Eloise had been one of the maids that had humiliated and cleaned me, supposedly on loan to Jennifer this evening to help deal with my disgust.

Mom sat somewhere off to one side flanked by two people I hadn't met yet. I didn't really think I could take meeting anyone else at the moment. She seemed so stiff, though, like something was really bothering her besides our current predicament. It was something that seemed to make her keep her gaze at her lap, not looking to comfort Nadia, nor to look to give me any understanding. She looked almost defeated.

Eloise cleared her throat softly. "Miss Nadia," she murmured, her voice low but cutting through the thick silence. "Remember your posture."

 

Nadia flinched, straightening instantly on the velvet cushion, her small hands frozen mid-twist in the fabric of her dress. Her knuckles were white. The scent of beeswax polish and old paper hung heavy in the air, underscored by something sharper – fear sweat, maybe, or the cloying sweetness of imported flowers wilting in a vase near the towering bookcases.

A maid pulled back the three-panel-wall revealing the table, with the help of two stronger men, and they bowed at us. Jennifer rose, then Eloise, then I, and mom, and finally, Nadia.

"I want you to move quietly," Jennifer spat in my hear in hushed tones, and I could see Eloise in Nadia's ear at the same time. Nadia had nodded when spoken to.

From the shadowed doorway beyond the revealed table, a tall figure emerged. Max Grievere, Jennifer's father, moved with predatory grace, his polished boots clicking softly on the marble floor. His gaze swept the room, lingering a fraction too long on Nadia’s rigid form before landing squarely on me. A cold smile touched his lips, devoid of warmth.

 

"Ah," he murmured, his voice smooth as aged whiskey yet laced with frost. "You clean up nice--might make a good training assistant for my daughter, yet." The scent of expensive cologne couldn't mask the underlying tang of his contempt.

Nadia and I were directed towards the foot of the table, where we each sat on one side of the very end of the table, and Jennifer took her place at the foot. Mom was steered by her two escorts to the middle of the table, though they did not linger with her, and actually Eloise had left the room, too.

At the head of the table, after Max had sat, Jennifer's mom appeared at the same door way he had appeared, and she floated over the floor with much less sound despite having on black polished heels. Shawna bowed and kissed Max's hand before she took the seat immediate to his right.

Max stood, his gaze scanning the whole table.

He clasped his hands behind his back. "We've gathered," he began, his voice low but filling the cavernous room, "to discuss futures. Specifically," his eyes locked onto me, "my daughter Jennifer requires a companion. Someone malleable. Trainable."

I gulped. I thought we had all been told this stuff already, and I didn't see anyone else in the room to need to bring this up. Was he going to change his mind about me? I hoped he wasn't going to go after my ten year old sister. There was no way I'd let this spoiled brat have my sister like that.

"So..., I have some important people coming in a few minutes, who will be meeting my daughter's new personal assistant and her little sister, and also a new position has opened up in our company, where your mom will actually be handling records."

I stiffened in my seat, and I heard the ruckus of the people starting to close off the three-panel-wall door again, and then realized, he liked dramatic effects.

"A personal assistant," he looked from my mom, to Nadia, and then back to me, "is above all else, a lady. You, Lena, will behave like a lady at all times. If you make a mistake, you will be severely dealt with, understand?"

I gulped.

"Even if you are not officially employed by the house," he turned to my little sister. "You will have expectations, too. There will be no lying. There will be no contradicting the head of the house which means me... nor anyone else I put in charge of keeping you out of trouble."

Nadia looked to mom who gave a slow nod to her, and so she nodded back to Max.

Max smiled. "Good."

 

He tapped the table with his knuckle, the sound sharp as a gunshot. "Jennifer, demonstrate."

 

Jennifer rose smoothly, her face a mask of bored perfection. She walked towards Nadia, who flinched back into her chair. "Your sister," Jennifer announced, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "will be joining my etiquette lessons. Starting tomorrow." Nadia’s breath hitched; her eyes darted to mine, wide with panic.

 

I narrowed my eyes on Max. That had not been a part of the deal. I was supposed to have to put up with Jennifer’s bowl, and no one else! I glared from him over where Jennifer was terrifying Nadia. I rose, abruptly, wanting to say something, but….

 

Max raised a single hand to me, and I froze. He didn’t even look at me. He was looking at Nadia, who flinched again as Jennifer leaned in close. "You will address me as 'Miss Jennifer'," Jennifer hissed, close enough that Nadia could smell her floral perfume mingling with the sharp tang of her breath. "And you will curtsy properly. Like this." Jennifer executed a shallow, mocking dip, her eyes never leaving Nadia’s pale face.

My fists clenched under the table, nails digging crescents into my palms. Above us, the chandelier crystals threw fractured light onto the polished wood, highlighting the tremor in Nadia’s shoulders. Mom stayed statue-still farther down the table, staring blankly at her folded hands. Shawna traced the rim of her water glass with a manicured finger, her expression unreadable. Only Max seemed relaxed, leaning back slightly in his high-backed chair, watching the scene unfold like a favored play.

"You do want your sister and your mom to have an easy time," Jennifer cooed at Nadia in whispers as she showed her how to stand and do the curtsy correctly. "You will obey me, and do it, or you can be separated from your family. Your choice."

Nadia's lower lip trembled, but she pushed herself up on shaky legs, mimicking Jennifer's shallow dip. Her curtsy was clumsy, uneven, and she stumbled slightly on the descent. A titter escaped Shawna. Max's smile widened, coldly satisfied. "Adequate for a first attempt," he stated, though his eyes held no warmth. "Practice. Daily. Under Jennifer’s supervision." The dismissal in his tone was absolute. Nadia sank back into her chair, trembling, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek before she furiously wiped it away.

"And, as for you," Max looked into my eyes. "You're defiance, though aptly controlled and put away a moment ago, will not do at all. You need a lot of training, and you will learn etiquette along with your sister at the regular time she does everyday. You will be watched, not only because Jennifer will be teaching you, but...." And he pointed up along the ceiling, and I could see five cameras aimed at the table where we sat. "Understand?"

My stomach tightened, and I nodded quickly, forcing my shoulders to relax under his stare. The air tasted stale, thick with polish and Jennifer's floral perfume, undercut by Nadia's faint, salty tears.

 

Across the table, Mom's knuckles were bone-white against the dark wood, her gaze still fixed on her lap like it held some escape route none of us could see.

"Excellent," Max smiled and sat down. "Now, some important people are going to enter momentarily, and you will all quietly wait for them to sit, and then I'll be explaining to them about the issues at hand--getting your dad's finances back under the control of your mother." He was still addressing me?

I froze. Dad's finances? Control? Mom was still staring down at her lap, but her shoulders hunched slightly.

"I understand that your mother is being looked into by the police for murdering her husband, and it is alleged that it was after your parents may have embezzled some funds from the company. However, I feel all of that is a fabrication so someone who actually enacted the plan, and killed your old man, could get the funds. I am going to see that that doesn't happen, but for me to do this, free and clear of charge, and to earn your thirty-five dollars a week, Lena, you must be good and do what you are told as well as your mother and your sister. Understand?"

My throat tightened. Murder? Embezzlement? The words hit like physical blows. Dad's car had been found a couple of weeks ago, and I knew the police said it looked like a hunting accident or something, but I knew it was no accident! Now the truth is, someone is trying to arrest mom, and trying to steal all of my dad's hard work?

The heavy wall panels parted with a groan--open again. Four figures strode in—two men in sharply tailored suits with faces like carved stone, and a woman whose icy blonde hair and crimson suit screamed expensive authority. Their footsteps echoed sharply in the sudden quiet. Max rose, his smile shifting into something smoother, practiced.

 

"Ah, Commissioners. Right on time." Three men took seats near the head on Max's left side, their eyes sweeping over us with detached curiosity. The woman took a seat right next to Shawna. The sliding walls were again, pulled closed.

Nadia shrank across from me, her small frame trembling against the velvet chair. I forced myself to sit perfectly still, my hands flat on my thighs, mimicking Jennifer's bored posture. My mind raced—murder? Embezzlement? Mom had been protecting us, not herself. The betrayal felt like bile in my throat.

Max gestured expansively. "Allow me to present Lena Miller," his voice smooth as poured oil, "Jennifer’s personal assistant-in-training. Her sister, Nadia. And their mother, Larissa Miller." He paused, letting the names hang. "The individuals central to our... unfortunate situation."

The blonde woman’s gaze sliced to Mom—cold, assessing. "Larissa Miller. We’ve reviewed the financial discrepancies." Her tone was clipped, devoid of inflection. "Substantial transfers from your husband’s accounts occurred after his reported disappearance. Convenient timing."

Mom shook in her seat. "And Max will tell you, that I was unable to get any of that money." Her voice sounded like a bundle of nerves. "I told him about everything, and I mean.... We were on the street, and I was going to the bank to find out what happened, when Mr. Grievere stopped me from walking right into the police. What is this?"

Max cleared his throat. "Mrs. Carter, I think you have been misinformed. She is the one I'm going to defend on these charges. She and her kids spent the last night at a dingy park bathroom, trying to keep some form of shelter over them, and some kind of walls from the outside. That's why they still somewhat smell... un-desirable. You know soap can only do so much especially when you are poor to start with."

The blonde woman—Mrs. Carter—leaned forward, her crimson nails tapping the table like impatient beetles. "That doesn't explain the transfers, Mr. Grievere. Over two hundred thousand dollars vanished from Victor Miller's accounts three days after the coroner estimated his death." Her eyes narrowed. "Conveniently, just before Mrs. Miller reported him missing."

I stood up, the accusations making no sense! "Excuse me, ma'am, but you need to get your facts straight. She didn't need to report it. We were fucking waiting for him to come home, and the police told us, they found his car off of the road and abandoned! That's when we knew he was in trouble! He had been coming home after a business meeting. Whoever took that money, took it because the funds had already been seized as a part of the investigation, or so we thought!"

Though Mrs. Carter had tried to stop me and had rage on her face at my interruption, Max put a hand out, gesturing for Shawna to cool her so I could have my say. His eyes did narrow on me, though, like that outburst would cost me something!

Mrs. Carter leaned back, her crimson lips tightening into a thin line. "Seized?" she snapped. "Those accounts were drained before the police freeze, girl. Your mother's fingerprints are on the withdrawal slips—digitally verified." The accusation hung thick as smoke, sharpening the scent of beeswax and fear-sweat clinging to Nadia across from me. Mom flinched violently, her knuckles whitening further against the dark wood as if the polished surface could swallow her whole.

Mom shook her head. "Mrs. Carter, I can prove to you that I had no chance to make those withdraws, if you will let me speak at all,” she stood and stilled herself, shaking at the knees. “Whatever transfer receipts you are talking about, they had to be forged because my personal phone had died a month ago. I had not had a chance to replace it, and we were getting our calls on the landline in the apartment we lived in.”

 

The woman’s mouth was tight, but she sat back listening for the moment.

 

“For the last two weeks, we had no money at all,” Mom continued. “Which is why we were evicted! We were down to under fifty dollars to live on when we had to leave the house, and Max has my purse. He has all the information I have, right there at his hands, since he took it as a part of his own investigation!” Mom sat down, excausted, but had a small plea left in her as the woman looked at her with disdain, as though she was mentally poking holes in mom’s statement.

 

“Please, Mr. Greivere, you promised that you believed me, and that you were going to find out what happened!"

Max sighed, a theatrical sound that echoed slightly in the heavy silence.

 

"Indeed. Mrs. Miller’s financial access was severely limited long before Victor’s… unfortunate accident. The phone records support her claim." He gestured dismissively towards the blonde woman. "Conveniently overlooked, Commissioner Carter? Or merely inconvenient for your narrative?"

 

Mrs. Carter’s eyes flashed with irritation, her crimson nails digging into the polished wood. The tension crackled like static, thickening the air with unspoken threats.

"You may think that man you work for, Mr. Wedgewig, is some kind of powerhouse in the corporate, but he is not above the law. If we find out he had anything to do with this, and you and I both know he'd been going after the Croftland business for a while, now...." He let his own threat linger unfinished in the air. It was like a game of chess. I heard water spilling on the floor from across me... my little sister peeing her pants.

Mrs. Carter’s icy composure fractured. She slammed a palm on the table, rattling the water glasses. "How dare you imply—" Her protest died as Nadia’s sharp gasp cut through. A dark stain bloomed across the golden velvet seat beneath her, spreading rapidly down her legs. The sharp, rancid scent of urine, shame; sliced through the thin veil of perfume and polish.

Nadia froze, mortified, her face crimson as she stared at the spreading puddle. Eloise materialized silently from a side door, a towel already in hand, but Max’s raised finger halted her mid-step. Silence descended, thick and suffocating.

"Why did Nadia have to be at this?" I whispered to Jennifer knowing that she was scared to death, and that even if that were no excuse, Jennifer knew somehow that she wets the bed, and she's only ten. This didn't seem fair to Nadia... not to me.

Jennifer put a finger to her lips glaring me down.

Nadia, had her eyes in her hands, face staring at her wet lap. Mom looked over at Nadia, scared of helping her in the instant, I could see as her arms moved in Nadia's direction, but her butt stayed planted in the seat.

A moment caused a new, if disturbing quiet, to settle, and Mrs. Carter turned back to Max. "Look, as much as Mr. Wedgewig may have wanted the Croftland estates, there is no proof he was behind such a poorly thought out scheme."

Max leaned forward, his knuckles whitening on the table edge.

 

"Poorly thought out? It was executed flawlessly—until now." His gaze flicked to Nadia’s trembling form, then back to Carter.

 

"Perhaps Wedgewig underestimated the desperation of a grieving widow." The implication hung heavy—Mom’s panic, her eviction, her reliance on Max—all potentially manipulated.

 

There was another eerie silence, as I watched my sister put her head on the table; her hands covering her face. I wanted to go to her side, but Jennifer wagged a finger at me, and even mom didn't go, which meant, it was a bad idea... so I waited.

Finally, Mrs. Carter spoke, her voice colder than the tile floor Nadia had just wet.

 

"Mr. Grievere, I've seen desperate people before. What I haven't seen is a shred of evidence linking Mr. Wedgewig to Victor Miller's disappearance or these transfers. Fingerprints don't lie."

"Fingerprints?" Max smiled eerily as if he knew something that was not obvious. "You are saying there are fingerprints... where exactly?" He had a sly smile that said that she was about to put her foot in a big ol' bear trap, and he was just waiting to clamp his jaws of fact down on her!

Mrs. Carter hesitated, her confidence faltering under Max’s predatory stillness. "On the withdrawal slips," she stated, but her voice lacked its earlier conviction. "Dated after Victor's disappearance."

"Withdrawal slips that were presented...?" he touched his fingers together in a very calm manner, watching her with cool collected eyes. "Where did these slips show up? Do you know who the bank was dealing with when they saw them, or if it was done... digitally?"

Mrs. Carter frowned, shifting slightly in her seat. "The slips were presented at First National Bank of Hartford—"

"Go on...," he smiled. "You said after his disappearance, how soon after?" His cool calm smirk still in place as if the bank people didn't concern him for some reason.

Mrs. Carter's lips tightened. "Three weeks after Victor was declared missing. The bank manager confirmed Larissa Miller presented them personally."

Max chuckled softly, a dry, unsettling sound. "Interesting. Because First National Bank of Hartford closed its doors permanently nine days before Victor vanished. There haven't been withdrawal slips accepted there in months." He let the silence hang, thick as the scent of urine still clinging to the air. "And.... So, Commissioner Carter... whose bank manager confirmed these phantom slips?"

Mrs. Carter paled, her knuckles whitening on her briefcase strap. She glanced towards the door as if expecting her unseen commissioner, then back at Max. "That... that can't be right. The records we have—"

"Are all obvious lies. You do realize three weeks after his disappearance, puts the time frame, within a few days of today! Since her children and her neighbors can attest to her not even leaving the house to pick up her children from activities in that time, and her not moving at all for even food shopping because of depression.... You can see why none of that would make any sense what so ever. She had to leave because of an eviction, and that's the only reason she sits at my table now."

Mrs. Carter's jaw tightened, her gaze darting to Larissa's hunched form. The scent of bleach from Eloise's cleaning mingled with the lingering sour tang of Nadia's accident, sharpening the tension in the air. Larissa lifted her head slowly, eyes red-rimmed but defiant.

 

"I was packing boxes," she whispered hoarsely. "Crying over photo albums. Ask Lena... she brought me soup."

 

I nodded fiercely, my gaze staring defiantly at the cold woman. "You should talk to Mrs. Creevy, who lives across the street. She got us groceries two weeks in a row because mama hadn't even had the energy to leave her bed some days, and she was worried if we were eating. Even Nadia's piano teacher noticed and called mom because Nadia forgot to take a bath twice, and smelled because she...," my face went fiery blazingly hot as I was about to betray my sister's secret. "...she has been having accidents since daddy disappeared... wetting the bed."

Mrs. Carter stared at me, her eyes widening slightly as she processed this. The commissioner swallowed hard, her knuckles still white on her briefcase strap. "That doesn't disprove the transfers," she insisted, but her voice cracked on the last word. She glanced at her phone vibrating silently on the table.

"Oh, I have no doubt the transfers happened," Max smiled with a keen smile. "But if Ms. Larissa Miller wasn't in any condition to make them, and you know children under eighteen couldn't do it, then there is your proof that something else is happening. Something with your employer's mark all over it--Mr. Wedgewig. I say again, give me more bait to dismantle in front of you, if you have more." His words were a taunt, a challenge, for her to give him more fodder that he could wave under her nose, that he would gladly use in court against her.

Mrs. Carter stared at her buzzing phone, the screen flashing with an unknown number. Her fingers trembled as she hesitated—answering might reveal Commissioner Carter's involvement, ignoring it screamed guilt. The scent of bleach tightened around us like a noose. Nadia shifted across from me, her breath shallow; we knew Mom hadn't touched a bank account since Dad vanished. Only Max had handled the eviction notices crumpled in Mom's purse.

When Mrs. Carter finally snatched up the phone, Max leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Put it on speaker," he commanded softly. Her thumb hovered, then pressed the button. Static crackled, followed by a man's clipped voice: "Carter? The Hartford records just vanished from the server. Like they never existed." Silence swallowed the room. Even Jennifer froze mid-breath, her fingers trying to drive their nails into the table.

Max's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Convenient timing, Commissioner. Almost like someone panicked." He gestured at Larissa, slumped and trembling. "Your employer didn't count on a widow too broken to fake transactions—or a ten-year-old girl so scared she'd piss herself." Nadia whimpered, burying her face deeper in her hands. The sharp scent of bleach burned my nostrils, mixing with sweat and fear.

"I take it you need to go assess the damage and review your tactics. Just know, whatever you bring back to me, well, it will be recorded...," and he glanced up in a corner of the ceiling revealing that the room had five cameras upon the table.

 

"I am collecting my own evidence, and if I find that you are involved in this scheme, more than just representing your client, it will come out if you continue to subject my client and her girls to your grueling. Otherwise, we can see you in court."

Mrs. Carter pushed back her chair abruptly, the legs scraping harshly on the tile. Her briefcase strap slid off her shoulder as she fled towards the door without another word, leaving only the fading click of her heels and the sharp scent of bleach. Nadia lifted her tear-streaked face from her hands, trembling visibly now that the harsh spotlight was gone. Eloise finally moved, wrapping a thick towel around Nadia’s shoulders with quiet efficiency.
 

[Guilend]

Great chapter. The mystery thickens. 
 

Now I’m curious about what happened to their mother and who the two people are that was with her. She went from trying to defend her daughters to sitting there like a chastised little girl. And I’m guessing the two people standing with her are other servants, put in charge over the mother, but why two and not just one? It seems that the mother isn’t wearing anything that appears to be childish designe or style, since Lena never mentions what her mother was wearing. When the mother sat back down, Lena didn’t mention that her mother winced so maybe the mother didn’t get spanked or she’s just good at hiding it. But it does appear that the mother seems to be on edge as if she’s afraid that Max or his wife might say something to embarrass her in front of her daughters. 
 

It seems like Nadia is being used against Lena, while both daughters are being used against their mother. It’s definitely a good strategy for controlling people. 

[Night Rain]

Always did enjoy people in control of others and I liked reading about what happened with Lena through chapter 5. Call me crazy for just liking those sorts of things and hope for more or other stuff like it.

[Ishigreensa]

Chapter Seven

How A Heart of Contracts Can Be… Played

 

As the young maid, Eloise had her hands on Nadia's shaking shoulders, her brown hair escaping the tight bun she normally had to wear her hair in, and her green eyes staring across from me, Mr. Greivere sat back his fingers touching on ends, again. He waited for a moment for the aura of the retreating representative from Wedgewig to disappear.

 

I shivered as the smell from my own lap started to make itself aware... a reminding of the peeing accident I had had maybe an hour or two earlier, one where Jennifer pushed me on the toilet to pee in my panties as she coldly watched me pee them, and then she made me wear them since... knowing we were going into an important meeting in front of her strict father, no less. I felt the smell causing my face and neck to burn with embarrassment, though the fabric in the thick cotton panties was cooling. I wasn't sure, but I'd bet that by this time, the wetness had probably soaked through the dress. I know it would have, had I been wearing a regular one, but this thing they had me in... had so many layers... I should be grateful if somehow, the layers kept my shame hidden.

"Well, dramatic that was," Mr. Greivere finally spoke a measured word as we all seemed to take a breath and think about our own places around the table. "Eloise, take little pee pee pants to the staff bathroom in the kitchen and get her as cleaned up as you can there, but don't take all day. I want dinner now, not in three hours."

Jennifer smirked at me.

I avoided her gaze. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rising, and an overwhelming emotion from inside to strike at her emanating from deep inside my chest. This girl, that had tormented me at school for the last two years--now my boss--seemed to be doing everything she can to provoke me, and I knew the consequences would not be good if I let her. My mom faced prison. My sister faced foster care where she would know no one, and it wasn't fair to them that our only way out of the mess created by dad's disappearance and then death, was for my tormentor's family to offer 'shelter' however crude that shelter may be.

"Don't tell me you peed your pants again, already?" Jennifer whispered.

I felt my fists tighten at my sides, my face tightened, and my eyes felt like they were wanted to pop out and assault her on their own, but somehow, though I shook with the effort, I kept control; knowing that I'd pay for any little retaliation that I might make. Through gritted teeth, I whispered tightly. "No. You are making me sit in wet cold panties. If it's leaked through, it's your fault.... I don't even have to go right now."

She smiled and stood as Mr. Greivere motioned at the table at large.

"Come, everyone, sit a little closer. Larissa, sit next to Shawna, please. Jennifer, sit next to me, and Lena you next to Jennifer. When little miss pee-pee pants gets back, we'll start dinner."

I turned down his way and glared at him. He had not right to make fun of a scared ten year old no matter what small infraction she had done in response to it. I was sitting in wet panties myself, and if the people that made her 'presentable' was anything like Jennifer had been to me, then of course she peed. She likely had no chance to go to the bathroom, and as scared as she was, she probably couldn't even ask.

Mr. Greivere's sight was drawn my way, probably because of the daggers that were in my eyes for him at the moment. He only looked a moment, but there was no reaction to the way I looked at him. It was like water off a duck's back, the way he turned to my mother, and he very pleasantly turn to her own contract making.

"I am sure you want a contract for your own work, then?" his words were deliberate and simple.

Mom's smile tightened a little in nervousness.

"You saw what Mr. Wedgewig is trying to pin on you and your recently deceased love?"

Mom's lips tightened more. She was no longer smiling at all. Her own body was shaking a bit.

"So...?" she barely voiced the word.

"So..., I am going to help you, Miss Miller. But you need to understand the gravity of the conditions you are here under. You cannot just freely leave the estate. To do so, would put you in jeopardy of being arrested on the spot. You have gathered that much, I'd assume?"

She shook but nodded her head slowly. Some of the hair they had somehow gotten to balance on top of her head had seemed to become limp with the gravity of our situation, and drooped down in her eyes. The brown wavy strands some with grayness mixed in, seemed to exaggerate her worry.

"You will need a job to pay for things that are not being offered as a matter of course by myself and our staff here. You'll want to have Lena and Nadia to have nice things for school when that starts next week. You'll want to get some toys because I'm sure you had to leave the children's things all at your other place when you were evicted?"

Mom looked up, pushing a mass of her hair out of her face to see him properly. "We are grateful for what you are doing. But if I can't even leave your estate, how do you expect me to find a ...," but she went quiet as the man frowned at her.

"That's what I'm telling you. You work for me now. You did understand in the car, right? That while I want Lena to be my daughter's first employee to teach her how to run her empire for when I pass it to her, that I had also had plans to put you to work as well?"

Mom frowned. "I... I thought you were just sounding it out with me. I didn't realize that you meant it...."

"Well, I did. You really have no choice, do you? Like was pointed out, you can't leave to get a job anywhere else, or you'll be arrested on the spot, and your children will likely go... well, to the state. Which is one of the terms of the contract I'd like Lena to hear...."

Mom shivered as she watched him with eyes like a rabbit eyeing a hawk about to strike. I felt a shiver down my spine as I started to sit, taking the moment as I sat, to feel my bum to make sure nothing had leaked through my wet panties out to the outside. It was dry. I had done it in pretense of adjusting the dress to sit hoping no one would notice.

"I can keep your children together," Mr. Greivere sternly looked into mom's eyes. "Even if the police come here with a warrant, it is possible for me to keep them together."

Mom looked over at me with pleading eyes. I think she would have done anything to protect us, and especially Nadia being just ten years old, going into fifth grade, she was so scared and fragile. Mom had to think of her. I had to think of her. I nodded my head fully trusting and supporting my mother.

"What do you want to do, Mr. Greivere?"

"It's simple, really. You are their mother, so for as long as we can keep the police at bay, you will stay with your daughters in the... uh... arrangements I have put you in. But you need to sign a guardianship form, making me their... Godfather. As such, I can take them if anything happens to you, and you will not have to worry about them having a place to stay, food in their bellies, and some of the other common things they are used to having such as toys and books to occupy their free time."

Mom looked back at me, her hands on the table, clearly clenching as she felt a strong wave of something keeping her there, as though the decision was forced on her in the moment, a decision that should have been thought about for months, but it was there, facing her now.

"Mom, I'll...," I started to whisper.

"Child, hold your tongue," Mrs. Greivere looked cold and stone faced at me. "Children do not get in the middle of adult affairs." She didn't yell, rather, she whispered it, but her whisper carried across the table so it was evident that she had scolded me just the same.

Mom looked down at her hands, which were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. I could see the tiny tremors running through her fingers. The scent of roast duck wafted in from the kitchen, rich and savory, but it couldn't mask the stale odor of my own humiliation clinging to me—a damp, acrid reminder beneath layers of fabric.

 

Next to me, Jennifer smirked, her fingers drumming lightly on the polished mahogany table, the sound barely audible over Mr. Greivere's steady breathing. His eyes were fixed on Mom, unblinking, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

 

"The guardianship is non-negotiable, Larissa," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Sign it, and your daughters stay together. Refuse..." He trailed off, letting the unspoken threat hang heavy in the air. Mom flinched as if struck. I wanted to scream at him, to rip that smug look off Jennifer’s face, but fear for Nadia—alone in that kitchen somewhere—locked my voice in my throat.

Mom didn't say 'if' when she responded. Her voice trembled in the same shakiness that was evident to everyone at the table. "When I sign it, what is to keep you calling the police and having me taken away at that very moment?" she looked down at the table.

"What keeps me from calling them right now?" Mr. Greivere asked. "I can easily track down Lena and get her back. You know I can. But if you don't sign it, I will have no obligation to track down Nadia, will I? So she'll go through the foster system lost to her mother and her sister, being completely alone. However, if you do sign it, it would be a contract, and I'd make sure someone on staff would keep her safe. I think Eloise is actually growing fond of her anyway. She'd probably help her."

I leaned forward, my damp dress clinging uncomfortably to my thighs as I slid toward the edge of my seat. Jennifer’s smug grin widened; she traced a manicured nail along the rim of her water glass, the faint *ping* cutting through the thick silence. The roast duck scent had grown overpowering, mingling nauseatingly with the lingering smell of my shame—a sour, intimate intrusion in this opulent dining room. Mom’s knuckles were bone-white, her breaths shallow and rapid.

After a few tense moments, Mr. Greivere smiled. "So, then, we have a deal?"

Mom nodded in defeat, her shoulders slumped a bit though she was still shaking. "So, does that mean that you can now make Nadia work, too, though I've tried to keep Lena from having unreasonable pressures even on her?"

Mr. Greivere shook his head and smiled. "No. Nadia... she will just be looked after by Eloise when you are unavailable. She won't have to work. And yes, Lena, however, will have the kind of contract Jennifer wants her to have, unless--you want to stop this now?"

I could see the indecision in mom's face. I tried to mouth at her. "It's okay. I'll keep an eye on Nadia when I can, too" but I wasn't sure mom could read my lips, and I didn't dare raise my voice.

Eloise brought Nadia, her eyes watery, back to the seat next to mom.

Mom reached out and pulled Nadia close, whispering reassurances while keeping her gaze locked on Mr. Greivere.

 

Her voice was barely audible over Jennifer’s low chuckle. "Fine. I’ll sign it." The words felt like shards of ice scraping her throat. Mr. Greivere’s smile spread slowly, shark-like, as he slid a thick document across the table. Its crisp edges caught the chandelier light, gleaming like a trap. Nadia buried her face in mom’s side, muffling a sob.

"Dinner will take some time," Jennifer whispered to me. "In a bit, and you better not pee again for real, or else, especially not while we are eating. That's gross. But after we've had dinner, just before we part ways, you will go along with what I do... or your sister... foster care?"

I gulped.

Jennifer's mint gum was on her breath and was poison in my face as she breathed her conditions to me, her silk yellow blondness framing her face like the hood of a cobra as her venomous words sank deep. "You will get up from the table when we are dismissed... and you will... accidentally trip. And then... you will accept whatever consequence comes from that. Do I make myself clear?"

I nodded tightly, my stomach churning with the roast duck threatening to reappear. Across the table, Mr. Greivere was handing Mom a heavy fountain pen, its gold nib catching the chandelier light like a guillotine blade.

 

Mom’s hand shook as she reached for it, her knuckles still stark white against the mahogany. Nadia clung to her side, small fingers digging into Mom’s sleeve, her eyes wide and darting from face to face. The rich scent of the duck and rosemary potatoes was now cloying, thick as fog, mixing with the persistent dampness clinging to my underthings—a sharp, acidic reminder of Jennifer’s earlier cruelty.

 

Mom's shaking hand signed the contract, and it happened so fast, it didn't look like she had read it at all. There were three parts of it to sign, and I think there was more than the mention of guardianship in that... because... well, how many papers would you need, just for guardianship to spell it out? I shivered. Mom had definitely signed a lot more than she intended to... I was sure of it.

"Good," Mr. Greivere was more eager to get the papers back than the expensive pen that mom used to sign with. "Now that's settled, I think we should be served." And he picked up a tiny bell that rested just at the head of the table, and he gave it a wiggle calling people out of the shadows around us, opening tin covered plates of more food than I had ever seen at one meal, and that included at Thanksgiving feasts!

Jennifer leaned close again, her breath minty cold against my ear. "Remember your trip." Her whisper was silk over steel.

 

I clenched my thighs together, the damp cotton chafing skin already raw from humiliation. The clatter of silverware on fine china echoed like gunshots as servants laid out steaming plates—rosemary-crusted lamb, glazed carrots glistening like amber, potatoes dauphinoise layered thick as sin. My stomach twisted; the rich aromas couldn't mask the sour tang rising from my own lap. Nadia picked at her bread roll, crumbs scattering like broken promises. Eloise hovered behind her chair, a silent sentinel.

"Oh, dear me, where are my manners?" Mr. Greivere sighed and motioned at Eloise. "Girl, you're position in the house is no longer a simple handmaiden. You may sit. Your contract will be drawn up soon. You will be responsible... for the two new household members of the Greivere estate as a governess, and as such, you eat with your charges, miss."

Eloise blinked as she looked at him and then mom and then Nadia and me. Her cheeks flushed softly as she pulled a chair out from the corner and scooted it next to Nadia. Mr. Greivere tapped the bell again sharply. "Well, Eloise, sit. You're officially promoted, and that means you sit at the table. You're one of us now."

When Eloise sat next to mom, that's when it really clicked in my head. Eloise wasn't an adult, for sure. She wasn't even older than me, and if she was, probably only by a year or so. I glanced over at Mr. Greivere.

"When you are not at work, Lena, and when your mom is busy, you will answer to your new governess as well."

Jennifer snorted softly into her water glass. Eloise’s cheeks flamed as she clumsily unfolded her napkin onto her lap, fingers trembling. Her eyes darted between Nadia’s tear-streaked face and mine. She couldn’t be older than sixteen—barely more than a child herself.

 

The fine porcelain felt alien beneath her calloused hands. Mr. Greivere’s smile was a razor’s edge. "Eloise understands discipline, Larissa. She’ll ensure your girls learn... obedience." He emphasized the last word, glancing pointedly at me.

 

Mom nodded her head a couple of quick nods, her face turning rosy, as if... she hadn't taught us discipline! How dare this lunatic and his crazy cruel creed-ants! I'd show them... only he had it over my mother now. He had us under his whim, and mom knew what happened if she stepped out of line. I didn't trust them with Nadia without mom here. I had to find a way to keep mom here, no matter what Jennifer forced up on me. I would not leave Nadia to their whims, and I think the only one that could stop them... or at least have a chance, is mom. I had to find a way to make sure she had to stay.

"Mr. Greivere?" I nervously spoke my voice trembling and low. "Um... you... you need our mother, don't you, sir?"

Jennifer kicked me under the table hard enough to bruise my shinbone. I winced but kept my gaze fixed on Mr. Greivere, who slowly lowered his forkful of lamb. "Excuse me?"

"I... I just mean... you need our mom, or we wouldn't be here? You... um... you are very gracious taking us in and everything, but truth is... you need her?" I was more pleading I think than making a statement. I was trying to see... if I agreed to something, if it would be worth it or not.... If it would make sure mom stayed around....

Mr. Greivere leaned back, his chair creaking softly. The chandelier light caught the silver streaks in his hair, making them gleam like wire.

 

"Need?" He chuckled, low and humorless. "Miss Miller possesses certain... talents. Skills cultivated under your father’s unfortunate enterprises. Skills that happen to align with resolving Mr. Wedgewig’s little financial entanglement."

 

His gaze slid to Mom, who paled, clutching her napkin like a lifeline.

 

 

"Her expertise in forensic accounting is... irreplaceable. For now." He speared a glistening carrot. "But expertise can be copied. Loyalty?" He shook his head slowly. "That requires incentive."

"We... well, mom has incentive, if I stay around, right?" I asked hopefully peeking not only his interest but also Jennifer's. I somehow think from what I've observed, he'd do nearly anything for his precious princess. "You see, we don't have our contract done yet, sir, and I can actually concede some more, if... if you would like to make a deal. I just... I want to know that Nadia grows up with a mother, you know? That's my incentive." I felt my face so fiery red, that it was probably possible to roast the duck right off it, yet again. I was shaking. I was scared. But I had to do it, not just because I loved my mom, but because Nadia needed someone that could keep her safe, and I was doubting I'd be able to, as much as Jennifer had controlled me even before a paper was signed.

Mr. Greivere paused mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air as lamb juice dripped onto the pristine tablecloth. The silence stretched, thick with the clink of silverware and Nadia's muffled sniffles. Jennifer's eyes narrowed, cold and assessing.

 

"What exactly are you offering, Lena?" Her voice was a whisper, but it sliced through the room. "Your... loyalty?" The word hung like a noose.

"Five years, minimum," I told her. "I... I'll take whatever wage you think fair, but you... you don't have to worry about... about labor laws. Honestly, your dad is already breaking them by forcing a teenager to work, and not me... but... That girl sitting next to my sister, for example. And you are both breaking them because a kid in high school is only allowed a few hours after school. You want more than that, right? Well.... I sign a contract that mom counter signs. I... I become your dad's foster kid for five years... that means... there are no labor laws because it looks on paper like he's just raising me, but you..., Jennifer, again, you can pay what you think I'm worth, but if you don't want me bringing shame to the family, then I'll need some allowances to not look too poor, right? And I... I can work anytime you want as long as I have time to do homework and two hours a night to... relax?"

Mr. Greivere tapped his chin and nodded slowly. A flicker of something—calculation, perhaps—crossed his eyes. The roast duck suddenly tasted like ash in my mouth; its rich, fatty aroma turned cloying, blending sickeningly with the persistent dampness beneath my dress. Eloise shifted beside Nadia, her worn maid’s uniform stark against the fine linen napkin draped over her lap. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the chair’s edge.

"Lena, you are not an adult," mom started to try to put a stop to this, but Mr. Greivere raised a silencing hand. His eyes swept over me like a hawk assessing prey.

 

"Intriguing proposition," he murmured. "A five-year apprenticeship? Binding? Legally untouchable?" He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Sign away your labor protections in exchange for... what? Larissa stays free? Protected?" His gaze flicked to Mom’s pale face. "And Nadia?"

I frowned. "So Nadia grow up with her natural mother," I said. "And you continue to protect them just like you promised, and you already signed a contract to let my mom work so she can buy Nadia what you don't provide. You don't touch Nadia, as far as being a guardian. You leave her alone. I don't mind Eloise being our governor, but mom keeps her rights as my sister's primary care taker... period." I was beat red, and felt winded like I had ran a hundred miles for someone's life.

He leaned back, savoring my desperation. Across the table, Jennifer smirked, her manicured nails tapping a rhythm on her crystal glass—*ting, ting, ting*—each note sharp as a needle.

 

Eloise froze beside Nadia, her gaze darting between my mother’s blanched face and the dripping fork in Mr. Greivere’s hand.

 

Nadia clutched her bread roll so tight it crumbled, scattering golden dust across her plate like fallen hopes.

"I... I peed my pants," I told Mr. Greivere. I... I'm so nervous about this, but it's the right thing to do. I'll do it, but I... I got nervous. I'm peeing my pants." There, Jenny! I got one over on you. I know why you wanted me to trip, so your dad would catch me in wet panties, now he thinks I had a reason to pee them... so there! That was all in my head. I could never say it like that to her or this would definitely not go the way I wanted... but in my own mind, I'd known I bested her, even if just this once!

Jennifer's breath hitched, her smirk vanishing as her knuckles whitened around her fork. A drip of gravy slid unnoticed from her plate onto the pristine linen. Across the table, Eloise flinched, her gaze darting to Nadia’s trembling shoulders.

 

Mr. Greivere’s eyes narrowed—a predator scenting weakness—but before he could speak, Jennifer slammed her hand down. Silverware clattered. "You disgusting little—!" Her shrill voice cracked the tension like glass.

"I know, sir," I kept my attention fully on Mr. Greivere. I didn't have a contract with Jennifer yet, so she can scream all she wants, but the only way she gets to get even with me, is if daddy let's us make the contract I just laid out. I wouldn't sign otherwise, and I... I am still nervous. I might actually be peeing, I'm not sure. But I as scared as I am... I'm not signing unless I see that mom stays with Nadia, and he keeps mom for all five years keeping the contract he already had her sign for as long.

Mr. Greivere raised a silencing hand toward Jennifer. Her furious glare bounced off him like hail on stone. The dining room froze—even Eloise stopped breathing beside Nadia. Only the faint *drip* of Jennifer’s spilled gravy broke the silence. His eyes locked onto mine, cold and assessing.

 

"Clever," he murmured, the word slicing through the tension like a scalpel. "Using your... accident... as leverage. Threatening to withhold your signature unless my daughter behaves?"

 

A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "Jennifer, learn from this. Emotional outbursts are liabilities."

 

He turned back to me, steepling his fingers. "Five years. Foster status. No labor protections. Larissa remains free, Nadia untouched. Done."

"You must excuse me, sir, but it's not done. Not until you produce the paper tomorrow morning for me to sign. I am not promised until it is done. You said loyalty is the only thing that means anything to you, and then you said that loyalty has to be bought. Not like that, sure," I was feeling braver now. "So, when you bring the contract, and it says exactly as I stated in it, then I will sign it, and you will have full control over me, and Jennifer can whoop my bottom for peeing in the chair just now."

Mr. Greivere’s eyes narrowed to slits, the chandelier light catching the predatory gleam within. Jennifer’s fork clattered against her plate, her knuckles bone-white as gravy soaked into the linen.

 

Eloise recoiled beside Nadia, her worn sleeve brushing Mom’s trembling arm.

 

"Fine," he hissed, the word sharp as shattered crystal. "Tomorrow. But understand, Lena—breach one term, and your mother spends those five years in a cell."

 

He snapped his fingers, and servants materialized, clearing plates with silent efficiency. The roast duck’s richness now reeked of decay.

"I know," I said quietly knowing I had put myself under Jennifer for the next five years, and under him too. But the contract needs to give me time to do homework and two hours to play every evening. That's part of the deal. No punishments, no chores, nothing for two hours a day, just like a regular kid gets time to play after school. You... you said it was done a minute ago."

Mr. Greivere’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Terms noted."

 

He waved a dismissive hand, and servants swept forward like ghosts, removing the half-eaten duck with its cloying, fatty stench.

 

Jennifer leaned back in her chair, her laughter a low, venomous hum. "Playtime?" She traced a finger along the edge of her crystal flute. "Darling, *my* demands come first. Always." The icy certainty in her voice coiled around my spine.

I looked at Mr. Greivere when she voiced her threat. "Sir? Would the house Greivere go against a contract before some street trash like my-self?" I asked him as a way to show Jennifer, that the two hours of playtime were non-negotiable.

Mr. Greivere didn't look at Jennifer. He nodded curtly. "Jennifer will be reminded of the terms," he stated, his voice cold steel. "Your time is yours—from seven to nine nightly. Uninterrupted." Jennifer’s lips pressed into a bloodless line, her knuckles white where she gripped her fork.

I sat, out of breath, shaking, but actually revelling in the fact I got over on her, TWICE, not once. She didn't get to humiliate me on her terms! I did it on my own, and she cannot interrupt my "playtime." That's what you get when you live by the inmutable law of contracts!

Mr. Greivere tapped his bell again. "Desert?" he asked.

 

Everyone nodded weakly.

 

Mom glanced at me and whispered, "Are you sure?"

 

I nodded to her. "I'll do what I have to," I whispered back.

I told him I peed, so I just let myself pee my pants. I'd had to go for a while, but WAS too scared to ask to go. Now, they expected a puddle, so I had to give them one anyway. I smirked at Jennifer as I let myself pee... disgusting as it was, it was out of her hands at least—how I was humiliated.

Jennifer recoiled as the wet stain bloomed across the cushion beneath me, a dark, spreading map of defiance. The sour scent cut through the lingering rosemary and gravy, sharp as vinegar. Her nostrils flared; her knuckles whitened around her untouched crystal flute.

 

Mr. Greivere merely sighed, tapping his bell with detached impatience. "Eloise," he commanded, his voice flat, "attend to Lena before dessert stains the upholstery."

I quietly went with her, not fighting. I had done this. I was glad though. It was Eloise taking me off on her own, and not Jennifer coming along with snide remarks.

[Parkin]

Thanks for the new chapter!

[Ishigreensa]

 

Chapter 8

And So… My New Life Begins

 

It had been a hell of a day! Recuperating from spending the night terrified in a park bathroom that we weren't even supposed to be camping out in, and the door not really sheltering us from what might be out there, and the smell of the place... the fear causing me to wet my pants in the night, and everything....

Then, my old school bully finds me at the library with her dad, and together they take us to their car where my mom is waiting for me, and they take us to their place, to make us... presentable to meet this person that seems bent on putting mom in jail for dad's death even though none of us knew where he was, and it was the police that turned up telling us his car was found, and later, they again turned up to tell us he was dead! We were evicted... and had no really good place to clean up, so of course Jennifer's dad thought we were dirty. And Jennifer, was rubbing it in my face the whole time she was getting me presentable--even causing me on purpose, to have an accident. I can't prove it, but I am sure it was on purpose.

So when we found ourselves back in the playhouse, where Jennifer played house when she was probably younger than eleven, we found a place that was warm against the wind, and had bed and blankets. It was better than the bathroom we spent the night in the day before, but both mom and I... well, mine was still being finalized, but we would both have contracts the next day to work for this family. Mom had no choice. She couldn't leave the estate, it seemed, or she'd be arrested on the spot. I... I really had no choice either because it was too open. Mom was in no position to make demands. So... I sold myself into servitude for the next five years, to make sure they did everything they could to keep my little sister, Nadia and mom together.

"Lena, honey," mom whispered when she settled on one of the beds. "I really wished you had not amended the terms of your contract the way you did. You are... putting yourself at their mercy."

"I know, mom," I crossed my arms. "But Mr. Greivere had you in a position you couldn't negotiate out of. You had no way to make sure you kept custody of Nadia, and she needs you more than anyone would need their mom right now. I had to make sure you both stayed together, no matter what."

Mom sighed. She knew I was right. "Still, Lena, it's not your responsibility."

"Someone has to take responsibility," I muttered. My arms stayed crossed. A dusty miniature tea set sat on a tiny shelf nearby. The porcelain dolls lining the walls looked more alive than I felt. Their painted eyes seemed to track every twitch I made. Outside, wind rattled the shingles on the playhouse roof. Inside, the sharp scent of pine cleaner mixed with mildew. Jennifer's dad had insisted on spraying down the space before we entered. "Suitable for guests," he'd said flatly. His eyes lingered on Mom's worn coat.

"That someone is not a fifteen year old kid, that needs her mother as much as your ten year old sister does," mom whispered back not in a power struggle, just stating facts.

"Then who?" I demanded my arms tightened across my chest knowing I was the elder sister. I wasn't a baby anymore, even if I acted like it at dinner and peed on purpose, just to get one over on my old bully.

A sudden gust ripped loose a shingle overhead and slammed it against the playhouse’s tiny window. We both jumped. Nadia whimpered in her sleep on the adjacent bed, curling tighter under the thin blanket. Outside, the wind screamed through the estate’s skeletal trees like lost souls. Inside, the mildewed air tasted thick and sour, coating my tongue. Jennifer’s father’s pine cleaner lingered, stinging my nostrils. It wasn’t a home smell; it was the smell of disinfecting something unwanted.

Mom moved over to the bed Nadia was sleeping in, and she whispered to me. "I'll sleep with her tonight."

I shook my head. "They'll accuse you to peeing the bed, mom. Jennifer told the whole school last year that I must pee the bed and wet my pants all the time because... I smelled. Even today, you heard her tell her dad I peed the bed at night?"

Mom’s shoulders slumped. Jennifer’s cruelty wasn’t new—just amplified now that her family held all the power. That whispered lie about me wetting the bed at dinner? Mr. Greivere had barely glanced up from his roast beef, but Jennifer’s smirk had been razor-sharp. I’d flushed crimson, my fingers digging into my thighs under the table. A tactical accident, I’d told myself then—revenge served lukewarm and embarrassing. Now, in this drafty dollhouse, the memory curdled in my stomach. Still, I embarrassed myself on my terms, and not on her terms. She had wanted me to stand up, and trip on purpose... and I knew what she really wanted was for my skirt to fall in a way that her dad would see the wet panties I wore... wet because Jennifer wouldn't let me use the toilet in good time, and when she finally let me, I was leaking and had to sit on the toilet in a hurry to not cause a puddle. It was a rule, not to wet enough to cause a puddle at their house. They were very clear about puddles causing a punishing reaction.

Wind surged again, clawing at the playhouse walls. Nadia murmured in her sleep, twisting the thin blanket around her legs. Mom smoothed her hair, her fingers trembling faintly. "We’ll find a way, Lena," she breathed, but her eyes stayed fixed on the rattling windowpane. Outside, moonlight sliced through the skeletal trees, casting jagged shadows that danced like grasping fingers across the floorboards. The scent of mildew soured the air, mingling with the cloying chemical bite of pine cleaner—a reminder that we were stains to be sanitized. A porcelain doll tilted sideways on its shelf, glassy gaze fixed on me. I wanted to shatter it.

There had been a note on the playhouse when we entered. The floor was to remain puddle free. If once was found, mom and I would be punished, not Nadia. According to my contract, Nadia couldn't be touched by them, so mom would be punished instead for anything Nadia did. No puddles on the floor, and we are not to remove our clothes outside the little house. There was no toilet in the house, or anything else that we were allowed to pee in, so we'd have to go to the big house, if we wanted to use the toilet--I supposed.

Mom sighed. "Well, they talked about getting us up early tomorrow, so we should go ahead and go to sleep, honey."

But sleep wouldn’t come. The wind kept screaming outside, and every time a branch scraped the roof, Nadia jerked awake with a whimper. Mom whispered reassurances, her voice thin and frayed. I stared at the crooked porcelain doll, its glass eyes catching slivers of moonlight. It watched me. *Judge me*. My bladder throbbed—a dull, insistent ache I’d been ignoring since about two hours after we were put out here. Jennifer’s smug face flashed in my mind: *No puddles*. The threat coiled in my gut like barbed wire.

I finally decided I had to do something so I wouldn't make a puddle. I walked to the door, and looked back a moment to see mom cuddling Nadia, and then I walked out through the yard in... actually pretty comfortable pajamas for the summer months of the year, and towards the big house. The yard's shadows everywhere made me feel like eyes were watching from the dark as I nervously approached the looming great mansion from behind.

The moon cast sharp, jagged shadows of skeletal trees across the frost-rimmed lawn. My bare feet registered every icy blade of grass, every sharp pebble digging into my soles. Wind whipped my thin pajamas against my skin, each gust carrying the wet promise of rain. And underneath it all—that relentless, tightening ache. Hold it, I ordered myself, clamping my thighs together with each step. Jennifer’s voice hissed in my memory: No puddles, Lena. Not one drop.

I nervously knocked at the back door. It was a large place, so I did wait a bit. No answer came so I knocked again. Then a third time. Still, no response. I wasn't allowed to pull my pants down outside, and I wasn't allowed to puddle inside the little house. I had to go in there, but no one was answering. I took a deep breath, and went to open the door, but it was--locked!

I had to go badly. I was holding myself tightly as I tried to think of what to do. Maybe... maybe I could go to the bushes? But the rule was clear: no wetting outside the toilet. And I wasn't supposed to remove my clothes outside. I hesitated, biting my lip. Already I felt a dribble leak out, dampening my thin pajama pants. Hold it, I told myself desperately. Just hold it.

The back porch light clicked on abruptly. Jennifer stood silhouetted in the doorway, her face a mask of cruel amusement. "Lena," she drawled, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Out for a midnight stroll? Or..." Her eyes flickered down pointedly to where my legs were pressed together. "...did you forget where the toilet is?" Her smile widened. "Too bad Daddy’s locked the downstairs bathrooms after hours. Orders."

"I need to go," I told her. "What do you want me to do? No puddles and no pulling my pants down outside, so what?"

"No one said you couldn't pee outside," she smirked at me. "Only that you can't take your clothes off out there like an animal. You pee the bed anyway, like all the time, so what would it matter if you just pee your pants in the yard?" Her smile was smug.

Hold it. Hold it. My thighs ached with the pressure. Jennifer’s words hit like ice water—she wanted me to leak in front of her. To give her proof. Wind sliced through my pajamas, carrying the scent of wet earth and impending rain. A tremor ran through me, and I felt warmth bloom against my leg—just a trickle, but enough to stain the thin fabric.

Jennifer shook her head at me. "I think you're lying, just to get inside, to maybe steal something? You know that's why dad wants you and your mom out in the little house at night? We don't trust you, yet."

"I really have to pee, Jennifer!"

"You peed yourself easily enough at dinner. I think this is a good punishment for that. You just stand there, and wet yourself... like the baby you are... right in front of me. Like a good little servant girl. I'll daddy you didn't pee on the floor in the house. After all, I'll have watched you pee on the porch instead!"

Her voice was a razor blade scraping bone. Wind whipped the thin cotton of my pajamas, colder than any bathroom tile. The porch light carved deep shadows under Jennifer’s eyes, turning her smirk into something predatory. Downstairs bathrooms locked? Orders? Lies. This was her game—her rules. My bladder screamed urgency; my muscles trembled on the edge of surrender. A hot trickle escaped, soaking the inseam of my pants, proof warm and shameful against my skin. Hold it. Hold it. But Jennifer’s stare pinned me like a specimen.

"I don't have all night," Jennifer warned me. "If you don't pee within the next minute, I'll tell dad you must have made a puddle in the house and tried to clean it before anyone noticed it, or worse, you pulled your pants down outside, like a dog!"

My teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. Jennifer was deliberately twisting the rules—forcing me to wet myself while dressed, turning a natural need into humiliation. That familiar sting of helpless tears pricked behind my eyelids, but I blinked them back furiously. The cold porch boards beneath my bare feet felt like ice, amplifying the burning pressure deep inside. Another involuntary spasm sent a fresh wave of dampness spreading down my thigh; the patch was dark and unmistakable against the pale pajama fabric.

"Okay...," she acted like she saw nothing. "No puddle on the porch, so you must be pulling your pants down in the yard," she started to close the door....

"Wait!" I choked out. My voice was barely above the wind’s shriek. "I’ll do it." The words tasted like ash. My bladder was a bursting dam—sharp agony radiating through my lower belly. My thighs were slick with dampness, muscles trembling uncontrollably. I couldn’t hold it. Not anymore. The warm stain spread downward, soaking the fabric clinging to my legs.

She watched as the puddle spread at my feet, causing my pajamas to fully get wet. She seemed as if she could venture a taste or something, but had the discipline to keep herself still, not doing what she was tempted to do, whatever that temptation might have been. She looked into my eyes a few seconds after it happened, and just smirked. "Well, go to bed, then. If you change, then it will look like you peed on the porch, and then wet the bed, too. This way, I don't even have to tell him you peed on the porch. He'll think you had an accident, so you won't be in any trouble at all," and with that, she closed the door.

I was frozen on the spot. My legs were dripping wet, and the wind was so cold that I was instantly freezing. I still had to go! She had tricked me! I hadn't gone... because I had been holding it for so long, and it wasn't all gone! Now, the accident I'd had wasn't enough. I knew... I was going to wet myself again, and badly, within minutes.

I gathered myself together. I had no choice. She said one thing though... that I was allowed to wet my pants outside. No puddles and no pulling down my pants, and knowing I couldn't hold it anymore, I just started walking around the yard until I could get it to come out.

It was slow going at first. My pajamas were already soaked and cold against my skin, making me shiver with each gust of wind. Every step was agony—the fabric chafed, the cold bit deep, and the relentless pressure built again, sharper this time. I moved away from the brightly lit porch, deeper into the moonlit yard where skeletal trees clawed at the sky. The wind carried the distant scent of wet earth and decaying leaves. Beneath my bare feet, mildew wet grass tickled my feet in dampness. Shadows pooled thickly beneath an ancient oak. There, hidden from the house’s judging windows, I stopped.

My breath came in ragged puffs of vapor. Jennifer’s smirk burned behind my eyelids, her whispered taunts echoing louder than the wind. "Baby. Servant girl." I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on the searing ache in my belly.

Slowly, tentatively, I relaxed. My body naturally squatting into a natural position for it, a new warmth blossomed low inside, spreading downward and around my bum in a hesitant trickle. It felt like betrayal—submission to her cruelty. But the relief was immediate, profound.

The trickle grew steadier, transforming into a hot rush that flooded my pajama bottoms. Wetness streamed down my legs and pouring from my bum area because of the crouched position I was in, pooling warmly around my ankles before soaking into the thirsty earth below.

No distinct puddle formed; just dark, spreading dampness merging with the dew-laden grass. The shame was a physical weight, crushing my chest. Yet underneath it, a bitter, molten defiance surged. Her victory. Not mine.

Face red as a sunset, I walked into the dim house, looking at the floor, my pants soaked. "You... you'll have to wet your pants, outside, if you want to pee," I told mom. "The house is closed to us, and we are not allowed to make a puddle anywhere in the house, nor pull our pants down outside. I don't know how else they'd know either... unless they are going to check us in the morning to see if we are in wet pants...."

Mom sighed, but nodded. "We'll figure it out, Lena."

"I already did," tears sliding down my face. I peed my pants."

Mom stared at my wet pajamas clinging to my legs, at the dark stain spreading across the crotch and thighs. She didn't recoil. Instead, a flicker of agonized understanding. "Oh, Lena," she breathed. Nadia stirred, whimpering at the sudden tension thickening the tiny space.

"I... I just don't know what your rules are, but Nadia isn't to be touched, not if they expect me to sign the contract, so she can just wet the bed. It's what she knows and so we don't have to wake her and make it harder for her. Jennifer... wants me to make it seem I wet the bed. I guess you could fake like you thought I wet the bed in front of them, but I couldn't have you thinking I wet the bed. You had know the truth, mom," I whimpered a little and crawled up by her side, on the other side of where she was holding Nadia.

 

Mom's arms pulled me tight against her chest, my damp pajamas soaking into her threadbare nightgown. The mingling scents of mildew and urine filled the cramped bed. Wind screamed overhead, rattling the playhouse walls. Nadia shifted, murmuring, "Cold..."

With a sigh, I went to the bed I was supposed to use, and I got the top blanket and put over her. "There you are, baby sis," I whispered in her ear. "Mama and big sis got you."

I sighed. "I've so tired, mom," I yawned. "I... don't think bad of me... I... I'm going to pee in the bed on purpose, like Jennifer wants."

"Lena, no!" mom whispered sharply. "Don't give her that victory!"

"Mom, you don't know her. I have to. I want Nadia to have her mom, and the only way to do that, is to do what Jennifer wants. It will be in the contract. You heard us discussing it at the table. I have to do it every night... unless Jennifer changes her mind, so I might as well start. Besides, there is no toilet for me until they come to get us in the morning."

I crawled onto the bed and laid down, my wet pajamas chilling against the thin mattress. The mattress crackled faintly beneath me—old plastic protectors Jennifer’s father must have installed. The scent of stale urine and pine cleaner sharpened. I pulled the thin blanket over myself, ignoring the damp spread beneath me. Nadia murmured again, snuggling closer to Mom. Wind clawed at the roof, a relentless scrape against the shingles. A loose nail tapped rhythmically, like a metronome counting down my humiliation.

 

The next morning came too early.

Eloise entered without knocking, letting in a wedge of cold, damp air that carried the scent of wet grass and distant pine needles. Her sharp gaze swept the playhouse—lingering on the dark stain beneath me on the mattress, the soaked fabric clinging to my legs, the sour tang of urine thick in the cramped space.

 

Nadia huddled against Mom’s side, blinking sleepily. Eloise’s expression didn’t change—no disgust, no pity. Just… assessment. She wore a crisp gray dress, her dark hair pinned back severely. Her hands, clasped loosely before her, looked capable and strong.

"Ms. Miller?" Eloise looked up at my mom. "The head maid is looking for you. I am going to watch your girls, Lena until her contract is made, and Nadia until you get off work this evening." She frowned slightly as she looked at me.

 

"Jennifer told the whole staff that you pee the bed at night, hon. Don't worry. We'll take care of it. That's part of my new job, change your pants and get you ready to meet your boss...."

Mom looked hesitant to leave. "Lena..."

"Go, Mom," I whispered, forcing a slight smile. "We'll be okay." Nadia clung tighter, burying her face in Mom’s shoulder so mom had to peel her off of her, and Nadia took her, trying to cuddle her to her side.

Eloise waited silently as Mom reluctantly left, her worn nightgown vanishing through the door. The cold air she let in lingered. Eloise’s gaze returned to me—calm, penetrating.

"Go ahead and undress, sweetie. I'll get your little sister undressed. We are all girls, so there is no shame. I used to wet the bed, at one time, too, so no shame."

I stood slowly, my wet pajamas clinging cold and heavy. The air stung my skin. Eloise moved with practiced efficiency, helping Nadia out of her nightgown. Nadia whimpered, shrinking back against the wall.

 

"It's alright, duckling," Eloise murmured, her voice softening as she wrapped Nadia in a thin towel. "Just a quick wash."

 

She turned to me. Her eyes held no mockery, only a weary understanding that scraped raw against my shame.

 

"Off with them, Lena." She gestured to my soaked pajamas. My fingers fumbled with the buttons, numb and clumsy. The damp fabric peeled away, releasing the sharp, stale smell into the tiny room. Eloise didn't flinch. She handed me a rough towel.

 

"Dry yourself. Quick now. The cold bites."

 

The towel scratched my skin, but the friction brought warmth. Behind me, she efficiently stripped Nadia’s bed, bundling the wet sheets with mine. Nadia watched, wide-eyed and silent, clutching Eloise’s offered towel around her shoulders. "Mr. Greivere expects you in the dinning room in an hour and a half," Eloise said, her tone flat. "He’ll have you sign your contract at that time after you read through it, and then you'll be served breakfast along with your sister and myself. And Jennifer..., she asked me to give you a note that I had to promise not to read."

I sighed and reached out for the note after I had put on the dress from last night and a clean pair of panties, that were thick and cotton like the day before that Eloise brought for both my sister and me to wear.

The note read: *Hope you enjoyed your leaky night. Remember—no puddles means no leaks. Tonight, prove it.* It wasn’t signed, but Jennifer’s malice bled through every word. My hands trembled as I crumpled the paper. Eloise’s gaze lingered on it, her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Your contract draft," she said, handing me a thick document instead. "Read it carefully. Jennifer's dad amended it with some stuff the princess wanted."

"It better not have changed that Nadia is not to be touched, that mom and Nadia stay together, and that I get... my two hours," I breathed as I reached for it.

"I didn't read it, so I don't know," Eloise frowned. "I was just told to give it to you so you had time to see the terms. He said he didn't want to waste time reading what you already understood, so he wants you to know what's in it before you meet."

I frowned. "I see."

I sat on the cold wooden floorboards, leaning against the damp mattress frame—going over the contract.

 

The drafty playhouse smelled faintly of stale urine—mine—mixed with mildew and the sharp scent of pine cleaner clinging to Eloise’s uniform. Nadia huddled beside me, shivering slightly in her clean underwear, clutching her doll. Eloise knelt by the small basin she’d brought, efficiently rinsing our wet sheets with cold water and a bar of harsh soap. The water splashed loudly in the quiet room.

The contract had indeed been changed. Last night, he had told Jennifer that I'd get between seven and nine to "play," but it looked as though he had changed the time. He actually gave me three hours, from four in the afternoon until seven. Apparently, Jennifer wanted to oversee my baths at night, and the extra hour, was supposedly so I'd have time to do homework. It was... a trade, I supposed. I had to do my homework sometime, though in the contract, it also said that when I helped Jennifer with hers, I could do some of mine, then, too... whatever I was helping Jennifer with at the time.

It said I will sleep where Jennifer wants me, too, so sometimes, that meant with my mom and sister in the little house as she started to call the playhouse thing that was now given to us as a room, but sometimes, it would also mean sleeping in her room, for which, we'd go shopping on this afternoon for... for a bed for me. I cringed. The beds in the little house were... well, they were beds, at least. No complaint there... but I shivered at what kind of bed she'd get me for her room.

The door creaked open again, startling Nadia into clutching my arm.

 

Eloise paused her washing, her knuckles whitening around the soap bar.

 

Jennifer stood there, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy smirk. She wore riding boots and tailored jodhpurs, her hair sleek beneath a velvet cap.

 

"Morning, Lena." Her gaze raked over my clean dress, lingering pointedly where fresh panties peeked beneath the hem. "Sleep well? Or did you leak again?"

I sighed. "I'll answer you after we sign the contract in thirty minutes, and not before. You don't own me, yet."

Jennifer laughed softly, pushing off the doorframe.

 

"Oh, Lena. Always so prickly." Her smile didn't reach her eyes as she strode toward Nadia, whose small hand tightened on my sleeve. "And how's our little duckling this morning? Dry?" Her fingertip traced a deliberate path along the hem of Nadia's own dress that Nadia had changed her into.

"Our governess has already taken care of my little sister, thank you," I said pointedly. "The contract says you are not to touch Nadia, so unless you want me to throw this away in the garbage because you can't be trusted, I advise you to step away from Nadia, right now! Even when you have control of me...." I raced through the pages to find where I had seen it, and shoved it in her face. --Jennifer will stay at least ten feet away from Nadia at all times except when Lena gives her permission for a special situation, or when everyone, the whole staff and family are collected together at meal times to eat. Breach of this condition is grounds for Lena to walk away from said contract while her mother's contract will still stay valid for the full five years.-- "There," I pointed to it and shoved the wording in her face.

Jennifer’s smirk vanished. Her hand snapped back as if burned. She stared at the clause, her face paling beneath its usual porcelain perfection. The scent of her expensive violet perfume clashed violently with the playhouse’s lingering acrid tang.

 

Eloise remained utterly still by the basin, watching Jennifer with the unblinking focus of a hawk. Nadia pressed her face into my side, trembling.

"... Given you had a right to change the contract while it was being drafted even after last night, I'll be adding one more condition of my own. When Nadia is in the little house, you are not to be. And if you expect me to be your little toy, I suggest you don't throw a fit over it with your dad. If I don't sign this contract, you don't get your little toy..., prin...cess....sss."

Jennifer’s nostrils flared. The violet perfume turned cloying, thick in the cramped air. She snatched the contract draft from my hands, her knuckles white. "Fine." The word hissed between clenched teeth. "But remember—you’re signing away everything." She spun on her heel, boots echoing sharply on the floorboards, and slammed the door behind her. The playhouse shuddered.

"I told you, Nadia. I won't let her near you, if I can help it, okay?" I said in a sigh of relief when she walked out with the contract in her hands. It didn't matter she had my copy. Mr. Greivere had to give me my own copy, or it wouldn't be a legit contract. One thing my dad taught me from all his years working from the time I was twelve. Kids need parents' consent to sign contracts, you read everything, and you have a right to request a copy and failure to comply meant the contract was voided. All terms that are not spelled out, are to be read in favor of the contracted party. I was so lucky... it was like daddy had anticipated something like this happening sometime in the future, and he prepared me for it. How boring it was when he taught me, and yet how valuable it was, now.

 

Eloise finished wringing out the sheets, hanging them over chairs to dry. The damp fabric smelled faintly of pine soap and bleach, masking the underlying sourness. Nadia’s fingers slowly uncurled from my sleeve.

"Okay, girls," she said though when he looked at me, there was something different in her look. It wasn't malice or anything mean. I... I wondered if it might even be a tad bit of respect. I couldn't tell.

 

"It's time for breakfast. While we are in the yard," she hovered over Nadia. "Try to pee. You aren't allowed to pull down your panties out there, nor make any puddles in here or in the big house, but you are allowed to wet your panties in the yard, and you won't be allowed the toilet until after breakfast, trust me, little one."

"What if she doesn't have to go?" I asked Eloise with a frown because I didn't like her even suggesting my little sister should just wet herself on purpose.

Nadia tugged my sleeve anxiously. "Don't want to pee my pants," she whispered, her eyes wide with confusion and fear. "Don't want!"

"I know, Nadia. I'm trying to find out what she'd do if you don't, honey."

"It's not what I'd do. If I had my way..." Eloise murmured, her gaze darting toward the locked front door of the playhouse.

 

She paused, rubbing her temple. "But the rules stand. No toilets before breakfast for servants' children. It's... house policy." Her shoulders slumped slightly, the crispness of her uniform at odds with the weary resignation in her voice.

 

"If Nadia doesn't go outside, she'll likely have an accident during breakfast. And Jennifer will notice." Eloise met my eyes directly. "An 'accident' indoors—anywhere—means punishment. Jennifer wrote that clause herself yesterday."

"Her punishment is NOT allowed to touch Nadia though. I will clear it up with Mr. Greivere, and if it says Nadia can be punished when she's not to be punished, I won't sign it."

"No..., Lena. Not her. You. You will be punished for your sister's puddles. If you don't do as you are told, Nadia, your sister will have to wear diapers or worse!"

Nadia started crying. "No, no, no, big sissy don't need no diapers!"

"I know," Nadia patted her back and rocked her. "That's why you need to try to pee in the yard, so you don't have an accident in the house. If you can't... she has a right to punish big sissy for it."

Eloise looked at me as she continued to explain. "They consider it neglect. Failure to supervise." She looked out the small, grimy window toward the main house. "Breakfast is formal—silver service in the dining room. If Nadia leaks... it'll be messy. Humiliating. For all of us." Her voice dropped lower. "Jennifer thrives on humiliation. I will be in trouble, too."

I sighed. "She can pull up her dress," I told Eloise. "She's not taking anything off, if she holds her dress out of the way."

Eloise nodded slowly. "The prohibition says disrobing. Holding her skirt... might pass." She lifted Nadia's chin gently. "You're going to have to be brave, duckling. Like your sister. Can you try?"

I took Nadia's hand. "I'm doing my best. If Jennifer keeps me punished, I can't protect you when I can't see you. I need you to help me stay out of trouble when it is something you can control... like...," I sighed. "Peeing your panties, little sis. You'll have to do it."

Nadia nodded, her small face pale but determined. Together we walked outside into the crisp dawn air. Dew clung to the grass, sparkling under the weak sun fighting through the storm's lingering gray clouds. Nadia lifted her skirt carefully, bunching the fabric around her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling. Nothing happened. "Can't!" she whimpered, shifting from foot to foot.

Eloise looked at me and frowned. "You need to do it, too. Trust me. Besides if your sister sees you do it, she might feel better... that it's not... you know... naughty or something."

I sighed. Eloise was right. I didn't lift my dress though. I just started to pee and even squatted so it would get on my butt, so Jennifer would be a little satisfied I peed in the yard like she wanted. "See, Nadia? It doesn't hurt."

The warm wetness spread instantly through my clean cotton panties, soaking into the fabric and chilling against my skin in the brisk morning air. The damp patch darkened my dress from beneath, unmistakable. Nadia watched, eyes wide, then squeezed her eyes shut again. A moment later, a hesitant trickle darkened her own underwear, dripping down her legs onto the dewy grass at her feet. She whimpered softly.

"Good girl. You want to keep big sis out of trouble as much as you can, baby," Eloise cooed at her. "Keep going, honey. All of it so you don't have an accident later, okay?"

I held Nadia's hand as she finished, her legs trembling amid the wet grass. The scent of damp earth mingled with the sharp ammonia tang rising from us.

 

Birds chirped overhead—a jarring cheerfulness against our humiliation. Eloise scanned the mansion’s upper windows, her jaw tight.

 

"Hurry. Inside before we’re seen." She ushered us back toward the playhouse, her movements swift but tense. Nadia’s wet panties chafed against her thighs with each step; mine clung coldly.

"We can hurry and get you two changed," Eloise pulled out some thing from behind the door I hadn't noticed before, two dresses.

"Please change Nadia," I told Eloise. "There is no point me changing. Jennifer... she will know or there will be worse trouble. As long as Nadia is safe, that's all I care. Mr. Greivere thinks I pee my pants all the time anyway. I know Jennifer told him I pee myself at school all the time."

Eloise hesitated, her fingers brushing the clean dresses. Nadia sniffled as Eloise gently peeled her wet underwear away. The cool air raised goosebumps on Nadia’s skin. “But your dress…” Eloise murmured, eyeing the damp stain spreading across my skirt.

"That's the point," I blushed. "Jennifer will be too focused on my wet dress and will leave Nadia alone."

Eloise nodded grimly. She quickly dressed Nadia in a clean, simple dress—soft blue cotton that smelled faintly of lavender soap. Nadia kept glancing at my damp skirt, her lower lip trembling. Eloise knelt, smoothing Nadia’s hair. "Your sister’s being brave," she murmured. "Just like you were."

[Parkin]

Maybe diapers wouldn't be the worst thing for Nadia under this harsh conditions. Jennifer such a cruel brat. 

[Guilend]

If things continue, especially if the mother had to pee herself last night and continue to do so, Lena won’t be the only one being punished with diapers, unless the reason Lena didn’t notice her moms pjs wasn’t wet is because her mother is already being made to wear diapers as punishment. 

[Ishigreensa]

Chapter Nine

Jennifer or Brenda in Charge? Who?

 

I was at the large oak table again, this time seated right next to Mr. Greivere, who was at the head of the table, and Jennifer was a cross from me. We each had a copy of the contract in front of us, and it seemed Jennifer had already told her daddy my new rule for her about Nadia and the little house, and though it sounded whiny in the contract, the way it was worded, it still gave Nadia the peace, however, it also enforced Eloise being with her even when mom was there, so she could be taken care of..., but at least Jennifer wasn't allowed to be near her. Even at breakfast, Nadia, Eloise, mom and Shawna, Jennifer's mother were way down at the other end of the table.

"Now, Nadia will not be touched," Max, Mr. Greivere stared into my eyes. "But would it be all that bad for her to wear diapers at night? I am sure you were told that servant bathrooms were closed after eight, and if your sister can't wait until eight the next morning, when they open again.... I mean, unless she's used to just peeing her pants in the yard?"

I frowned at Mr. Greivere. "Why doesn't the little house have a toilet, again?"

"It was meant as a playhouse, and built like ten years ago or so. Your mother's situation made us make due with what we had on hand, and so you are there... for shelter. Unless. Would you like your mother and sister to spend another night in the park again?"

I reddened at the implications.

"Besides, didn't you say your sister wets the bed, has been doing so since it happened?"

"Yes, she's been wetting the bed since daddy died. So?"

"Well, diapers would keep her bedding dry so she has a dry place to sleep at night, wouldn't they?"

I looked down. "Still, she doesn't do it when she's awake. Let's say I let you put in diapers at night? Why should she wear them in the daytime?"

"If that's your decision, I'm sure we can figure something else out for that. But you're soaked, too. You obviously just peed yourself this morning, too?"

"Well, like you said, the bathrooms were closed for servants until after breakfast, and I was told seven, but now I am hearing eight... so... I mean, I have to wait from the time I go to the little house until you let me in the big house in the mornings. I guess I'll be wetting my pants a lot more?"

"I suppose you will, if you can't wait," he looked over at Jennifer in the eye. "And you don't want Lena in diapers?"

"Ew, gross, daddy. She's supposed to be following me around and stuff all day. I don't want her wearing yuck everywhere. I'll just pack changes of clothes for her when we go out. Besides, if she embarrasses herself in front of my friends enough, I'm sure she'll stop peeing herself on her own."

He shook his head. "Well, her sister Nadia is not allowed to feel embarrassment, so she will be diapered at night to keep her bed dry, and she will be allowed to remove the diaper when servant toilets are open. We'll figure out something in the little house for during the day for her, but in the meantime, I do suggest Eloise put her diapers until we figure that out."

I sighed. "She's not going to like going back into diapers. You are going to have a fight on your hands every night, when it's changing time."

"Eloise is experienced in diapering disobedient girls," Mr. Greivere stated his eye looking right through me. "Eloise will handle her. Besides, Eloise will be diapering your mom, too."

My jaw dropped. "That's not in my contract, anywhere!" I started to flip through the papers to see if I missed something.

"It's in hers," Mr. Greivere smiled smug. "Your contract says that even if Jennifer breaks your terms, and you are let off, your mom is to keep her contract for five years. So mom stays in diapers during work hours, and at night as long as she wakes up in a wet diaper."

They turned that against me?

Jennifer flashed her too perfect white teeth, her green eyes with real laugh lines present, and a great smug smile at me. "I mean, I wasn't the one that thought to put mom in diapers. But dad put her in one yesterday because she... peed her pants, too earlier. And you are the one that said she is locked into the contract for five years... so work diapered, it is."

I glared at the both of them.

"Now, now, Lena," Mr Greivere pushed a copy over for me to sign. "Your contract conditions are in the contract just as you requested. Are you going to back out even after we made all your concessions? Just think about where your little sister will end up if you fail to sign a paper you promised to sign."

"Fine!" I angrily took his pen and whipped my signature at the bottom.

"Charles!" a figure appeared out of the shadows as Mr. Greivere called for the tall man. "Have this paper with the signature copied over four times. One goes on file in staff records, one goes to the little lady here, one to her mother as her once was guardian, one goes to Jennifer, so she can see if she has the right to do something with the miss, and one will be given to Shawna to hold on to."

Mr. Greivere obviously didn't need to tell him who was getting what, but probably made it a point to tell me in no uncertain terms that is how it would be distributed without giving me a way in to dispute the word.

"So..., she's mine now?" Jennifer asked her dad.

"Until four. She gets playtime from four to seven. Remember?"

"Well, I was thinking about taking her shopping. If she's having fun and playing, isn't that playtime?"

He touched his chin. "If she's having fun. Check with her. If she's not, you either take her home when she says, and her three hours start on her terms, or you will lose three hours in the evening with her."

"Fair enough," Jennifer said. "She's disgusting right now, so after breakfast, she needs a shower, daddy. I have to introduce my servant to my friends so we can go shopping for some stuff. She's going to have a bed in my room, so sometimes, she can stay there with me. That's not against the contract...." She let that linger for a moment, her mouth half open ready to complete a thought, but after a minute, she closed her mouth for her dad to respond.

"You are right. As long as she gets her three hours, you are allowed to let her sleep over in your room. But didn't you say she pees the bed? Are you sure you want her in your room doing that?"

"She's my personal servant, daddy. I'm going to have to get used to her smelling up the room anyway since she always pees her pants. I told you last night she wets herself in class all the time, and we start back to school next week. You are going to use your pull at school to make sure she's in certain classes I have to take, right?"

"Of course, princess."

 

Jennifer’s gaze slid toward me, sharp as a blade. "You hear that, Lena? School's going to be... interesting."

 

She flicked a crumb off the tablecloth. "But first, let’s get you presentable. You reek." The scent of coffee and bacon hung thick in the air, but beneath it lingered the unmistakable tang of urine from my damp dress and cotton panties. My cheeks burned as Mr. Greivere nodded curtly, dismissing us. Jennifer rose, heels clicking on polished marble. "Come on, servant." Her command brooked no argument.

I sighed and stood up, following her worship (think attitude of Han Solo when they rescued Princess Leiah) in the New Hope and they were arguing about who the group leader was... that's the attitude I had in my head about this privileged brat.

"Are you trying to smell like piss all day?" Jennifer asked looking back at me. "Get a move on before I decide we don't have time to let you bathe or even change your panties!"

I followed her silently into the hall, the scent of antiseptic cleaner barely masking the damp shame clinging to my thighs. Her heels echoed like gunshots against the marble floor, a stark contrast to my squelching sneakers.

 

Up the grand staircase we went, past oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors who seemed to judge my every step. At the third door on the left, Jennifer flung it open. "You get fifteen minutes. Towels are in there. And don’t touch my perfumes—they cost more than your pathetic little—I mean, my once was childish playhouse that your pathetic family has nowhere else to go but stay there, in."

I slammed the door, shutting her out of my vision. I didn't care to listen to another word. But then the door opened again not more than a couple minutes later. I turned to round on her, though I wasn't sure what I could say since I belonged to her, and this was her time, I wanted to yell about decency and privacy... but it wasn't Jennifer who had come in.

"I—I'm sorry," Eloise frowned looking down. "They gave your mom a short break because I'm your governess. It's my job... because you... you know?"

I sighed and looked down. "Yeah, I know. Go ahead, I guess."

She started to run the bath while I took off the smelly garments, and then she relaxed me in the bath, and started to wash me. With her, on a cart, she had had some shampoos and other soaps that were more... fitting to a servant's station. Nothing expensive, but still functional for cleaning a servant girl.

After she washed my hair, she moved on to my breasts and my stomach. The soap felt slippery against my skin, and she didn't hesitate to clean me thoroughly. Then she slid her soapy hands down my legs, washing away the morning's humiliation.

Eloise's glassy blue eyes and mouth betrayed sorrow that she had to do this, but I knew she had no choice. I knew she wasn't much older than me, and she was being controlled, too. I looked down into the water. "Do they humiliate you, too?" I asked.

"I was Jennifer's toy about eight years ago," Eloise told me. "I was always Mrs. Greivere's servant, but I was often put with Jennifer to entertain her, and yeah, she used to make me pee my pants all the time, too. I don't know why she thinks that's cool or whatever, but she's always been fascinated with others being put in situations where they had no choice, and had accidents, especially if it made them cry. She's going to make you pee your pants while you are out. You know that." Eloise looked me in the eye when she gave me the warning.

"I know," I said a tightening in my chest. "I go to her school. I know how mean she can be."

"So, she's made you do it at school even before?"

"Not exactly. But she has accused not only me, but anyone that wasn't strong enough to stand up to her of doing it. The only reason I couldn't stand up to her, is she smelled what happened for the last year, because while my sister's night time problem only developed recently...," I blushed terribly and shook a bit. "I did wet the bed sometimes in the past, and sometimes didn't have time to get a shower."

"Well, that's no reason to shame you," Eloise frowned. "I'm so sorry you are in this situation."

The bathwater cooled quickly, the soapy film turning dull against my skin. Eloise rinsed my hair with a pitcher, the water sluicing down my back in cold rivulets. "Jennifer’s friends are worse," she whispered, glancing at the door. "They’ll corner you in changing rooms, 'accidentally' spill drinks on you... make sure you can’t find a bathroom when you need one." Her hands trembled as she handed me a rough towel. "She brags about breaking people."

"I'm well aware of who some of her friends are. They kind of ran the junior high school we went to together. The teachers thought they were in charge, but everyone in ninth grade knew who was really in charge; and avoided the whole posse anytime we could."

The door opened without warning, Jennifer leaning against the frame, arms folded. "You two gossiping? How cute." Her gaze swept over me, dripping and naked in the tub.

 

"Hurry up. My friends are waiting downstairs, and I don’t want them thinking I hired a zombie turtle or worse…," She tossed a bundle of cheap, scratchy-looking fabric onto the vanity. "Put that on. And Eloise? Don’t forget Nadia’s afternoon diaper change. Daddy wants her in plastic pants today—less leaks." The door slammed shut behind her.

"She's not supposed to have to wear diapers in the daytime," I looked pleadingly at Eloise.

"I know. She just said that to get on your nerves and to scare you. Your sister puts a diaper on after dinner. That's the new rule. Your mom... is a different story, and I probably do have to check her diaper later, if not someone else daddy put in charge of her."

My stomach twisted at the thought of Mom being treated like that. I climbed out of the tub onto the cold tiles. Eloise handed me the towel Jennifer had tossed—thin, frayed at the edges, smelling faintly of bleach. "Dry off quick," she urged, her voice low. "Jennifer's impatient."

Eloise helped me into a cute sleeveless top that had rainbow colors down it, but probably to embarrass me, with no bra, and then the thick toddler-like panties that they made me wear all last night along with a skirt that barely covered, them, a jean skirt. I looked at Eloise.

"Is she trying to make me look sexy, or like a toddler? I can't tell."

Eloise just shook her head as she put some white socks on me and a pair of Mary-Janes, the buckle kind, that you might put on a five-year-old.

 

The brown shiny kindergartener's shoes echoed loudly through the third-floor corridor as I was drug along by the tyrant princess, drawing unwanted attention from anyone that might be around. My hands fidgeted at my sides, trying to pull my shirt over my thighs more, trying to keep my childish-- no babyish-- panties hidden from view.

The stairs echoed louder under my shoes, making me feel like I was as obvious as a herd of elephants, and Jennifer smirked with every embarrassing step I took. She pushed at me a bit.

"Go on, ladies walk elegantly. Servant girls run ahead to get the door for their mistresses, so hurry along before I reach those double doors ahead. Go."

I couldn't help pulling down at the skirt, trying to make sure the panties were covered, even as I reached the set of brown double doors, pushing the handles inward, to reveal a proper sitting room like you'd see in a fantasy movie about kings and queens. Her friends were all lounging around.

Brenda, the leader of the group, even sometimes taking the bossy lead away from Jennifer at times at school, sat in the most comfortable seat, a nice elegant seat of velvet brown upon nice well carved legs of a living room sofa chair. Her brown hair framed her wide, misleadingly kind face like a model, and her green eyes were currently alive with laughter as the friends were sharing a joke as I opened the door. The white pristine top she had on had a thin tie from under the exaggerated neck collar, and she had on a mature black skirt with black hose and shiny black high heels. Her gestures were quiet and small, like a lady of station should be.

But when she saw me standing there holding the door, Brenda stopped talking and her eyes locked on me with a curious smirk that turned into an evil grin. She seemed to look me up and down, particularly at my skirt that I tried harder to pull further down my thighs, but it couldn't budge without coming loose from my waist.

The other two girls in the room seemed to snap their attention towards me, moments after Brenda had. That's how you knew she was the leader. If she narrowed in on something, whatever the others did, they stopped to notice to see if their input was wanted or demanded.

"Where is the miss of the house?" Brenda asked me in a haughty better-than-thou tone.

I fumbled more with my skirt, feeling even less secure in myself with this thin short scrap of material covering the most babyish panties you could find for a teenager!

"She... she's coming," I wiped the toe of my left Mary-Jane against the back of my right leg in nervousness.

Barbara, with her hair pulled into a single ponytail behind her black locks and her ears just showing, smirked at me in a way that made even Brenda's current blood-freezing evil grin seem tame. Barbara was known for her cruelty and her demand for respect. She was openly more scary than the barbarians that played rough sports.

"She's coming," Barbara mimicked me, only making a voice that sounded much more like a cartoonic baby too scared to tell their teacher they needed help.

Barbara had on a simple but elegant bright blue top that looked like it was mean to be a dress at one point, but someone changed their mind midway down, and decided it was a top, but it still had a waist belt that was darker blue, and on her legs, were jean shorts, still new looking.

Cindy had a narrow face with long sleek black flowing hair that shined in the little light that was in the room. Her brown eyes seemed delighted to be there, and she neither smiled nor frowned my way, but just had a look, of well, maybe bemusement upon her playful lips. Her white top was even more simple than Brenda's, and she had a nice long black skirt on. She seemed to look down at my short jean skirt. I could almost hear her thinking.... "Bold skirt, baby." Though she actually said nothing.

I shivered as she stood there, looking through my skirt, and somehow... it felt like they could see into it, and I crossed my legs to try to hide the front of my panties even more beneath the skirt. I felt a shiver and then a hand touched my shoulder making me jump as Jennifer walked in past me, smiling.

"Girls, I know we were supposed to do something fun today, but we have a mission first. My new servant here...." She paused on purpose so they could take in just who her new servant was. "She needs things. As you well know, she wets her pants at school—like all the time, right?"

 

There were nods and agreement noises between them all as I stood by the door, being the outsider, talked about but never invited into the conversation.

Jennifer continued, "So we need to go shopping for some stuff for her because I will have to share my room with her. Dad says I need to start learning how to treat servants, so she is my practice doll, my--play doll for teaching me such things, I suppose? As such, she needs a bed of her own in my room because if she pisses her pants at school, then you know what that means at night?"

The girls all nodded, and the quiet one that had not seemed as judgmental at first, Cindy, smirked. "I knew she smelled first thing in the mornings, and there was no time she had time to wet her pants yet, unless she doesn't shower?"

"She... doesn't know how, actually," Jennifer told Cindy which brought on looks, of almost sympathy, but because there were also accusatory elements in their looks, it looked less like sympathy and more like mockery. "The poor child came into the house for breakfast soaked from wetting herself last night, and then when sent to clean up, couldn't do it herself, so another servant had to help her, which is why we are running late. Don't blame her, though. I should have known a baby like her couldn't do it herself."

I clenched my fists behind my back as Jennifer turned to me. "Come on, Lena. We're going to get you some stylish pads to sleep on--bigger than the ones we use for periods. At least that way, if you wet the bed every night like you do at home, it won't soak into the mattress."

"Why not diapers?" Cindy smirked. "I mean diapers would...."

"Would teach her that it is okay and acceptable to not only wet her panties at night, but to poop herself, too," Jennifer cut her off. "I need to show my dad I can handle my servants, so he can give me my portion of the business when I turn twenty, so... she needs to learn to not potty her pants."

Barbara snorted. "Well, that's optimistic. She hasn't learned in sixteen years."

"It could be a mother not doing her job situation though," Jennifer smirked at me. "I mean, her little sister even shits her pants!"

The heat of humiliation crept up my neck, my fingers twisting the hem of my childish skirt. Brenda tapped a manicured nail against her teacup. "Still, Jennifer... diapers would be practical. As her owner, don't you have a responsibility to protect your mattress?" Her voice was smooth as silk, but her eyes flickered with cruel amusement. "Unless you want the whole room smelling like a sewer?"

"Be that as it may...," Jennifer rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to give her permission to wet her pants, so enough talk about diapers! She is wearing what I decide, and if she makes my room smell, she will get a spanking for it."

The declaration hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Brenda merely lifted an eyebrow, swirling her tea. "A spanking? How quaint." Her gaze drifted back to me, lingering on the childish Mary Janes buckled tight over thin ankle socks. "Still, dear... servants need practical solutions. Perhaps plastic sheets? Or those absorbent incontinence pads for elderly patients?" The suggestion dripped with false concern.

"Oh, I fully intend to get her whole family plastic sheets for their beds, so cuter ones for my room for sure, for when her bed has to be stripped. And yes, for once a suggestion that makes sense... some absorbent bed pads would be just right... that way, the stain of humiliation can be present as it airs out some days, and it can be washed other days leaving a cute plastic sheet then. I like that. The more humiliated she is, the more likely she'll learn to hold it."

Jennifer nodded, seeming pleased with Brenda’s twisted logic. Cindy leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming. "We should get her some proper servant uniforms too. Something... functional. Thin cotton. Easy to see through when it’s wet." She chuckled softly. "That way, everyone at school knows exactly what she’s done before the bell rings."

Jennifer shook her head. "Dad doesn't like the shame to be purposefully flaunted, and I get it. That's why she's covered for our outing. Otherwise, don't think for a minute, I wouldn’t fully put her in a stroller with nothing more than her training panties and top on. But dad's rules trump mine."

Brenda stretched languidly. "Enough talk. Let’s go."

 

She rose, her movements predatory as she approached me. I flinched as her fingers abruptly hooked under the hem of my skirt, flipping it up before I could react. The thick toddler panties were exposed—bright white cotton, embarrassingly thick, with childish lace trim high on the hips.

 

"Still," Brenda purred, her breath warm against my ear, "these are adorable. Perfect for a pissing brat." She let the fabric drop, her laughter sharp as glass.

 

I shivered as the fabric dropped, and then Cindy grabbed my arm. "I'll take my turn right now, walking the baby to the car. I assume you'll want help with your baby servant?" She watched Jennifer with a smirk.

Jennifer nodded. "Yes, Cindy. Lead her to the garage door. Barbara and Brenda, please get my purse from the study? My father insists I don't carry my own purse as a lady."

I thought I saw a look of ... well... discord when she ordered Brenda to get her purse. At school, everyone knew that Brenda was the leader of their group, and now, I could see the real tension behind that fragile position as it seemed that Jennifer likely thought she had a right to it by birth. The perfect princess mentality for sure.

The sudden jerk on my arm pulled me stumbling forward, Cindy's grip like iron. Her fingers dug into my skin as she marched me through the maze of hallways, my childish shoes tapping too loudly on the polished marble.

 

We passed a long row of windows overlooking the manicured grounds outside, and I caught a glimpse of Eloise pushing Nadia on a swing near the small house—my family's prison. Nadia's feet kicked happily in the air, oblivious. Eloise looked up, her eyes meeting mine for a split second before Cindy yanked me around a corner, blocking the view.

 

"So, I want to get her some more appropriate sleeping things because honestly, she's not mature enough for servant sleeping clothes, and then of course a bed and bed things fitting her immature levels, and some... playthings. She handed this to me," Jennifer was chatting with her friends about the plans as we headed for a large car where a driver held the door open for all of us. "She said in her contract, she wants 'playtime!' Imagine that!"

The girls laughed. It sounded cruel and sharp, sending shivers down my spine.

While we were in the car, the others getting settled, Jennifer fastened my belt for me, and then handed me a paper. "This is your potty schedule. If you don't adhere to it, even if we are in there for other reasons, you don't get to go. Understand?"

I nodded. The driver pulled out of the garage, the sudden brightness of the sun blinding me for a second as we drove down the long driveway toward the gate.

Your Potty Schedule
Jennifer's Approval Required
Morning: 8:00 AM
Mid Morning: 10:30 AM
Afternoon: 1:00 PM
Mid Afternoon: 3:30PM
Evening: 7:00 PM
Before Bed: 10:30 PM
NO EXCEPTIONS

She glanced at me with a smirk. "That's like six times you get to go, and honestly, the average person should only have to go like three or four times, so that should be plenty of times to get to the toilet. If you leak in your pants, as long as no one else notices--no puddles, then you don't get spanked, but I'll scold you for wetting. And if you make a puddle or make my room smell, you get spanked. Got it?"

I nodded again, biting my lip, trying to pull my skirt down even in the seat. Cindy leaned over from the other side of the car. "What's she wearing under that skirt?"

"Just practical panties," Jennifer shrugged. "It's not like they are designed for babies or something," she lied. "But they are... well, she's not ready for full lady privileged panties, yet. Her mom isn't even ready for that."

Barbara leaned forward from the sofa like perch she sat within the limosine, her eyes narrowing as she studied my lap. "Pull your skirt up, Lena. Let’s see what ‘practical’ looks like." My fingers froze on the denim hem—cold sweat prickling my neck. Jennifer gave a curt nod, her expression daring me to disobey. Slowly, trembling, I lifted the fabric just enough to reveal the stark white cotton beneath, thick and high-waisted, the childish lace trim unmistakable against my pale thigh.

 

Brenda’s smirk deepened. "Ah. So it’s humiliation disguised as necessity. How very... Greivere." The tension crackled between them—Jennifer’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing as Brenda settled back, her gaze fixed the rear window where she faced forward toward us.

"It's not Greivere to humiliate, but it is to teach," Jennifer mumbled under her breath. "If she could just keep her panties dry for two minutes, she wouldn't have to go through this."

Cindy leaned closer, her sleek hair brushing against my arm. "If she can't keep her panties dry, why bother hiding them?" She traced the lace trim with one finger, making me shudder. "This is cute... but it looks like it would hold a lot. Is that the plan? Give her something thick enough to soak up an accident?"

"No. She's not supposed to wet her pants," Jennifer was not liking how this was going. I think Jennifer wanted it to be my fault, and her friends to see it as my fault, but that's not what seemed to be happening right now. It looked like it was more and more her fault, and maybe... that would get her to ease off of me... maybe.

Barbara snorted from her seat beside Brenda. "Don't kid yourself, Jen. This fabric screams 'diaper substitute.'" Her finger jabbed toward the thick padding between my legs. "That's why my mom puts my grandma in similar ones—minus the babyish trim." The words landed like stones. Jennifer flushed crimson, her knuckles white on her purse strap. "It's... it's transitional! Until she learns bladder control!" she snapped, but her voice cracked.

Jennifer eyed me with malice, as though, I had started this, and it was my fault. She looked more and more upset the more it didn't go her way, and somehow, I was starting to wonder if her own humiliation was going to get me in worse trouble with her later.

"Lena, take those ridiculous things off," Jennifer ordered me. "My dad," she explained to her friends. "You weren't supposed to see her panties. But you're right. That thing is like a diaper. She can just wear nothing underneath for now, but we'll get her some fitting panties at the store before we do anything else. A servant at Greivere cannot go without panties on. That's worse than wearing a diaper in public."

She ordered me to remove the thick panties right there in front of her friends. My face burned crimson as I slipped them off under my skirt, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable without them. Jennifer snatched them from me and tossed them onto the limousine floor like trash.

"Thinner panties means you better not even leak a little bit, though, you got it? Any hind of a puddle means a spanking!"

The limousine purred along the tree-lined avenue, sunlight flashing through the tinted windows in blinding streaks. Exposed skin prickled against the denim skirt as the air conditioning blew cold. Every slight bump in the road felt like a spotlight. Jennifer’s glare burned into the side of my face. Brenda watched me with unnerving stillness, her polished fingernail tracing the rim of her glass of sparkling water. Cindy leaned casually against the plush leather, her dark eyes occasionally drifting downward toward my lap, a faint smirk playing on her lips. Barbara’s snort hung in the air like smoke. "Hope the driver doesn't hit a pothole. That'd be... messy." The driver smoothly navigated a curve, the centrifugal force pressing me against the seat. I squeezed my thighs together, the coarse fabric of the skirt rubbing raw against suddenly bare skin. The sense of vulnerability was suffocating—no barrier, no protection. Jennifer’s threat echoed: Any hint of a puddle. Every tiny pressure, every shift in position, felt amplified, terrifying. My bladder already felt like a clenched fist, a dull ache building beneath the relentless scrutiny. The scent of Jennifer’s expensive perfume warred with the faint ozone smell of the air conditioning, sharpening the dread.

 

Cindy tugged my skirt hem higher, deliberately slow. "Still, Jen, letting her ride commando? Bold." Her fingertip brushed my knee, making me flinch violently. Brenda’s gaze sharpened, predatory. "Indeed. Interesting parenting technique, Jennifer. Very... hands-on." Jennifer flushed crimson again, her knuckles tightening around her purse strap until the leather creaked. "It’s not parenting! It’s servant management! Discipline!" she hissed, her voice strained. Barbara chuckled, low and dark. "Discipline requires consistency. Are you *sure* you’re ready for the fallout if she leaks all over this imported leather?" She tapped the seat beside her. The implication was clear: Jennifer’s prized status symbol, potentially ruined. Jennifer’s eyes darted to the pristine upholstery, then back to me, panic warring with fury. "She... she won’t," Jennifer stammered, a tremor in her voice betraying her doubt. The pressure inside me intensified, sharpening into a desperate, urgent throb. I closed my eyes, focusing on the hum of the engine, the vibration through the seat—anything but the mocking stares and the terrifying emptiness beneath my skirt.

"Well," Jennifer was tired of Brenda's game knowing she was cuing the others to agree with her. "What do you think I should do? Let the servant act like a baby and get confused, and piss herself all over everything all the time? That's not happening."

Cindy leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming as she toyed with the hem of my skirt. "Then give her something discreet. Thin panties lined with plastic—like those travel incontinence pads. They’d prevent stains without looking... juvenile." Her fingers pinched the denim fabric, twisting it slightly. "You could even call them ‘training underwear.’ Fits the narrative, doesn’t it?" Jennifer’s lips tightened, but she didn’t immediately dismiss it. Brenda gave a slow, approving nod. "Practical and punitive. Elegant." The limousine slowed, pulling into the bustling mall entrance. Jennifer snatched my wrist, her nails biting into my skin. "Fine. But if she poops her pants because she's not learning...," Her whisper was venomous. "You get to clean her up, Brenda, since you seem to worried about her, and before she gets clean... Cindy... You have to spank her on her poopy panty for siding with Brenda!"

I was trembling as the driver opened the door. Sunlight and the scent of fast food washed over me, but the chill of exposure clung tighter than my skirt.

Jennifer shoved me forward by my elbow. "Walk properly! And stop squeezing your legs together—you look ridiculous," she hissed, her breath hot against my ear. Brenda exited gracefully, her gaze sweeping the crowded drop-off zone like a queen surveying peasants. Cindy followed, deliberately brushing against me—her hand lingering near my thigh as if ready to yank my skirt higher. Barbara brought up the rear, humming softly.

"Would you know where to find those thin panties with the plastic inlays?" Jennifer asked her companions. "I mean, if you are bringing them up, then I assume you know where they are?"

Cindy nodded, pointing ahead. "My aunt wears them. They're sold near the incontinence supplies. Follow me." She led the group toward a brightly lit pharmacy section tucked beside a noisy arcade. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on racks of adult diapers and bed pads. My stomach churned at the sight—the clinical packaging, the images of serene elderly models. Jennifer wrinkled her nose. "This section smells like hospitals."

Jennifer frowned. "This... won't do. It looks too... lady like. She needs to understand pooping her pants is babyish, not dignified. She's not old like your aunt."

Cindy gestured to a lower shelf. "These then." The packaging was simpler—bright yellow with cartoonish droplets. "Discrete Comfort Pads." Brenda smirked, picking up a box. "Thin as paper. Plastic-backed. Says it holds 'light to moderate accidents.' Perfect for a trainee who might... leak." She tilted the box toward me. The illustration showed the pad glued inside plain cotton briefs. My cheeks flamed. Jennifer snatched the box, scanning it like a battle report. "Fine. But the panties must be..." She trailed off, eyes locking onto a nearby display of children's underwear—pink and frilled with cartoon ponies. "Those."

Brenda smiled slyly. "Don't you want your little servant to pick out her own panties? I mean... that would be just the icing, wouldn't it?"

Jennifer had a finger on her chin for a moment. "I supposed. You get her six pair of panties she picks out, then, Brenda. I'm going to take Cindy and Barbara over there to look at that," but I didn't see where she was indicating clearly.

Brenda nudged me forward toward the rack of childish underwear—pink, frilled, plastered with glittery unicorns and smiling flowers. My legs trembled as I shuffled closer, the coarse denim skirt scratching against bare skin with every step. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, amplifying the scent of plastic packaging mingled with Brenda’s sharp jasmine perfume. She leaned in, her whisper deceptively soft. "Go on, Lena. Pick six pairs. Make sure they’re... pretty." Her gaze flickered to Jennifer, still huddled with Cindy and Barbara near the adult incontinence pads—Barbara’s smirk visible across the aisle. My fingers grazed a pair adorned with floppy-eared bunnies. They felt impossibly thin, flimsy compared to the thick cotton humiliation Jennifer had discarded. This is worse, I thought, because now they’ll see everything.

Jennifer marched back, clutching the box of pads. "Hurry up," she snapped, shoving the box into my chest. The cardboard corner dug into my ribs. "Brenda, help her choose *properly*—nothing too plain." Brenda plucked a lavender pair dotted with silver stars from my hand. "These’ll show stains beautifully," she mused, holding them up to the light. Cindy snickered, tracing the outline of a plastic pad through the packaging. "Imagine her squirming in math class when the unicorn’s face turns yellow." Barbara added, "Or when Miss Hanley asks why she smells like a nursing home." Jennifer’s laugh was brittle. "Oh, she’ll smell worse after gym class."

The fluorescent glare beat down as Brenda draped the chosen panties over my forearm—pastel pinks and purples, fabrics thin enough to see my fingers through them. The cartoonish prints seemed to leer: grinning kittens, winking rainbows. Jennifer snatched a pack of the incontinence pads, tearing it open with sharp precision.

Jennifer looked at Brenda with all the panties to buy and handed her the credit card. "You buy the panties, and here," she ripped the price tag from one pair of panties. "Make sure they ring this up with it. I need to get this little child decent.

Then, she turned to me. "Bathroom. Now." She propelled me toward the restrooms, her grip vise-tight on my shoulder. The scent of disinfectant hit like a slap as she kicked open a stall door. "Put this on," she ordered, thrusting a crinkly pad at me. "and put this inside it, and don't even dare to make me help you." The plastic backing shimmered under the harsh lights, cold against my palm.

I fumbled with the pad, the adhesive strip resisting my trembling fingers. Outside the stall, Jennifer tapped her foot impatiently. "Hurry! You're wasting shopping time."

 

The pad finally clung to the inside of the childish panties—thin cotton, printed with dancing cupcakes. When I emerged, Jennifer seized the waistband, yanking it up sharply. The plastic crinkled faintly, a constant reminder beneath the frilly cotton. She smoothed the skirt down with exaggerated care. "There. Decent. For now."

 

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to use the toilet, but you have another hour to wait." Then she went into a stall and I could hear everything since I didn't know where to go at the moment.

Outside, Cindy’s sharp laughter echoed near the sinks. “Think she’ll last till lunch?” Barbara’s muffled reply floated under the stall door: “With that flimsy pad? Doubt it. Brenda picked the thinnest ones.” I pressed my back against the cold tile wall, the crinkly plastic liner chafing with every breath. Jennifer’s urine stream hissed against porcelain—a taunting reminder of the luxury I couldn’t afford.

Before I knew it, Jenner and I were outside the bathroom, and she glared at the other girls.

"Brenda, you might think you are the leader, but I'm giving you all a chance now. Use the toilet. Lena goes in an hour, and if she's wet, you'll be helping me with her since you all insisted on this instead of what my dad wanted."

Cindy snorted, eyeing Brenda. "Well, Brenda? Should we all go?"

Brenda shrugged nonchalantly, but her shoulders were tense as she headed toward the restroom entrance. "Fine. But if she wets herself before then, I'm blaming your choice of pads, Cindy."

 

Barbara followed, her smirk widening as she brushed past me, her elbow deliberately knocking against my hip.

 

Left alone with Jennifer near the bustling mall entrance, I felt the cold air conditioning seep through my thin skirt. The plastic-backed pad felt alien and treacherous against my skin—a flimsy shield against humiliation.

"You just had to act like a target in front of them when you were introduced," Jennifer turned this all on me. "All you had to do, was stand there, and pretend nothing was wrong, and no one would have checked your panties... but no...oh... you had to let them see what you were wearing, didn't you?"

She glared at me as Brenda and Barbara disappeared into the restroom. Cindy leaned against a nearby planter, her sharp eyes flicking between me and Jennifer. "I'm not changing," Cindy said. "I'll wait."

"Changing?" Jennifer asked Cindy. "Did someone tell you to wear the childish panties, too? If Brenda is humiliating our group, this won't go well for her."

Cindy pushed off the planter. "I'm not Brenda's dog. But Lena's trembling like a leaf. Watch." She pointed at my hands, clasped tight against my skirt.

 

The crinkle of plastic beneath the cupcake print seemed deafening in the pause. Jennifer’s eyes narrowed, scanning me from head to toe—my hunched shoulders, the way my thighs pressed together.

 

 

"Stop fidgeting," she snapped. "You're making it obvious." Her perfume, cloying and floral, couldn’t mask the sharp ammonia scent of bleach wafting from the restroom. Every shuffle of passing shoppers echoed like judgment.

Jennifer sighed. "Well, I guess she'll learn to suck it up, if she doesn't want to be humiliated. You really should use the toilet though, Cindy. If you wet yourself, you won't be setting a good example for Lena."

"I'm fine." Cindy flicked her hair dismissively.

Jennifer's eyes narrowed at her. "Alright..., but if you do it, those diapers everyone kept bringing up...?" and she let the threat hang in the air.

Cindy shrugged. "I'm not worried about leaking."

I didn't understand how they were friends at all. Brenda was trying to control things when Jennifer thought she should be the elegant leader, Cindy was being pestered by Jennifer, almost as bad as I was, and I could tell even Barbara had tension between both Brenda and Cindy.

My bladder throbbed as Jennifer steered me toward the bustling mall corridors. The crinkly pad shifted with each step, reminding me how flimsy my protection was.

 

Brenda reappeared, handing Jennifer a glossy bag filled with childish panties. "Six pairs," she announced, her tone smooth as silk but her eyes sharp on Cindy. "All appropriately... infantile."

Jennifer smiled and nodded. "Good. We need to go get some bedding stuff next, of course that will be delivered, but we still need to choose the styles, mattress, sheets, plastic, and everything."

Cindy looked at Jennifer suspiciously. "Bedding? For Lena? But she's sleeping on plastic sheets already, right?"

"She has a bed in the little house with her little family, but sometimes, she needs to stay in my room, and she's not going to wet on MY BED in our sleep. So, she's getting an... appropriate bed for her in my room."

Jennifer steered me toward a department store entrance, her nails digging into my arm. The scent of lavender air freshener mixed with the crinkling pad beneath my skirt—a constant reminder of its treachery. Brenda trailed behind, humming softly as she studied bedding displays. "Something colorful?" she suggested, tapping a bright pink comforter plastered with cartoon kittens. "Matches her dignity level."

"Something... a little more... innocent--I think," Jennifer said. “She's still too juvenile for that!"

She directed me toward a stark display of toddler bedding—primary colors, thick plastic-covered mattresses stacked beside waterproof sheets printed with grinning teddy bears. The vinyl scent was overpowering, stinging my nostrils.

 

Brenda trailed her finger along a plastic sheet’s edge. "Thick enough to contain Niagara Falls. Practical." Her gaze slid to Cindy, who lingered near a pile of frilly throw pillows, her jaw clenched.

"Oh, there!--" Jennifer pointed out some actual toddler beds with matching sheets, quilts and other things for kids like three or four years old. "I think we'll need Lena to lie in a few to make sure the size is long enough for her whole form...."

Cindy rolled her eyes as Brenda grabbed my elbow, steering me toward a miniature canopy bed draped in pale yellow vinyl printed with chubby-cheeked ducks.

 

"Up you go," Brenda ordered, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

 

The plastic mattress crinkled violently beneath me as I slid onto it, the vinyl cold and slick through my thin skirt. My legs dangled awkwardly off the end, heels scraping the floor.

 

Brenda leaned close, her jasmine perfume clashing with the chemical reek of waterproofing. "Comfy? Or should we try the crib?" Her laugh was a low hum. Jennifer snapped photos with her phone, the shutter sound like gunshots. "Perfect fit! Eloise will adore these duckies."

"Barbara, you'd not doing anything. Go get a store clerk to take our order here. Brenda, you take Cindy and look for some extra sheets and blankets. She's obviously going to need other things, and actually, I'll get her little sister some sheets and blankets, too. I may not be taking direct care of her, but the blankets out in the old playhouse are going to be way too cold this winter."

Barbara slipped away silently, her expression unreadable.

 

Brenda shot Jennifer a challenging look but nudged Cindy toward a rack of fleece blankets.

 

Left alone with Jennifer beside the toddler bed, I clenched my thighs against the slick vinyl. The crinkly incontinence pad shifted beneath me, its plastic edges digging into tender skin. Jennifer tapped her phone screen.

 

"Smile for Eloise," she commanded, but her tone lacked malice—almost distracted. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on the grinning duck prints.

"You still have like thirty-five minutes before it's potty time, ten-thirty. Tell me the truth or you'll hate the punishment a lot worse. Are you about to pee, Lena?"

Jennifer's whisper cut through the buzzing overhead lights. My thighs trembled against the cold plastic mattress, the crinkly pad beneath me suddenly dampening with sweat—or worse? The scent of vinyl sharpened, clawing at my throat. My bladder pulsed, a tight drumbeat of panic. I shook my head, desperate.

 

"N-no, Jennifer." But the lie tasted sour.

 

The pressure had built to a relentless ache, amplified by every shift on the slick surface. Brenda’s voice drifted from the fleece blanket aisle—a low murmur punctuated by Cindy’s sharp retort. Jennifer leaned closer, her perfume choking me.

"I think you are lying," she leaned in and whispered. "But I gave you a chance to tell me, and so I can make the first time... a little less of a sting, but you insist on lying, so you better not pee if you are going to lie to me. There is worse than a spanking that can be done, you know."

Jennifer straightened up with a cold smile as Barbara returned with a bored-looking clerk clutching a tablet.

 

"We'll take this duck bed," Jennifer announced, tapping the plastic frame. "With the matching waterproof sheets and pillowcases. Also..." Her gaze flicked to me, still perched awkwardly on the tiny mattress. "...a crib mattress pad. The thickest one you have."

Jennifer looked at some sheets and quilts, and she turned to me. "You don't want me to mess with your sister, and that's fine. But she needs warmer things to sleep on her bedding, so you pick the stuff... but it all comes from here."

The clerk tapped her tablet, indifferent. Brenda reappeared with Cindy trailing reluctantly, arms laden with fleece blankets—one printed with frolicking lambs, another with dizzying polka dots. Jennifer snatched the polka dot one.

 

"For Lena's sister." She tossed it toward me; I fumbled to catch it, the crinkle beneath my skirt sounding louder than the mall's chatter. The fleece smelled synthetic, like trapped dust.

 

Brenda dropped a lavender blanket dotted with silver stars onto the pile—thin, almost sheer. "And this for Lena. Won’t hide much."

Jennifer, however frowned at her. "Let's be practical," she said. "Lena needs to be warm at night. I can always check her in the mornings... and she is allowed to wet the bed. That's not against her contract."

Jennifer pointed toward the toddler bedding section again. "No. We need the thickest quilted blankets, Brenda. Ones that soak up..."

Brenda's expression tightened, but she didn't argue. Cindy wandered toward the toddler bed I was still perched on, her fingers tracing the vinyl-covered rail.

 

"This stuff reeks," she muttered, wrinkling her nose. The sharp tang of plastic filled the air, mixing with the faint crinkle of the pad beneath my skirt. My legs trembled as Jennifer directed Barbara to grab several thick thermal blankets—bulky, practical things meant for cold nights, not humiliation.

"What do you mean it stinks?" Jennifer asked. "Lena, get over here and let Brenda check your panties. You better be dry, little girl!"

I slid off the toddler bed, my legs trembling as I approached Brenda. The fluorescent lights buzzed louder overhead, amplifying the crinkle of the plastic-backed pad with every step. Brenda’s fingers felt like ice through the thin skirt as she lifted the hem at the back. "Dry," she announced flatly, her gaze flicking to Cindy. "For now."

"Okay, girls! You are missing the point in all of this, and I am getting tired of it. If Lena humiliates herself, then it needs to be HER fault, not your stupid making her nervous antics. She is being trained to be a servant, not just being tormented. Dad is trusting me to train her. The next person that tries to humiliate her without good cause, will wear the suggested diapers that were brought up earlier, got it?"

Jennifer's voice sliced through the department store air, sharp enough to silence Brenda’s murmured retort. Cindy froze mid-step, her hand inches from a rack of ruffled pillowcases. Barbara’s bored expression tightened into wary stillness. The clerk tapped her tablet faster.

"I swear, some people just don't know how to be ladies," Jennifer told the clerk pointedly. "At least Lena is trying!"

As the clerk finalized the bedding order, Jennifer steered me away from the toddler section toward housewares.

 

The crinkling beneath my skirt felt louder than the mall's chatter, each step shifting the plastic pad against tender skin. Brenda trailed silently, her earlier defiance replaced by a simmering tension. Cindy lingered near a display of floral china plates, her gaze distant. Barbara drifted toward bath towels, fingers tracing plush Egyptian cotton.

"It's five minutes early, Lena, but you've been a good girl and trying to be dignified, so I'll give you a break this time," We stopped by the toilets again. "You have to be watched because that's not negotiable, but you can pee in the potty, if you can go, now."

Jennifer propelled me toward the restroom entrance, her grip unyielding. The fluorescent lights buzzed like angry insects overhead as Brenda trailed silently behind.

 

Inside the echoing tiled space, Jennifer kicked open a stall door without glancing at Cindy or Barbara. "In." Her command bounced off the walls. I hesitated, the crinkling pad beneath my childish cupcake panties suddenly feeling damp—with sweat or something else?

 

Brenda leaned against the sinks, her arms crossed. "Tick-tock," she murmured, though her gaze flickered toward the exit where Barbara and Cindy waited.

 

Jennifer looked back at her with a frown. "She's my servant, the limo is mine, and this shopping spree is on my dollar, so shut your mouth, or you will miss the whole movie, got it?"

My bladder felt like a clenched fist as Brenda scowled but stayed silent.

 

Jennifer pushed me into the stall, her sharp perfume mixing with the antiseptic sting of the restroom air. The fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows on the graffiti-scarred metal door.

 

"Hurry up," Jennifer hissed, her eyes hard. "And don’t forget—I’m watching." She nudged the stall door open wider with her foot, refusing privacy.

 

Cindy leaned against the sink counter nearby, her gaze fixed on my trembling hands.

I fumbled with the childish cupcake-patterned panties, the crinkly plastic pad cold against my skin. The adhesive tugged at the cotton as I peeled it away—still dry. Relief warred with dread. Positioning my skirt higher, I sank onto the chilly toilet seat, my muscles locked tight.

 

Nothing came. Only the echoing drip of a faucet and Jennifer’s impatient sigh. "Try harder," she snapped. "Or we leave now, and you hold it till lunch."

Cindy’s reflection shimmered in the polished chrome of a paper towel dispenser—arms crossed, jaw set. Brenda leaned against the tiled wall, tapping her foot rhythmically. Their silence pressed harder than Jennifer’s glare. The disinfectant stung my nostrils, mixing with floral perfume and something sharper—fear-sweat? My knees trembled, heels hovering above the damp floor.

 

Focus, I begged my body. Just... let go. A feeble trickle finally escaped, pattering against porcelain, loud in the cavernous silence. Jennifer’s smirk returned. "About time."

She leaned against the wall, actually smiling at Brenda as a taunt while she let me try to finish, it seemed. And she did look back at me from time to time and remind me, whatever I don't get out now, I better hold until lunch....

When I came back out, Barbara was impatiently tapping her foot. "Are we done playing baby? Let's get real shopping done." Cindy rolled her eyes, but Jennifer's expression tightened. "Fine. But Lena walks beside me from now on. Anyone touches her skirt, breathes too close—you're done."

The scent of cinnamon wafted from a pretzel kiosk as we moved deeper into the mall. Shoppers jostled past, oblivious to the plastic crinkling beneath my skirt with each step. Brenda lingered near a perfume counter, spraying something aggressively floral onto a test strip—a petty rebellion

[Parkin]

Intense chapter. Shows pretty good how group dynamics increase the cruelty in many people. But a moment of humanity for Jennifer. But I don't think that will hold long.

[Guilend]

I imagine Lena’s mother’s diaper was soaked by the time she went to meet the head maid. From the few comments from the new Governess, it sounds like the mother isn’t allowed to touch her own diapers or even ask for diaper changes. I am curious if she gets spanked if her diaper is wet in the morning. It also sounds like if she’s on diaper punishment during the day, she’s not allowed to use the toilet and has to do everything in her diapers. It’s going to be embarrassing for her to have her diaper checked and changed by the new governess. 
 

Lena is probably going to get it worse once they’re home and the friends are gone. I have a feeling Cindy is going to have an accident. Though I do have a feeling that Jennifer is going to try and deny Lena her playtime later to try and assert control. 

[Guilend]

I am looking forward to later during Lena’s playtime, during dinner and later once everyone is in the playhouse getting ready for bed. As I write this I realize that Lena’s mother probably won’t be sitting down to eat with the family for dinner and might even be there serving the family during dinner time which would give either Jennifer or one of her parents an opportunity to embarrass and humiliate Lena’s mother in front of them.