Evelyn stood still, her body rigid, her mind whirling in a thousand different directions all at once.

She had been shaken before—had been angry, furious, disgusted.

But now?

Now, she was stunned.

Completely. Utterly.

She barely even registered her voice, asking Welby to grab the diaper bag.

“Of course,” he murmured, his voice distant, mechanical, as he pulled on his pants and left the room.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Evelyn let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, her body a whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t begin to name.

How?

How had she fallen this far?

How had her life twisted into something so unrecognizable, so horrifying?

Her eyes dropped to the thick, infantilizing diaper wrapped snugly around her hips.

A symbol of control. Of humiliation. Of powerlessness.

Her hands shook as she reached for the tab, her fingers gripping it hard, yanking with all her strength.

But—

The moment she pulled, the material tightened.

Not just firm.

It tightened as metal wires braided together, resisting with an almost unnatural force. The waistband shrank slightly around her as if to remind her who was in control.

Her breath hitched.

She yanked again, harder.

The same thing.

It resisted, tightening, mocking her struggles, until she relaxed her grip, and then—

Soft again.

Pillowy. Warm. Inescapable.

A chill ran down her spine.

So…

This was what Littles felt like when they were put in Little-proof diapers.

Her cheeks burned, her entire face flaring with embarrassment and shame.

She was trapped.

She pressed a hand against her forehead, trying to steady her breathing.

She had to keep it together.

Welby soon returned, diaper bag in hand, and she forced herself to breathe normally as she took it from him.

“Thanks,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice even.

She immediately unzipped it, reaching for the clothes she knew were inside—

And froze.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her stomach plummeted.

What. The. Hell?

Her clothes were gone.

Replaced.

Everything she had packed for herself—her blouses, her jeans, her undergarments—

Gone.

In their place—

Dresses. Onesies. Ruffled, infantilized outfits meant for humiliation.

And—

Her fingers trembled as she pulled out another folded diaper.

Not just one.

Several.

Not for Emily. Not for Hannah.

For her. And for Welby.

Someone had been through her bag.

Someone had done this.

Had decided that she would never be without a spare diaper.

Her lungs refused to expand, her muscles tensed, her body locking in place as the horror set in.

This wasn’t just about control.

This was an invasion.

This was personal.

This was her life being rewritten before her very eyes.

Her fingers gripped the diaper so tightly it crinkled audibly in the silence.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

Could only stare.

Her fingers tightened around the bag, knuckles going white as she turned it toward Welby, silent but pleading.

Welby looked inside.

His face drained of color.

Horror filled his expression, mirroring hers, his eyes flicking back up to meet hers once more.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

For a moment, it felt like time had frozen around them, trapping them in this terrifying realization.

Someone had been here.

Someone had done this.

Welby, at least, had some semblance of dignity—he had found a pair of looser-fitting shorts and a t-shirt.

But Evelyn?

There was nothing.

Not a single pair of pants, not a single bra, nothing even remotely adult.

How?

How had they gotten into her things?

Her heart pounded violently in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins like fire.

This bag had hardly left her sight since they had returned to the hotel last night.

Which meant—

They had access to more than just her.

They had access to Lucas.

The realization hit them both at once.

Welby turned, his voice tight, urgent. “I’ll check on the Littles.”

And then—he was gone.

Evelyn stood there, frozen, her fingers gripping the hem of her discarded pants.

She knew.

She knew they wouldn’t fit.

But she had to try.

She yanked them up, her legs straining, the waistband catching, unable to rise past the bulk of her diaper.

She gritted her teeth and tugged harder.

But it was useless.

Her chest tightened, frustration and humiliation burning hot in her face.

She tore them off, her breath shaky, her eyes darting toward the bag again.

There was no choice.

She reached inside, brushing her fingers against the fabric until she found the only thing that remotely resembled normal clothing.

A dress.

Light, flowery, soft pink and white.

It was infantilizing in its own right, but at the very least, it would cover her diaper.

She slipped it over her head, the light fabric cascading down her body, brushing against her thighs.

She felt ridiculous.

Like a doll dressed up for someone else’s amusement.

But she had bigger things to worry about.

She bolted from the room, her panic rising, her breath short as she hurried toward the living room—

Only to freeze in the doorway.

Her panic spiked—

And then, just as quickly, it deflated.

They were fine.

All three of them.

Lucas and Emily were lounging together, chatting laughing, trying to ease the tension in the air.

Hannah sat in Emily’s lap, quiet but content, her pacifier bobbing lightly in her mouth as she leaned against her sister.

Evelyn exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest, steadying herself.

Lucas glanced up first, his warm, bright eyes flicking toward her—

And he smiled.

“Hi, Mommy!” he chirped cheerfully.

Then—

A beat.

His eyes flicked over her outfit, and he grinned wider.

“Cute dress!” he added, his tone playful but genuinely sweet.

Evelyn’s cheeks flared instantly, heat rising straight up her neck to the tips of her ears.

She swallowed, clearing her throat and forcing herself to smile.

“…Thanks,” she murmured.

Then—she quickly looked away.

Because if she had to see one more smile like that, she was going to die on the spot.

Relief washed over her, flooding her chest as she and Welby shared a glance.

The Littles were safe.

For now.

Evelyn let out a slow, shaky breath, pressing a hand against her racing heart to try to steady herself.

Then—

Emily looked up at them, her eyes wide, hopeful.

“So…” she hesitated, then brightened slightly. “Are we still going to Disneyland today?”

Right.

Disneyland.

Evelyn had completely forgotten.

The chaos of the morning—the shock, the humiliation, the horror of everything Miranda had done—had completely wiped it from her mind.

She shared a look with Welby.

Welby nodded slightly, swallowing thickly before offering Emily a gentle smile.

“Of course,” he said softly.

Evelyn nodded as well, forcing her voice to be light. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

Emily relaxed, relief flickering in her expression.

Still, Evelyn’s gaze flicked to Hannah, concern bubbling inside her.

“How’s Hannah doing?” she asked carefully.

Emily’s smile faltered slightly, her arms tightening around her sister’s small frame.

“She’s…” Emily hesitated. “She’s out of it, but…”

A pause.

“...She’s okay. For now.”

Evelyn’s stomach twisted.

For now.

That didn’t mean safe.

Didn’t mean unchanged.

Her arms felt heavy, her chest warm, too warm, too tight, and suddenly—

She felt it again.

That moment.

That horrible, terrifying, necessary moment.

Her gaze dropped to Hannah’s small, delicate frame, and an unshakable heat rose in her chest.

She had been donating milk for years, regularly pumping it and sending it to hospitals, orphanages, and Little Care Centers.

But she had never fed before.

Not until this morning.

Not until—

Her mind flashed back.

Lucas had been asleep beside her, his soft breathing slow and steady, when she got the call.

Her phone buzzed violently, the screen lighting up with Welby’s name.

She answered immediately.

And what she heard—

She would never forget.

Welby’s voice cracked through the line, thick with panic, raw with something deeper—

She could hear the tears, the way he fought for control, for strength, for something solid to cling to.

He told her everything.

What was happening to Hannah?

What was being fed into her head?

What Naomi and Oliver were doing to her.

And Evelyn’s blood ran cold.

It wasn’t just conditioning.

It was rewriting.

Hannah’s mind was being erased, reshaped, and twisted into something else.

Welby’s voice broke completely.

He begged her for help.

And of course.

Of course, she would help.

She had raced across the hotel, her heart slamming against her ribs, Lucas groggily rubbing his eyes as he nestled in her arms.

When she got there—

She didn’t hesitate.

She knew what she had to do.

And she did it.

For Hannah.

For Welby.

For all of them.

But now—

Now, sitting here, replaying everything in her head, she felt her stomach twist into knots.

Had Miranda known?

Had she known that Evelyn was lactating?

Had she planned for this?

Had she set this exact chain of events in motion?

Evelyn’s fingers tightened against her arms.

She had to know.

Right?

Even Miranda couldn’t be that cruel.

…Right?

She had to pull herself together.

She had to put on her Mommy's face.

The strong, confident woman she was supposed to be—not the trembling mess of emotions swirling inside her.

Evelyn inhaled deeply, smoothing her expression. Then, she put on a warm, easy smile—the kind that told the world she was in control.

Even though she wasn’t.

She took to the stroller, carefully packing her and Welby’s diaper bag, making sure the girls had everything they needed.

Then, with steady hands, she helped Hannah and Emily in, strapping them snugly and ensuring their safety and security.

She had to be careful.

Had to move deliberately.

She had to keep herself from bending over, or else—

The whole world would know her secret.

Thankfully, the Littles were too preoccupied to notice.

Hannah sat quietly, her pacifier bobbing mindlessly as she stared into the distance, still far away in that empty haze.

Emily, beside her, was fidgeting slightly, her fingers twitching, restless, but not asking questions.

Not looking closely enough.

It was a mercy.

They simply didn’t know her well enough yet to catch the cracks in her mask.

Lucas, however, was watching her.

Too smart. Too perceptive. Too aware.

Evelyn scooped him up before he could say anything, balancing him on her hip.

“Welby,” she said lightly, keeping her tone breezy, “can we stop by our room before we leave? I need to grab my stroller.”

Welby nodded instantly.

“Of course.”

And with that, they set out.

Evelyn smiled as they walked, chatting with the Littles and doing her best to make it look easy.

She was calm.

She was happy.

She was in control.

At least—that’s what she wanted Welby to think.

When they reached their door, she flashed him a reassuring look.

“You stay out here with the kids,” she said casually, setting Lucas down on his feet. “I just need to grab something real quick.”

Welby hesitated, eyes flicking toward the door.

But Evelyn didn’t give him a chance to argue.

She unlocked the door.

Stepped inside.

And the moment it clicked shut behind her—

She charged forward, shoulder-checking the door to the bedroom.

Her hand slammed against the light switch, flooding the room with harsh, white light.

Her heart pounded.

She scanned the space frantically, her eyes darting over every inch.

She ripped open the closet.

Nothing.

She flipped through the dresser, yanking open drawers.

Empty.

She checked the bathroom, tore open the shower curtain, and slammed open the cabinets.

No one.

No one.

No intruder lurking in the shadows.

No sign of a break-in.

There was no evidence of the invisible hand that had reached into her life and twisted everything upside down.

Her fingers trembled.

Her lungs refused to expand.

She stumbled back into the bedroom, her knees weak and unsteady, before dropping to the floor.

Her suitcase sat under the bed, exactly where she had left it.

Her hands hovered over the zipper, fingers hesitating, trembling.

She already knew.

Already knew something was wrong.

But she had to see it.

She had to know.

She pulled it open—

And her breath caught.

Her stomach lurched.

Because inside—

Her clothes were gone.

Not just moved.

Not just rearranged.

Replaced.

Dresses.

Nightgowns.

Not sexy, not mature, not hers.

Childish.

Delicate.

Soft pastels and frills, each one designed to make her look smaller, weaker, infantilized.

And sitting neatly folded on top—

More diapers.

For her.

For Welby.

She felt sick.

Someone had been here.

Someone had been in her room, in her things.

And if they had this much access to her personal life…

Her stomach twisted painfully, her lungs constricting, her hands clutching the suitcase as if it might keep her from drowning in the realization.

They had access to Lucas, too.

She sat there, paralyzed, her body refusing to move, her breath shallow, uneven, frozen in sheer horror.

Evelyn sat there, frozen, horror coursing through her veins like ice.

The room felt smaller and tighter as if the very walls were closing around her.

Her fingers clenched into shaking fists, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her mind screaming for a way out—

And then—

A crackle.

Her heart stopped.

The alarm clock on the nightstand—a soft buzz, a flicker of static.

And then—

A voice.

Her voice.

Miranda.

Cheerful. Mocking and dripping with amusement.

“Oh, Evelyn…”

Evelyn’s blood ran cold.

Her stomach twisted violently, nausea creeping up her throat as Miranda’s voice slithered through the speakers, filling the room like a poisonous fog.

“Be a good girl.”

Evelyn’s breath hitched, her pulse pounding in her ears.

“Be a good girl for Mommy.”

Her chest tightened, dread coiling like a vice around her lungs.

Miranda giggled, the sound syrupy, fake, laced with condescension.

“Run along now—go play in the parks.”

A pause.

A smirk woven into words.

“Be the Mommy to your Littles.”

The way she mocked the word, twisting it, making it sound so wrong—

It made Evelyn’s stomach turn.

It was as if Miranda was humoring her, allowing her to play pretend.

As if she were just another LITTLE.

Just another helpless, obedient baby.

Just another toy for her to control.

The radio clicked off.

Silence.

Thick. Overwhelming. Drowning.

The scream—of terror, of anger, of raw, unfiltered frustration—

It was there.

Bubbling inside her chest, burning against her ribs, clawing its way up her throat.

But it never came out.

It stuck.

It sat like a rock in her lungs, suffocating her, ripping her apart from the inside.

Evelyn’s nails bit into her palms, her entire body shaking violently.

This was a game to her.

Miranda was enjoying this.

Toying with her.

Watching her squirm.

Enjoying her fear.

Evelyn’s eyes darkened.

No.

She would NOT let Miranda get the upper hand.

She was in control.

Not Miranda.

Not ever.

She slammed the suitcase shut, the loud crack snapping through the air like a gunshot.

Then, with quick, calculated movements, she grabbed the stroller and unfolded it, locking it in place.

She turned to the door, her hand gripping the knob so tight her knuckles went white.

Then—

She inhaled.

A long. Deep. Breath.

Calm. Collected. Measured.

The fear?

Gone.

The rage?

Hidden.

She wiped her face clean.

Expression blank. Empty. Cold.

Then—

A smile.

Fake. Hollow. Flawless.

The mask slid into place.

She pulled open the door stepping out into the hall, her demeanor bright, cheerful, and easy.

The kids turned toward her, none the wiser.

They saw a Mommy.

A caregiver.

Warm. Safe. Loving.

But underneath it all?

Underneath the smile, the laughter, the kindness.

Evelyn was MAD.

And she was going to make Miranda regret ever thinking she could win.

Evelyn lifted Lucas into the stroller with practiced ease, her hands steady even as her mind reeled with the weight of everything pressing down on her. As she strapped him in, he giggled up at her, his bright eyes full of warmth, his tiny hands playfully batting at her. She smiled back, her fingers lightly tickling his sides, prompting another burst of giggles from him. The sound should have brought her comfort, should have eased the storm raging inside her, but it didn’t. It felt hollow. It felt fake. Her stomach churned at the realization that she was pretending—pretending to be okay, pretending to be the same doting, carefree Mommy she had always been to Lucas when she felt anything but. She adored him, loved him more than anything in the world, and the very thought of being anything but genuine with him made her chest ache with guilt.

She straightened, smoothing out her dress, forcing her expression to remain bright and calm, as she took hold of the stroller and started pushing. Each step felt mechanical, her legs moving out of necessity rather than conscious thought, the thick bulk of her diaper between her thighs forcing her to walk just a little differently. Not much, not enough that anyone would immediately notice, but she could feel it. The soft crinkle beneath her dress was constant, an ever-present reminder of what had been taken from her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to tear it off, but she couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

The group moved through the halls of the hotel, stepping out into the crisp morning air, the warmth of the sun kissing their skin as they made their way toward California Adventure. The Littles—her Littles—were talking as they walked, their conversation light, casual, as if the morning hadn’t shattered everything for her and Welby. Emily and Lucas chatted easily, their voices drifting around her like white noise, but Hannah… Hannah was still silent. Evelyn swallowed hard, glancing at the quiet girl out of the corner of her eye, watching the way she sat listlessly in her stroller, the way her pacifier bobbed in slow, rhythmic movements. She was there, physically, but her mind… was she even present anymore? A lump formed in Evelyn’s throat, but she shoved it down. She had to stay strong—for Hannah, for Emily, for Lucas.

Desperate for any kind of distraction, Evelyn turned to Welby, forcing herself to speak. Anything to pull her mind away from the thick, crinkly diaper between her legs, away from the way it forced her into a slight waddle, away from the humiliation of it all. Her voice came out a little too casual and too bright as if she were trying too hard to act normal. “So, what’s the plan for today?” she asked, pushing forward with forced enthusiasm. “Where are we taking the kids first?”

She needed to focus on anything but what she was wearing. Anything but the all-consuming fury burning beneath her skin.

*

The bright, cheerful energy of California Adventure enveloped them as they stepped through the front gates, a world of laughter, music, and magic unfolding before them. The streets were alive with motion, families strolling hand in hand, children beaming with excitement, and cast members waving with infectious enthusiasm. Shops lined either side of the entrance, their window displays filled with souvenirs, treats, and clothing meant to entice eager tourists. It was a perfect day. It was the kind of day he should have been able to enjoy. The type of day where he and Evelyn should have been caught up in the excitement of their Littles experiencing something so grand, so wondrous, so… free.

Instead, Welby felt anything but free.

His legs were slightly forced apart, and the thick bulk of the diaper between his thighs made every step feel exaggerated and unnatural. He felt as if every single Amazon, Tweener, and Little in the crowd was watching him. His pulse hammered beneath his calm, neutral expression, and the mask of normalcy he wore was flawless—a skill perfected over years of caring for littles.

He and Evelyn talked lightly, exchanging pleasant words about how excited they were to be visiting and how wonderful it was to take the kids somewhere so special. Their voices were cheerful, bright, and easy to understand.

Fake.

They were bluffing, both of them. He could hear it in Evelyn’s tone, see it in the way her fingers gripped the stroller just a little too tightly, and see it in the way her smile never quite reached her eyes. He knew his voice carried that same forced ease, the same practiced Daddy tone meant to reassure.

But nothing could reassure him now.

Because deep down, beneath all the false smiles, beneath the performance of normalcy, he was terrified.

With every step, his diaper crinkled softly beneath his shorts, an almost imperceptible sound drowned out by the hum of the park. But he heard it. He felt it. It was an impossible reality, one his mind refused to process fully.

This was wrong.

This was not what he was supposed to be.

His hands curled around the stroller handle, white-knuckled, but his steps never faltered. He was Daddy. He was always Daddy. He had spent years caring for Littles, perfecting the art of knowing exactly what was beneath their clothes. He knew if a diaper was snug, dry, or wet and whether they had already used it or would need a change soon.

Every Amazon had that ability. It came naturally.

But had he ever tried to determine if an Amazon was wearing a diaper?

Of course not.

That was ludicrous.

Why would an Amazon ever be diapered?

Diapers were for babies. For Littles.

If an Amazon had control issues, a simple nanite injection would immediately fix the problem. No Amazon ever needed to wear a diaper.

But now… he was wearing one.

Evelyn was wearing one.

They were being forced into the very same experience they had seen countless Littles go through—helplessness, humiliation, and the awareness that beneath their clothing, beneath the illusion of control, they were trapped in something soft, thick, crinkly, and inescapable.

It was horrifying.

And yet, beneath that horror, beneath that panic, Welby harbored a deep, dark secret.

One that only two people knew.

And he was pushing them both in the stroller.

His grip on the handle tightened, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second before he forced himself to keep moving.

Welby desperately tried to push the memory back, to bury it beneath layers of control, to focus on the present, to not think about it. But the past did not care for his resistance. It forced its way forward, shoving itself into his mind and ripping through the carefully constructed barriers he had spent years fortifying.

This was not the first time Welby had been diapered as an adult.

The memory hit him like a freight train.

His ex-wife had ratted him out.

The betrayal had stung like a knife wound to the gut, deep and brutal, because for all of their differences, for all of the friction that had built between them, he had never expected her to turn him in. Never thought she would have fed him to the wolves.

He hadn’t even seen the Amazon officials until it was too late.

Four of them.

Four massive, well-trained Amazon enforcers.

Hands gripping him like iron shackles, yanking him off his feet, dragging him toward the black, unmarked van waiting at the curb.

He had fought.

He had bucked, kicked, twisted, thrashed—

But they were stronger.

Too strong.

The van doors slammed shut, enclosing him in total darkness.

Blindfolded. Gagged. Restrained.

His screams were muffled, his body pinned down, the sound of the engine roaring to life, making his blood run ice-cold.

He knew where they were taking him.

One of the facilities.

Rehabilitation centers, they called them.

A nice name for what they really were.

A prison for those deemed unfit for society.

And what better way to re-educate an Amazon who had stepped out of line…

Then, do they want to relive a second childhood?

The memory blurred, skipping forward in sharp, jarring flashes as if his mind was shielding him from the worst parts—

His wrists and ankles were strapped down.

The cold, sterile lights of the facility blinded him.

The sound of muffled cries echoing down the hall, sobs of others who had been broken before him.

The sickly sweet voice of his assigned "caretaker" dripped with mock sympathy as they stripped him down, replacing his clothing with something humiliating, infantile.

The first time, they forced a diaper around his waist, snug and thick, too thick, ensuring that he would never be able to close his legs properly again.

A heavy concoction of drugs, injected straight into his veins, his body going limp, his mind fuzzy, his control gone in an instant.

A pacifier shoved between his lips, sealing him into silence.

The snap of buckles on a teddy bear-print overall, straps adjusted, inspected, ensuring he looked perfect for his new role.

The slow, horrifying realization that he couldn’t hold it anymore.

That his body had betrayed him.

That he had wet himself without even realizing it.

And they had praised him.

Coos of delight.

Laughter.

"Oh, what a good baby! You’re already learning so quickly!"

They had been so close.

So close to ending his life.

Not through death—

But through erasure.

The surgeons had been preparing the procedure, preparing the solution that would have rewritten everything that made him who he was.

He wouldn’t have been Welby anymore.

Wouldn’t have been a man.

Wouldn’t have been an Amazon.

He would have been a Little.

A helpless, giggling, drooling shell of himself, reassigned to an "adoptive family" who would care for him for the rest of his new, rewritten life.

He had begged.

Had pleaded through the gag.

Had sobbed, fought, cried for mercy.

But no one cared.

No one listened.

Because in their eyes, he wasn’t a person anymore.

He was an outlaw.

An outcast, a reject.

A failed Amazon that needed to be reset.

Just when he had broken, just when he had given up, just when he had finally accepted that this was the end—

They had brought out the needle.

A long, silver instrument gleamed beneath the blinding fluorescent lights, held steady by gloved, faceless hands.

He had never cried so hard in his life.

Not from fear, not from pain, but from the sheer, unrelenting grief of it all.

His life flashed before his eyes, but it wasn’t the suffering he saw. It wasn’t the anger, or the fear, or the betrayal that had brought him here.

No—he saw the good.

He saw Emily and Hannah laughing, their eyes bright, full of love, full of trust.

He saw their tiny arms wrapped around him, hugging him so tightly, pressing their faces into his chest, calling him Daddy in that soft, sleepy voice they only used when they felt safe.

He saw their silliness, the awkward, adorable, ridiculous moments that made them his.

He saw every tear shed, every night spent comforting them, every diaper changed with patience and care.

He had built a life for them.

A safe life. A good life.

And now—SHE was about to take them.

SHE was about to ruin their lives the way she had destroyed his.

SHE was about to destroy everything he had fought for, everything he had bled for, everything he had become.

And then—

Something snapped.

A wildfire ignited inside him, untamed, unrelenting, uncontrollable.

Fury.

A burning, overwhelming, all-consuming rage surged through his veins, setting every nerve on fire, every muscle trembling with unchecked power.

They had expected fear.

They had expected the resistance of an Amazon who was about to be reborn into a helpless, drooling Little.

They had not expected this.

They had not prepared for the pure, unrelenting, unstoppable FURY of a father who had been ripped away from his kids.

The restraints snapped like twigs.

The enforcers barely had time to react before he was on them.

Hands gripping their uniforms, yanking them off their feet like they were weightless, tossing them aside like discarded dolls.

A surgical tray crashed to the floor, the syringe shattering, the solution meant to erase him splattering harmlessly across the tile.

The alarms screamed.

He didn’t care.

He stormed out of the facility, his body surging with raw, adrenaline-fueled strength.

A van.

The same van they had used to steal him away from his life.

The doors were open.

It was all he needed.

He dove in, the car taking to the sky as he punched it, towards home, towards them. 

His girls.

They had already been packed up, ready to be handed over to SHE WHO RUINS LIVES.

Had he been even a few minutes later, they would have been gone.

He didn’t think.

Didn’t plan.

Didn’t hesitate.

He pulled up to the apartment, his heart still hammering in his chest, his mind racing with everything that had happened. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. He was so close. So close to getting back to his girls, to saving them, to making it out before—

A sudden jolt of electricity shot through his body.

A violent, searing pain tore through his limbs, locking his muscles, forcing his entire body to seize as the world blurred around him. A cruel, mechanical whine echoed from the dashboard, the car immobilizing him, holding him hostage in his own desperate escape.

Footsteps. Deliberate. Confident. Controlled.

Then—a voice.

A woman’s voice.

Her voice.

“Well, well,” she sighed, with mock amusement, as the door swung open beside him. “Now, how in the world did you manage to get out?”

His stomach dropped.

He tried to move, tried to fight, but his body was still locked in place, his vision blurred with pain as strong, unseen hands dragged him out of the vehicle.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “No need to struggle, dear. I’ll take care of you.”

Her voice was soft, patronizing, laced with a sickening certainty.

He was bundled into the back of the van, his body limp, helpless, a ragdoll in her hands.

And then—the worst part.

A five-point car seat.

Not for a man his size.

For Littles.

For his girls.

For Hannah. For Emily.

And he was strapped into one just like them.

Helpless.

Immobilized.

A passenger in his own downfall.

The door slammed shut, and she left him there, trapped, defeated, broken.

Tears slipped down his face, a sob wrenching from his chest.

He had been so close.

So close.

And now, he had failed.

Or—

Had he?

Something flickered in the corner of his vision.

A reflection. A glimpse. A sliver of hope where there should have been none.

Them.

His girls.

They were still there.

They weren’t gone yet.

And if they weren’t gone yet—

Then neither was he.

The rage returned.

A burning, violent, all-consuming rage, surging through him like a second heartbeat.

HE. WOULD. NOT. BE. TAKEN.

The restraints snapped.

The door flung open, metal groaning under the force as he ripped himself free.

Emily screamed his name, her eyes wide with shock, with terror, with hope.

Hannah reached for him, a single, desperate motion as he tackled the woman dragging them.

And then—they were in his arms.

One in each.

Held tight.

Protected.

Safe.

And he ran.

He saved them.

And in the process—

He had saved himself.

Now, here he was.

Standing in broad daylight, in the middle of a theme park, pushing his girls in a stroller—

Wearing a diaper.

He felt it force his legs apart, feeling its constant presence beneath his clothes.

He felt it drag him back to that moment, to that facility, to the horror that almost became his reality.

His fingers clenched the stroller handle, his knuckles turning white.

His breath shook, his mind spiraling, dragging him down, down, down—

No.

No.

He wasn’t there anymore.

This wasn’t the facility.

This wasn’t the end.

His eyes flicked forward, settling on Emily. On Hannah. On Lucas.

They were here.

They were with him.

They were safe.

And he would never let anyone take that away from him again.