Chapter 3: Brief Rebellion The next morning started with something unusual. The husband woke up in his wet diaper and lay there staring at the ceiling for a long time. He didn't move when Paige got out of bed. He didn't follow her to the changing table like he'd done yesterday. Being turned into a baby had broken something in him. Or maybe it had fixed something. Either way, lying in a wet diaper while your wife got ready for the day made you think about choices. About how you got here and whether you wanted to stay. Paige came back into the bedroom holding a fresh diaper and some baby powder. She looked at him expectantly. "Come on," she said. "Let's get you changed." He sat up slowly. The wet diaper sagged heavily between his legs. "No," he said. Paige stopped. She set the diaper down on the dresser. "What did you say?" "I said no." His voice came out steadier than he expected. "I'm not doing this anymore." She crossed her arms. "You wet the bed. You need to wear protection." "Then I'll handle it myself." He stood up and walked past her to the bathroom. The wet diaper rustled with each step but he ignored it. He locked the bathroom door behind him. Taking off the wet diaper felt like peeling away layers of humiliation. He threw it in the trash can with more force than necessary. The shower ran hot and he stood under it for twenty minutes, washing away the baby powder smell and the feeling of helplessness. When he came out, Paige was gone. He could hear her downstairs making breakfast. He went to the closet and pulled out his work clothes. Real clothes. Adult clothes. The pants felt strange after wearing nothing but diapers for the past day. He buttoned his shirt and tucked it in, then put on socks and shoes. Each piece of clothing was an act of reclaiming himself. The diaper Paige had left on the dresser sat there accusingly. He picked it up, carried it to the bathroom, and threw it in the trash on top of the wet one. The gesture was petty but satisfying. Downstairs, Paige was eating toast and reading something on her phone. She looked up when he entered the kitchen. "You're dressed," she observed. "I have work." He poured himself coffee. His hand shook slightly but he managed not to spill any. "What about your diaper?" "I'm not wearing one." She set down her phone. "You'll have an accident." "At work? I've never had a daytime accident in my life." He took a sip of coffee. It was too hot and burned his tongue. "The bedwetting is a different issue. I can handle it myself from now on." "How?" Paige asked. She didn't sound angry. Just curious. "I'll buy my own protection. Disposable bed pads, maybe. Or I'll sleep in the guest room until I figure it out." He hadn't actually thought this through but the words came anyway. "I appreciate that you tried to help, but turning me into a baby wasn't helping. It was punishment." Paige studied him for a long moment. Then she smiled slightly. "Okay," she said. That was it. Just okay. The ease of her acceptance made him suspicious immediately. He'd expected an argument or at least some resistance. Paige didn't give up control easily. That was how they'd ended up in this situation in the first place. But she just went back to her toast and her phone. She didn't say another word about diapers or babies or punishment. He finished his coffee standing at the counter. The normalcy of the morning disoriented him more than the previous day's infantilization had. Yesterday he'd understood the rules even if he hated them. Today he had no idea what was happening. "I'll be home around six," he said. "Okay," Paige said again. He grabbed his keys and wallet and left for work. The drive into town gave him time to think about what just happened. Maybe Paige realized she'd gone too far. Maybe she was embarrassed about the whole thing and wanted to pretend it never happened. Or maybe she was planning something worse. He pushed the thought away. Paranoia wouldn't help. He'd stood up for himself and set a boundary. That was healthy. That was what he should have done weeks ago when Paige first suggested diapers for his bedwetting. Work was a relief. His job at the accounting firm was boring but today boring felt wonderful. Numbers didn't judge you. Spreadsheets didn't turn you into a baby when you made mistakes. His colleague Marcus stopped by his desk around ten. "You okay?" Marcus asked. "You seem distracted." "Just tired," he said. "Didn't sleep well." "That's been happening a lot lately." Marcus perched on the edge of the desk. "Everything good at home?" "Yeah. Why?" "I don't know. You've seemed stressed for the past few weeks." Marcus shrugged. "Just checking in." The concern was genuine and that made it harder to dismiss. He wanted to explain that his wife had turned him into a literal baby yesterday as punishment for bedwetting, but that conversation would end with him in a psychiatric evaluation. "Home stuff is complicated right now," he said instead. "But I'm handling it." "Well, if you need to talk," Marcus said. He stood up and headed back to his own desk. The rest of the day passed in a blur of tax forms and client emails. He ate lunch at his desk and stayed an extra hour to finish a report that wasn't due until next week. Anything to delay going home. But eventually he ran out of excuses. At six-fifteen he packed up his things and drove back. The house looked normal from the outside. Paige's car was in the driveway. Lights were on in the living room and kitchen. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Everything seemed fine at first. Then he noticed the boxes stacked in the hallway. Three large cardboard boxes labeled "Charity Donation" in Paige's handwriting. His stomach dropped. He walked quickly to the bedroom. The closet door stood open. Empty hangers swayed slightly from where someone had pulled clothes off them in bulk. All his work shirts were gone. His pants, his suits, his jeans. The drawer that held his socks and underwear was empty except for a single pair of boxers that must have fallen behind the drawer. Everything was gone. "Paige!" He spun around to find her standing in the doorway. She held a light blue onesie. Adult-sized. The snaps at the crotch gleamed in the overhead light. "Looking for your clothes?" she asked pleasantly. "Where are they?" "I donated them." She held up the onesie. "But don't worry. I got you new clothes." He stared at her. The calm expression on her face made this worse somehow. She wasn't angry or vindictive. She was matter-of-fact, like she'd simply replaced his old winter coat with a new one. "You can't do that," he said. "Those were my clothes. You had no right—" "You threw away the diaper I laid out for you this morning," Paige interrupted. "You went to work without protection. You decided you didn't need my help anymore." "That's not the same thing!" "Isn't it?" She walked into the bedroom and opened the closet fully. Rows of onesies hung where his shirts used to be. Shelves that once held folded pants now displayed stacks of footed pajamas and overalls with teddy bear prints. "You made a choice about what you wanted to wear. So I made a choice too." He looked at the ridiculous baby clothes filling his closet. Bright colors and cartoon characters and infantile patterns. "This is insane," he said. "You're insane." "Maybe." Paige held the onesie out to him. "But these are your only options now. If you want to wear anything at all in this house, these are what you've got." "I'll buy new clothes." "With what money?" She tilted her head. "Your credit cards are in my name too, remember? We set it up that way when we got married for the rewards points." He had forgotten that. The joint account had seemed like a good idea at the time. A sign of trust and partnership. "I'll use cash," he said. "The cash in your wallet?" Paige smiled. "Check your wallet." He pulled it out and opened it. Empty. His driver's license and insurance card were still there but every bill was gone. "I took it while you were in the shower this morning," Paige explained. "You were so focused on your little rebellion that you didn't even check." The walls of the bedroom seemed to close in. She'd planned this. The easy acceptance this morning, the lack of argument. She'd been planning this all day while he was at work. "You can't keep me prisoner," he said. "I'll call someone. My brother, or—" "And tell them what?" Paige asked. "That your wife donated your clothes? That sounds like a married couple's dispute. Nothing anyone would intervene in." She draped the onesie over the back of a chair. "Besides, you wet the bed every single night. You clearly need someone to take care of you." "I'm an adult!" "Adults don't wet the bed." She said it simply, like stating a fact. "Adults have control over their bladders. You don't. Therefore, you're not really an adult, are you?" The logic was twisted but he couldn't find the words to argue against it. His mind was still catching up to what was happening. Paige walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Inside were stacks of diapers. Thick disposable ones with cartoon prints on the landing strip. "Here's what's going to happen," she said. "You can wear the clothes I've provided, or you can walk around naked. Those are your choices. If you try to leave the house without proper clothing, I'll tell everyone you're having a mental breakdown. Your boss, your family, everyone." "No one would believe you." "Wouldn't they?" She pulled out a diaper and set it on top of the dresser. "You've been stressed at work. Your colleague Marcus has noticed. Your mother called last week worried about you. Everyone already thinks something is wrong." She was right. He'd been so focused on hiding the bedwetting that he'd isolated himself from friends and family. Any sudden bizarre behavior would just confirm their existing concerns. Paige picked up the onesie again and held it out. "Put this on," she said. "Or don't wear anything. Your choice." He looked at the onesie. Light blue with white stars printed on it. The snaps at the crotch were shaped like little moons. "This is abuse," he said quietly. "This is consequences." Paige's voice didn't change. Still calm, still pleasant. "You wet the bed. You refused to follow the rules I set to help you. So now we're doing things my way completely." She laid the onesie on the bed next to the diaper. "I'm making dinner," she said. "When you're dressed appropriately, you can come down and eat. If you want to wear anything at all in this house, these are your only options now."