The time had finally come. Simon and his wife, Meadow, had reached their limit with your stubborn refusal to part ways with diapers. Their firstborn had been a breeze—potty trained before turning two, with hardly a fuss. But you? You were a different story entirely.

At two years old, you fought them at every turn. Screaming, kicking, full-blown meltdowns—every attempt to introduce the potty ended in disaster. They tried everything—stickers, treats, a prize box filled with toys you had begged for. Nothing worked. The moment they even suggested sitting on the potty, you reacted as if it were a medieval torture device.

Simon had finally had enough. His patience, which had already been wearing thin, snapped.

He found you hiding in the corner of the living room, clutching your favorite stuffed animal like a lifeline. Without hesitation, he scooped you up, ignoring your immediate squirming protest.

“We’re doing this today,” he said, his deep voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “This is not an option anymore.”

With that, he carried you down the hall toward the bathroom, determined to end this battle once and for all.