The bathroom was warm, faintly smelling of floral soap and baby wipes. Maya sat on the edge of the tub, arms crossed tightly over her chest, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. The soaked diaper between her legs squished faintly when she shifted, a humiliating reminder of her newest limitation.
Jennifer knelt beside her, quiet and focused. She didn’t speak, didn’t make it a moment. She just helped—wiping gently, rolling up the used diaper, and sliding a clean, thick one beneath her.
It was routine now. And that somehow made it worse.
Once it was taped snugly around Maya’s waist, Jennifer stood up and gave her a tired but soft smile. “All right. I’ll give you a minute to get dressed.”
Maya nodded, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”
Jennifer left and pulled the door shut behind her.
Maya exhaled shakily, standing in front of the mirror again. The sight made her stomach twist—round-cheeked, short, her diaper poking slightly out from under the hem of her frilly pajama skirt. She turned to the pile of clothes Jennifer had laid out: a pastel pink crop top with little ruffled shoulders, and a pair of light pink leggings with a built-in tulle tutu attached.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
She tried. Really, she did.
But her fingers fumbled with the shirt’s tag, struggled to line up the seams, and no matter how she twisted and turned, she couldn’t quite get her diapered hips into the leggings. Her coordination was off, like her own body had forgotten how to be useful.
After the fifth failed attempt, she screamed.
A sharp, high-pitched cry of frustration exploded from her chest as she flung the leggings across the room and stomped her foot with a crinkling thud. “Thith ith bullthit! I can’t even dreth mythelf?! I’m a joke—a freak!”
Jennifer rushed in, eyes wide, taking in the scene: clothes on the floor, Maya trembling, eyes glassy with tears.
“Hey, hey,” she said softly, moving closer. “It’s okay.”
“No it’th not!” Maya snapped, fists clenched. “You get to be big, strong, curvy—sexy. And look at me!” She gestured wildly at herself. “I’m a toddler in a tutu! I can’t pee right, I can’t thpeak right, I can’t do anything right!”
Her voice cracked on the last word, her bottom lip trembling, eyes burning.
Jennifer said nothing at first. Then, slowly, she crouched and picked up the leggings. “Then I’ll help you. Until we fix it.”
Maya looked at her, tears running freely now.
“You shouldn’t have to—”
Jennifer met her eyes, firm. “Maybe not. But I want to.”
And with that, she gently helped Maya step into the leggings, adjusted the waistband over her diaper, and pulled the frilly crop top into place. The outfit looked childish, humiliating even—but clean. Soft. Real.
Maya wiped her eyes.
Jennifer stood and offered her a hand.
“We’re going to undo this. Together.”
And this time, Maya took it.