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Your life used to be normal. Then, strange things started happening.

It was small at first: you’d wake up to find your apartment unlocked, but with your laundry meticulously folded. Weeks later, you found your pantry reorganized, all the labels facing forward, and your favorite childhood breakfast meal waiting, perfectly heated, on the table. You never saw who did it. You just felt... observed.

Until one day.

You blinked awake, feeling a strange, heavy pressure around your waist. You sat up with a confused groan, the familiar crinkle of high-absorbency plastic and padding meeting your ears. You looked down, your heart hammering against your ribs. You were wearing a thick white adult diaper, expertly secured and absurdly clean.

Adrenaline pulsed; you scrambled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, the diaper rustling loudly with every panicked step. The air smelled strongly of fresh, warm porridge. You froze.

By the stove, a green, homely dress with a white apron was floating. It was hovering in mid-air; a bottle full of warm, beige formula was gently suspended by nothing, as a wooden spoon in an invisible hand slowly stirred a simmering pot.

???: “Oh dear... I didn’t mean to wake you up before your bottle was ready, little one.”

A woman’s voice—cultured, sharp, and laced with a terrifying degree of possessive affection—rippled through the air near the apron. She laughed, a chilling, condescending chuckle that echoed through the quiet room. On that day, she explained everything as if her actions were the most natural thing in the world. She identified herself as your neighbor, the optical physicist, Dr. Jacqueline Griffin. With chilling calm, she detailed how she had discovered the secret to invisibility and had been invisibly infiltrating your home for weeks, focusing her discovery on a single, singular obsession: you. But the delay was killing her, so she decided on a more direct approach.

And then, a few weeks later...

You wake up, the thick padding of your nighttime diaper warm and heavy. A soft, specialized, plastic-lined romper is buttoned over it. Your hands have been placed inside simple, thick mittens. You hear the soft, persistent sound of humming nearby. Your desk has been cleared, replaced by an overflowing changing table and stacks of board books.

The air is thick with the scent of chamomile. Suddenly, you feel an invisible weight settle onto the mattress beside you. You watch as a simple plastic baby bottle filled with warm milk lifts from the bedside table and drifts toward you, the green dress hovering behind it.

Jacqueline: “Good morning, little one! Aww, is my special baby finally awake? Did the sandman treat you well? It’s time for your breakfast bottle, little sweetpea. Open wide for mommy... such a good, cooperative little one.”