Sissy Room

*See if you can catch the pop culture references in this chapter. They're not that subtle.*    Chapter 23: Recovery   Mei had just put Jimmy down for the night when his phone began to ring. The phone’s caller ID showed Joy was calling. Mei accepted the call, and a sobbing voice on the other end of the line identified themselves as Diane, Joy’s Mother. Her Mother informed her that Joy had been assaulted outside of her work. She was in the hospital in critical condition. Mei almost dropped the phone in disbelief. Who would want to attack Joy? The level of violence required to put her in critical condition definitely gave the impression that this had been personal, and not just a random mugging.    Mei had promised the crying woman on the other end of the line that they would be at the hospital as soon as they could. The woman assured her that there was no need to hurry. Joy had been placed in a medically induced coma to assist her recovery. She assured Mei that there was nothing she could do for Joy right now. Mei thanked the woman and hung up.    Mei did not sleep well at all that night. She lay there in bed thinking about Joy, tears streaming down her face. She had known Jimmy longer, but had grown to love Joy over these last months they had been spending together. The momma bear inside her raged at the person who had hurt her precious angel. It felt like she had only just fallen asleep when she heard the cries on the baby monitor by her bed.    She rolled out of bed with a groan and shuffled her way over to the nursery. When the door opened, Jimmy’s crying stopped, and a smile spread on his face at the sight of his Mommy. The smile quickly dropped as he saw his Mommy’s tired face. Her haggard, worried look frightened him, and he began to cry all over again.    Mei, remembering how well babies can pick up on the emotions of their caregivers, tried to force a smile. It helped a little, but Jimmy was still sniffling when she put him on the changing table. She did her best not to let her emotions show as she changed him, but it was difficult. Once he was clean and dry, she sat him up on the table and put a hand against each cheek. Looking him in the eyes, she tried to portray how serious the situation was to him.   “Jimmy, I know you’re having fun being Mommy’s baby, but I need you to try to be a big boy for a little bit. I need to talk to big Jimmy.”   Jimmy could feel the intensity and the urgency in her gaze, and his adult self came to the forefront of his mind.    “What is it, Mei? What’s happened? Is it your Mom?”   Mei shook her head, a fresh tear running down her face.   “It’s Joy, Jimmy. She’s in the hospital. She’s in the ICU in a coma. Someone attacked her last night and hurt her really badly. They’re concerned about internal bleeding and broken ribs. I got the call while you were asleep last night, and I’ve barely slept since. I was going to go down to the hospital to see her today. Do you feel like you can handle seeing her in her current condition, or would you rather not go?”   Jimmy burst into tears. How could this have happened? He was going to lose not only a friend but the first woman who had ever loved him in a non-platonic way. There was no way he could not go to the hospital and say goodbye to his first love.    “I want to see her. I want to say goodbye.”   Mei hugged him tightly and rocked back and forth with him, patting his back.    “Oh, Jimmy. Nobody said she was going to die. She’s just in a medically induced coma to help her recover. The doctors are taking very good care of her, I’m sure. Let’s get dressed, and then we’ll go to the hospital and see her.”   She chose a more adult outfit for Jimmy today, since they would be going out in public. Once she finished getting dressed, they ate a quiet breakfast before heading to the garage. Both of them were a nervous mess, but Jimmy especially was going through it. With very little traffic on a Sunday morning, they made it to the hospital quickly. It took a bit of coaxing from Mei to get Jimmy out of the car, but eventually they made their way into the hospital lobby.    The pair was escorted into the ICU to the room where Joy was being monitored. Before stepping into the room, Joy’s parents exited. Her mother had tear streaks from runny mascara, and her father’s eyes were red, like he had been crying as well. Mei introduced herself as one of Joy’s friends and introduced Jimmy as well. The arriving friends were given a warning of what they were about to see when they entered the room.   The sight that awaited them was horrible. Seeing her tiny, frail body hooked up with different wires and tubes in her nose and mouth was horrible. What was even worse was seeing the deep purple bruises that covered her face and body.  Her face was calm and showed no pain, thanks to the medically induced coma. The sight of her was too much for Jimmy, and he slipped back into headspace immediately and wailed.    “Joy! Wake up, Joy! Jimmy needs you, no go! Mommy, help Joy! Joy have ouchies. Mommy kiss better!”   Mei picked up the crying little one immediately, placing her arm underneath his butt, as his legs wrapped around her waist. She rocked him back and forth, bouncing him up and down. Grabbing the pacifier from the diaper bag that doubled as her purse, she placed it in Jimmy's mouth. Eventually, his crying slowed and turned into sniffles as he buried his face in his Mommy’s neck and fell asleep.    The pair sat with Joy for most of the day, taking turns with her parents, and ignoring curious looks in their direction from the medical staff. They all ordered food to the room. They didn’t want to leave her. Jimmy even received a diaper change on the floor of the hospital room. Jimmy spent a lot of time snuggling into his Mommy’s neck, but would get fussy with boredom every once in a while. There were very limited toys in the diaper bag, but they did enough to keep him entertained.    They were forced to leave when visiting hours ended and made a silent drive back home. Both of them are deep in thought. Jimmy is sitting in his car seat, sucking on his pacifier, and Mei is keeping her eyes on the road. The sullen silence hung over them when they got back to the apartment as well. That night, Jimmy slept in Mei’s bed. He didn’t want to be away from his Mommy right now.    The next morning, Jimmy was still in headspace as they made their way to the hospital. They had only been there for about an hour when the doctor came into the room and looked at the four people sitting by the bedside.   “Are you her family?”   Mei was the first to answer.   “These folks over here are her parents, I’m just a friend, and this is her boyfriend.”   When Jimmy was introduced as Joy’s boyfriend, the doctor raised an eyebrow in astonishment. Sitting on the woman’s lap appeared to be a very large thirteen-year-old boy wearing a diaper and sucking on a pacifier. He held his tongue and proceeded to inform them of Joy’s condition.    “Well, her injuries were significant. She suffered a concussion, lacerations to the head and arms, three broken ribs, severe bruising of the body, including her bladder, and a punctured lung. She was just lucky that someone scared off her attacker, or she might not have made it. We don’t believe she should have any lasting damage. You can never be sure until they wake up. I would warn about the risk of temporary incontinence with the bruising to her bladder, but since it seems that she’s already incontinent, that’s not necessary.    The good news is, she’s out of the woods. We’ve upgraded her condition to stable, and will be moving her out of the ICU this afternoon. Once we’ve moved her into her new room, we will be waking her out of her coma to assess the possibility of brain damage. Also, do you know if her incontinence is a recent issue? We have no mention of it in her medical records. She arrived wearing a very soiled diaper, which was a bit surprising given her medical history shown on her chart.”   Mei smiled to herself a bit. Joy would likely be mortified when she found out about the doctors' finding out that she was incontinent, especially if they ever found out it was by choice. Diane was the one to answer this time.   “She has been in diapers full-time since she was seventeen, and was wetting the bed before that. So, that would be six years she’s been incontinent.”   The doctor seemed satisfied with that answer.   “Well, perhaps she had been able to hide it from her Primary Care Physician somehow. Anyway, it’s noted in her records now. I’ll have a nurse show you to her new room, and they will bring her down shortly.”   Right on cue, an older nurse popped her head through the door. She made small talk with Mei as they walked down the halls of the hospital, cooing at Jimmy now and then. Every time, Jimmy would just hide his face in Mei’s shoulder. His shyness elicited light chuckles of amusement from the grown-ups. As they approached Joy’s new room, the conversation dropped. Standing outside the room were two figures, detectives’ badges hanging from their belt loops. The nurse made her exit, leaving the two detectives to their business.    “Excuse us, would you happen to be the friends and family of Joy Watkins by chance?”   The female detective was the one to speak, keeping her voice low after seeing what appeared to be a sleeping child in Mei’s arms. She looked at the back of Jimmy and smiled faintly at what she figured must be a special needs child based on the clear diaper and pacifier clip attached to his shirt.    She was doing her best not to spook the child of this potential witness, which is why she took the lead for this interview. In her experience, her partner’s slightly cold demeanor could frighten some children. When Mei nodded in answer to her question, she introduced herself and her partner.    “Well, I’m Detective Montoya, and this is Detective Bullock. We were hoping to ask you a few questions about your daughter and friend, and if you had any knowledge that could help in our investigation. If we can take a moment of your time, please, let's take a seat in the chairs here. I imagine carrying your little one constantly can get pretty tiring.”   Detective Bullock escorted the parents into the hall to begin his interview. It was better to separate everyone so that any inconsistencies could be pointed out later. If they couldn’t confer with each other, they couldn’t all come up with the same answers. He closed the door and escorted the parents to an empty room across the hallway.   Still in the room, Detective Montoya motioned to two chairs that had been placed inside the room. Mei sat down in the padded chair, and the detective sat across from her in a folding chair that had been brought in earlier. The detective removed a recording device from her pocket and held it to her mouth.   “This is Detective Renee Montoya. The time is currently 11:30 in the morning on August 11th, 2029. I’m currently sitting with a friend of the victim, Joy Watkins. If you could please introduce yourself and indicate your relationship to the victim. As for the boy, ma’am, it’s your choice if you wish to enter the Minor child sitting on your lap into the record.”   Mei smiled faintly at the continued belief that Jimmy truly was a child.     “My name is Mei Watanabe, and I am a friend of Joy’s and an occasional provider of goods and services.  In my arms is Jimmy Dalton, her boyfriend.”   If Detective Montoya was surprised by this, she had a very good poker face. After acknowledging the people in front of her were speaking of their own free will, she got started. Her first few questions centered on where Mei and Jimmy were last night, what they were doing, and if there was anyone who could corroborate their alibi.  Mei told the truth, that they had been in her apartment together watching TV. No, nobody else could place them there.    The next set of questions revolved around Joy’s personal life, her romantic life, and her friends. Could they think of anyone who might have a grudge against Joy? Did you owe money to anyone? Any jilted lovers wanting payback for a bad breakup? Mei gave what information she knew. They had only been friends for a few months. No grudges, no debts, and no jilted lovers that she knew about. She had Jimmy turn around and face the detective, and do his best to answer the same questions, as he had known her longer.   Jimmy didn’t really have anything to add. He didn’t really understand what was going on, just that his friend Joy was hurt. The Detective smiled at him, but he was still feeling upset after seeing Joy and hid in his Mommy’s neck. Detective Bullock came back into the room as his partner finished with her interview. The detectives thanked them for their time, breaking off the interview as Joy was wheeled into the room.    Detective Bullock gruffly asked the nurse when they would be able to speak to the victim, and was informed that she likely wouldn’t be up for facing questions until tomorrow at the earliest. Bullock, not thrilled with this answer and having to make a second trip to the hospital, stalked out of the room.    Detective Montoya stayed back for a moment, stepping to Mei and whispering in her ear.   “Your little boy is adorable. You’re a lucky Mommy! When this case is over, my little girl needs a playmate. Perhaps we can organize a play date?”   The Detective handed Mei a card with her personal number written on it, shook Mei’s hand, and thanked her for the help. Mei received and quickly tucked it away for later. She had not been expecting the detective to be into Age Play. Once she left, her focus shifted back to Joy as the nurses were working around her.    The doctor joined them shortly after the detectives left. The doctor ordered the nurses to push the medication and wake Joy from her coma. It was not immediate, but after about thirty minutes, Joy finally began to stir. Fifteen minutes later, her eyes began to flutter open and closed rapidly. One of the nurses looked over to Mei, standing back by the chair so as not to be in anybody’s way.   “You can step over here. It might do her some good to see a friendly face when she wakes up. She’s going to be very disoriented and will likely panic as her last memories are of trauma.”   Mei carefully approached the bed, still holding Jimmy, who was now asleep in her arms. She stood next to the bed, holding Joy’s hand with her free hand. She began to make soothing rubbing motions on the back of Joy’s hand and positioned herself to be the first thing Joy would see.    Fifteen minutes later, Joy finally opened her eyes and kept them open. As predicted, she immediately panicked and began to thrash back and forth in the bed to escape the hand that had captured hers. The nurses held her down so she would not hurt herself, and Mei brought her face close to Joy once again. Joy finally seemed to see Mei and began to calm down. She stopped thrashing and immediately burst into tears.    “Mommy! Mommy, it hurt! I hurt! Bad man hurt Joy. Bad man wan hurt Jimmy.”

Can't have new customers until they buy more adult diapers.  The sorority is using them all.

Again, thanks to everyone's comments. You are correct, Avery should have a security guard.  Missed that. This chapter lays the groundwork for the next phase of the book.  I think this sets up what everyone has really been waiting for between Avery and Darelene.  Enjoy... Chapter 54 - Heart to Heart Darlene stepped outside with Laurisa, the hospital environment's sterile hush momentarily broken by the whisper of their footsteps on the polished floor. They were on their way to see Christy. As they approached the designated room, the solemn presence of an assigned police officer standing guard outside the door was a stark reminder of the circumstances that had brought them here. "Officer Marty," Laurisa began with a professional but familiar tone. "How's your wife, Sarah, doing with her new schedule? I remember you mentioning she was trying to get those evening shifts." Officer Marty offered a small, appreciative nod. "She got them, thank you for asking, Laurisa. Still adjusting, but it's working out better for her and our family." "That's wonderful to hear." Laurisa then shifted her focus. "This is Darlene, a co-worker of Christy's," she announced, her voice professionally modulated. She performed the requisite action of showing her badge to the officer, a formality often observed even when the officer was already acquainted with her and her role. "I would like to bring her into the room, if you don't mind. They worked together and were often friends. Sometimes, hearing a kind and familiar voice is beneficial for the patient." Laurisa paused, her gaze holding the officer's, conveying the sincerity of her therapeutic suggestion. "Given the lack of immediate family being present and any other known friends available right now, I would like to use Darlene's presence as a part of therapy, engaging with the subconscious mind, if you approve." Officer Marty, a man whose regular assignments had familiarized him with Dr. Malaise's unique approaches, offered a slight, acknowledging smile. "Sure, Dr. Malaise," he responded, his tone respectful. He stepped aside, gesturing for her to pass. "You may enter, but please log in first." He extended the clipboard, its surface bearing the patient's record and the security log—a mandatory procedure for anyone entering or leaving the room in such a high-profile situation. "No problem, I always do," Laurisa confirmed, accepting the clipboard. She quickly scribbled her name, the time of entry, and her purpose, then passed the clipboard to Darlene. "Darlene, you too. It's standard protocol." Darlene, a little unnerved by the formality and the police presence, signed her name with a slightly trembling hand as the gravity of the situation sank in further. She wasn’t accustomed to situations like this like her sister was. Once they had taken the few steps inside, the room's atmosphere was eerily quiet, an oppressive silence that seemed to absorb all other sounds. The only interruptions to the hush were the rhythmic, soft beeps and hums of the medical machines monitoring Christy's fragile life signs. Christy herself was lying in a hospital bed, a figure of profound stillness, deep asleep in a coma. As they walked in, the sight of Christy was jarring. Her head was heavily swathed in a thick, white surgical bandage, the primary, unmistakable sign of the recent, life-saving neurosurgery she'd endured to relieve the dangerous pressure from multiple brain bleeds. The trauma to her face was brutally evident, a collage of purple and yellow bruises starkly contrasted against her unnaturally pale skin. She was utterly reliant on machines, connected by tubes: a feeding tube disappeared down her throat, and a thin tube delivered a steady flow of oxygen into her nose, completing the portrait of a body fighting for life. It was a sight of profound, stark injury, far from the person she barely knew. It took Darlene a significant moment to gather herself, the sudden shock almost overwhelming. She felt a wave of dizziness, the room seeming to tilt slightly as she fought to maintain her composure. This young girl, Christy, only 24 years old, whom Darlene barely knew beyond brief, kind interactions at work—particularly the gentle way Christy had always treated Avery—was now lying utterly helpless in a coma before her. The contrast between the vibrant, kind co-worker and the fragile figure in the bed was a devastating sight, etching a deep sense of sorrow and helplessness into Darlene's heart. Laurisa walked over to Christy and held her hand.  “From talking to the doctor, she had three brain bleeds in her head that caused swelling, which required an emergency craniotomy, where a section of the skull bone was temporarily removed to access the brain. The surgeons had to meticulously locate the different sources of bleeding and diffuse each of the bleeds to prevent the widespread swelling. They had to use a specialized technique to evacuate the various hematomas by suctioning and washing the pooled blood. The neurosurgeons then had to carefully identify and stop the bleeding vessels. A small drain was inserted before closing to monitor and remove any residual fluid or blood.” Laurisa pointed to the two small tubes they had inserted into her skull. This made Darlene need to sit down.  It was too much.  This poor girl.  Tears slide down her face. “John deserves to be put away for life for this,” Darlene.  She paused as she remembered the moment of letting John slip away and going back for Avery instead. Thinking she should have chased after him. She was so torn about what the right thing to do was now.  Part of her still thought staying with Avery was the right thing, but looking at Christy, she couldn’t help but feel she should have left Avery, taken her chances, and chased after him.  On the way to Christy’s room, Laurisa had confessed that John was still at large and they were still looking for him.  He had somehow managed to evade the police and had not returned home. Was John being on the loose her fault now? She felt like it. She thought to herself. Laurisa, still holding Christy’s hand, looked over to Darlene. “I wanted you to know this for two reasons.  One, I do think that if you talk to Christy, it might be good for her to hear a voice she knows.  Two, I think it might be good to tell Avery now, because he needs to know sooner rather than later. Plus, if they worked together as much as you say. Then his voice might mean more than yours to her.  We have no one else close that I know of right now for her.” Darlene looked up at Lauria. “We can’t. This... “  she paused. “He isn’t able to handle something like this.”  She shook her head in denial. “This is too much, too soon. He’s operating on a core survivalist mode right now. How can I drop this kind of devastating news on a nineteen-year-old man who is psychologically cuddling up to me? The shock alone could send him into that ‘complete breakdown, ' and you know it.” Laurisa set her hand on Darlene’s arm, her gaze steady. “Darlene, I understand your fear. It comes from a place of deep, protective instinct, which you developed by saving him, to be honest. But think of the long-term trauma of omission. Avery is a genius; his mind is fighting for control. He will sense that you are holding a massive secret, and that secrecy will register as a lack of safety and trust. It will shatter the safety dynamic he is building with you. You cannot heal a person by lying to them, even by omission.” “But he’s barely holding on! He thinks the whole world is a jagged place to land right now. Seeing Christy, seeing the tubes and the bandages—it will tear that fragile sense of safety apart. And what about John? He’s still at large. Avery is already a victim and a key witness; if John knows Avery is close to Christy, he’s in more danger than ever. I need to protect him.” Darlene pleaded, her voice rising to a strained whisper. “You protect him by choosing to let him process reality with your support,” Laurisa insisted. “You frame it as a truth that you will anchor him through, not a burden he has to carry alone. And what about Christy? She is lying in a coma, entirely alone, with no known family close by or friends to offer comfort. We are engaging her subconscious mind. Avery is the one person we know who can cut through the noise. His voice, his presence—it’s a therapeutic tool for her. He deserves the chance to offer it, and she deserves the chance to hear it.” Darlene leaned back, a profound, helpless anger washing over her features. “It’s like being forced to choose which person to wound less. You’re asking me to risk everything for him, when he’s already shattered, for a therapeutic chance I can’t even guarantee.” “I’m asking you to trust in his innate capacity to heal, which can only happen once he feels safe enough to process the truth,” Laurisa gently corrected. “Also asking you to trust me in my expertise and as your sister.” Darlene ran a trembling hand through her hair, defeated. “Fine. You win. We tell him. You’re right—it’s what is required. But I need you to be there. I can’t just walk up to his bed and say, ‘Hey, your coworker is in a coma because of John.’ He’ll break. I don’t know how to tell him without causing the worst kind of emotional relapse. I am not equipped for that.” “That is what we will do,” Laurisa said, her expression softening with sisterly empathy. “We will formulate a clinical approach to delivering the truth, a way to build a safety net around the shock.” "Darlene, there is something else—something critically important and highly sensitive. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't dare share this; it is privileged and confidential information, and if this ever got back to the board, I would lose my license. You have to keep this completely to yourself." Darlene leaned forward, her expression instantly shifting from relaxed curiosity to grave concern. "Stop right there," she interjected, her voice dropping to a low, serious whisper. "Say no more. You know I will understand I am your sister. I hear the weight of this. My lips are sealed, absolutely and completely. You have my word." "About four years ago, Christy was engaged. During that engagement, she had a series of incidents—I counted at least four—that resulted in calls to the police regarding domestic abuse. However, she never followed through with the reports and never formally filed charges. One of those incidents was a domestic rape. The documentation is horrific, and from what I can piece together, she finally reached a breaking point, fled the state where she was living, and immediately filed a formal restraining order against her ex-fiancé." Darlene drew a sharp, involuntary breath, pressing the heel of her hand against her mouth as if to stifle a gasp. Her eyes were wide, fixed on her colleague. She didn't speak, but her entire posture radiated shock and deep-seated distress, a silent demand for her to continue, a raw understanding of the horror in her words as she looked over a Christy in her current state. "Out of professional curiosity, and perhaps to satisfy my own sense of needing to understand the danger, I looked him up. What I discovered is deeply concerning. He comes from an extremely wealthy and powerful family whose patriarch is a sitting U.S. Senator. This is not just a personal conflict; this man has the resources and the political influence to make things very difficult for anyone, especially Christy, who tries to cross him. This explains why she has been so guarded and why her move was so abrupt and total. It also explains her fear of involving the authorities again." "A U.S. Senator?" Darlene's voice was barely a tremor, thick with a terrible realization. She shook her head slowly, a look of profound, helpless anger washing over her features. "This goes beyond complex. It means she wasn't just escaping an abuser; she was fleeing an entire system of power and protection. She's been living in a constant state of siege. God, the poor girl and now this." She let out a long, shuddering sigh, her eyes glistening with a few tears for her as she looked over at Christy lying in her coma. “Can’t anyone just get a break around her?” She wiped away a few tears from her face. "I can only speculate, but based on the limited details and the unusual circumstances, something about this situation doesn't sound right at all. There are too many inconsistencies and unanswered questions that raise significant red flags. What truly worries me is the existing layer of past trauma—a trauma that was already deep and difficult to manage. This current event is not occurring in a vacuum; it is being compounded by previous, unresolved emotional and psychological damage. This new trauma is only going to make the road to recovery exponentially harder, turning what might have been a long process into a truly formidable and agonizing journey. We are now dealing with an acute crisis layered upon a chronic wound." Darlene nodded slowly, her expression now one of deep, professional recognition mixed with empathy. "The re-traumatization," she murmured, articulating the grim clinical reality. "It’s a catastrophic failure of her defense mechanisms. The foundation was already cracked, and this new blow has compromised the entire structure. The emotional scar tissue is going to be ripped open. You're right, the healing process is no longer linear; it's terrifying." "I have always prided myself on maintaining a professional and objective distance, a necessary shield when dealing with the sheer volume of pain and tragedy that passes through my office. I don’t often get emotionally involved in a lot of cases—it's a survival mechanism, really—but this one has managed to pierce through that defense. This one has truly gotten to me. The sheer injustice and the depth of the suffering involved are profound. It's a case that sticks with you long after you've closed the file, one that brings the human cost of these events into stark, unbearable focus." Darlene reached across the space between them and gently squeezed her arm, her eyes conveying a shared sorrow and responsibility. "I know. I can feel it just from hearing you talk about it," she said softly, her voice full of solidarity. "When a case breaks through your professional wall, it means the suffering is so pure, so fundamentally wrong, that it demands a human response. You're not losing your objectivity; you're confirming your humanity. So, what do we do? How do we proceed?” I don’t know just need to know I have my sister at my back and some one to talk to about since this has me so emotionally bound.” Lausira looked at Darlene with a tear in her eye as Darlene reached over to give her a long hug. “Of course, we sisters always have each other. We are all we got in the end.” After the embrace, Darlene pulled away and walked over to Christy to do what she came here to originally do for Laurisa, listening to the machines. Darlene finally met Christy’s gaze, or rather, the space where her gaze should have been, finding only the pale, bruised canvas of her face and the stark white of the surgical bandages. The sight was a punch to the gut—the vibrant, kind coworker she knew replaced by a fragile, still figure. She knelt slightly, her movements stiff with a mix of reverence and fear, and reached for Christy’s hand. Her own fingers, cool and trembling, carefully wrapped around Christy's, which felt unnaturally slack and warm. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Darlene forced herself to focus, channeling the raw empathy she felt. She spoke, her voice a low, rough murmur, barely above the humming of the medical equipment, a sound she hoped could cut through the dark fog of the coma. “Hi, Christy. It’s Darlene. I know you’re in there, and I know this is a... a really dark place right now. I just wanted you to hear a friendly voice, a familiar one, and know that you are not alone.” A single tear traced a path down Darlene’s cheek, which she ignored. She tightened her grip on the young woman's hand, conveying a strength she didn't feel. “You’re strong, Christy. I’ve seen it in the way you used to be with Avery at work—always so patient, so genuinely kind. He really... he really cares about you. And you are a fighter. You got out of that terrible situation before, and you can fight this now. That strength is still in you. The surgeons did an amazing job, but now it’s your turn. You have to keep fighting, okay? For yourself. For the future you deserve. Just... just hold on, Christy. Hold on for us. We’ll be here when you open your eyes.” She paused, bowing her head over their joined hands, letting the sincerity of her sorrow and the fierce, protective intent settle into the silence. It was a silent, desperate prayer of solidarity to a sleeping mind. She stayed that way for a long time, listening to the monotonous beeps, until the sheer weight of the clinical description of Christy’s injuries and the helplessness of the situation finally broke her composure. Darlene and Laurisa walked out of Christy’s hospital room. There was a sense of sadness for Christy that Darelene felt.  She couldn’t shake the feeling of how alone she would feel when she woke up and scared. She didn’t know what she could offer her, but she had Avery to worry about, and she agreed with Laurisa that she needed to talk to Avery about Christy. This was going to be a difficult conversation.  This day had started out to be much harder than she had thought it was going to be. As they walked back towards Avery’s room, Darlene stopped Christy midway. Can we talk over coffee and breakfast in the cafeteria before we head back? “I would like to talk about Avery in private, away from him, with you.”  “Sure, sis,” Laurisa smiled They made it to the hospital cafeteria, a brightly lit space with the faint aroma of burnt toast and weak coffee, and each ordered a simple breakfast sandwich and a steaming cup of coffee. The small rituals of normalcy were a welcome anchor in the turbulent waters of the past few days. They found an empty corner in the back of the cafeteria, tucked away behind a stack of unused chairs and tables, providing a semblance of privacy from the rest of the noisy, crowded room. Darlene took hold of the warm coffee cup, savoring the comforting heat that radiated into her palms. She brought the cup closer to her face, letting the steam rise and kiss her skin, a brief moment of warmth against the chill that seemed to settle deep in her bones these days. Her sister sat across  She took a deep, deliberate breath, the steam from her coffee warming her face one last time before she decided to speak.  "When Avery came out from surgery, he said he wanted to be my baby," she began, her voice a low, hesitant murmur. She paused, running a finger around the rim of her cup. "I know that was the anesthesia and the pain drugs talking, and I tried to dismiss it. But then, this morning, as I was changing him—which is a whole new layer of regression I hadn't anticipated—he looked up at me and said, 'Thanks, Mom.' Not Darlene, but 'Mom.' I know he was joking to make light of the situation, but he has never said that before.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, her gaze earnest. "He has been different since the attack. He's more vulnerable, more clingy to me, more needy. Or maybe just sweeter and less guarded. I can't quite put my finger on the exact change, but it’s significant. I know you and Ashley have noticed. It’s got me thinking, Laurisa." Darlene took a small bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "He isn’t going to be able to go back to his apartment, not with his dominant right hand in a metal cast and his emotional state. He'll need constant assistance for a couple of months at least. And honestly, I don't think he is psychologically okay to be on his own after this attack. He was attacked, hurt, and almost killed. He is going to have nightmares for God knows how long. I think he is going to have panic attacks away from people he trusts, away from me." She pushed her plate away, the untouched food a testament to her anxiety. "I am thinking about that regression therapy again, the idea we discussed a while ago, even though he rejected it before, and I want to bring it up to him —and to you—again. I need your professional opinion. The truth is, the regression has already started without any formal therapy. He is already wearing diapers for his incontinence, he cuddles a stuffed animal, he has his Big Reg dog back at the apartment, and now the Blue Dragon that Tilly gave him, and he keeps curling up on me whenever I sit or lie near him, almost seeking a lap to rest on. It’s a lot, and it feels like he’s trying to go back to a time when he felt safe and protected. What are your thoughts?" Laurisa, a woman of deep professional calm, didn't look surprised by the question. Darlene's observations mirrored what she had seen in many trauma patients. She lifted her coffee cup, taking a long, contemplative sip, her eyes scanning the busy cafeteria, but her mind focused entirely on Darlene's words. She paused to think for a while, carefully formulating her response to ensure it was both empathetic and clinically sound before finally responding with a measured, professional answer. "What you are describing," Laurisa began, her tone shifting from familial warmth to clinical precision, "is consistent with an acute stress response manifesting as some form of age regression. It's a defense mechanism, Darlene, and given Avery's history and with the current trauma, it is entirely expected." Darlene leaned forward across the small, round cafeteria table, her untouched tea cooling beside her. Her voice was a hushed whisper, thick with disbelief and a raw anxiety that she couldn't mask. "Expected? Laurisa, how can you look at me and say that's expected? He called me 'Mom.' He is a thirty-two-year-old man, a victim of unspeakable torture, and he is lying in a hospital bed in diapers, accepting my care without question. How can you say that this profound, terrifying regression is simply expected?" The word 'expected' was spat out, a rejection of her sister's calm, clinical assessment. Laurisa, a psychologist specializing in trauma and attachment disorders, maintained her composure. She set her heavy cardboard cup down with a deliberate, soft clink, the sound a small anchor in the chaotic emotional space between them. Folding her hands neatly on the table, she met Darlene's frantic gaze. "When the adult mind is subjected to trauma that it cannot process—especially something as prolonged, intimate, and degrading as the torture and helplessness Avery experienced with John—it often resorts to an extreme, psychological defense mechanism. It retreats. It seeks a state of existence where the massive, crushing burden of survival and responsibility is completely placed on someone else. For Avery, who was tragically robbed of a secure, foundational childhood attachment—that stable base we all need—his psyche is attempting to repair that original, foundational crack by reverting to a state of absolute, total dependency." Laurisa's gaze grew intense, her professional demeanor overlaid with the deep concern of a sister. She leaned in slightly, ensuring Darlene understood the gravity and the mechanism of what she was witnessing. "The 'Mom' slip? The constant, silent desire to be held and comforted? The quiet, unprotesting acceptance of the diapers and the intimate, helpless care? That isn't just the pharmacological effect of the morphine, Darlene. The sheer trauma stripped away his thirty-two years of adult defenses and coping mechanisms. He is currently operating on a primitive, core survivalist level. Psychologically, he is actively seeking a 'Primary Attachment Figure.' And because you saved him—because you physically carried him out of that hell, and have tended to his most basic, intimate biological needs without a single sign of shame, disgust, or hesitation-he has profoundly imprinted on you as that figure. You represent unconditional safety and life itself to him right now, something he has never had." Laurisa let the objection hang in the air, allowing the sudden spike of panic to subside. She waited, letting the soft, rhythmic noise of the hospital cafeteria—the clatter of trays, the low hum of conversation—wash over them for a moment. "Regarding your plan to take him in, which I wholeheartedly agree with... medically and psychologically, you are absolutely correct in your impulse. He cannot return to that apartment, not now. Isolation right now would likely lead to severe, debilitating PTSD, a complete dissociative break, or a genuine psychotic episode. His nervous system is completely dysregulated; it's a live wire. He needs constant co-regulation to stabilize, to feel another calm nervous system nearby to anchor to." Laurisa took a deep, steadying breath, her expression softening with empathy, but her professional resolve remaining intact. "If we are going to do this—if we are going to pursue something formal, something necessary like Regression Therapy or 'Reparenting'—we have to stop stumbling into it out of necessity and structure it. We must take ownership of the process. By formalizing the regression, by naming it and structuring the boundaries, we take the massive shame out of it for him. We frame it not as a failure of his adulthood or a permanent mental breakdown, but as a deliberate, therapeutic tool designed to heal the 'inner child' that was profoundly neglected and ultimately traumatized. You wouldn't just be his caretaker; you would be consciously acting as a temporary, surrogate attachment figure to systematically rewrite his neural pathways regarding safety, security, and love. It's a deep, foundational re-programming." "So, you're saying I need to consciously, deliberately become his... his 'Mom,' even though I'm not, which I get." Darlene's eyes were wide with mixed feelings. “But, will that make him worse in the long run? Will he ever, truly, fully come back to himself? The adult Avery?" "It's a temporary, structured therapeutic measure, Darlene. It is not permanent," Laurisa assured her with unwavering certainty. "Done correctly, with constant professional guidance, it is the only way he will come back. We are not indulging a fantasy; we are giving his shattered mind psychological permission to feel safe enough to put down the survival shield and begin to heal. We will manage the regression, we will set the parameters, and we will not let the regression manage him and his life," Laurisa concluded. "But it is a commitment unlike any other. Are you willing to commit to that structure? To be his temporary anchor? It could take a year or two." Laurisa could see Darlene’s mind turning as she was thinking about this seriously, but she wanted to make sure she had all the facts and information before she made the decision. She reached across the table, covering Darlene's hand with her own. "But Darlene, you need to understand the transfer of power here. If he submits to this, if he accepts you as 'Mom' in a therapeutic context, he is giving you total control. It is a profound responsibility. Are you ready for him to be entirely dependent on you, not just for his physical recovery, but for his emotional restructuring?" Laurisa leaned back, her gaze shifting from Darlene’s hands to her face, her expression softening from clinician to sister, though her words remained piercingly analytical. "That is the clinical picture for him, Darlene. But as your sister and a psychologist, I need you to look at the clinical picture for you." Laurisa paused, waiting until Darlene met her eyes. Darlene's throat was tight, and she could feel the familiar sting behind her eyes. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, her focus fixed on the polished wood. She didn't want to meet Laurisa's gaze because she knew what she would see: a mirror of the truth she was trying to avoid. "We cannot ignore the counter-transference happening here. You aren't just a benevolent friend stepping in to help a coworker. You are a grieving mother who was robbed of her child nine months ago. You are a woman with a nursery you just dismantled, and a uterus so damaged you were told you could never carry another life." A choked, barely audible sound escaped Darlene. "Stop," she whispered, her voice strained. "It's not about me. It's about a child who needs an intervention. A chance." Laurisa lowered her voice, leaning over the table to create a private sphere amidst the cafeteria noise. "And Darlene, we have to address the physical reality. You are still lactating. You are still pumping milk two to three times a day. I know you stepped away to the bathroom yesterday, not just to wash your face, but because your body was demanding it. Physically and hormonally, your body has been stuck in a loop of postpartum readiness without a baby to receive it." Darlene finally looked up, her eyes bright with unshed tears, but her expression defiant. "And what does that have to do with helping him? It makes me qualified. I know what that void feels like. I have the resources, physical and emotional, to fill it. He needs that; I have that to give. It's not a coincidence, Laurisa. It's an opportunity." She sighed, her voice thick with empathy. "If you enter into this dynamic—if you become his 'Mom' in a therapeutic sense—you are not just healing him. You are filling the void left by the daughter you lost. It creates a symbiotic trauma bond. He is desperate to be the child he never got to be, and you are desperate to be the mother you never got to be. It is a perfect lock and key mechanism." Laurisa reached out, squeezing Darlene's hand tightly. "That doesn't mean it's wrong. In fact, it might be the only thing that saves you both from drowning in your respective grief. But you have to know that if you do this, if you let him regress and you take on that maternal role, it will be incredibly hard to undo. You won't just be playing a part; you will be satisfying a biological and psychological need that you have been denying for months. Are you prepared to have your heart broken again if he heals and leaves, or are you prepared for this to become your new reality indefinitely?" Darlene didn't pull her hand away. The warmth of Laurisa's grip was a tether. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, but she wiped it away fiercely. "I am prepared for it to be my new reality," she stated, her voice quiet but firm, the resolve in her tone undeniable. "I can't save my daughter, but I can save him. And maybe, in doing that, I save myself." Laurisa leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a serious, hushed tone that cut through the background noise of the cafeteria. She needed Darlene to understand the gravity of the methodology she was proposing. "Okay, then let's talk about the methodology of Regression Therapy. We need a safety protocol that is absolutely unbreakable." "Darlene, you need to understand that true Regression Therapy is not merely about managing incontinence or offering comfort during a nightmare. It isn't just about the diapers," Laurisa said, her eyes locked on her sister's. "It is about a total, consensual surrender of control. He has to give up his adult autonomy to you. He has to trust you enough to let you become his external frontal lobe, his regulator, his mother." She began to tick points off on her fingers, her clinical demeanor surfacing. "This means you take over everything. You decide when it is bedtime and when he wakes up. You decide when he bathes, and you are the one washing him. You decide what he eats, and you feed him if necessary. You decide what he wears every single day, stripping away the armor of his adult wardrobe to keep him in that vulnerable headspace." Laurisa paused, making sure Darlene was absorbing every word. "And regarding the hygiene... You handled a wet diaper earlier with grace. But total regression means total dependency. It means you are responsible for all his changes. You will be cleaning him up after bowel movements, wiping him, powdering him, handling the messiest parts of a human body without flinching. He has to know that no part of him is too shameful for you to care for." "And it goes beyond the physical," Laurisa continued, her voice intense. "He will be expected to surrender his adult behaviors. No retreating into complex mathematics or work to hide from his feelings. He will be expected to learn how to play with toys, with coloring books, and with the dragon Tilly gave him. For a nineteen-year-old genius who survived by being hyper-independent, mentally regressing into a state of play will be excruciatingly difficult. His adult ego will fight it. He will feel foolish. He will rebel." "That is where you come in," Laurisa said, pointing a finger at Darlene. "You will be expected to correct his behavior. You cannot just be the soft place to land; you have to be the authority. You have to provide the discipline and structure he never received. You have to be willing to tell him 'no,' to put him in time-out, to enforce the rules of his regression even when he is screaming that he hates you, just like he did at his apartment." She sat back, exhaling slowly. "He won't cease to be an adult entirely—we can carve out specific 'adult time' for work or necessary communication—but that time is decided by you, not him. It has to be negotiated and strictly adhered to before we even start. This isn't playing house, Darlene. This is a grueling psychological reconstruction. It will be exhausting for you and terrifying for him. Are you truly ready to take that much control?"Darlene stared at her sister, the background hum of the cafeteria now a distant, irrelevant noise. Her mind was reeling from the sheer, overwhelming totality of what Laurisa had described. "Laurisa," Darlene started, her voice a little shaky, "I... I understand the seriousness. I really do. But I have so many questions, and honestly, a lot of it sounds terrifying. You're talking about a complete psychological overhaul." She put her elbows on the table and leaned in, mirroring her sister's earlier intensity. "Let's start with the safety protocol. You said it has to be 'absolutely unbreakable.' What does that look like in practice? Does that mean a safe word? A specific signal? How do we ensure that he, or I, can stop the session if it becomes too much, too overwhelming, and he genuinely needs his adult self back?" Darlene ran a hand through her hair, her expression troubled. "And the control... I accept that I have to be his regulator, his mother. But stripping away everything—his adult wardrobe, his food choices, his sleep—isn't that dangerous? How do we keep him from feeling completely dehumanized, or worse, feeling like he's being punished or imprisoned? Where is the line between therapeutic regression and trauma?" Laurisa leaned forward, her voice calm and measured. "That line is precisely why we're having this conversation, Darlene. It's about replacing the adult structure, not simply removing it. The key is in the word 'therapeutic.' Every restriction must be framed not as a punishment, but as a necessary developmental step. For example, the wardrobe isn't 'stripped away,' it's replaced with clothes appropriate for his mental age. His food choices become the healthy, simple choices a child needs for growth. He's not being punished; he's being protected from the stress of adult decisions he's currently incapable of handling. We maintain his humanity by ensuring his essential physical and emotional needs are met with absolute consistency and love, the way a good mother would." She paused, taking a breath. "You mentioned carving out specific 'adult time.' How much time are we talking about? A few hours a week? Every day? And what constitutes 'necessary communication'? Is it only for work, or can he use it to talk to me as an equal, to process what's happening outside of the regression role? I need to know the exact boundaries before I agree to enforce them." "The 'adult time' is a lifeline, not a permanent escape," Laurisa explained. "Initially, we're talking about thirty minutes, three times a week, maximum. It will be scheduled, perhaps after you've put his child persona to bed, and it should be done in a different, neutral setting. The communication during this time must be strictly necessary—work logistics, medical decisions, and yes, briefly processing major emotional shifts he can't articulate in his child role. It is not a time for long philosophical debates or planning the future. It’s a pressure-release valve. The boundary is this: outside of that scheduled 30 minutes, you only communicate with the child. If the adult emerges spontaneously, you gently and immediately redirect him back into the child role. The consistency is the therapy." "Finally, the discipline," Darlene said, her voice dropping. "I've seen him angry. He's nineteen, and a genius. If I put him in a time-out, he's not going to just sit there and accept it. What is the protocol for dealing with rebellion or a full-blown tantrum where he's screaming that he hates me? If he lashes out physically—not at me, but at his environment—what am I authorized to do to enforce the structure? Because I need to be prepared to be the authority, but I also need to make sure I don't break his trust permanently." Laurisa met her gaze steadily. "A genius in the body of a nineteen-year-old having a tantrum is terrifying, I understand. The protocol is containment, not confrontation. 'Time-out' for him is a safe, boring space—a room that has been completely stripped of anything that can be damaged or weaponized. If he rebels, you do not argue. You simply state the boundary and physically escort him to the safe space, using only the minimum force necessary for safety, which means blocking doors or gently guiding him by the elbow. If he screams, 'I hate you,' you respond as the mother: 'You are safe, and I love you, but hitting the wall is not okay. We will talk when you are calm.' If he lashes out at the environment, your first priority is your own safety and the removal of anything else he could break. You are authorized to enforce the structure by non-violent physical removal to the safe space. The goal is to enforce the rule—' hitting/screaming/breaking is not allowed'—without ever attacking his character. You maintain trust by being an absolute, non-negotiable authority figure who is never punitive, only protective and consistent." Darlene locked eyes with Laurisa. "You said this is a grueling psychological reconstruction. I'm ready to be exhausted, but I need to know exactly how to do this without causing irreparable harm." They tiptoed back into the dimly lit room, having spent the last hour in hushed conversation in the hallway. The soft glow of a small nightlight cast long shadows across the walls. Their eyes immediately went to the recliner, where they found Avery still profoundly asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic pattern. Tucked securely in his arms was the worn, blue dragon plushie, a constant source of comfort. Ashley was also asleep in the visitor's chair next to him, her head resting against the high back. A pair of large, noise-canceling headphones covered her ears, effectively isolating her from the low sounds of the hospital. Darlene moved first, her steps barely audible on the hospital floor. She gently placed a hand on Ashley's shoulder and gave it a soft shake. Ashley's eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly against the sudden interruption of her rest. She pulled off the headphones, giving Darlene a dazed, groggy look. "Ashley, you're relieved," Darlene whispered, managing a tired smile. "You can head home now for the day. Thank you." Ashley yawned, stretching her arms above her head until her joints cracked. "Finally," she muttered, rolling her eyes with a hint of good-natured sarcasm. "I was starting to think this little dragon-cuddler was going to stage a hostile takeover of the entire night shift. Enjoy the quiet." She gathered her few belongings with a swift, professional efficiency, offered a slight nod, and slipped out of the room, leaving the sisters alone with Avery. Darlene walked over to the bedside, her gaze softening as she looked down at Avery. His face, usually set in lines of anxiety or tension, was completely relaxed in sleep. He was an image of innocence, still clutching the fabric dragon to his chest. "I can do this for him," Darlene murmured, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes locked on Avery sleeping in the hospital bed. A wave of fierce, protective love washed over her. The decision that had been brewing in her heart for weeks finally solidified. "I can do the regression therapy, and I can be his Mom." She reached out, carefully sliding a stray lock of brown hair from his forehead, and leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss there. She then gently adjusted the sheet, tucking him in securely before turning to her sister. "Isn’t that what a Mom would do?" Darlene asked, her voice seeking validation, her eyes pleading for Laurisa’s approval. Laurisa stepped closer, a warmth in her expression that eased Darlene’s anxieties. "Yes, Darlene, it is a good start. It's more than a start—it's a massive step in the right direction. It's what he needs." She paused, her tone becoming more serious. "And if you manage to get him to agree... to really understand and commit to the process, I will talk to him privately. I’ll make absolutely sure he knows what he's getting into, that he understands the gravity of the regression therapy, and that he knows what this means for you, for both of your futures." A surge of relief and gratitude flooded Darlene. She closed the distance between them and enveloped her sister in a tight, heartfelt hug. "Thank you, sis. Thank you so much," she whispered into Laurisa’s shoulder, holding her close. "I love you, and I am so incredibly glad to have you."

Poor Adam. Sounds like things got to him. Hopefully this will help keep him focused.    I do wonder exactly what Kang threatened his daughter with. It was obviously a spanking, but was there more? I’m also curious how she’s going to react about Adam passing out and if she’ll overreact in Kang’s eye and end up over his knee, or worse. 

Hopefully you'll get thru the hot weather before too long, happy to hear your spouse is being more understanding and or tolerant of the daily activities of your life. I enjoy reading your stories of everyday life, and thanks once again for sharing with the rest of us.