As I reached the top of the stairs, I paused, dreading the thought of crawling down them like an actual toddler. The steps loomed in front of me, each one feeling like a hurdle in this never-ending nightmare.

"Come on, baby," Kenn called out from behind me, barely stifling a laugh. "Don't tell me you're too scared to crawl down the stairs now. Babies aren't supposed to hesitate."

"Careful, Kenn," my stepmom chimed in, her voice light and cheerful as if she were simply making casual conversation. "If she falls, it's not like it'll hurt much. That diaper of hers is plenty padded."The jab made my face burn, but Dad either didn't catch it or chose to ignore it. I bit my tongue, forcing myself to focus on the task in front of me as I carefully lowered myself onto the first step. My hands gripped the carpeted edge tightly as I descended on all fours, the crinkling of my diaper echoing through the hallway with every move.

Kenn leaned against the railing, watching like it was the funniest show he'd ever seen. "You're lucky I don't record this and send it to your friends, Milly," he said with a smirk. "Though... I bet they'd get a real kick out of seeing their 'cool' friend like this.""Enough, Kenn," Dad warned, though his tone lacked any real sternness. "We don't have time for teasing-she's got school in thirty minutes.""Don't worry," my stepmom chimed in again, a sugary sweetness in her voice. "I'm sure her friends would think it's adorable. Just imagine-little Camilla crawling into class like the baby she is. It'd be so memorable, don't you think?" She shot me a quick glance, her smile so subtle that it could easily be mistaken for innocent amusement. But I could see the glint of cruelty in her eyes.

I gritted my teeth, swallowing back the urge to snap at her. I couldn't risk getting in trouble-not with Dad standing right there.Finally, I reached the bottom of the stairs, my knees sore and my pride in shambles. "Good girl," Dad praised, ruffling my hair as if I were a puppy. "Now let's get you settled for breakfast."I followed him into the kitchen, still crawling, with Kenn trailing close behind. My stepmom had already prepared a plate of pancakes for herself and Kenn, the smell wafting through the room and making my stomach growl in protest. But instead of a plate waiting for me, Dad placed my baby bottle on the high chair tray with a smug grin."Alright, up you go," he said, scooping me up effortlessly and strapping me into the chair. The straps were snug against my chest, further adding to the humiliating feeling of being trapped. He grabbed the baby bottle and held it in front of me. "Drink it all, princess. No arguments."I hesitated, my eyes darting to Kenn and my stepmom, who were both watching with amused expressions. Slowly, I took the bottle in my hands and brought it to my lips.

The lukewarm milk tasted just as awful as before, but I forced myself to drink, knowing I didn't have much choice."That's a good baby," my stepmom said lightly, picking up her coffee.

Then, under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear, she added, "Make sure you drink it all-don't want to spill and make a mess like last time."Her words sent a jolt of humiliation through me, and I froze, the bottle halfway to my lips. Did she really have to remind me of that? But her tone was so casual, her face so serene, that Dad didn't even glance her way.

To him, it probably sounded like she was just encouraging me. But I could feel the weight of her mockery, sharper than Kenn's outright teasing.

"Hey, Dad," Kenn said suddenly, his tone dripping with mischief. "You know how Milly's teacher called about that class project she's behind on? Maybe we should bring her to school in her baby outfit so she can explain why she didn't"

"Kenn's got a point," my stepmom chimed in with mock innocence, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "If we're treating her like a baby, maybe it's time the rest of the world sees her that way, too. Her teacher might even find it cute!"

Dad chuckled softly, shaking his head as if he were actually considering it. "You know," he began, "that might not be such a bad idea. It would teach her some humility-and maybe get her to take responsibility for once."

I froze, the blood draining from my face as their words sank in. "What?! You can't be serious!" I blurted out, my voice rising in disbelief. "There's no way I'm going to school like this!"

"Watch your tone, young lady," Dad said, his expression hardening. "We've had enough of your attitude lately."

"You're all insane!" I shouted, my humiliation boiling over into anger. "I'm not a baby, and I'm not going to school in this stupid diaper! You can all go to hell with this baby bullshit!"

The room fell silent for a split second, the weight of my outburst hanging heavily in the air. Dad's eyes narrowed, his face turning red with fury. "That's it," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "I've had enough of your behaviour."

Before I could react, Dad grabbed my arm and hauled me over to the couch. "You want to act like a brat?" he snapped. "Fine. I'll treat you like one."

"Dad, no! Let go of me!" I protested, struggling against his grip. But it was no use. He sat down and pulled me over his lap, pinning me in place with ease. My stepmom and Kenn watched from the kitchen, their expressions ranging from amusement to mild surprise.

"Stop! You can't do this!" I yelled, my voice breaking as panic set in.

"Oh, I can," Dad replied firmly. "And I will."

With that, he brought his hand down sharply on my diapered bottom. The loud smack echoed through the room, and while the diaper absorbed some of the impact, the humiliation was unbearable. He spanked me several more times, each swat punctuated by a stern lecture.

"You will stop this attitude," smack. "You will act like the baby you're dressed as," smack. "And you will respect this family," smack.

smack. smack. smack. smack.

By the time he finished, my face was hot with shame, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "I'm sorry," I muttered weakly, though my apology was more out of desperation than sincerity.

Dad stood me up, towering over me as he pointed toward the stairs. "Upstairs. Now."

I hesitated for a moment, my legs trembling, but his glare left no room for argument. He grabbed me by the wrist and marched me back to my room, ignoring my weak protests. Once inside, he rummaged through the dresser and pulled out a pastel pink onesie with snaps along the crotch.

"You want to keep acting like a baby? Fine," he said, his tone icy. "You'll wear this for the rest of the day."

"Dad, please," I begged, but he didn't listen. He pulled the onesie over my head and snapped it securely in place, making sure it fit snugly over my diaper. Then he grabbed a pacifier from the dresser and pushed it into my mouth.

"Since you can't seem to control your language, this will help keep you quiet," he said sternly. "And don't even think about spitting it out."

I glared at him, my face burning with anger and shame, but the pacifier muffled any attempts at protest. Before I could fully process my predicament, he scooped me up into his arms like I weighed nothing and carried me back downstairs.

"Maybe this will teach you to behave," he muttered, ignoring my muffled grunts of indignation.

When we reached the kitchen, he placed me back in the high chair and strapped me in tightly, securing the buckle around my chest. My arms were pinned by the tray in front of me, leaving me completely immobilized. Kenn and my stepmom were still seated at the table, their amused expressions making my humiliation even worse.

"Looks like the baby's back," Kenn teased, biting back a laugh. "What's wrong, Milly? Cat got your tongue-or is it that pacifier?"

My stepmom sipped her coffee, a satisfied smile on her face. "She looks much calmer now," she said lightly. "Maybe this is exactly what she needed."

Dad crossed his arms, nodding in agreement. "She'll stay like this until she learns how to behave. No more backtalk, no more tantrums. Understood, Camilla?"

I mumbled something behind the pacifier, my face burning with frustration, but he simply nodded as if I'd agreed. "Good girl," he said, patting my head patronizingly. "Now, let's finish breakfast. We've got a busy day ahead."

Trapped in the high chair, my humiliation complete, I could do nothing but sit there, my pacifier silencing me as the family carried on as if this were perfectly normal.

Kenn was busy scrolling through his phone, occasionally snickering as if he were already drafting the caption for his next post about me. My stepmom sipped her coffee leisurely, every now and then throwing a subtle glance in my direction, her lips curling into a smug smile.

Dad, meanwhile, busied himself packing up the last of my things. The sight of the diaper bag on the counter made me squirm in my seat, the straps around my chest keeping me firmly in place. The pacifier muffled my protests, turning my attempts at speech into nothing but pathetic whimpers.

"Oh, don't pout, Camilla," my stepmom said sweetly, cutting into her pancakes. "You should be grateful your dad is doing all this to teach you some discipline. It's for your own good, after all."

I glared at her, my cheeks burning hotter with every word. Grateful? For this?

"Alright," Dad said suddenly, turning to me. "Time to get going, princess. We don't want you to be late for school."

My heart sank, and my muffled protests turned desperate as I shook my head furiously. There was no way they were seriously going to make me go to school like this.

Dad ignored my resistance, unbuckling the straps and effortlessly lifting me out of the high chair. The pacifier stayed firmly in my mouth, and I felt the humiliation deepening as I caught sight of my reflection in the hallway mirror. The onesie clung to me, the thick padding of the diaper painfully obvious with every step.

Kenn followed us out to the car, holding back laughter as Dad strapped me into the backseat like a toddler.

"You better behave, baby sis," he teased, snapping a picture as Dad closed the door. "Wouldn't want you to throw a tantrum at school."

The ride to school felt like the longest of my life. I could see other kids on the sidewalks as we got closer, their backpacks slung over their shoulders, their conversations casual and carefree. Meanwhile, I was stuck in this nightmare, every bump in the road a reminder of the humiliating diaper beneath me.

When we pulled into the school parking lot, my heart pounded in my chest. Dad got out and opened my door, lifting me out of the car with ease.

"Daddy!" I tried to yell, but the pacifier turned it into a muffled, unintelligible noise.

"Have a great day, Camilla," he said cheerfully, setting me down on the sidewalk. "And remember-behave yourself."

He handed me the diaper bag, its weight feeling like a boulder in my hands, and then drove off without a second glance. I stood there frozen, unable to believe this was really happening.

A group of students near the entrance turned to look at me, their eyes widening as they took in my outfit.

"No way," one girl whispered, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter.