The screen lit up with a single new message.

Putting the phone down, you padded out of your room and down the short hall. The door to his study was slightly ajar, a warm, golden light spilling onto the floorboards.

You pushed it open.

He was standing by his large, oak desk, but he wasn’t looking at his paperwork. His back was to you for a moment, his broad shoulders tense. Then he turned.

In his hands was a plain white package. He tore the plastic open with a quiet rip, and pulled something out. It unfolded, soft and crinkling faintly in the quiet room.

It was a diaper. Thick, absorbent, unmistakable.