The rhythm of the steam engine thudded in Hannah’s ears as the Mark Twain Riverboat docked. The hiss of escaping steam, the faint creak of wood against the moorings, and the muted din of cheerful chatter formed a symphony of sounds that blended with the golden hues of the setting sun. Disneyland’s Rivers of America glittered, the rippling water catching the last rays of daylight and casting dancing patterns on the boat's white hull.

Hannah shifted slightly in the carrier strapped to Welby’s chest, her view framed by the edges of his broad shoulders and the soft rise and fall of his steady breathing. The carrier hugged her snugly, her arms free but uselessly tucked near her chin. Her thick diaper reminded her of her role—more prominent and encompassing than Emily’s or Lucas’s. Each crinkle as she moved was a chorus, reminding her of the layers between her and the world.

She felt Welby’s hand tighten briefly on the rail as he descended the gangplank, the motion steady and deliberate. Evelyn walked beside him, her hand clasped in his. Hannah could see their joined fingers, Evelyn’s smaller hand enveloped in Welby’s strong grip. The contrast struck Hannah, though she couldn’t decide whether it was reassuring or strange. Evelyn exuded grace with every step, her petite form moving confidently beside the towering man who carried Hannah with such effortless strength.

Ahead of them, Emily and Lucas walked hand in hand. Emily’s auburn hair caught the warm light, strands glowing like burnished copper as she spoke softly to Lucas. Hannah couldn’t hear their words, but the gentle tilt of Emily’s head and the way Lucas leaned toward her made the bond between them unmistakable. His hand was firm but not overbearing, a steadying presence that Hannah envied, though she could not have said why.

As they stepped off the dock and into the bustling thoroughfare of New Orleans Square, the air shifted. The scents of the river gave way to the rich, tantalizing aromas of Café Orleans: buttery garlic wafted alongside sweet powdered sugar and the spiced promise of gumbo. The cobblestones beneath Welby’s boots clinked faintly as they joined the stream of people wandering toward the restaurant.

The crowd was alive with energy, children darting around their parents like orbiting moons, teenagers laughing as they snapped selfies, and couples strolling arm in arm. Yet, despite the vibrant chaos, there was an odd serenity to their little group. Welby’s broad presence seemed to carve a protective bubble around them, his confident stride parting the crowd with ease. Evelyn stayed close, her hand still firmly in his, her gaze flicking toward Hannah now and then with a warm, knowing smile.

Hannah squirmed slightly, her diaper rustling in protest. She caught sight of her reflection in a nearby shop window as they passed. The pastel bonnet framing her face, the soft ruffles of her onesie peeking out from the edges of the carrier, and the thick padding forcing her legs apart—all of it combined to remind her of the role she played. Infantile. Dependent. But somehow,… safe.

Welby’s voice rumbled from above her. “We’re almost there, sweetheart,” he said, his tone soothing. The baritone resonance of his voice vibrated through the carrier, grounding her in a way she didn’t entirely understand.

The glow of Café Orleans came into view, its iron-wrought balconies draped with festive lights that twinkled like captured stars. The chatter from the tables on the outdoor patio mixed with the clink of silverware and the occasional laughter. Hannah could feel her stomach tighten—not from hunger but from the weight of being seen. Strangers would watch them, and she would feel their gaze on her bonnet, carrier, and obvious padding. Yet, she knew Welby wouldn’t let her falter. His steady presence was an anchor, pulling her through the storm of her thoughts.

Evelyn’s voice broke through the hum of the crowd. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she said, her tone warm and light as her eyes darted to Hannah. Her hand in Welby’s twitched, a silent gesture Hannah couldn’t decipher but felt oddly comforting.

“Beautiful,” Welby replied, his voice low. He paused outside the café, adjusting Hannah in her carrier as if shielding her from some imagined cold. “You comfortable, sweetheart?” he asked.

Hannah nodded, though her cheeks burned. She wasn’t sure if it was the question or the way Emily and Lucas turned to glance at her, Emily’s green eyes sparkling with affection and Lucas’s expression unreadable but soft.

Welby’s hand found Evelyn’s again as they moved toward the café’s entrance. The coolness of the evening mingled with the warmth of their small group, and Hannah couldn’t help but relax—if only slightly. She rested her head against Welby’s chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart steady and unyielding. 

The moment they stepped into Café Orleans, the ambiance shifted. The faint murmur of New Orleans jazz mixed with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversations. The dim, golden light cast a soft glow over the restaurant, highlighting the intricate ironwork of the railings and the polished wood of the tables. The air carried the rich, savory aroma of French cuisine, tantalizing and inviting.

A cheerful hostess greeted them warmly and led the group to a spacious yet cozy table near a wide window. The table was set with pristine white linens and delicate silverware that seemed almost too refined for the restaurant's casual hum. Hannah squirmed slightly in her carrier as Welby followed the hostess. His hand still held Evelyn’s, and his other hand instinctively supported Hannah as he walked.

Once seated, the transitions began with practiced ease. Hannah was the first to be lifted from the carrier, cradled securely in Welby’s arms. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the polished window surface—her bonnet slightly askew, her cheeks flushed from the restaurant's warmth. Welby adjusted her bonnet tenderly before gently placing her into a high chair. The chair was plush and padded, designed for Littles, with colorful patterns of cheerful cartoon characters adorning its sides.

“Here we go, sweetheart,” Welby murmured, fastening the safety straps snugly around her waist and shoulders. Hannah’s thick diaper crinkled softly as she shifted, the padding forcing her legs apart and making her acutely aware of her helpless position.

Next, Lucas and Emily were settled into their high chairs. With his slightly tousled hair and reserved demeanor, Lucas lowered himself into the chair with a resigned sigh. He adjusted his position, the chair’s straps clicking into place as if the routine was second nature to him. Emily followed with practiced grace, her auburn hair catching the light as she allowed herself to be secured without complaint, though a flicker of self-consciousness crossed her face.

The table was soon filled with the soft clinking of glasses and the cheerful glint of a pitcher of ice water. Tall glasses were set in front of Welby and Evelyn, the cubes catching the light as they floated lazily in the water. For the Littles, bottles were brought out, glistening with condensation. The server placed them in front of each highchair with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to such scenarios.

Hannah’s bottle was handed directly to Welby. Its creamy white contents swirled as he tested the temperature against his wrist. Satisfied, he brought the bottle to her lips. “Here you go, baby girl,” he said softly, tilting the bottle. Hannah had no choice but to accept it, the soft rubber nipple slipping between her lips as the formula began to flow. It was warm and sweet, and the taste was soothing despite the sting of her situation.

Meanwhile, Emily and Lucas were handed bottles filled with bright juice. Emily’s was a rich orange, its cheerful color matching her quietly optimistic demeanor. She picked it up herself, her slender fingers gripping the bottle as she drank with deliberate sips, her eyes flicking between Lucas and the adults at the table. Lucas’s juice was deep purple, likely grape, and he drank from his bottle with a neutral expression, his gaze drifting to the menu before him.

Unlike Hannah, who had no input in her meal, Lucas and Emily were allowed to choose from the Littles’ menu. The laminated card featured whimsical illustrations of food items, from mini beignets dusted with powdered sugar to smaller portions of jambalaya and gumbo. Lucas furrowed his brow as he scanned the options, his free hand tapping lightly against the highchair tray. Emily smiled faintly as she read, pointing to an item and nodding to Lucas as if to offer a suggestion.

Welby and Evelyn conversed with the server, their voices low and calm as they ordered for themselves. Evelyn’s hand lingered near Welby’s on the table, her expression serene as she glanced toward Hannah. When the server turned their attention to Lucas and Emily, they answered with soft, measured voices; their choices met with approving nods.

Hannah nursed her bottle quietly, her view of the table partially obstructed by the highchair’s tray. She caught glimpses of Lucas and Emily, the soft crinkle of their diapers barely audible over the ambient noise. Though they shared similar circumstances, their ability to engage and choose their meals made them seem, to Hannah, a step removed from her own deeply infantile role.

Welby’s hand reached out, gently brushing the top of her head, grounding her. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with pride. “You’re doing so well, Hannah.”

The words sent a small flutter through her chest, though she wasn’t sure if it was from comfort or the resigned acceptance of her place. As the server disappeared into the bustling kitchen, the group settled into a rhythm—Hannah nursing her bottle in Welby’s care, Lucas and Emily quietly chatting about their orders, and Evelyn offering occasional glances of warmth and reassurance to all.

Hannah nursed her bottle in slow, rhythmic pulls, her gaze unfocused as the sweet formula flowed over her tongue. The soft hum of conversation around the table drifted into a background blur, eclipsed by the quiet intimacy of the moment. Welby’s hand rested lightly on her back, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles through the fabric of her onesie. It should have calmingly grounded her, but instead, her mind was preoccupied with the growing discomfort in her tummy.

The pressure started as a faint, nagging sensation but quickly escalated, making her squirm in her highchair. The thick padding of her diaper pressed snugly between her legs, its bulk a constant reminder of her helplessness. Every small movement caused the padding to crinkle faintly, and she could feel the highchair straps pressing gently against her midsection, exacerbating the sensation.

Hannah whimpered softly, the sound muffled by the bottle’s nipple as she nursed. She wriggled in her seat, her small hands clutching the edges of the tray as she tried to resist the inevitable. But the combination of the liquid diet, the constriction of the highchair, and the utter immobility forced by the thick diaper made her efforts futile.

Welby’s hand paused briefly on her back, his voice low and soothing as he leaned closer. “Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked gently, though his tone carried a knowing edge.

Hannah’s cheeks burned, her embarrassment rising to match the mounting pressure in her tummy. She groaned softly, her head shaking in an instinctive, silent protest, but her body was betraying her. The formula seemed to settle heavily in her stomach, urging her to relax and give in, even as she fought desperately to hold on.

It was no use. With a defeated whimper, she felt the inevitable happen. The muscles in her lower abdomen gave way, and she shifted slightly as the warmth spread into her diaper. The thick padding cradled her mess, the soft interior yielding easily as it expanded to accommodate the uncontainable. The sensation was mortifying—an unwelcome reminder of her helplessness and dependence. Her body pressed into the seat of the highchair, causing the mess to squish slightly against her, heightening the indignity.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, though she bit her lip to keep them at bay. She felt her cheeks grow impossibly hotter, and she squirmed faintly, her small motions only serving to amplify her awareness of the situation. The faint, telltale scent began to waft into the air, and she whimpered again, burying her face into her bottle in a futile attempt to hide.

Welby’s hand resumed its soothing circles on her back. He wouldn’t say anything immediately if he noticed the change and his demeanor would be calm and reassuring. Hannah dared a glance up at him, her green eyes wide with mortification, but his expression was soft and understanding.

“There we go, baby girl,” he murmured, his tone brimming with gentle pride. “It’s okay. Daddy’s here. You’re such a good girl for letting it happen.”

Hannah’s blush deepened, and she quickly looked away, her pacifier dangling from its clip and bobbing against her chest as she tried to focus on the table instead. Across from her, Emily and Lucas were chatting softly, seemingly oblivious to her predicament—or perhaps simply choosing to ignore it. Evelyn’s warm gaze flicked briefly to her, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of her lips before she returned to her conversation with Welby.

Hannah’s head drooped, and her small hands gripped the edges of the highchair tray as she resigned herself to her messy state. The highchair straps pressed gently against her tummy, keeping her snugly in place, and the plush padding of her diaper was a constant, squishy reminder of her infantile role. She couldn’t stop the soft whine that escaped her throat, though it quickly soothed it. Welby’s steady presence soothed it.

“We’ll get you changed after dinner, sweetheart,” he said softly, his hand brushing over her bonnet as he kissed the top of her head. “You’re doing so well. Daddy’s so proud of his little girl.”

Despite her humiliation, the warmth in his words soothed her in a way she couldn’t entirely explain. She let out a soft sigh, the tension in her body easing as she leaned into the comfort of his voice and touch. The restaurant’s warm lighting, the hum of conversation, and the gentle rhythm of Welby’s care cocooned her in an odd sense of safety, even as her diaper crinkled faintly beneath her.

The meal progressed with a hum of activity around the table, plates clinking, and conversation flowing easily. Hannah, however, remained acutely aware of the squishy, uncomfortable mess pressing against her bottom. Her diaper seemed to mock her with every tiny shift, the warm bulk beneath her a constant reminder of her helplessness. She tried to stay still, but even the faintest movements flushed her cheeks with renewed embarrassment.

Across the table, Emily and Lucas were served their Littles’ meals: small plates of colorful, neatly portioned food that seemed almost too perfect, as if designed to make their situation feel whimsical rather than degrading. Emily picked up her plastic fork with an air of practiced acceptance, her auburn hair falling softly over her face as she speared a piece of fruit. Lucas, ever reserved, poked at his jambalaya with deliberate precision, occasionally glancing toward Hannah with a quiet look of empathy.

The adults’ meals arrived next, steaming Monte Cristo sandwiches dusted with powdered sugar and served alongside tiny jam pots. The rich aroma mingled with the other scents of the restaurant, but Hannah’s attention was elsewhere. Her meal had already been reduced to an empty bottle, and the faint remnants of formula clinging to her lips.

Welby, ever attentive, leaned closer, scooping her gently from the highchair with one hand while patting her bum with the other. Hannah let out a faint whimper as the motion caused her messy diaper to squish further against her. “Let’s get that tummy settled, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice as warm and steady as ever. He lifted her so easily and confidently that she couldn’t help but feel small—and utterly dependent—in his arms.

As he burped her, she heard the faint, muffled crinkle of her diaper as his hand patted her bottom in a rhythmic motion. The sound seemed deafening to her, though no one else at the table batted an eye. She felt the mess shift slightly, and she whimpered again, burying her face into his shoulder. He didn’t comment, simply holding her closer and kissing her bonneted head.

Evelyn broke the spell of quiet tension. Leaning forward, her dark eyes filled with pity and warmth, she addressed Hannah softly. “Sweetheart,” she said, her tone gentle, “do you need help with your spilled jellybeans?”

Hannah blinked, momentarily confused, before realizing Evelyn’s meaning. Her blush deepened, but she nodded hesitantly, her small hands gripping the edges of Welby’s shirt. The words hung in the air like a challenge Welby didn’t immediately meet.

Evelyn turned to him, her expression patient but insistent. “Welby,” she began, keeping her tone calm, “I can help. You don’t need to juggle everything yourself.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Hannah, then back to him. “If she’s comfortable with it, of course.”

Welby hesitated, his hand pausing mid-pat against Hannah’s back. His face betrayed the slightest flicker of panic, though he quickly masked it with a thoughtful frown. Hannah could feel the tension in his body as he weighed the request, his protective instincts warring with the practicality of the moment.

He shifted slightly, glancing down at Hannah. “What do you think, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice low and serious. “Do you feel okay with Miss Evelyn taking care of you?”

Hannah hesitated, her gaze darting between him and Evelyn. She could see the worry in Welby’s eyes, the unspoken fear of relinquishing control even for a moment. But there was a quiet reassurance in Evelyn’s posture: her hand rested lightly on the table, steady and sure. She nodded, her motion small but deliberate. The tracker Welby had secured around her ankle felt like a lifeline, a silent promise that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

Welby exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. “Alright,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. He adjusted Hannah in his arms before passing her carefully to Evelyn. “Just… take good care of her.”

Evelyn smiled, her expression warm and reassuring. “Of course,” she said, her voice steady. She cradled Hannah with practiced ease, her hands gentle and confident. “We’ll be right back,” she added, her gaze meeting Welby’s. “I promise.”

Hannah felt mixed emotions as she was carried away from the table. The soft rustling of her diaper seemed louder in the absence of conversation. The tracker’s faint weight around her ankle was both a comfort and a reminder of the trust she was placing in Evelyn—and, by extension, in Welby’s judgment.

As they moved toward the changing area, Evelyn’s voice broke the silence, soft and soothing. “You’re such a brave little one,” she said, her tone warm. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, hmm?”

Hannah nodded faintly, her head resting against Evelyn’s shoulder. As they walked, the faint hum of the restaurant faded into the background, and the warmth of Evelyn’s care and the distant presence of Welby anchored her in the moment.

The women’s restroom was a whirlwind of activity. The door swung open to reveal a warm, well-lit space filled with soft chatter and the occasional hum of hand dryers. Women and girls moved about—some washing their hands, others touching up their makeup—creating an atmosphere of casual busyness. Hannah shrank against Evelyn’s shoulder as they entered, her face burning with the knowledge of what would happen.

Evelyn carried her with practiced ease, her arms steady and comforting as she navigated the bustling restroom. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” Evelyn murmured, her voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of Hannah’s embarrassment. “We’ll get you nice and clean, and then you’ll feel much better.”

Hannah whimpered softly, burying her face against Evelyn’s collarbone, but Evelyn only chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to envelop Hannah like a blanket. “Oh, sweet girl,” she said, gently kissing Hannah’s bonnet. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re just a baby, and this is what babies need.”

The changing station was tucked against the far wall. It was brightly colored and adorned with cartoon characters that seemed to mock Hannah’s situation. Evelyn approached it without hesitation, lowering the table with a soft click and gently laying Hannah down. The cool vinyl surface made Hannah squirm, and the crinkle of her diaper was loud against the chatter of the restroom. She could feel her blush spreading down her neck as Evelyn hummed softly.

“Let’s get you nice and comfy, love,” Evelyn cooed, her hands deftly undoing the snaps of Hannah’s onesie to reveal the swollen, sagging diaper beneath. The sight made Hannah whimper again, turning her head to the side in a futile attempt to avoid the curious glances of the other women in the restroom.

Evelyn placed a warm hand on Hannah’s tummy, stilling her movements. “Hush now, little one,” she said, her voice steady but kind. “You’re doing so well. Let’s finish this so you can feel fresh and happy again, hmm?”

Hannah nodded reluctantly, her hands clutching the table's edges as Evelyn set to work. With practiced ease, she untaped the diaper, the soft rip of the adhesive tapes sending another wave of mortification through Hannah. The warm, unpleasant smell was released, drawing a few subtle glances from nearby women, though most seemed to carry on without much notice.

“You made quite the mess, didn’t you?” Evelyn said softly, her tone filled with affection rather than judgment. “That’s okay, sweetheart. It just means you’re healthy and being taken care of.”

She worked quickly, wiping Hannah with warm, damp wipes from a container beside the table. Each pass was gentle yet thorough, and Hannah couldn’t help but flinch at the cool sensation against her sensitive skin. Evelyn’s voice remained constant, a soothing stream of words that kept Hannah grounded.

“You’re such a good girl for staying still,” Evelyn praised, her hand pausing to brush a stray curl from Hannah’s flushed face. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re doing well for me.”

Hannah whimpered softly in response; her eyes squeezed shut as Evelyn continued her work. The older woman efficiently rolled up the soiled diaper, disposing it in the diaper pail beneath the table before reaching for a fresh one. The crisp, powdery scent filled the air as she unfolded the new diaper, sliding it gently beneath Hannah.

“Almost done, love,” Evelyn said, her tone light and encouraging. She sprinkled a generous amount of baby powder onto Hannah’s skin, and the cool, silky texture made Hannah shiver slightly. Evelyn’s hands moved with care as she smoothed the powder over Hannah’s bottom, her touch light and reassuring.

With a practiced flick of her wrists, Evelyn snagged the diaper around Hannah’s hips, taping it securely in place. “There we go,” she said brightly, her hands giving the front of the diaper a soft pat. “All fresh and clean. Doesn’t that feel better, sweetheart?”

Hannah opened her eyes hesitantly, her blush still burning but her body relaxing slightly in the comfort of the fresh diaper. She nodded faintly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you…”

Evelyn smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she adjusted Hannah’s onesie and snapped it back into place. “You’re so welcome, my darling girl,” she said, lifting Hannah from the table and cradling her again. “You were such a good girl for me. I’m so proud of you.”

As they left the changing station, Hannah nestled against Evelyn’s shoulder, her embarrassment lingering but softened by Evelyn’s warmth and praise. The soft crinkle of her clean diaper was a small comfort as she carried herself back toward the table, her heart lighter despite the lingering blush on her cheeks.

As Evelyn carried Hannah back to the table, the soft hum of the restaurant seemed to grow louder, but it was nothing compared to the warmth radiating from Welby’s relieved expression. His eyes softened when he saw them, his lips quirking into a small, grateful smile. He reached out instinctively, helping guide Hannah back into her highchair as Evelyn gently lowered her into place.

“There we go,” Evelyn said brightly, brushing her hands together as if finishing a well-done task. She secured the highchair’s straps around Hannah, ensuring she was snug and comfortable, before patting her gently on the head. “All fresh and clean, just like a good girl should be.”

Hannah glanced up at Welby, her blush deepening as she noticed how his shoulders relaxed. He adjusted the straps of her highchair, double-checking Evelyn’s work in a quiet, protective gesture that made her feel cared for and mildly embarrassed. “Thank you, Evelyn,” Welby said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “I appreciate it.”

Evelyn waved him off with a light chuckle, standing beside the table and casting a knowing glance toward Emily and Lucas. “Now then,” she began, her tone teasing but kind. “Do you have any spilled jellybeans I should know about?”

Emily and Lucas froze mid-bite, exchanging a glance that spoke volumes. Lucas’s brows furrowed slightly, his face carefully neutral as if contemplating whether to speak. On the other hand, Emily couldn’t hide the faint blush that crept across her cheeks. She glanced down at her plate, her fingers fidgeting with her fork as she avoided Evelyn’s gaze.

“N-not yet,” Emily admitted softly, her voice almost a whisper. The hesitation in her tone, however, betrayed her meaning. Her blush deepened, and she shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable but resigned to the inevitability of her situation.

Evelyn’s lips twitched in amusement, and she let out a soft, melodious chuckle. “Not yet, hmm?” she repeated with a playful lilt, her dark eyes sparkling with good humor. “Well, I suppose we’ll keep an eye on that, won’t we?”

Welby also chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he reached for his glass of water. “After dinner, then,” he said with a warm smile, his tone lighthearted. “We’ll make sure everyone’s taken care of.”

Evelyn slid gracefully into her seat, her movements fluid and composed as she joined the table again. She gave Emily and Lucas a reassuring glance, her voice gentle as she added, “No rush, dears. We’ll get you freshened up when you’re ready.”

Hannah squirmed slightly in her highchair, the fresh diaper a welcome comfort against the earlier mess. She watched as Emily and Lucas resumed eating, their expressions mixed with embarrassment and reluctant acceptance. The atmosphere at the table remained warm and light, the adults’ chuckles blending seamlessly with the hum of the restaurant as the group continued their meal.

Though her cheeks still burned, Hannah felt a small sense of relief herself. The moment's awkwardness had passed, and Evelyn’s gentle demeanor had softened the edges of her humiliation. For now, at least, she could sit quietly, comforted by the steady presence of those around her.