James' Regression
James woke with a dull ache behind his eyes, the kind that made the morning light feel too sharp and the world a little unreal. He didn’t remember much from the night before. Only that he’d been drinking again, saying things he probably shouldn’t have. When he shuffled into the kitchen, still in a half-dream, the sight waiting for him didn’t quite register at first: the high chair pulled out, a bib draped neatly over the tray, and his wife waiting patiently beside it. Her calm expression said more than words ever could. Too tired to argue and too hazy to process, James simply sat down when she guided him forward, letting her fasten the bib around his neck and place a spoon in her hand. For the first time, he didn’t resist... just stared quietly as she began to feed him, the room filled with the soft clink of the spoon and the quiet hum of her voice, steady and sure.
As the fog of his hangover began to lift, James’s awareness returned in fragments: the quiet hum of the kitchen, the gentle clink of dishes, the calm firmness in his wife’s tone. Each detail drew him further into the uncomfortable truth of what was happening. A flicker of protest rose in him but faded just as quickly; he didn’t have the strength to argue. The weight of her quiet determination pressed down on him until resistance felt pointless. Slowly, he sank to the floor and rested his head face down against the cool tile. For a long moment he stayed there, breathing shallowly, too tired to speak or move, quietly accepting the situation he had brought upon himself.
As he lies on the floor, his wife can't help but adjust his cute diaper. "Time for a change soon" she thinks to herself...
