Glass heart

The room was still dim, the pale light of morning barely sneaking through the curtains when Abby stirred. Her favorite stuffed bear, worn soft from years of clinging, was tucked under her chin. She squeezed it instinctively, not yet ready to face the day.

And then she felt it.

The uncomfortable cling of cold sheets. Wet.

Her stomach dropped. “No, no, no...” she whispered, heart pounding as she sat up and peeled back the covers. The dark patch on the sheets stared back at her like a cruel secret.

She froze.

She could already hear footsteps coming down the hall. Too fast. Too loud.

“Abby? Are you awake?” her mother’s voice called, firm and already halfway annoyed.

Before Abby could answer—before she could even throw the sheets over the evidence—the door swung open.

Her mom stopped in the doorway, eyes flicking from Abby’s face to the bed in an instant.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Abby.” Her voice was sharp and cutting. “Again? Just because you look like a child doesn’t mean you are one. You’re twenty years old. Twenty. What the hell are you doing still wetting the bed?”

Abby opened her mouth, but no words came out. She clutched her stuffed bear tighter, trying to curl into herself, hide.

Her mother crossed the room in a few quick steps and yanked the bear from her arms. “Really? You’re still sleeping with this ratty old thing? It’s like you want to be a child.”

She sneered, holding the bear by one arm like it was something filthy. “Maybe I should just start treating you like one. No one would question it—look at you. Four foot six at twenty. Pathetic.”

Abby flinched as her mother grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her out of bed. Before she could resist, she was shoved toward the wet patch on the sheets.

“Is that what you want? To be treated like a baby?” Her mother’s voice hissed close to her ear. “A helpless, diaper-wearing little brat?”

“I—I don’t…” Abby choked, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “N-no… please…”

Her mother scoffed. “Really? Why should I care what you want? This is the third time this week you’ve ruined my sheets. It’s disgusting. Pathetic.”

Finally, she let go, releasing her grip and allowing Abby to pull her face away from the soaked fabric. Abby’s cheeks were red and streaked with tears, her eyes full of shame.

“Strip it. Now.”

Abby scrambled to obey, fingers fumbling with the corners of the sheets. Her hands trembled as she yanked them free from the mattress and bundled them in her arms like they were something shameful she needed to hide.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” her mother snapped. “Laundry room. Clean them.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Abby stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

She turned quickly and made her way down the hallway, holding the damp bundle close to her chest. Her bare feet padded against the cold floor. She walked with purpose—not out of confidence, but out of fear. Fear of what might happen if she hesitated. Fear of doing it wrong.

The smell of the sheets made her stomach twist, but she didn’t dare stop.

She just wanted to disappear.

Abby had just started the washing machine when she heard the door behind her fly open.

Her mother stormed in and threw a pair of shoes at her feet.

“Put those on. Now. We’re going out.”

Abby looked down, her heart sinking. Her pajama pants were still damp from the accident—cold and clinging to her skin. “B-but… I can’t go out like this,” she whispered, hugging her arms around herself. “I—I need to change.”

“No,” her mother snapped. “You wet those pants. So now you can wear them. Maybe next time you’ll act your age.”

Abby shook her head, panic creeping up her throat. “Please, I’ll be quick, I swear, just let me—”

Her mother was in front of her in a second, grabbing a fistful of Abby’s hair and yanking her head back. Abby gasped, frozen.

“What’s that?” her mother hissed. “You talking back now?”

“N-no! Nothing,” Abby cried. “I—I’m going to the car.”

Her mother let go.

Abby didn’t wait. She ran.

She didn’t stop until she was in the car, climbing into the back seat and curling up as far away as she could, her face burning.

“You think sitting back there will save you?” her mother snapped from the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. “You look like a damn toddler—might as well act like one too.”

The car started, and the yelling didn’t stop. Her mother’s voice filled every inch of space as they drove, spilling insults and blame, digging into every wound Abby tried to hide.

By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Abby was silent—numb, her thoughts swimming in shame.

Her mother cut the engine and looked over.

“Time to go shopping.”

Abby stared down at her soaked pants, her legs sticky and cold. She couldn’t even look up.

“Okay, ma’am,” she whispered, and stepped out of the car, eyes on the pavement.

Her mother’s grip clamped around Abby’s wrist like a vice, squeezing so hard her fingers went numb. Abby stumbled to keep up as she was dragged into the store, still wearing her wet pajama pants, every step sending another cold reminder of her shame.

They didn’t speak—not until her mother stopped at the baby aisle.

Without warning, she grabbed a pack of adult diapers off the shelf and shoved them into Abby’s arms. “Carry these.”

Abby hesitated, but one look from her mother’s narrowed eyes silenced any protest.

Next came pacifiers and clips—two bright pink ones with little cartoon animals on them. Then pajamas—shorts and a My Little Pony top that barely looked big enough for a child, let alone a twenty-year-old woman.

“These will do,” her mother said, voice flat, throwing them into the growing pile in Abby’s arms.

Abby followed her to the checkout like a ghost, head down, eyes fixed on the floor.

The cashier glanced at the diapers first, then at Abby—her soaked pants, the trembling in her hands. Then her eyes flicked to Abby’s mother.

“Oh, these?” her mother said sweetly, her tone switching in an instant. “My daughter can’t seem to control her bladder, poor thing. We’re trying some more… extreme measures to protect her.”

The cashier’s face barely moved, but her eyes lingered on Abby—just for a second. A flicker of something—sympathy, maybe anger—but no words came. Just silence. Like everyone else.

The transaction ended, and they left without another word.

Even in the car, Abby couldn’t escape.

Her mother kept yelling, her voice sharper with every mile. “This is your life now. Just a little diaper baby. Maybe if you acted like a grown-up, you wouldn’t need to be treated like this.”

Abby stared out the window, her cheeks still wet from earlier tears. She didn’t speak. She didn’t fight.

There was nothing left to say.

That night, Abby lay in her freshly made bed, staring at the ceiling. Her body felt alien to her—wrapped in a diaper, with flimsy shorts that did nothing to hide it. Her My Little Pony shirt clung to her frame, the pacifier clipped to it bobbing gently as she breathed through it.

She felt small. Humiliated. Broken.

She’d cried herself dry hours ago, but the ache in her chest hadn’t faded.

Her thoughts swirled, dark and dizzying, until one broke through like a whisper.

“I’m twenty,” she murmured, barely hearing her own voice over the sound of her heartbeat.

She sat up, her pacifier falling from her mouth and swinging slightly from its clip.

“I don’t have to stay,” she said again, a little louder this time. The idea felt unreal, like a dream she wasn’t allowed to have.

But it was there.

And it was hers.

Fear clawed at her chest. Her mother was asleep just down the hall. What if she woke up? What if she heard?

Abby hesitated… but then she moved.

She slid out of bed, her breath shallow, her limbs trembling. Each step toward the door felt like it took a year. But she kept going.

She unlocked the front door.

And then she ran.

Barefoot. Diaper crinkling. Her heart pounding so loud she could barely think.

She didn’t stop to look back. She didn’t care what the neighbors saw. She didn’t care that the pavement scraped her feet, or that tears blurred her vision.

She just ran—like her life depended on it.

A woman jumped out—early forties, maybe. Blue skinny jeans, white blouse, black sneakers. Her blonde hair was pulled back, her face soft and motherly, like the kind of person who might bring orange slices to a soccer game.

She knelt in front of Abby, her voice gentle. “Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing out here all alone? Where’s your mommy?”

Abby flinched at the word. She opened her mouth, and the truth spilled out, small and broken.

“I’m twenty,” she whispered. “I ran away from my mom. She… she hurt me.”

The woman’s expression shifted. Shock. Anger. A flicker of doubt—Abby didn’t even look six, let alone twenty—but there was no mistaking the fear and truth in her eyes.

“Okay,” the woman said softly. “Well, why don’t you come stay with me tonight?”

Abby stepped back, shaking her head. “N-no…”

The woman held out her hands slowly, gently. “Hey. Look, my name’s Christina. I can see you’re scared, but… you’re bleeding. Your feet—there’s blood. You look exhausted.”

Abby looked down, breathing heavy. Her knees were shaking.

“If you don’t want to stay, that’s okay,” Christina continued. “But let me give you a place to sleep tonight. Just for one night. Please?”

There was something in her voice—steady, warm. Safe.

“…Alright,” Abby whispered.

Christina led her to the passenger seat, and Abby climbed in slowly. She noticed Christina’s brief glance at the diaper bulging under her shorts and the soft crinkle it made as she sat, but the woman said nothing—just smiled faintly and started the engine.

On the short ride, Christina spoke softly, her voice almost lulling.

“Like I said, I’m Christina. I live by myself. My kids are grown—they’ve all moved out, doing their own thing. So it’s just me. You’ll have peace and quiet here, I promise.”

“…Okay,” Abby said, a little more relaxed now.

When they reached the house, Abby hesitated again—until Christina opened the door, revealing a warm, clean home that smelled faintly of vanilla.

“You can sleep in here,” Christina said, leading her to a small guest room. “The bed’s already made.”

“Okay… Thank you,” Abby said, her voice still small.

“If you need anything, I’ll be upstairs—first room on the right.”

Abby nodded.

She stepped into the room. The bed looked soft, the lighting warm and low. She sank into the blankets, her body aching but her heart a little lighter.

She didn’t know if she was safe yet.

But for the first time in a long time… she hoped she was.