Evelyn gently pulled Hannah from beneath her shirt, adjusting her grip as the small, dazed Little blinked up at her, utterly lost in the haze of feeding.

The girl’s cheeks were flushed, her tiny body limp in Evelyn’s arms, her breathing soft and slow, like she was still half-lost in whatever spell nursing had placed her under.

Evelyn didn’t miss the other signs, either.

The tell-tale warmth spread through Hannah’s thick diaper.

The unmistakable shift in weight, the slight bulge at the back of her padding.

She had wet and messed herself.

All while nursing.

Like a newborn.

Evelyn swallowed down the deep, twisting emotion curling in her gut.

This wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t Hannah.

This was what Miranda had done to her.

With a sigh, Evelyn adjusted Hannah in the crook of her arm, bringing a cloth to her lips and wiping away the small trickle of milk still lingering on her chin.

Then, with gentle, practiced hands, she pressed Hannah against her shoulder and patted her gently, rhythmically.

A soft burp escaped the girl, her tiny frame barely reacting, still limp, still dazed, still completely relaxed in Evelyn’s hold.

Evelyn didn’t know if it was comforting or horrifying to see how naturally Hannah had taken to it.

How easily she slipped into the role, Miranda wanted for her.

How deeply ingrained the conditioning had become.

Hannah let out a soft, contented sigh, her body settling into Evelyn’s hold, completely trusting, completely vulnerable.

Evelyn shifted her grip, adjusting her so she could rest comfortably against her arm.

Welby watched quietly, his expression softening, something warm and grateful flashing in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low but full of meaning.

Evelyn nodded, offering a small, wordless smile in return.

With Hannah resting comfortably in the crook of her arm, Evelyn used her free hand to lift a spoonful of the rich, creamy sundae—the one meant for Hannah, the one she knew the girl could never stomach.

Welby had taken the fall at the Cozy Cone Motel and had been forced to consume whatever Miranda had planted for Hannah there.

Now—it was her turn.

She brought the cold, sweet bite to her lips, the chocolate melting against her tongue as she forced herself to eat.

Welby caught her eye, his expression subtly shifting, acknowledging what she was doing.

A silent exchange.

A nod of appreciation.

She returned it.

A quiet, unspoken understanding.

They were in this together.

The seating area buzzed with life, the sound of chatter, laughter, and the clinking of utensils against dishes filling the warm afternoon air.

Families sat at the surrounding wooden patio tables, their conversations animated, full of excitement and joy.

A few feet away, a group of Tweeners giggled as they posed for selfies. Behind them, the oversized Ghirardelli sign glows, its bright golden letters casting a soft shimmer against the sleek, polished tiles of the building’s exterior.

The scent of freshly made waffle cones and rich, melting chocolate filled the air, mingling with the warm, summery breeze that carried snippets of conversations and the distant laughter of children.

Across from their table, a young Amazon couple shared a massive sundae. The woman fed playful spoonfuls to her partner, her eyes full of warmth and mischief.

A few tables over, a Little sat in a high chair, their Amazon caregiver gently wiping away a smear of ice cream from their chin, cooing softly.

Evelyn’s gaze flickered away quickly, her stomach twisting.

That could have been Hannah.

It could have been Emily.

Would have been her entire group if Miranda had her way.

She took another bite, chewing slowly, methodically, her mind carefully compartmentalizing the weight of their situation.

Nearby, Lucas and Emily sat in their booster seats, eating their sundaes with enthusiasm, Lucas’s fingers still intertwined with Emily’s beneath the table.

If Evelyn hadn’t seen it happen, she would have never guessed Emily had just been through an ordeal on the Cars ride.

The girl was bright, blushing, and nervous but smiling. She was trying to focus on something other than her lingering emotions.

And Hannah—

Hannah was still slack in her arms. Her tiny body was warm and soft, her breath even, and her expression dazed and completely gone.

Evelyn swallowed thickly, her eyes scanning the bustling seating area, looking for threats, for anything unusual, for eyes that lingered too long.

But there was nothing.

No hidden shadows, no obvious watchers, no immediate danger.

Just a normal day in Disneyland.

Just families eating ice cream, laughing, and making memories.

Evelyn’s gaze drifted past the immediate crowd, past the lively seating area, past the familiar swirl of families indulging in their ice cream, and further out into San Fransokyo.

The vibrant, futuristic cityscape stretched before her, a fusion of old-world San Francisco charm and sleek, modern Tokyo-inspired architecture. The Golden Gate-inspired bridge, repainted in striking red and gold, arched proudly in the distance, its steel beams gleaming under the bright afternoon sun.

Beyond the bridge, tall pagoda-style towers dotted the skyline, their ornate rooftops casting angular shadows on the bustling streets below. Neon holographic billboards flickered softly, alternating between animated advertisements for fictional San Fransokyo brands and messages welcoming visitors to the futuristic district.

And then—

Big Hero 6 moved through the crowd.

Baymax.

The large, inflatable white robot lumbered forward, his round, featureless face utterly unbothered by the swarm of Littles and children trailing excitedly behind him.

His soft, pillowy arms waved in slow, rhythmic motions, his oversized mittens offering gentle, reassuring gestures to the delighted crowd.

“Hello. I am Baymax. Your personal healthcare companion.”

His pre-programmed voice rang out, crisp yet soothing, and the torrent of Littles and kids alike squealed with joy, following in his wake like he was the Pied Piper of San Fransokyo.

Some reached out their hands, desperate to touch him, while others bounced excitedly, waving and calling out to him.

“Baymax! Over here!”

“I love you, Baymax!”

The crowd surged forward, eager for a moment of interaction, and Baymax—patient and programmed for such attention—continued his slow, steady march, waving all the while.

Evelyn sat beneath the shade of the umbrella, the scorching heat of the afternoon sun bouncing off the concrete walkways but held at bay by the protective canopy overhead.

The contrast was almost unsettling.

Out there—in the crowd, in the streets of San Fransokyo—everything was bright, cheerful, a perfect illusion of carefree joy.

But here—beneath the umbrella, at this table, surrounded by Littles who were rapidly losing themselves to Miranda’s grip, with Welby trapped in humiliating overalls and herself still forced into a thick, crinkling diaper beneath her dress—

It was a different world entirely.

A world where Baymax wasn’t coming to help them.

A world where no hero was arriving to save them.

Just a theme park, a lie, a gilded cage.

The thought had barely finished forming in her mind when the ache sharpened.

A deep, urgent pulse radiated through her lower abdomen, the sharp discomfort of a full bladder demanding attention—attention she had been so desperate to avoid.

She had been ignoring it all morning, pushing it away, burying it, telling herself that it wasn’t real, that it would pass, that maybe—just maybe—

That feeding Hannah would somehow distract her from it, ease the pressure, and make it go away.

But now—now it was undeniable.

Her body was done waiting.

Her bladder ached, heavy, full, pressing down, making her squirm slightly in her seat, the diaper beneath her pressing back, thick and unrelenting.

Evelyn forced herself to sit still, control her movements, avoid drawing attention to herself, and show no signs of distress.

But the longer she fought it—the more suffocating the sensation became.

Could she really…?

Could she really let go right here?

In the middle of the park?

With an infant nestled in her lap?

Her stomach turned, her fingers tightening against Hannah’s small frame as her mind raced.

This wasn’t like before.

Before, she had been alone. Hidden and tucked away in a stall where no one could see, where no one could judge.

But here?

Here, she was on display.

Here, she was trapped in broad daylight, surrounded by tourists, families, and people who, if they noticed, would have had questions.

Would they whisper? Stare?

Would they notice the way she shifted, the way she sat too still, the way she hesitated, the way she—

She shut her eyes for a second, forcing herself to take a breath.

No one knew.

No one would know.

The diaper would do its job.

It had already done its job.

It had held up against so much worse.

But even that thought sent another wave of panic surging through her veins.

Because the Little-sized sundae—the one she had forced herself to eat in place of Hannah, the one Miranda had clearly planted, the one she had suspected was laced—

Was storming through her system.

Stirring up trouble.

And Evelyn knew—she knew what that meant.

At some point, she would have to deal with it.

At some point, she would have no choice.

And that—that was the thought that made the world start closing in around her.

A thick, suffocating sense of dread wrapped around her chest, squeezing, pressing, making her feel like she was caged in, drowning, spiraling toward something she couldn’t stop.

She squirmed again, just slightly, fighting against the inevitable.

Fighting against her body.

Fighting against the humiliating truth of her situation.

But deep down—

She knew.

She was only delaying the inevitable.

Evelyn thought about the bathroom again—about the illusion of privacy, about the need to cling to whatever shreds of dignity she still had left.

But she knew the truth.

It was too late.

The only thing keeping her from an accident was being seated, her legs pressed together and locked in place, preventing the inevitable.

But the moment she stood—

It would happen.

There would be no stopping it.

Her cheeks burned with shame, her breath uneven, the weight of her situation pressing down on her like a boulder.

She couldn’t do this.

Not here.

Not like this.

Her eyes darted away from her little family, from the Littles happily eating their ice cream, from Welby’s concerned glances, from everything too much, too overwhelming, too real.

And then—

Her gaze landed on someone else.

A Little girl chasing after Baymax, her diaper fully on display, the short hem of her dress barely covering the thick padding around her waist.

Evelyn stared.

She shouldn’t have.

She shouldn’t have watched.

But she couldn’t look away.

The girl suddenly stopped.

Right in the middle of the path.

Her body stilled, her legs spreading just slightly, her face partially turned toward Evelyn.

Evelyn felt her stomach twist.

She already knew what was happening.

She didn’t need to see it.

Didn’t need to watch.

But she did.

The girl’s expression scrunched a small frown of focus, a flicker of concentration crossing her delicate features.

Then—

She squatted.

Evelyn’s breath caught.

A sharp, piercing moment of realization struck her—

And then, at the same time—

Her bladder gave in.

A sharp, unstoppable rush of warmth filled her diaper, spreading immediately, soaking into the soft, cradling bulk wrapped around her.

She felt everything.

The way the padding absorbed it so effortlessly.

The warmth pooled, pressing against her in ways that made her skin crawl.

The way the diaper swelled beneath her dress, expanding to accommodate her accident.

The Little girl was still squatting, and from where Evelyn sat, she could see it.

The girl’s diaper was swelling, expanding, and pressing outward.

And then—

A hand.

A gentle pat on the girl’s head.

The tender, encouraging voice of her Mommy.

“Such a good girl, sweetheart.”

Evelyn’s stomach flipped, her breath caught in her throat, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress as another rush of warmth escaped her.

She saw herself in that moment.

Saw herself as that Little girl, in the middle of the pathway, filling her diaper without a care, receiving nothing but praise and affection.

“Good girl, Evie. You did so well for Mommy.”

The thought sent a violent shudder through her body, but she was helpless against it now.

She was sitting in a wet diaper.

She had just wet herself in the middle of Disneyland in broad daylight.

Her eyes lingered too long on the scene before her: the Mommy gently praising her Little one, patting her head as she finished using her diaper like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Evelyn’s spoon of ice cream hovered halfway to her lips, forgotten, her mind a battlefield of conflicting thoughts.

She fought—fought with everything in her—to stop herself from checking.

From subtly pressing her thighs together.

From reaching beneath the table, slipping her fingers against the hem of her dress, pulling it just enough to assess the damage.

From discreetly checking for leaks, for how full the thick, swollen diaper between her legs had become.

She knew—logically—that Amazon diapers could hold a lot.

Years of caring for Littles had taught her that.

But… did that still apply to Amazon-sized diapers?

She wasn’t sure.

And that uncertainty gnawed at her.

How much more could it hold?

How much more could she take?

She was staring too long.

Lost in thought, lost in panic, lost in something she refused to name.

And then—

A voice.

Small. Familiar. Concerned.

“Mommy? Are you okay?”

Evelyn’s breath caught.

Her stomach lurched.

She snapped her attention back to her family, her mask slipping seamlessly into place. The turmoil was shoved down, buried, and hidden beneath the carefully crafted exterior of a mother who was completely, perfectly fine.

She smiled.

Bright. Warm. Unshaken.

“Of course, sweetheart!”

She set down her spoon, reaching out to ruffle Lucas’s hair, a touch that was natural, instinctive, grounding.

“How’s your sundae?”

Lucas grinned, his eyes lighting up, his giggle bubbling forth like the purest sound in the world.

“It’s really good! But… I think I’ll have some spilled jellybeans before long.”

Evelyn nodded knowingly, her smile never faltering, her voice steady, even maternal.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. Just let me or Daddy know when it happens, and we’ll take care of it.”

Lucas beamed, nodding enthusiastically.

“Thanks, Mommy!”

Then—just like that—he turned back to Emily, the two resuming their conversation as if nothing had happened.

As if Evelyn wasn’t still sitting there, soaked, her body stiff, her stomach twisting, her mind barely holding it together.

But it was fine.

She was fine.

She had to be.

Because she was Mommy.

And Mommy didn’t break.

The mention of jellybeans sent a fresh wave of discomfort cascading through her stomach, a deep, rolling grumble that nearly stole her breath.

She barely suppressed the groan threatening to escape her lips, her body hunching slightly, her muscles instinctively tensing as a slow, aching pressure began to build.

Hannah was still pretty out of it. The warm, slow rise and fall of her tiny breaths against Evelyn’s chest was a rhythmic reminder of how far she had fallen.

But Welby—

Welby didn’t miss a thing.

His eyes flicked toward her, his expression careful, observant, and knowing.

There was a subtle, silent question in his gaze.

Are you okay?

Evelyn’s cheeks burned as she gave him a small, sheepish nod, knowing full well he didn’t believe her.

Still—

He didn’t push.

Instead, he gently offered his hands out, a quiet, unspoken request.

“Want me to take her?”

Evelyn felt relief flood her chest, so much so that she didn’t hesitate, didn’t think twice as she nodded, carefully transferring Hannah into his waiting arms.

Welby held her effortlessly, his arms adjusting as if it were second nature as if this was exactly where she was meant to be.

Evelyn used the moment as an excuse to stand; her body was stiff, and her movements were careful.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” she announced, already feeling the weight of the diaper bag on her shoulder.

Before she could take a step—

“Can I go too?”

Emily’s voice was soft, hesitant, and uncertain.

And then—a blush.

A quick, embarrassed glance away, avoiding eye contact, avoiding whatever was burning behind her eyes.

Evelyn felt her heart clench.

This was hard for her.

It was hard for all of them.

So Evelyn smiled warmly, even as she silently cursed her luck.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

She reached out, taking Emily’s small hand, feeling the familiar grip of trust as the girl slipped her fingers into Evelyn’s palm.

With a soft nod to Welby, she turned, leading them toward the restrooms.

But the moment she took her first step—

A deep, throbbing groan rippled through her stomach, twisting, clenching, making her step falter.

She sucked in a breath, forcing herself to keep moving, to keep her pace steady, normal, unbothered.

But her gut twisted again, the sensation lurching downward, slow but dangerous, warning her that she didn’t have as much time as she thought.

She swallowed hard, her grip on Emily’s hand tightening slightly as she pressed forward, praying she could make it in time.

Emily was fully engrossed in their surroundings, her eyes darting around the bustling streets of San Fransokyo, drinking in the sights, the sounds, the liveliness of it all.

And thankfully—mercifully—

She didn’t notice.

She didn’t see Evelyn’s misstep.

Didn’t catch the stiff way she moved, the slight hesitation in her pace.

Didn’t hear the sharp inhale, the way Evelyn’s fingers twitched around her small hand, gripping just a little tighter than before.

But then—

Another cramp.

Deep.

Sharp.

Unforgiving.

Her stomach twisted violently, a deep, lurching sensation curling low, heavy, final.

And in that instant—

She knew.

She wouldn’t make it.

A low, instinctive groan slipped past her lips, her body tensing, locking up, freezing mid-step.

Then—it happened.

Her bowels gave way, completely, uncontrollably, utterly betraying her.

A deep, rolling pressure surged downward, her body pushing, her muscles bearing down involuntarily, helpless to stop the inevitable.

Heat spread immediately, thick and shameful, pushing into the already-wet padding, pressing outward, the diaper expanding beneath her dress to accommodate everything.

Her mind flashed—

Back to the Little girl.

To the moment, she had squatted in the middle of the park, completely unbothered, completely obedient, filling her diaper in broad daylight.

And now—

Evelyn was doing the same.

Not squatting—not openly submitting.

But standing there, mid-step, legs slightly apart, posture stiff, body betraying her in ways she had never imagined.

Her face burned hotter than the sun above them, her breath shaking, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as the last of her accident pushed into the swollen, cradling bulk beneath her.

The diaper absorbed everything effortlessly, designed for such moments, engineered for Littles who needed them.

Babies.

Like her.

The realization crushed her.

A final sickening, humiliating weight pressed down on her chest.

Emily, still blissfully unaware, still holding her hand, still completely oblivious to what had just happened, tugged her slightly forward.

Evelyn stumbled, forcing herself to move, her legs spreading slightly more than before, the new thickness, the warmth, the unbearable, all-encompassing presence of what she had done pressing against her with every step.

But she couldn’t stop.

She had to keep walking.

Had to pretend.

Had to bury the humiliation deep, deep inside.

The walk to the restrooms was the longest, most humiliating stretch of her life.

Every step was agony, a sickening, constant reminder of what she had just done.

The diaper beneath her dress was swollen, the padding pushing outward against her thighs, pressing thickly against her skin, against her body, against everything.

And the worst part?

It moved.

With every single step, it shifted, spread, squished—

Hot. Sticky. Suffocating.

The bulk between her legs forced her stride apart, making her waddle slightly, helpless to walk the way she normally would.

She could feel everything.

The lingering heat, the way the mess settled into every crevice of the thick, unyielding padding, the slight squelch whenever she shifted too much.

The way the diaper cradled it all, pressing it against her with every step, with every motion, refusing to let her forget, refusing to let her escape it.

Every single movement was a fresh wave of humiliation.

And then—

Emily tugged her slightly to the side, guiding her toward the family restroom.

Evelyn let herself be led, saying nothing, simply grateful for a moment of privacy.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind them and locking it with a soft click.

Emily let go of her hand.

And then—

The air shifted.

Evelyn had spent so long telling herself Littles were babies.

So long convincing herself that they weren’t truly aware, that they weren’t intelligent enough to recognize the full scope of what was happening.

That they were just Littles.

And then—

In one shattering moment, Emily proved her completely wrong.

She stepped forward, crossing her arms, leveling a look at Evelyn that only a woman with years of caregiving experience could pull off.

A pointed, knowing, completely unimpressed stare.

Evelyn’s stomach sank.

And then—

Emily spoke.

“So. Is Welby wearing diapers, too? Or just you?”

The words slammed into Evelyn like a truck.

Her breath hitched.

Her face burned hotter than before, the heat creeping down her neck, her ears, her entire body locking up.

Emily knew.

Knew she had messed herself.

Knew she had been struggling the entire walk here.

Knew that she had just experienced the most humiliating moment of her life—

And had said nothing.

Until now.

And worse—

Emily wasn’t asking if she was wearing a diaper.

She was asking if Welby was wearing one, too.

Which meant—

She had already figured out that Evelyn was.

Already knew.

Already understood.

Evelyn stood there, stunned, speechless, humiliated beyond words.

Because Emily—tiny, diapered, treated-like-an-baby Emily—

Had just effortlessly put her in her place.

Evelyn’s mouth hung open, sheer shock rendering her completely speechless.

Emily’s expression never faltered.

Not a single hint of hesitation, not a single crack in her composure.

She just stood there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, waiting.

Waiting for Evelyn’s response.

Evelyn’s breath caught, her stomach twisting, her mind scrambling for a way to recover, to regain some sort of authority, some sort of upper hand.

But she had none.

Emily had her pinned.

And she knew it.

Finally, Emily sighed, shifting her weight slightly, her voice dry, unimpressed, cutting straight through Evelyn’s fragile mask.

“Come on, it’s not like it’s obvious.”

Evelyn flinched.

“You might have years of changing Littles, but actually living like one?”

Emily’s head tilted slightly, her voice calm, sharp, and precise, like a teacher explaining something to an underperforming student.

“Actually wearing and using diapers?”

Her eyes flickered downward for half a second, not enough to be blatant but just enough to make Evelyn feel it.

Feel the weight of her situation.

The shame burned beneath her skin.

“Your tells are about as obvious as every new Little I’ve ever met.”

Evelyn swallowed hard, her fingers twitching, her body stiff.

How—how had this girl, this Little, this tiny woman who barely reached her waist—

How had she just turned the tables so effortlessly?

How had she just made Evelyn feel so... small?

Like a kid caught by her mother with her hand in the cookie jar.

Emily continued, her voice quieter now but no less pointed.

“I have a suspicion Welby is, too. Especially with that get-up. But what I really want to know is why.”

Her stare didn’t waver.

Didn’t soften.

Didn’t give Evelyn an inch of wiggle room.

Evelyn’s throat felt dry, her face still burning, her mind desperately trying to process the sheer power shift happening in this tiny, enclosed restroom.

She had never felt this kind of pressure before.

Not from other Amazons.

Not even from Miranda.

But from Emily.

Emily, who had been forced into this life, stripped of her dignity, reduced to diapers and bottles and cribs—

And yet, in this moment, she held all the power.

Evelyn swallowed.

She wasn’t going to get out of this.

Not without answering.

So she did.

“You’re right.”

Her voice was quieter than she meant it to be.

“Welby and I are wearing them, too.”

She saw the slight flicker in Emily’s eyes— not shock, not disbelief.

Confirmation.

Emily had already known.

She just needed to hear it.

Evelyn sighed, running a hand through her hair before continuing.

“Our minder—Miranda—wasn’t satisfied with how we were treating our Littles.”

She let out a humorless chuckle, shaking her head.

“So she started... forcing things upon us. Until we ‘learned.’”

The words felt heavy, final, and suffocating as they settled in the air between them.

Emily just stared at her, processing, considering.

And Evelyn—

Evelyn felt like she had just handed over every last ounce of control she had left.

The air in the small family restroom was thick—heavy with unspoken truths, lingering shame, and a power shift Evelyn hadn’t anticipated.

For a long moment, Emily just stood there, arms still crossed, considering everything.

Then—

A sigh.

A small nod.

“Yeah... I figured as much.”

Evelyn stiffened slightly, watching as Emily rubbed the back of her neck, her expression thoughtful but not particularly surprised.

“I was worried about that, given how Miranda’s been talking to us. To Daddy.”

The way she said it—the weight in her voice, the exhaustion creeping into her tone—

Evelyn felt her chest tighten.

Emily had been expecting this.

Had already put the pieces together.

Had already braced for the worst.

Evelyn swallowed hard, something about that realization twisting like a knife in her gut.

Then, Emily turned toward the changing table, stepped up beside it, and motioned toward Evelyn.

“Come on.”

Her voice was calm and patient.

“Do you mind changing me first?”

Evelyn’s heart clenched.

She knew what Emily was really saying.

Change me first—before you change yourself.

Before you confront your situation.

Before you face what you’ve become.

Heat rose to Evelyn’s cheeks, her stomach twisting, but she forced herself to move.

She had changed thousands of Littles before.

She had done this countless times.

But right now—right now, it felt different.

It felt more significant, more humbling, more painfully human than it ever had.

Wordlessly, Evelyn lifted Emily onto the changing table, her movements careful, automatic, and well-practiced.

Emily didn’t resist.

Didn’t flinch, didn’t stiffen, didn’t fight her.

She just laid there, completely compliant, completely still, waiting.

Evelyn’s hands worked mechanically efficiently, undoing the tapes with a familiar crinkle, peeling back the front of the diaper, exposing Emily’s dampened skin.

And then—

She paused.

Emily was wet.

That was expected.

But—

She was a little too wet.

Evelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t say anything.

Didn’t comment.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t acknowledge what she knew.

Because—

Because she was in no position to shame the girl.

Not after what had just happened to her.

Not after walking to this very restroom with a diaper in the same state—if not worse.

So instead—

She just cleaned Emily up, powdered her carefully, and slid a fresh diaper beneath her, taping it securely in place.

No words.

No acknowledgment of the unspoken.

Just quiet efficiency.

When she finished, she helped Emily sit up, adjusted her outfit, and brushed her hair out of her face.

And then—

Emily just looked at her.

Not mocking, not condescending, not judging.

Just—

Knowing.

Evelyn felt her throat tighten.

Evelyn helped Emily down from the changing table, setting her feet gently onto the floor.

And then—

Emily stood there. Waiting. Expectantly.

Evelyn felt it.

The weight of her gaze, the silent demand, the unspoken challenge hanging between them.

It was her turn.

But—

She didn’t move.

Her fingers twitched uselessly, tugging at the hem of her skirt, hovering just above the swollen, humiliating bulk between her legs.

Emily’s eyes narrowed.

And then—

With an exaggerated sigh, she rolled her eyes and turned away, looking in the other direction.

Evelyn should have felt grateful.

Should have felt relieved that Emily was giving her some semblance of privacy.

But she still couldn’t.

Her fingers tugged uselessly at the tabs beneath her skirt, her heart pounding, her throat tightening with frustration and shame.

She tried—

Tried to undo them, tried to get past the humiliation, past the absurdity of it all, past the overwhelming sense of wrongness.

And yet—

Nothing.

Finally, the words slipped past her lips, quiet and shaky, barely above a whisper.

“I can’t.”

Emily turned back slightly, one brow raised.

Evelyn’s face burned.

“I—” She swallowed. “I can’t do it.”

Emily stared for a long moment.

Then—

She scoffed.

“Seriously?”

Her tone was dry, unimpressed.

“You Amazons have no issue forcing Littles into the most humiliating, shameful positions—”

Her arms crossed again, her head tilted slightly.

“But you can’t even change yourself in the same room as a Little?”

Evelyn flinched, her cheeks turning impossibly hotter, the implications of Emily’s words slamming into her like a freight train.

Emily shook her head.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t even mocking.

She was just disappointed.

And that—that was somehow worse.

Evelyn felt the words rising again, an attempt to defend herself, an attempt to push back—

But she didn’t have to.

Because Emily spoke first.

“…Wait.”

Emily’s voice shifted.

Not frustrated.

Not sharp.

Just… curious.

Her eyes flickered downward toward the bulk beneath Evelyn’s skirt.

Evelyn felt her stomach twist violently, instinctively shifting away, trying to regain control of the situation.

But then—

Emily laughed.

A soft, genuine, startled laugh.

And Evelyn froze.

Emily immediately covered her mouth, shaking her head.

“I—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, but—”

She couldn’t stop.

“The sheer implications of this—”

Evelyn just stared, feeling utterly humiliated, utterly exposed.

Emily took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, but it was useless.

“So you’re telling me—”

She gestured loosely at Evelyn, at the thick bulk beneath her skirt.

“You Amazons trap Littles in Little-proof diapers all the time—”

She bit her lip, fighting another chuckle.

“Only for you to get caught in an Amazon-proof diaper?”

And just like that—

Emily burst into laughter again.

Not mocking.

Not mean.

Just—genuine amusement.

The absurdity of it all, the sheer poetic irony, was too much for her to ignore.

Evelyn felt her breath hitch, her body locked up in sheer, unbearable humiliation—

But then—

Then she saw it.

The sheer ridiculousness of it.

The sheer insanity of her situation.

And despite everything—

Despite the humiliation boiling beneath her skin, despite the shame, despite the crushing weight of everything Miranda had done to her—

She felt it, too.

The insanity of it all.

The utter, painful irony.

And before she could stop it—

She was grinning.

Then—

She was laughing.

A soft chuckle at first, but then it grew, bubbling out of her before she could stop it, before she could even process the fact that she was laughing at herself, laughing at the situation, laughing because, god, how had it taken her this long to realize how utterly, absurdly ridiculous this was?

Emily’s laughter only grew in response, and before long, the two of them were laughing together, standing in the middle of the family restroom, the Amazon and the Little, both trapped in the same humiliating game.