Dinner Down to Size, Chapters 13-14

Chapter 13

The exam room was brighter than the hallway, its white surfaces uninterrupted and orderly in a way that made everything feel clean. Sabrina’s attention snagged immediately on the glass-fronted cabinet mounted along one wall, her gaze catching on it before she could redirect herself. Inside were neatly stacked supplies labeled, bandages, gloves, and, lower than the rest, sealed packages arranged by size. The sight made her doe eyes grow wider, her breath catching halfway through an inhale as the earlier spiral of panic sharpened into something more immediate and dangerous. The kind of reaction was nothing like what she would have felt before today.

“The office called ahead; I understand you like being called Rina and this is your aunt. Please go ahead and hop up on the table, Rina,” the polo shirt wearing nurse said, with a gentle lilt that smoothed out the instruction. “I’m Nurse Anne, and this is Dr. Rehn. We’ll take good care of you today, all right?” She smiled as she said it, the smile itself only partially masking the concern on her face as she looked at the clearly distraught girl.

The doctor gave a small wave from where he stood near the counter, tall and calm in his white coat, already scanning the file he had just printed out that had been sent over. “Hi there,” he said simply, not unkind, “We’ll just do a quick checkup. Nothing to worry about.”

The names registered only halfway. They didn’t really matter to Sabrina; she was more worried about them finding out she was impersonating a child. Her eyes were glued to the diapers and pull-ups in the cabinet, even as Elena's hand guided her over to the doctor’s exam room table with the paper sheet lining it.

The doctor followed her line of sight, adjusting his glasses as he did so, and smiled faintly in a way that suggested he was trying to reassure her. “Those are just for some of the younger students,” he said conversationally, already turning back toward the chart as if the matter were settled, “We see a wide range of needs at this age, and it’s easier to be prepared than to scramble later.” He was talking about the elementary grade students that needed the aid of a diaper.

Elena cocked her head at the explanation, the memory of that morning flashing mirthfully into place before she could stop it. She spoke before filtering herself, the words tumbling out with nervous honesty. “I almost bought pull-ups today,” she admitted, her hand tightening slightly where it rested near Sabrina’s shoulder, “She was refusing to use the bathroom and holding it in.”

The doctor nodded once, pen already moving across the page, his tone neutral and unreactive as he made a note without looking up. “I’ll include that,” he said evenly, “Avoidance behaviors often accompany anxiety.”

It felt like the man in the white doctor coat was sealing her fate with every stroke of the pen; Sabrina’s pulse spiked hard enough to blur the edges of her vision as the awareness set in that none of this was temporary in the way she had been telling herself. Records would not evaporate once the day ended.

The nurse’s attention was fully on the future student, picking up on how she was reacting. She stepped closer without crowding and lowered herself slightly so her presence no longer loomed. “You’re doing just fine,” she said gently, her voice steady and unhurried, “That shirt is really cute. I like ducks, too.”

The words barely registered past the tightness in Sabrina’s chest. Her breath was coming too fast and too shallow to feel useful, hands trembling faintly at her sides as her body responded more quickly than her mind could intervene.

More questions followed. The doctor facing the blonde girl directed the questions toward Sabrina, but was looking to her guardian for the answers that were each consistently answered by Elena; the exchange flowed in a way that quietly reinforced who was expected to speak and who was expected to be interpreted.

“Any trouble sleeping?” the man asked, his attention flowing from his clipboard then up again waiting for an answer.

Elena shrugged, thinking about how many mornings she had seen Ms. Holloway get more than one cup of coffee to get through the morning. “She gets restless.”

Moving his pen down to the next line he continued his questions. “Changes in appetite?”

“Some.” Elena answered, knowing that too much of her supervisor's diet consisted of alcohol that made her drunk all too quickly.

“Stomach pain?”

“Yes, especially when she’s nervous.” The answer came easy to the worried woman afraid her scheme was close to failing catastrophically.

Each response tightened the knot further, yet it was like walking a tight rope.

“Once the medicine has had some time, we’ll finish the exam,” the nurse said.

The cup and pill waited on the counter, the chart rested open nearby. Compliance with the medical staff never felt like an option and, the longer she was around them, the more Sabrina felt like she was being backed into a corner with only one path of escape–not letting them know the truth. It was the only way to keep the situation from tipping fully out of her control. When the doctor stepped closer to check her pulse, the touch was light and practiced, yet the proximity alone was enough to send Sabrina’s breathing into uneven pulls that never seemed to reach the bottom of her lungs. Panic rose quickly enough that she had to lock her knees to keep from swaying. ‘Get it together . . . This is not like me . . . But he can’t find out I’m an adult that is trying to enroll in the fourth grade.’

“All right,” he said after a moment, straightening as he made a final note, “Given the presentation and reported anxiety, I’d recommend starting her on a low dose of sertraline. It’s commonly used in pediatric cases like this and can help reduce the physical escalation.”

The nurse was already moving, retrieving a small paper cup and a single pill with efficient calmness. She placed them on the counter without ceremony as if this were an everyday occurrence, rather than a pivot point. “We’ll give it a little time to take effect before continuing,” she said kindly, turning her attention back toward Sabrina, “You don’t have to do anything else right now.”

Elena knelt without thinking. The movement was automatic; she brushed a kiss against the top of Sabrina’s head before she realized she had done it, the familiarity slipping through the cracks of her composure. “You’re okay, duckling,” she murmured softly, “You will be fine, I promise.” She knew intellectually it was the wrong behavior. This wasn’t Crystal. But the way she looked, with her body shaking and taking audible anxious breaths, Elena felt a need to comfort her.

The nurse smiled at the nickname, her tone warm without being indulgent as she asked, “What do you like to do while you’re waiting? Something quiet that helps you focus?”

The question hovered in front of the overly stressed young blue eyed woman, harmless in tone but persistent in the way it bounced around her head like a pop quiz she had not studied for. The first answer that tried to escape was the one that belonged to her real life–a chilled glass of Sauternes, sweet and expensive and cold enough to make her feel like she could breathe again. That answer died behind her teeth the instant it formed, because it belonged to the version of her that could walk out of this room and back into her office without anyone blinking. That version, unfortunately, was not the one everyone here was looking at.

Being this deep into the act made the small choices feel dangerous, and her brain, still vibrating from panic, kept presenting the same warning in different shapes: ‘Say the wrong thing and you will not get a second chance.’ She scrambled for something that sounded ten instead of twenty-six. The memory of the kids’ menu from the night before flashed up like a lifeline, crayons printed beside cartoon animals. Something safe and ordinary enough to repeat, which she latched onto it because the alternative was silence.

“Umm . . . coloring?” The word came out with a question mark attached, cautious rather than confident. As if she needed the nurse to confirm she had guessed correctly. Even saying it made her feel ridiculous, because the only coloring she had done in years involved spreadsheets and tidy little blocks of conditional formatting, rather than waxy sticks and blank paper.

Elena answered before anyone else could. Not with words at first, but with movement. The zipper of the unicorn backpack sounded too loud in the sterile quiet as she set it on the side table and opened it with the brisk competence of someone trying to look helpful while her nerves buzzed under her skin. A binder came out first, bright and new and childish in a way that made Sabrina’s throat tighten, followed by a box of crayons that Elena placed with gentle care as if the act of arranging them could soothe the room itself. Then the woman crouched a little, angling her face up toward Sabrina with that practiced warmth she used on clients when she needed them calm and agreeable.

“Okay, duckling,” Elena said softly, the sweetness deliberate, pitched for small ears and big feelings. Her fingers smoothed the top edge of the binder as if she were straightening a blanket. “Let’s just do that, all right? You can draw for a bit while we wait. You’re safe; nothing bad is happening.” The words were kind, even sincere in their own way. That sincerity made them worse because it turned the condescension into something she could not dismiss as cruelty.

A small nod came from the nurse, expression open and encouraging in the way adults wore when they were trying to keep a frightened child from bolting. Her voice stayed light as she added, “I like coloring, too. It’s a good way to keep your mind busy.” Gentle and probably true, but still landed with the quiet sting of being spoken to like this was her natural scale.

Elena moved, unzipping the unicorn-print backpack with a calm that didn’t quite match the buzz under her skin. The sound of the zipper was louder than it should have been in the quiet exam room, but no one looked up. Not the nurse, not the doctor, and certainly not Sabrina, who sat stiffly on the paper-draped table like she had forgotten how to move so caught up in her own thoughts.

Inside the backpack, everything was just as Elena had packed it that morning, each item an impulse buy, grabbed quickly in the uncertainty of what the day might demand. Her fingers curled around the edges of the binder first, she had picked out because she liked it and because it looked like something a girl Sabrina’s supposed age might proudly carry. Then came the crayon box, the oversized set with metallics and neons, a rainbow of colors. Elena set both items on the small side table with careful hands, her expression warm and close to unreadable.

"Why don’t you draw something for me while we wait?" she offered gently, not quite crouching but lowering herself enough to be eye-level with the girl on the table. Her voice carried a practiced sweetness, her customer service voice, soft at the edges but with a thread of expectation woven through. "Something from your imagination. Maybe a place you’d rather be right now."

She smoothed the paper of the open binder, her other resting lightly on the edge of the binder as if steadying something fragile. Her eyes flicked once to the nurse, who gave a small nod and turned her attention politely elsewhere.

Sabrina remained silent, the air between her and the table stretching thin while her eyes moved slowly from the crayons to the page and back again. Her fingers twitched once in her lap before she reached for the crayon box. ‘Me and my big mouth . . . But, gotta look happy; this is what I said I like to do. Fuck, I hate this.’

She slid her fingertips across the tops of the wax sticks until she got to orange. What she was going to do hadn't been planned, but an idea hit her with the color. It was too bright, but it was already in her hand before she could change her mind. The line she drew came out thick and curved, bolder than intended, the wax dragging slightly as she pressed too hard. Another followed, then another, the shape forming with slow tension that pulled at the back of her neck. Her breathing still felt shallow, like her body couldn’t quite remember the rhythm, but the act of coloring gave her something to distract her.

Fatigue pressed in around the edges of her concentration, her focus slipping like soap. The tiger’s stripes didn’t match, some too close together, others thick and bloated. The ears leaned unevenly, the snout too short. Her fingers kept moving without checking the proportions. ‘Okay, I was never an artist, but this isn’t what I meant,’ she told herself. The weight in her limbs made it harder to care, her unsure what was wrong.

She switched colors, fidgeting with the box even as she drew. On the page a giraffe came next, or at least that was what it was supposed to be. Tall and narrow and painfully awkward, legs too thin, neck arched in a stupid pose that looked confused. She didn’t care. She wanted it to look wrong, or so she told herself.

The red crayon felt too soft in her grip as she began to write, forming a word bubble from her horrible orange smear of a tighter hand cramping slightly halfway through. The letters started clean but turned unstable as her mind drifted. The spacing was uneven, the last word crammed against the top corner where the bubble curved. She didn’t stop to fix it. ‘She will get the message,’ she thought, ignoring the extra letter used in the writing. Her mind had a hard time fully focusing to truly pick up on the mistake; it didn’t matter, and it no longer felt like she was having a panic attack.

YOU WILLL NOT WIN!

It looked childish, more like a failed drawing than a subtle jab at her assistant manager, as the wax bled slightly into the paper. The words tilted, no part of it neat. She looked at it anyway, legs kicking freely off the end of the exam-table, the shoes going off with each movement. Sabrina wasn’t even sure why she was doing it; she had no clue about the numerous side effects from the medication. Like harder time concentrating and restless energy, to name just a few. Her body was just beginning to suffer, but at least they did their intended job.

Elena leaned in without saying anything for a moment, her eyes flicking across the drawing before her mouth curled in a slow smile. Not mocking, just surprised Sabrina was either terribly bad at drawing or was doing a fantastic job of channeling her inner child. "That’s very creative."

Sabrina didn’t answer. Her hand drifted back toward the crayon box, fingers hovering over the edge like she was still deciding whether the effort was worth the energy and time to continue.

The nurse didn’t say anything when the girl’s aunt commented on her drawing, but could see the medication was doing its job. That, combined with an activity she liked, had her breathing looking normal. She moved with soft efficiency to the cabinet along the wall, retrieving a folded square of fabric that barely looked like clothing. “All right, Rina,” she said gently, not turning until it was already in her hands. “We’ll go ahead and get changed before we start the exam.” She stepped closer, unfolding the gown slowly, the material white and cottony, patterned with cartoon suns and wide-eyed clouds that smiled, giving the impression of a happy sky in some cartoon world. “You can leave your shoes on, sweetie.”

Sabrina stared wide eyed at the piece of cloth, but didn’t reach for it. She knew what a medical gown was even if she hadn’t seen one designed in such a way before. Her hands stayed still in her lap, fingers gripping the ends of the light pink jean skirt of the overalls. Her focus slid from the offered piece of fabric to nurse Anne. Something like that being offered to her felt like a trick, yet this was her reality for this stupid school trip. Part of the illusion she was expected to maintain. Just one insult after another, even if it wasn’t intended to. Whale the dark haired woman whose job it was to help her wasn’t laughing, Sabrina could practically feel it anyhow. The longer she looked, the more unreal it felt. The clouds had faces. The suns had cheeks. It looked like something for a preschool nap-time, not an exam. Not something for a woman like her.

The nurse’s tone didn’t change; it only softened further, when the young blonde didn’t move. “We just need you to slip this on, honey. It’s standard for all our new students, so the doctor can listen to your heart and lungs. Nothing scary. No shots, I promise.”

Gripping the skirt tighter, Sabrina shook her head rapidly. ‘No. I don’t want this, I’m not putting that on,’ she told herself. Still, she didn’t move or say a word out loud; the silence between her and the offered fabric started to stretch too long.

Elena shifted her weight, stepping forward with that same calm she used in client meetings when someone started to veer off script. “It’s all right, duckling.” She placed her palm on her back, rubbing it gently. Do you want help taking off your shirt?” Elena moved her hand to push a loose strand of her own hair out of her face that got stuck to her lipstick before unclasping the metal buttons of the overalls.

The clasps opened with soft metallic clicks, one then the other, and the straps slid down Sabrina’s shoulders. It wasn't a truly quick action, yet it happened before she had time to react. The bib dropped forward, the denim folding against her stomach. The duck-print shirt beneath was still warm against her skin, pressed tightly from the tightness of the overalls, and now fully visible in a way that made her want to shrink back into herself.

Elena didn’t give her a moment to decide what to do. Her fingers moved with calm certainty, finding the hem of the shirt and lifting it at the back, brushing against Sabrina’s neck like she had done countless times helping her niece over the years. Flinching at the touch, Sabrina moved to pull away but the taller woman's hand grabbed her arm to help guide it out of the shirt. “I can do this myself!” Sabrina snapped, not actually wanting to be left sitting there in the camisole.

“I’m just helping so the nice nurse and doctor can do their job.” One arm was raised, then another. Sabrina felt like she was being manhandled. The shirt came off in one long motion, duck and all vanishing behind her as the fabric passed over her head.

She sat still in the camisole and tights, the skirt overalls still on but bib still left unclasped. With the gown not yet on, the room suddenly felt cooler in a way that made her feel like something private had been exposed. The nurse didn’t speak. She only watched, gown still in hand, waiting with that same composed patience that made everything harder to fight.

Elena accepted the gown before holding the fabric open, soft cotton lined with smiling suns and puffy blue clouds. Sabrina didn’t hesitate. That was how it appeared, at least, but internally she was cringing. ‘I’m doing this . . . Like I have much of a choice. I just need to grit my teeth and get through it.’ Her arms went in, the fabric sliding over her shoulders and chest. Light as it was, the fabric was rough compared to her regular blouses. Oddly enough, even the stupid duck shit was both softer and thicker. The neck gaped slightly, the sleeves sat too short. Elena stepped behind her and tied the back without saying a word, only patting her back once she was done.

“Let’s take off the pinafore, now that it is unclasped,” the nurse said, still in that voice that made everything sound so annoyingly reasonable to Sabrina.

Elena touched her leg gently, partying the white tight covered leg. “Down, duckling.”

Sabrina slid off the table, her balance catching for a second before her feet landed. The skirt still clung to her hips, loose now that the bib had fallen. Elena crouched, gathering the denim in both hands.

“Lift your foot.”

She did. Then the other. The skirt jean part of her outfit dropped around her sneakers in a circle of pink fabric; Elena folded it, sliding the clothing into the backpack that now was laying on the exam bed. The duck shirt joined it in the bag, tucked beside the crayon box; the pack was starting to get rather full.

Sabrina followed the clothes with her eyes. They were humiliating, they had made her feel like a joke. But now they were gone, and something in her wanted them back. She couldn’t explain it. She didn’t want to. It felt pathetic, yet the gown was a thousand times worse. ‘You’re not supposed to want that,’ she told herself, ‘You’re supposed to want something that matters.’

She tried to imagine a silk blouse. A tight skirt in charcoal gray. Something with structure. Something that hugged her hips, made people notice her in the right way. Something dry-clean only. But the image wouldn’t hold. It fuzzed out halfway through, the shapes blurring, the textures falling apart before her mind could finish the picture.

Her focus skidded sideways and didn’t come back. She sat back on the table, gown tied, knees pressed together, shoes tapping on empty air telling herself she was fine. Even as she felt off, not just about not wearing her pants suit that was back at Elena’s place. Her mind was foggier than it should be and she felt like she would fall asleep if she closed her eyes for too long. A heavy warmth pressed behind her eyes while she tried to stay upright on the paper-draped table.

The nurse stepped closer, glancing toward the scale by the cabinet and spoke in a calm, practiced tone that asked for compliance without sounding like a command. “We’ll check your height and weight first, sweetheart, and then we’ll begin.”

Sabrina rose, feeling rather unsure and unsteady. Her movements were slowed by the lingering haze of medication as the gown brushed her tights and her shoes tapped softly on the tile, each step causing a blink of light. Positioning herself beneath the measuring rod, she stared ahead while the bar slid down to rest against the crown of her head.

“Four foot eleven,” the doctor said, glancing down at the chart as his pen moved, “That’s a little taller than average for her grade, but still well within normal range. About two in ten girls her age will be this height or taller.”

Sabrina stood there without reacting, her shoulders stiff, because none of that sounded wrong or alarming. That was exactly the problem, since hearing her body described as normal for a ten year old landed on her like a quiet sentence being passed down without appeal.

The nurse waited a beat to be sure Sabrina was steady before gesturing toward the scale with an open hand. “All right, honey, just step right over here for me. We just want to get your weight,” she said, her tone unchanged. Patient and encouraging without any hint of urgency, clearly trying to not make the girl feel stressed.

Sabrina did as she was told, her feet finding the platform while her hands hung stiffly at her sides. The numbers shifted as the nurse adjusted the weights and watched them settle. The doctor leaned in just enough to read the measurement before straightening again, his pen already moving as he spoke. “She’s on the lower end of healthy for her height,” he said, glancing briefly toward Elena, “Nothing concerning, but something we’ll want to keep an eye on.” Sabrina’s eyes practically popped out of her head like a cartoon character. She had always been picky about eating and doing her best to not end up both short and fat. She was only able to control one side of that equation, but hearing she was on the low end for weight for a ten year old hit her like a hammer. ‘I cant be lighter than a fucking child!’

Elena nodded easily, as if the comment fit neatly into expectations. “She’s been under a lot of stress lately,” she said, her voice warm with practiced concern, “I will work on her being a better eater.”

“That tracks,” the doctor replied, already turning back toward the table, “Especially with anxiety. The meds should help. We will send you home with a fifteen day supply. Not something we do for non-students, who aren’t covered by tuition. But it isn't everyday someone is invited to come here personally by the school's owner.”

Nodding with a smile on her face, Elena felt thankful. Not just because the ruse was still holding, but the idea of her boss feeling less stressed might make working for her more tolerable. Though she had no idea of the impact of the side effects of the medication just yet.

Sabrina stepped down and returned to the exam table, climbing up carefully as the paper crackled beneath her weight. The sound seemed louder than it should have been, practically screaming as part of it tore as she moved with less grace than she intended. She settled with her knees together, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes fixed on the far wall while the nurse warmed the stethoscope between her palms. She handed the warmed up one to the doctor so he wouldn’t be using his cold one. ‘There's more . . . Come on, let’s get this over with!’

“I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs now,” the doctor said, positioning himself behind her, “Take a deep breath in when I ask you, then let it out slowly.”

The stethoscope pressed against Sabrina’s exposed back. The doctor slid the device between the camisole and her flesh, through the neck hole of the gown; it was still cool despite the nurse’s effort. Sabrina inhaled as instructed, the breath catching slightly before she forced it deeper. He shifted the instrument methodically from one side to the other, listening in silence before moving it around to the front. “Again,” he said.

She obeyed, focusing on keeping the rhythm even, on not letting her shoulders rise too sharply as the metal rested just below her collarbone.

“Heart rate’s elevated,” he noted calmly, writing as he spoke, “Consistent with anxiety.” The man paused, looking at the child with some sympathy.

The nurse leaned in slightly, her voice gentle and reassuring, first addressing Elena before smiling at Sabrina. “That’s very common, especially when kids are nervous on their first day somewhere new,” she said, “You’re doing just fine.”

The stethoscope was set aside, replaced by the doctor’s hand as he pressed lightly at the center of Sabrina’s chest before shifting outward. When his fingers settled against the faint fullness beneath the gown, the sensation caught Sabrina off guard. Her breath broke sharply before she could stop it, her shoulders tensing as her hands clenched more tightly in her lap.

The doctor did not react to her intake of breath; his voice remained clinical as he turned back toward the chart. “Minimal breast development present,” he said, “This appears consistent with early-stage puberty, likely beginning within the last six to twelve months.”

The words settled slowly, heavy and unreal. ‘He . . . he thinks I'm just starting puberty!?’ she thought, the shame twisting in her chest as the realization took hold. ‘He thinks I’m just starting! I’m fucking twenty-six!’

“That’s completely normal,” the nurse added softly, resting a reassuring hand against Sabrina’s arm, “Everyone grows at their own pace, sweetheart, and you’re right where you should be.” Despite the words meant to reassure her, nothing felt normal. Saying her growth was normal, when she was actually full grown up and well beyond puberty.

The nurse remained close at Sabrina’s side, her presence steady as the doctor adjusted his stance and spoke again. His tone was unchanged as he prepared for the next step. “I’m going to press on your abdomen now,” he said evenly, his hands already lifting toward the thin cotton of the gown, “Let me know if anything feels painful.”

Raising one eyebrow, she jerked her head down in a singular half nod. The man had just traumatized her and deeply insulted her and carried on like it was nothing. She hadn’t said anything about it, but while she was sitting there coloring and demeaning herself with her continued compliance, her stomach had been churning unhappily. A dull pressure, sitting low; when she was done with this, she would need to head to the bathroom. Using a school restroom–another nail in the coffin for her pride. The doctor’s hands pressed down gently at first, moving with methodical precision as he worked across her abdomen, firm but controlled, testing responsiveness while watching her face for signs of discomfort.

When his fingers pressed lower, her body reacted sharply, the sensation alarming as her muscles tightened on instinct. Her breath caught as she clenched hard, every part of her trying to hold control. Her body felt like it wanted to release the contents of her bowels; her hands gripped the edge of the table beneath the gown as she willed herself not to let go. ‘Not here, not now.’

The effort lasted only a moment before it failed completely. Her muscles gave way despite the tension, her bowels releasing all at once in a truly horrifying way.

The warmth spread beneath her; any resistance she put forward meant nothing. What came out of her wasn’t something solid, but it wasn’t entirely liquid, either. It was unmistakable, diarrhea soaking through her underwear and tights and pooling against the paper-covered table before she could even fully process what was happening. The paper crinkled loudly under the sudden mess and slight squirming, darkening as it absorbed what it could. The smell hit the air, saturating and poisoning it as only human waste could, leaving no room for doubt to any one what had happened.

“No no no no no!” she said frantically, her face burning as she froze in place. Unable to stop it, unable to move, humiliation crashed over her as the reality set in that she was sitting in her own mess. That it was so prevalent it had soaked through the underwear and tights. It was on the table, exposed to everyone in the room.

The doctor withdrew his hands at once, stepping back without hesitation as his expression shifted from focus to recognition. “All right,” he said calmly, his voice firm but unruffled as he reached for the chart, “Does she have a history of these kinds of problems?”

Blinking rapidly, Elena covered her mouth and nose with one hand. She slowly shook her head, trying to deal with the putrid smell, unsure what was happening to her diminutive supervisor.

“NO, SHE DOES NOT!” Sabrina yelled, horrified at what just happened. She was unsure of why, but everything happening in this room would have been too much for her to handle and that was before the other events of the day or the night before. Tears started to well up in her eyes, completely out of her control.

The nurse moved in closer immediately, positioning herself between Sabrina and the doctor. As much as the space allowed, anyway, her hand settling securely on Sabrina’s shoulder. “That’s okay,” she said gently, her voice soft but confident, “Accidents happen, especially when someone’s anxious or adjusting to medication. You didn’t do anything wrong. This happens sometimes, sweetie. It could be a side effect from your medication.”

Sabrina could not bring herself to look down. Her body was locked in place as the shame pressed in from every direction, the awareness of the mess impossible to escape. She could feel it against her skin, slick and wet, ruining everything beneath her; the fact that no one was reacting with shock or anger only made it worse. If things were reversed, she would be cursing and fleeing the room to get fresh air.

The doctor glanced toward Elena as he spoke again, his tone clinical and composed. “Given her anxiety and the medication, this response isn’t unexpected,” he said, “We’ll document it and make sure she’s cleaned up and comfortable.”

The nurse squeezed Sabrina’s shoulder reassuringly, her voice lowering as she spoke directly to her again. “We’ll get you taken care of, sweetheart,” she said, “You’re safe.”

“How am I safe?” Sabrina shouted, her voice breaking as it echoed off the tiled walls, the words tumbling out sharp and raw before she could stop them, “I’m sitting in my own shit!”

The nurse did not flinch or recoil. As the young girl seemingly pleaded with her, Anne’s expression softened as she felt her heart hurt from what she expected the little blue eyed blonde was going through. “I know this feels awful,” she said calmly, keeping her tone even and steady, “But you’re safe because nothing bad is going to happen to you, and we’re going to help you get clean right now.”

Sabrina’s chest heaved as tears finally spilled freely. Her anger despite the situation never quite came to a boil. Instead, it collapsed inward, leaving behind a hollow ache that made her feel small and unsteady. ‘I should be losing it, telling this woman something pretty fucking bad just happened,’ she thought dimly, the realization unsettling her almost as much as the humiliation itself, ‘I should be screaming at all of them, but I can’t even hold onto the feeling long enough.’ Things were at peak humiliation. She had never been brought so low, but the mood altering drug did more than reduce her stress and anxiety; it kept her mood more even.

“Shshshshsh, Rina. Don't look down at it, we got you,” Anne said gently, waiting until Sabrina’s breathing slowed enough to be heard, “I need to get you cleaned up now. Would you like your aunt to help you, or would you prefer that I take care of it with you?”

Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut, her head shaking faintly as the idea of Elena seeing any more of this sent a fresh wave of shame through her. ‘Please don’t make me do this in front of her,’ she thought, the words forming silently as her throat tightened. “No,” she said hoarsely. “I’m . . . Please, help.”

Elena felt a sharp, guilty relief cut through her chest as she stepped back at the nurse’s glance, her hands clasping together to keep from fidgeting. ‘Thank God,’ she thought, even as unease followed close behind. The situation had already escalated far beyond anything she had imagined that morning. “I’ll wait right here,” she said quietly, her voice careful, her eyes fixed anywhere but the table. ‘First she shit herself, then asked for help using the word please. An odd day of firsts.’

“That’s fine,” the nurse replied, nodding once before turning her full attention back to Sabrina. “We’ll take care of you.”

She explained each step as she went, her words simple and reassuring, beginning with the need to remove her shoes. The nurse took the time to compliment them–how she loved the little lights–then it would be the soiled gown, which she lifted away quickly and without comment. Sabrina stayed rigid, eyes still closed as cooler air brushed her skin, her fingers curling tight against the edge of the table. ‘Just get clean,’ she told herself over and over, clinging to the thought. ‘I don’t care how; I just need this gone.’ She slowly shook her head, unable to believe what she had done. She yanked her hands up when noticing how close they were to touching the mess that had spilled out of her and onto the table after soaking through the panties and tights.

Kneeling, Anne did her best to stay composed and calm, knowing it would make the situation worse for the girl if she acted repulsed by the smell. Working efficiently, she removed the soiled tights and underwear together in one smooth motion, leaving her naked from the waist down in only the camisole and covered in her own waste. Sabrina’s face burned as she felt the exposure, her jaw clenched hard as she focused on staying quiet, surprised again by how little fight reached the surface. ‘What is wrong with me?’ she thought faintly, ‘So much is wrong. Maybe it's food poisoning . . . Stupid giraffe giving me expired eggs.’

The wet wipes followed, cool and strongly scented. The nurse cleaned her lower body with careful thoroughness while speaking softly the entire time. “You’re doing a good job,” she murmured, “Almost finished now.”

Sabrina flinched despite herself. The words of the nurse weren’t reassuring at all as she got her butt cheeks wiped, then between. She had to stand when it was time for her legs, things ending when her hairless womanhood felt the cold witness of the wipes. The contact in places that should have been private sent another spike of humiliation through her, even as a heavy numbness kept her from pulling away. Tears slipped sideways into her hair as she kept her eyes shut tight, her breathing shallow and uneven. ‘Fuck fuck fuuuuck,’ she thought distantly, ‘Why does-’ she started to ask herself a question, losing the thought in the heavy fog in her mind.

When the cleaning was finished, the nurse had her step away from the table so she could clean and disinfect the table. She explained the next step with the same calm cadence, framing what had to happen was just a precaution while her stomach settled, something meant to keep her comfortable and protected.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what she was talking about. It felt like she missed something or that the overly kind woman was talking around a subject, not naming it. Still, she nodded faintly, still not opening her eyes; the need to feel clean and contained overwhelming any impulse to argue. ‘I just want it to stop,’ she thought, ‘I just want to be done.’

A pull-up was taken from the cabinet before being put on quickly and professionally; the nurse’s touch was efficient as she finished and helped Sabrina settle again on the table. Elena watched from a short distance away, her expression composed even as her thoughts raced. ‘They didn’t question it,’ she realized, a chill running through her as the implication sank in, ‘This is so wild!’

When it was over, Sabrina sat still, hands limp in her lap. Her eyes were closed, as if opening them might make everything fully real again. She was aware only that she was clean now and that another type of underwear had been put on her; something about it was wrong, but it was like her mind was moving through mud, her thoughts coming more slowly and even then slipping away from her randomly.

The awareness came in gradually, creeping in beneath the fog the way discomfort sometimes did when she tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in her calves after wearing the heels she loved so much for too long. The strange thickness of the underwear they put her in, the way it felt around her hips, registered before her mind fully named it. Sabrina shifted slightly on the table and froze when the material responded in a way underwear never should. The faint rustle, the thickness, an almost crinkling plastic-like sound. Now that she was paying attention, heat flared across her face as she blushed deeply, the truth of what she was wearing coming to her a moment before her hands grasped at it. ‘No,’ she thought dimly, the word more reflex than protest, “No, no, no.”

Her hands tightened in her lap as if holding herself together might undo it; her shoulders drew in while she stared at nothing, mortified in a way that felt almost deeper than the mess itself. No adult, no one in their twenties would ever wear a diaper; those were for babies, toddlers, and the infirm elderly. “I can’t . . . I don’t want to wear this,” she said at last, her voice rough and small despite her effort to steady it, the plea slipping out, “Please. I just want my clothes back.”

Not rushing to respond, the school nurse looked to the girl's aunt before focusing back on the girl. She had gone through this particular discussion more than once when kids insisted they were too big, too old for a diaper or pull-up. But they needed help, and that was her job. “I know you don’t like it,” she said calmly, meeting Sabrina’s unfocused gaze, “But for right now, you need to keep it on, sweetheart. It’s for sanitary reasons, and it keeps you protected in case your stomach acts up again. You won’t be in it forever, I promise.”

The words settled heavily. Sabrina opened her mouth to verbally bite the woman’s head off, the instinct to argue rising weakly and then collapsing under the weight of exhaustion and something worse–the quiet, humiliating knowledge that the nurse was not wrong. The risk was not gone, not completely, and that realization made her whimper slightly with eyes downcast as her resistance drained away. ‘It shouldn’t be like this,’ she thought, shame curling inward, ‘This shouldn’t even be possible.’

The situation unbelieveable, Elena moved carefully, reaching for the backpack where it rested by the table. She opened it with hands that were steadier than she felt, drawing out the familiar yellow duck shirt first, then the light pink skirt overalls folded neatly beneath it. She held them up as if offering a lifeline, her voice soft when she spoke. “Let’s get you dressed, okay? You’ll feel better once you’re covered.”

Seeing the offered clothing, Sabrina recoiled. She shook her head on instinct, but the offer was a thousand times better than sitting around in a child's camisole and a kid size pull-up. She reached out to snatch the clothing she had to be convinced to put on that morning almost immediately, the motion small but eager, surprising herself with how badly she wanted the clothes back on her. There was no hesitation when Elena helped guide the shirt over her head and smooth it down; the cotton settled against her skin in a way that felt grounding despite everything. When the skirt followed, she lifted her hips without being asked, cooperating quickly, too willingly, the blush burning brighter as she realized she was not just accepting the help, but craving the improvement to her situation. ‘That's better . . . sort of,’ she admitted to herself, hating how much better it was to be wearing the clothes that once belonged to her assistant's niece. The thought stinging. ‘I need to not be exposed.’

The overalls were fastened, Elena’s fingers gentle as she adjusted the straps and made sure everything sat where it should. Only then did Sabrina fully register how tightly she had been holding herself; the breath she let out was shaky but real. She kept her eyes down, unable to meet Elena’s gaze, acutely aware of what was hidden beneath the denim now and how easily it could all go wrong again. The certainty she used to take for granted was gone.

Crouching down, getting the shoes next, Elena slipped them onto Sabrina’s now bare feet. She wished she had put a pair of socks on her earlier that morning in addition to the tights.

The door opened again a moment later as the doctor returned, nodding once towards his nurse Anne with professional appreciation. “Thank you for handling that,” he said simply, then turned to Elena, holding out a small pharmacy bottle, “Here’s the medication, a fifteen day supply. Have her take it as directed. You’re free to return to the office while I finish up Rina’s file.”

Taking the bottle and slipping it into her purse without comment, her nod was automatic as she guided Sabrina gently off the table. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Sabrina followed without protest, moving carefully; every step was taken with a new awareness she did not yet know how to live with. She could feel the diaper with every movement, her face still warm with embarrassment as the reality of what she was wearing settled in fully, the knowledge inescapable.

Sabrina squeezed her assistant’s hand as she was guided out of the exam room, relief cutting through the haze as the door closed behind them. The smells, the lights, and the quiet authority of medical voices were finally left on the other side. The hallway felt long and indistinct, its details slipping past without registering as exhaustion pressed down around the edges of her mind.

It wasn't just a physical thing, but also an emotional one; the aftershocks of everything that had just happened dulled the sharp edges of thought. Her grip tightened unconsciously, not out of fear exactly, but out of the need to stay upright and anchored. To let someone else decide where her feet were supposed to go next.

Chapter 14

The hallway stretched ahead of them, fluorescent lights humming overhead; they cast everything in a flat, unforgiving brightness that made Sabrina's eyes ache. Elena's hand remained firmly wrapped around hers, warm and steady, yet Sabrina found herself shaking her head. Things were feeling off as she reluctantly followed along, pulling slightly on her arm to be free. She wasn’t a child that needed to hold hands to be guided, but tugging gently didn’t bring her freedom. “Thorne, let go of me,” the young executive commanded, though the sternness and confidence she normally had wasn’t present.

“We are almost there,” Elena replied as she kept walking, not letting go. She gave her diminutive boss’s hand a light squeeze, still baffled by what transpired during the medical exam. ‘We made it through that. Not what I expected, but somehow they didn’t realize my ten year old niece is in her mid-twenties.’

Blinking a few times, Sabrina squeezed back without meaning to, her grip tightening unconsciously as they walked. Each step sent those ridiculous sneakers flashing red and pink, little bursts of childish light that announced her presence like a beacon of humiliation. The shoes felt strange on her bare feet, the material rubbing in places where the tights had prevented it before. The discomfort was distant, however, muffled by the medication fog that wrapped everything in cotton wool. What was at the forefront of her mind wasn’t the complete disregard for her authority by the woman who was supposed to be her subordinate, but the pull-up she wore. It shifted slightly with every step, a constant, rustling reminder pressed against her skin beneath the pink skirt overalls. She was acutely aware of it, the bulk of it, the way it moved when she moved, the knowledge of what it was for. All of that settled like lead in her stomach. The sound of the padding made her feel like it was another announcement, letting everyone know what she was wearing, when in reality there was hardly a sound to be noticed.

Her thoughts moved like honey, thick and slow. She tried to focus on where they were going, on what would happen next, but the details slipped away before she could hold them. The hallway seemed to go on forever, or maybe it was just that her sense of time had become unreliable, stretched and compressed by exhaustion and chemistry.

They turned a corner, and suddenly they were back at the front office. The same smell of floor polish and old paper, institutional and impersonal in a way that made her think of her own office at work. This was the same space where this whole school fiasco had all begun, where she'd signed a stupid student handbook she hadn’t bothered to read, where Mrs. Hatcher had looked at her with that professional assessment that saw a troubled child instead of a grown woman. Sabrina had come to the conclusion that the older woman saw most children as potential problems, much like her own personal opinion of them; it had been irritating to be seen as such, but for now that feeling was forgotten.

Mrs. Margaret Hatcher was at the administrative desk now, her severe expression softening slightly as they approached. She moved her reading glasses up from around her neck on a beaded chain, her hair pulled back in its characteristic tight bun. "Ms. Thorne," she said, her tone professional but not unkind, "I trust the medical examination went smoothly?"

" . . . Yes, thank you," Elena replied, with some hesitation. It had not gone smoothly. At the same time, she hadn’t been exposed as a fraud. "Dr. Morrison was very thorough."

"Good." Mrs. Hatcher's gaze flickered to Sabrina, first at the girl’s outfit, noting that she no longer wore her white tights, but didn’t bring it up. She took in how Sabrina swayed slightly on her feet, the vacant quality in her eyes, the hand clutching Elena's like a lifeline. "We rushed through things a bit more quickly than I would have liked before, so I hope it doesn’t come as a surprise that the next step is for young Ms.Thorne to attend one of our classes to get a feel of what she can expect along with meeting some of her peers."

“Oh, of course. I would love to see one of the classes.” Elena said, nodding. She really didn’t have any expectations, but now that the tiny tyrant was actually playing along, her stress levels were much lower than the first time being in this room.

“While your niece will get to enjoy the class, I'm afraid you are expected in a meeting with your company's CEO, along with Mr. Sterling. I promise she will be well taken care of. You see, we try to avoid disrupting the classes as much as possible.” The stern woman slowly shook her head with an apologetic tone to her voice. “On that note, we have a change of clothes for Rina so that she can fit in with the other students; the school uniform fosters feelings of togetherness and prevents disruptions that could come about such as puns covering up for a curse word that is inappropriate for the children like your niece’s shirt.”

Sabrina's thoughts scattered before she could catch them. ‘Uniform? They are giving me a uniform? Like, I’m actually a fucking student here!’ It was just too much “No,” she said, trying to grasp at the thread of resistance. Despite the outrageous idea of putting on a child's uniform, her anger didn’t come as naturally as usual. The medication was doing its job, wrapping everything in fog, muffling her ability to think clearly, to plan, to fight. She was so tired. Her body felt restless and heavy at the same time, a contradiction that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

Mrs. Hatcher produced a neatly folded stack of clothing from beneath the desk: a black jumper dress with a deep blue plaid pattern woven through it, a crisp white collared blouse, and white knee-high socks still in their packaging. The uniform of Blackwood Academy. The uniform of a student who needed correction, guidance, discipline. ”No? Rina, it is not polite to speak to adults in such a manner. Please be mindful of such outbursts that could be seen as disrespectful and earn you a demerit. I’m sure you didn’t mean it as such, but please be mindful so we don’t have to move on to disciplinary actions.”

Sabrina’s head swiveled between the two people taller than her, talking as if it was perfectly normal for her to put on a school uniform and attend a child’s class. “I don’t need to change,” she said quickly, both hands pressing against the jean material of her rear, feeling the cushy thickness of the pull-up underneath. ‘No! I can’t be seen wearing this!’

The friendliness on the headmistress’s face faded away as she glared at the little blonde girl who, despite her gentle warning, was still talking back. “Talking back to adults is not acceptable, young miss. All students wear the same uniform. Some individuality will be allowed, within reason. Think of it as a way to help you make new friends. Now, do not argue.” She looked to the girl’s guardian with a raised eyebrow to see if she was going to back her up.

"Is there somewhere private where she can change?" Elena asked, trying to defuse the situation and move things along. She had seen a section in the handbook on discipline, but hadn’t read it with everything going on. "She's still a little off. I'll need to help her."

"Of course," Mrs. Hatcher gestured to a door marked ‘Private’ just off the main office, "The changing room is just through there. Take your time." She nodded, happy to see that the girl’s aunt had some sense to control the child, but noting she hadn’t tried to correct the bad behavior either.

Sabrina wanted to protest more. Wanted to say she could dress herself, but she wasn’t going to change at all. That she was a grown woman, that she'd been dressing herself for over twenty years without assistance. But the words wouldn't form properly. They scattered before she could catch them, and all that came out was a soft, confused sound.

Elena guided her toward the changing room with that same gentle, inexorable pressure. The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing them in a small space with a bench, a mirror, and hooks on the wall. The fluorescent light in here was even harsher, if that was possible.

"Arms up, sweetheart," Elena said, seeing the scowl clearly on her face, knowing the just-playing-along portion of the visit had come to an end. Reaching for the hem of the duck-print shirt, she then paused, her hands hovering. Her gaze dropped to the pink denim overalls still fastened at Sabrina's shoulders. Letting out a small breath of frustration, she adjusted her approach. "Let's do this properly," she said, shaking her head. It felt like she was on a clock when reminded of the meeting already in progress with their client. Sure, it wouldn’t be happening at all here if it wasn’t for the Rina ruse, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t missing things. "I can tell you are not happy," Elena said, her tone matter-of-fact as her fingers found the clasps at Sabrina's shoulders, "but I don't have time to argue with you. The meeting with Mr. Sterling has been happening all this time; I can't leave them waiting much longer."

She unclasped the overalls without waiting for a response. The pink denim fell away from Sabrina's body, sliding down her legs and pooling around her light-up sneakers in a soft heap of fabric. The light yellow duck-print shirt hung loose over her torso, but it was only a shirt leaving her exposed, showing the thing Sabrina would rather no one saw on her. It was horrifyingly visible where girls' panties should have been. The white cotton panties were far from what she would want to be wearing, but when compared to a pull-up, she missed them and their stupid childish pink elastic waist band.

Her hands flew down instinctively, grabbing at the fallen overalls, trying to yank them back up. Her fingers fumbled with the fabric, clumsy and uncoordinated; she wasn't sure why her movements were sluggish and imprecise. As she pulled upwards on the garment, it came up at an angle, catching on the pull up, stopping her progress all while her grip kept slipping. Feeling like she was about to be exposed to an office full of busy bodies, Sabrina’s eyes darted to the closed door, the handle, the gap beneath it where light spilled through. Anyone could walk in. Mrs. Hatcher could open that door right now and see her like this, standing in a childish shirt with the padded underwear exposed, struggling like a toddler who couldn't dress herself. The thought made her stomach twist with panic.

"Stop," she tried to say, but it came out slurred and weak as one hand let go of the overalls to press in on her stomach, the events in the medical room making her wary.

Elena's hands closed over hers, firm and unyielding, pulling them away from the overalls so that they fell once more. "We don't have time for this."

Trying to twist away, Sabrina found herself at a distinct disadvantage. Elena was taller, stronger, and her movements were deliberate where Sabrina's were scattered and slow. Elena systematically removed the light yellow shirt, wrapping her fingers around the bottom of the t-shirt. “Sorry, little duckling; the school wants you to change.” She pulled it up with one hand, using the other to make Sabrina's arms comply with the task before she picked up the white collared blouse from the folded stack, shaking it out with a crisp snap of fabric.

"Arms through," Elena instructed, looking at the smaller woman now standing there in three things: a childish camisole, a pull-up, and velcro sneakers.

Turning her body, trying to angle away, Sabrina found no escape as Elena simply moved with her, guiding one arm into a sleeve with the kind of practiced efficiency that suggested she'd dressed uncooperative children before. Sabrina's other arm resisted, pulling back, but Elena caught it at the wrist and threaded it through the second sleeve before Sabrina could fully process what was happening.

The blouse settled over her shoulders, the fabric cool and stiff against her skin; it was some common fabric, much rougher than what her salary afforded her to wear. Elena's fingers moved down the front, buttoning it methodically from collar to hem. Each button felt like a small defeat. Sabrina tried to pull away again, but Elena's hand pressed against her shoulder, holding her in place.

“Stop touching me, you giraffe!”

"Almost done," Elena murmured.

The black jumper dress came next. Elena lifted it over Sabrina's head; Sabrina ducked instinctively, turning her face away, but Elena simply adjusted her angle and brought the dress down over her anyway. The fabric slid over the blouse, heavy and substantial, settling around Sabrina's body like a weight, light as it was. Elena's hands found the zipper at the back, pulling it up with a smooth, final sound.

The dress fell to mid-thigh. The manhandled woman could feel the pull-up underneath it, the bulk of it pressing against her skin through the layers of fabric. Every shift of her body made it crinkle softly, a sound she was certain everyone would hear.

"Sit," Elena said, gesturing to the closed toilet lid.

Sabrina didn't move. Her feet stayed planted on the cold tile, with the overalls still pooled at her feet. Her body swayed slightly, but refused to comply.

Elena's hands found her waist, picking her up to sit her gently where she had indicated. "Sit down, Sabrina," she said, seeing her trying to plant her feet to get up or about to hop off the toilet seat, placing one hand on her shoulder to ensure compliance.

The pressure increased, and Sabrina's legs, already unsteady, gave way. She sank onto the toilet lid, the hard plastic cold even through the layers of clothing. Her hands gripped the edge of the seat.”You do remember who is actually in charge, right?” Elena knelt in front of her, reaching for the light-up sneakers. She worked the first one off, and it flashed red and pink in protest as it came free. “If you like, I can go out there and let the entire office know you don't want to get changed because of your diaper.”

“It isn’t MY diaper!”

“Oh, is some other little girl wearing it?” Elena looked Sabrina in her vibrant blue eyes. While still pretty, they weren’t nearly as eye-catching without her make-up.

“I’m not a child, you bitch! You are enjoying this too much, and will . . .” Sabrina’s words trailed off as she lost the thread of what she was saying; the implication of Elena’s words were not sitting well on her already injured pride.

“Only little girls wear diapers, and I only see one person in a diaper. Now let me ask you again, little madam–Do you want me to talk to Mrs. Hatcher about this in front of everyone?”

She truly didn't. The question was a threatening one she could not let come to pass. The words resonated; she had shit herself while wearing child's clothing to the point that she ruined a pair of panties and tights. “No, please . . . Elena, please don’t.”

”Then say two things for me, and I swear if you don’t . . . Tell me you are not a big girl, and that you are only ten. Now, say it and don’t you dare use such foul language. You understand me, Rina?”

Feeling as if her eyes were once more tearing up, Sabrina nodded, feeling so broken. “I’m not . . . not . . . No, I can’t- I won't say that!”

Still bent down, Elena went back to removing the shoes as she shook her head. The second shoe had another burst of childish light. Sabrina's bare feet looked small and pale against the tile, vulnerable in a way that made her chest tighten. “Are you sure?” Elena asked

Lip quivering, she wanted to tell the raven-haired woman to go fuck herself. But Sabrina had been demeaned so much today, and being revealed to be wearing the pull-up was too much. “I’m not a big girl; I'm only ten.”

“That is right. Rina, you are only ten, so best do what adults tell you to without argument.” Elena reached into the stack of uniform items and produced a pair of white ankle socks. They weren't plain; Sabrina could see the Blackwood Academy crest embroidered in navy blue thread on each one, a small shield with a black tree.

Bunching up the first sock, she guided it over Sabrina's toes. Sabrina's foot jerked back instinctively, pulling away, but Elena's other hand closed around her ankle, holding it steady. "Hold still," Elena said, her voice calm but firm. She pulled the sock up over Sabrina's heel, smoothing it into place with methodical care. Then the second sock, the same process. Sabrina's foot tried to pull back again, but Elena's grip kept it in place. The fabric slid up and settled just above her ankle. The crest sat on the outside of each sock, visible and unmistakable.

“Let’s get your new sneakers you picked out back on, sweetie.” Elena picked up the light-up sneakers, putting them back onto Sabrina's feet one at a time. They flashed as she worked the straps, securing them snugly.

"No," Sabrina said, the word finally forming properly, breaking through the fog. "I don't- I can't . . . " it was technically true that she had picked out the velcro sneakers not even adult enough for laces. ‘These aren’t even big girl shoes. She even has me thinking like a kid. Come on, Sabrina. Snap out of it . . . ”

"Shh," Elena said, standing and brushing her hands against her pencil skirt, "It's done now."

"I'm not-" Sabrina tried again, her voice rising slightly, words tumbling over each other, her not even fully sure what she was trying to say. "This isn't- You can't just . . . "

"I said shush, little one," Elena repeated, softer this time. Her hand came to rest on top of Sabrina's head in a gesture that was somehow both comforting to the rather discombobulated Sabrina and condescending. "We need to go. Mr. Sterling is waiting."

Elena's hand moved from Sabrina's head to her shoulder, guiding her toward the door with gentle but insistent pressure. This time, there was only a moment of resistance. Sabrina's legs felt heavy, disconnected, like they belonged to someone else. The sneakers flashed with each sluggish step, little bursts of pink and purple light that seemed to announce her presence and her humiliation to anyone who might be watching. It wasn’t new, but they now seemed persistent in their goal to dismantle her.

Looking back at the closed lid of the toilet seat, Elena turned her supervisor to face the toilet where she had been sitting, the woman who seemed more and more like a different person. “How about you try to go while we are here?”

“I . . . ” Sabrina started to speak. She had been hesitant to leave the privacy of the bathroom, but now she looked at the toilet with a mix of annoyance and confusion. In the medical room with the doctor and nurse she knew she needed to use the bathroom but had no idea how badly until it was too late. With that in mind, it was hard for her to argue. “Sure.” She agreed to the statement–the command–as if it was a question. Stepping closer, she raised the lid, turning around. Her hands went under the skirt of the pinafore, glancing towards the overalls still lying on the floor as she sat down. “This is what you wanted, right?” she asked, a harsh tone to her voice.

Letting out a breath, Elena scooped up the discarded garment and folded it. “You act like I'm the bad guy here. Do you want to have another accident? I’m trying to help. You want to act like a big girl, don’t you?”

“I’m a woman, not a girl, you twat!”

Snapping her head back like she had been struck, Elena was feeling a lot more powerful than usual. “I know exactly who you are. And if you promise to be a good girl, I will bring you back to your apartment.”

“You will!?” Sabrina asked, wide eyed. Finally, after all her excuses and bullshit the end seemed to be within reach.

Whatever this all was with her boss was never meant to last, but she hoped with Sabrina going awol and what blackmail material she could gather from all this would insulate her from the tyrant going forward. “I will, but only if you do as I say. Will you be a good girl for me?”

Without hesitation, Sabrina nodded once, twice, then a third time. “Yes.”

“No, Rina. I need to hear you say it. Tell me you will be a good girl.”

After answering the question, Sabrina’s eyes slid off the tall woman. It took a moment for the words to sink in. ”You know I don’t want to-” she started, before rolling her eyes and giving in. It was hardly a good time to test her while sitting there on the toilet, pull-up around her ankles. “I will be a good girl.”

Moving her right hand, her fingers to her chin, Elena considered things before pushing harder. “I hope so. Tell me again, Rina–How old are you and what grade are you in?”

“Fine.” She let out a long breath. “I’m ten and I’m in the fourth grade.”

“Yes, you are. Now, is a fourth grader a big girl or a little girl?”

Being asked such a question dressed as she was, in the position she was in, Sabrina felt so low. In less than a handful of minutes, her assistant had helped to get her dressed in an elementary school girl’s uniform, exactly like a little girl. "A little girl.” It wasn't iron tight logic, but she got what Elena was doing with the way she asked the question. “You know, I know what you’re- Shit, what was I saying?”

The way she just blanked out with a vacant look in her eyes was new; Sabrina Halloway had a lot of problems but ADHD was not one of them. “You were just telling me you are a little girl,” Elena said, “Go on. Say that, and tell me who I am to you.”

“Ugh, really?! FINE. I'm a little girl and you're my Aunt. Aunt Elena. HAPPY?”

Unable to help herself, Elena giggled. Not just a laugh, but a full on giggle. “I could go with less attitude, but I will take it. Now finish going potty and remember your promise, little duckling.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Sabrina made a real effort, forcing out some pee before cleaning herself. Then she hopped off the toilet and pulled back up the toddler-like underwear. “ I’m done here.”

The bathroom room door opened as Elena turned the handle; the cooler air of the main office hit Sabrina's exposed legs. It wasn’t anything new in this outfit compared to the last, but it still made her hyper aware of what little fabric stood between the diaper and everyone. The pinafore, while not thin, was much less so than the jean material she had been wearing. Gritting her teeth, she stepped out of the bathroom, taking a few rapid steps to catch up to her longer legged assistant.

Mrs. Hatcher looked up from her desk, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her gaze swept over Sabrina with the practiced efficiency of someone who had evaluated thousands of students over decades. Sabrina froze under that scrutiny, her breath catching in her throat. She had stared down man after man who had dismissed her as just a pretty face over the years, but this look and in this situation brought her back to her more fragile years.

"Well," Mrs. Hatcher said, setting down her pen, "Let's have a look at you."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She could feel the pull-up, the bulk of it, the way it felt against her with every tiny movement, ‘Can she tell? Can she see it somehow?’ she fretted.

"Your hair," Mrs. Hatcher continued, her tone matter-of-fact, "is neat and orderly. The carousel braid is well-executed."

"And cute on her," Elena added, her voice warm with false affection.

"Indeed," Mrs. Hatcher agreed.

Sabrina shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hands twisting together in front of her. The movement made the dress ride up slightly; she immediately tugged it back down. Her thoughts were scattered and fragmented. She needed to say something, needed to explain that this was wrong, that she wasn't supposed to be here, that she was the Director of Operations at Aegis Strategic Logistics, not some . . . not a child. ‘But I am wearing a diaper.’ What she had falsely admitted to Elena in the bathroom ran through her mind. The words wouldn't come. They tangled in her mind, slipping away before she could grasp them. She wasn’t sure if saying anything was the right call or just her pride rebelling.

Mrs. Hatcher's eyes narrowed slightly. "Stop fidgeting, young lady." The command was sharp, the kind of tone that expected immediate obedience. Sabrina's hands stilled, dropping to her sides. She felt her face flush, heat crawling up her neck and into her cheeks. She felt like a child caught misbehaving, like she'd done something wrong just by existing in this space.

"I'm not-" Sabrina started, her voice small and uncertain, "doing . . ." She stuttered under the piercing gaze, completely unlike her normal self

"Your shoes," Mrs. Hatcher interrupted, her gaze dropping to Sabrina's feet. The light-up sneakers that flashed with every step. "They'll be allowed for today. However, if you were to be enrolled, you would need to consult the school guide under the uniforms section to obtain the correct footwear. The school does not provide shoes."

‘Enrolled. That isn’t happening, you old crone.’ Still, the very idea of this going on made her mind swim, despite knowing that once she got in her penthouse, things were going to be fixed. Then those that wronged her would be brought to heel.

"We really should be going," Elena said smoothly, her hand returning to Sabrina's shoulder. "Lovely as the tour has been, I have that meeting with Mr. Sterling. I’m sure he and Mr. Vance shouldn't be kept waiting."

Mrs. Hatcher nodded, already turning her attention back to the papers on her desk. "Of course. Fourth grade classes are down the hall, second door on the left. Ms. Fujina, one of our science teachers, is expecting her."

Standing from her desk with practiced efficiency, Mrs. Hatcher glanced at the two. "I'll take you both to your destinations," she said, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

Sabrina's stomach dropped. Destinations. Plural. As if they weren't going to the same place. The thought slipped away as the older woman moved to the door back out to the hallway. Elena's hand on Sabrina’s shoulder guiding her forward.

The walls in this direction were covered in bulletin boards. Construction paper borders in primary colors. Red, yellow, and blue framed displays of children's artwork. Crayon drawings of families with stick-figure parents and oversized suns. Handwriting practice sheets with wobbly letters. A banner that read ‘SPRING INTO READING!’ with paper flowers and smiling cartoon books.

Sabrina's eyes tracked across them, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing. This was the area of the school used for elementary school. A real elementary school. With real children. She could hear them now, distant voices, high-pitched and energetic, filtering through closed classroom doors. Someone was singing. Someone else was counting. " . . . eighteen, nineteen, twenty . . ."

Her dress swished against her thighs with each step. She could feel how short it was, how the pleated navy fabric barely covered the bulk of the pull-up beneath. The white Peter Pan collar felt tight around her neck. The knee-high socks were slipping slightly, one of them starting to bunch around her ankle.

Mrs. Thatcher walked with the brisk, purposeful stride of an administrator who had places to be. Elena walked beside Sabrina, her hand still resting on the smaller woman's shoulder. The gesture could have been supportive, but it felt more controlling. Like a handler guiding a confused animal.

They passed a water fountain. A display case with a trophy read ‘BLACKWOOD ACADEMY SPELLING BEE CHAMPIONS.’

Sabrina's sneakers flashed with each step. Flash, flash, flash. She felt like she was floating. Like she was watching this happen to someone else. Like she was a ghost drifting through a building that didn't quite make sense, where the rules had changed and no one had told her what they were now.

They stopped in front of a door. Not one of the classroom doors; this one was different. Heavier. A small placard read ‘Edgar Sterling’s office.’

"Ms. Thorne, this is where you'll be meeting with Mr. Sterling and Mr. Vance," Mrs. Hatcher said. She opened the door to reveal a glimpse of the professional space beyond with a polished table and leather set chairs. The door to the man’s office initially looked like it opened to a small conference room, with another door at the back leading deeper in left slightly ajar.

Elena's hand left Sabrina's shoulder. The absence of it was immediate and disorienting, like a tether being cut.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hatcher," Elena said smoothly. Then she turned to Sabrina. Something in her expression shifted, softening in a way that was somehow worse than her usual cold efficiency. Elena crouched down until she was at Sabrina's level, bringing her face even with the smaller woman's; her emerald eyes met Sabrina's confused blue ones. "Alright, sweetie," Elena said, her voice taking on a tone that was gentle and condescending in equal measure, "I need to go talk with the grown-ups now. You're going to go with Mrs. Hatcher to your classroom, okay?"

Sabrina blinked. The words were English. She understood English. But they weren't making sense. "I- I should be in the meeting . . ."

"The meeting is for the adults, Rina," The school administrator said, seeing that the girl did not want to leave her family. She reached over to adjust the white bow in Sabrina's braided hair. "You're going to go learn some things with Ms. Fujina. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time learning and making friends."

"But, I-" Sabrina's voice was small, uncertain. "I'm supposed to-"

"Be good for your teacher," Elena interrupted, giving a kiss to Sabrina's forehead with a finality that made the smaller woman's stomach twist. "I'll come get you when we're done with the important business talk. Can you do that for me?"

Sabrina wanted to say no. Wanted to say that this was wrong. That a client meeting with someone who had so much money and influence shouldn't be held without her. She wanted to say that she was the Director of Operations and Elena was just an assistant. True, the full title was Assistant Manager, but the woman managed her calendar more than people.

The words wouldn't come. They were stuck somewhere in the fog, tangled up with all the other thoughts that wouldn't quite form. It was like the more she pushed herself to talk, the more that was happening, the more flustered she got. It was like a mental car pile up blocking all the traffic.

"I . . . " Sabrina whispered, feeling unsure of herself. An uncommon feeling, until recently.

Elena smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she stood back up to her full height. "She'll be fine," she said to the school employee, as if Sabrina weren't standing right there. "She's just a little nervous. First day jitters." Then Elena stepped into the office, and the door closed behind her with a soft, final click.

Standing there in the hallway, Sabrina stared at the closed door. Behind it, Sabrina could hear adult voices she recognized from work and phone calls, now fully knowing beyond a doubt what she already believed, that she should be in there.

"Come along, dear," Sabrina heard. The woman’s hand took the place where Elena's had been on Sabrina's shoulder. "Ms. Fujina is waiting for you."

And then they were moving again. Just the two of them now. Down the hallway, past more bulletin boards, more classroom doors, more evidence of the children that were around but out of sight from the hallway.

She stopped in front of a door, second on the left from the door to the front office just like she'd said. Sabrina's heart began to pound in her chest, a rapid, panicked rhythm that cut through the medication just enough for her to understand. The sudden and terrible clarity made it so the unease once again bordered on turning into a panic.

"Here we are," Mrs. Hatcher said, her hand on the doorknob.