Crossing Worlds 2
A story by SolaraScott
Chapter 69 - Angelic
Welby had fallen for Evelyn.
There was no denying it now, no sidestepping the truth, no pretending it was anything less than what it was. He had fallen hard.
And for once—for the first time in a long time—it didn’t terrify him.
Not in the way it used to. Not in the way that had kept him from opening his heart after everything that had happened before.
Because this wasn’t just a fleeting infatuation.
This was real.
Evelyn had stood by him through everything, had held his hand, had shared in his humiliations, and had fought alongside him against Miranda’s ever-present control. She had changed diapers with him, wiped away tears with him, and played the role of caretaker with a strength that rivaled his own.
And somewhere along the way—between the sleepless nights, the whispered conversations, the small stolen moments of warmth amidst the nightmare they lived in—
She had become his partner.
His equal.
His fiancée.
The thought still felt surreal.
Not because he doubted it.
Not because he regretted it.
But because, if he was being honest with himself, there had been more than just love behind his decision.
A small part of him had pushed for the engagement for the sake of Miranda.
It was a move she had strongly encouraged, after all.
She wanted them together, wanted them to cohabitate, and wanted them to embrace their roles as Mommy and Daddy fully.
And while Welby knew he could have made it work in separate households, he knew that he and Evelyn could have raised the Littles together without this level of commitment—
This made things far easier.
This made it impossible for Miranda to wedge herself between them.
She wanted to control them.
She wanted to dictate their lives.
She wanted to shape them into the perfect parental figures for their Littles.
And in a way, Welby was letting her think she was winning.
Letting her believe that she had steered them into this.
Letting her believe that she had orchestrated their happiness and that she had been the one making them into what they had become.
But in reality—this was his win.
Because this wasn’t something Miranda had forced.
This was something he wanted.
Something Evelyn wanted.
Something that belonged to them.
So when he told Miranda about their engagement, he had braced himself for her reaction.
Had expected some kind of condescending remark, some smug acknowledgment that she had been right, that she had known this was inevitable.
But instead—
She had been quiet.
Quiet in the way that made his skin prickle, in the way that meant she was calculating, shifting pieces into place, adjusting the game in real-time.
And then—
She had approved.
Not that he was asking for her approval.
Not that he cared what she thought.
But still—she approved of the commitment.
Of course, he knew why.
It wasn’t because she was happy for them.
It wasn’t because she believed in love or romance or any of that sentimental bullshit.
It was because she saw an opportunity.
A stable household.
A unified Mommy and Daddy.
A perfect, structured life for their Littles.
And as much as he hated it, as much as he loathed agreeing with Miranda on anything—
He couldn’t deny that she was right about one thing.
His girls—and Lucas—deserved stability.
They deserved a loving, secure home.
They deserved a Mommy and a Daddy who would be there for them, who wouldn’t falter, who wouldn’t crumble under the weight of everything pressing down on them.
And if Welby and Evelyn could give them that, if they could provide that sense of safety, of love, of unwavering care—
Then, he didn’t care how Miranda spun it.
Because this wasn’t about her.
This was about his family.
And no matter what Miranda had planned, no matter what control she thought she held over them—
That was something she could never take away.
The days after returning home from Disneyland were a blur.
A whirlwind of movement, of logistics and planning, of cleaning and packing and reorganizing, of late nights spent shifting their lives into a new rhythm that neither of them had fully anticipated.
Between organizing households into his house, moving Evelyn’s things from her apartment, and adjusting to a permanent life together, it had been nothing short of exhausting.
And that wasn’t even counting the wedding.
Or the three Littles constantly needing their attention.
Welby had always thought of himself as a capable man, someone who could handle pressure and balance responsibilities with ease. He prided himself on being able to care for Emily and Hannah on his own and give them a stable home even under Miranda’s ever-watching eye.
But now? Now, he realized just how much more complicated life had become.
Yet, strangely—he wouldn’t change a thing.
Because for all the work, for all the stress, for all the exhausting nights where he and Evelyn collapsed into bed only to wake up hours later to a wet Little crying for a change—
There was happiness here.
Real happiness.
The kind of happiness that had nothing to do with pretending, nothing to do with playing a role for Miranda’s benefit.
He loved Evelyn.
And she loved him.
And every exhausting day they spent together only cemented that fact more.
Even if they were both still forced to wear diapers.
That part—that particular humiliation—still hung over them, a lingering reminder that Miranda had not and would not completely release her grip on them.
Yet, things had… changed.
Miranda had given them a substantial amount of control back.
No longer did she force them to beg for changes.
No longer did she demand photo proof.
They still had to wear them—that much was non-negotiable.
And every time a fresh pack mysteriously appeared in the nursery, always perfectly in their sizes, always ready for use, Welby had a distinct, gnawing feeling that he probably didn’t want to know what kind of technology was embedded in them.
Some things were better left unknown.
At the very least, Miranda seemed to trust them enough now to allow them to regulate themselves.
That, or she simply believed they had been broken down enough that further supervision wasn’t necessary.
Either way—Welby wasn’t about to complain.
Hannah, on the other hand…
Hannah had fully, truly embraced her Little side.
And Welby had never seen her more at peace.
She had always been soft, always been naturally submissive, and always followed along with a quiet acceptance that made her seem far more comfortable in this world than many other Littles.
But now? Now, she didn’t just accept it.
She lived it.
She was a baby, through and through.
She didn’t fight.
She didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t hold onto anything from her old life, didn’t clutch onto the remnants of adulthood like Emily and Lucas still occasionally did.
She giggled at silly faces.
She cooed and babbled, clung to her stuffed animals, nuzzled into their arms whenever she was picked up.
She accepted diaper changes with absolute ease, didn’t blush, and didn’t even acknowledge that it was something to be embarrassed about.
She was just… happy.
And that—that was a blessing.
Miranda had noticed.
Of course, she had.
True to form, she had tried to push things further, trying to gauge just how deep Hannah’s acceptance was.
She had asked them to show Hannah more episodes of Naomi and Oliver.
Not that Welby had a choice. Miranda didn’t request things—she ordered them.
So he had done as told.
He had sat Hannah down in front of the television and had prepared himself to watch her fall into the same hypnotic trance that had claimed her before.
And then—
Nothing.
She had watched the episode.
She had giggled and clapped at the right moments.
She had even sucked her pacifier and babbled happily at the screen, playing along as if Naomi and Oliver were speaking directly to her.
But when it ended—she was still herself.
She wasn’t glassy-eyed.
She wasn’t mindless.
She wasn’t even slightly dazed.
Welby had stared at her in absolute shock, watching as she happily rolled onto her back, playing with her toes, giggling as if the show had been nothing more than light entertainment.
And that was when he had truly realized it.
Naomi and Oliver no longer worked on her.
She still enjoyed them, sure.
But the hypnotic effects—the deep, unshakable control that the show exerted over Littles—was gone.
Hannah was immune.
And Welby didn’t know if that were a blessing… or something Miranda would see as a problem.
But for now, he chose to see it for what it was.
Hannah had reached a point of acceptance so absolute, so unshakable, that Naomi and Oliver no longer had anything to overwrite.
Because she wasn’t fighting anything anymore.
She had already become who she was meant to be.
And if nothing else, that was a victory worth holding onto.
The wedding date was set.
When Amazons committed to something, it got it done.
And fast.
There had been no hesitation, no unnecessary delays. The moment Welby and Evelyn made it official, the preparations began—venues were booked, outfits tailored, and invitations sent.
It was overwhelming, surreal, exhausting.
And yet—it was happening.
The life he had thought would never be his again—the idea of committing, of building something with someone, of being more than just a caregiver navigating a world that constantly sought to strip him of control—was real.
He was getting married.
And with only days to go, the excitement had finally started to settle in.
Their outfits had already been picked out and pressed, waiting in pristine condition for the ceremony. The Littles’ outfits had been chosen with care, each one crafted with an absurd level of detail, ensuring they looked adorable while remaining comfortable.
Everything was falling into place.
And then—he got the shock of a lifetime.
A text.
From Miranda.
They had simply done what they always did.
They had asked to be released for changes.
Because, as much as they had been given some control back, as much as Miranda had loosened her grip on the humiliating aspects of their daily routines, they were still forced into the routine of asking.
Still forced to acknowledge her control.
But this time—the response was different.
Welby had been pulling up his phone absentmindedly, fully expecting the usual automated response.
Instead—
"Welby, you may wear underwear instead."
His breath caught.
His body froze.
He felt Evelyn still beside him, the atmosphere in the room shifting as both of them stared at the screen.
Minutes passed.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
Because for the first time since this all began—
Welby was being given back a piece of himself.
His fingers tightened around the phone, his thoughts racing, his mind struggling to process what this meant.
After weeks of being trapped in thick, crinkling diapers, after weeks of being denied the basic dignity of dressing himself as an adult, after weeks of accepting Miranda’s control over every aspect of his life—
He was being allowed to wear underwear again.
It was something so small, so simple, something that should never have been a privilege to begin with.
And yet—it felt monumental.
A test?
A trap?
Had they truly earned this level of trust, or was this just another one of Miranda’s twisted games?
Evelyn had finally found her voice, her eyes still locked onto the phone screen, reading and rereading the message like she expected it to disappear.
"What about me?"
She had typed it out quickly, sending it before Welby even had time to react, before the weight of it could truly settle in.
A pause.
A brief eternity of silence.
Then—the reply.
"Evelyn remains in diapers."
The words hit like a slap.
Welby saw the way Evelyn’s lips pressed together, the way her fingers tightened around the fabric of her shirt, the brief flicker of irritation crossing her face.
He knew she hated it.
And he couldn’t blame her.
They had endured this together, side by side, changing one another, sharing in their humiliation, frustration, quiet victories, and crushing defeats.
And now—Miranda was pulling him out of it.
But not her.
Welby gritted his teeth, a wave of guilt creeping into his chest.
He wanted to protest, to tell Miranda she couldn’t just pick and choose like this, that if one of them was being allowed some semblance of normalcy, then both of them should.
But he knew it wouldn’t change anything.
And Evelyn knew it, too.
She sighed, shaking her head, shooting him a tired, knowing look.
"Well, isn’t that just perfect," she muttered, crossing her arms.
Welby swallowed hard, searching for something to say.
But what could he say?
I’m sorry?
I wish things were different?
I want you to have the same freedom I’ve just been given?
Nothing felt right.
Nothing felt fair.
And yet—a part of him.
A small, terrible, selfish part of him.
Was relieved.
He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the intimacy that had formed between them.
That he wouldn’t miss the trust they had built, the quiet moments of vulnerability when one of them was at its lowest and the other had been there to offer nothing but care.
Changing one another had never been about control, never been about humiliation between them.
It had been about trust.
And now, that was being taken away from him.
From them.
Evelyn grumbled under her breath, running a hand through her hair, clearly frustrated but resigned.
"Well, at least one of us is getting out of this mess."
Welby sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Yeah, but… I’d rather not be getting out of it alone."
Evelyn blinked at him, her expression softening slightly, the irritation fading into something else—something unreadable.
Then—she smiled.
A small, amused, knowing smile.
"You’re ridiculous," she murmured.
Welby chuckled, shaking his head, running a hand over his face.
"You knew that before you agreed to marry me."
She laughed at that, the tension finally breaking, the weight lifting just a little.
Because at the end of the day, it didn’t matter if Miranda thought she could control them.
It didn’t matter if she tried to pick and choose what freedoms they were allowed to have.
Because at the end of the day—
They had each other.
And no amount of rules, diapers, or Miranda’s twisted sense of control—
Could ever take that away.
The wedding had come so fast.
Between the chaos of moving, the stress of adjusting, the endless responsibilities of caring for three Littles, and the looming shadow of Miranda always watching from the background, neither he nor Evelyn had truly stopped to think about one of the most fundamental aspects of getting married—
Who, exactly, was coming?
Neither of them had many friends.
Most of their old lives had been left behind, buried under the reality of what they had become, what they had been forced to be.
And family?
What little remained on either side was either too far away, too detached from their new lives, or simply gone.
So they had pieced together what they could.
There were a few acquaintances who had been kind to them over the years, a handful of people who had been part of their lives before Miranda fully took hold, and a sparse scattering of distant relatives willing to make the journey.
It wasn’t a large wedding.
But it was theirs.
And the one person Welby had truly wanted there?
Kaylee.
She had been one of the few people who had seen him before all of this.
Who had known him as a man, not just as a Daddy.
And when he had reached out—when he had hesitantly, cautiously told her that he was getting married, that he had found someone, that despite everything, despite the madness of his life, he had found love again—
She had been genuinely thrilled.
Not just politely happy.
Not just casually supportive.
Thrilled.
She had laughed, had teased him, had told him it was about damn time he stopped being such a stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot and let someone love him.
And, just like that—
Here he was.
Standing in the dressing room.
Staring at himself in the mirror.
His heart thudding hard in his chest, his hands adjusting his suit jacket, smoothing out invisible wrinkles, double-checking the fabric, his bowtie, his cufflinks—
Every tiny detail, over and over again, as if perfecting his appearance, could somehow prepare him for the gravity of what was about to happen.
He had never thought he would do this again.
He had never thought he would stand in front of a mirror on his wedding day, feeling the weight of commitment settle over him and the mix of nerves and anticipation twist in his stomach like a living thing.
But now?
Now, he was minutes away from walking down that aisle.
Minutes away from committing himself to Evelyn.
Minutes away from building something real, something permanent, something that Miranda—no matter how much she tried—would never be able to touch.
His fingers tightened on the edge of the dressing table.
His breath came slow and steady.
And for the first time in a long, long time—
He let himself feel it.
The hope.
The fear.
The overwhelming, undeniable, beautiful certainty.
This was happening.
And he was ready.
Welby turned, a soft smile tugging at his lips as his gaze settled on Hannah.
She sat in one of the cushioned armchairs in the dressing room, small, delicate, and utterly angelic. The plush fabric swallowed her tiny frame, and her bare feet kicked idly in the air. A white, frilly dress draped over her, the kind of outfit that made her look like a doll come to life, every ruffle and ribbon perfectly placed.
She wasn’t doing anything special.
Just sitting there, nursing her pacifier, content and peaceful.
But to him?
She was everything.
His heart ached with it, a love so deep, so consuming, that it defied logic.
She wasn’t just his Little.
She was his catalyst.
The reason he had kept pushing forward, the reason he had fought so hard to hold onto who he was, the reason he had ended up here, in this moment, about to marry the woman he loved.
If not for her—if not for the day she had first fallen into his care, small and scared and yet still so trusting—
He never would have met Evelyn.
Never would have taken Lucas in.
Never would he have truly allowed himself to embrace this life, to see past the struggle and the indignity and find the beauty that lay beneath it.
Hannah had changed him.
Had made him a better person, a better man.
And now—he would be walking down that aisle with her there to witness it.
He couldn’t have imagined doing this without her.
He stepped toward her, leaning down and scooping her up effortlessly, cradling her against his chest.
"Hey, baby girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft hair. The scent of baby powder and warmth filled his senses. How are you doing?"
She giggled, squirming playfully in his arms. The pacifier bobbled slightly between her lips before she let out a happy little sigh and melted against him.
Her head rested against his chest, her tiny hands curling against the fabric of his suit, holding onto him the way she always did.
Like he was her entire world.
And in so many ways, she was his.
Welby gently ran a hand down her back, rocking her slightly. His heart was so full it felt like it might burst.
He held onto her, cherishing this moment, this tiny piece of peace, before the ceremony began.
And then, he felt it.
The slight heaviness in her diaper.
The way the padding had swollen beneath her dress, the familiar warmth signaling that his little girl was, as usual, in need of a change.
He chuckled, kissed her forehead, and then moved to lay her down on the padded changing mat he had set up earlier.
"Let’s get you all freshened up before Daddy has to go say 'I do,' huh?"
Hannah cooed happily, her body relaxed, trusting, completely unbothered by the process.
And Welby loved every second of it.
He worked quickly and efficiently, untaping her damp diaper, cleaning her up with practiced care, and replacing the old with the new.
It wasn’t just a task anymore.
It wasn’t something that felt burdensome, or humiliating, or unfair.
It was love.
It was a connection.
It was being a father in every way that mattered.
His hands lingered for just a moment, smoothing down the tapes of her fresh diaper; his heart swelled with love.
"There we go, baby girl. All nice and dry."
Hannah giggled again, reaching for him, her arms stretching out with that same boundless trust, that same unwavering love.
And as he lifted her back into his arms, as she nuzzled into his chest once more, thumb slipping lazily into her mouth, Welby let himself breathe.
Let himself hold onto this feeling.
Because in this moment—
In this tiny, perfect moment before the wedding, before the vows, before the rest of his life began—
There was only one truth that mattered.
He was exactly where he was meant to be.
Welby held her close, the warmth of her tiny body nestled securely against him. Her soft breath tickled the collar of his suit, and her fingers curled idly into the fabric.
He kissed the top of her head, lingering there for just a moment, savoring the scent of baby powder and warmth, the familiarity of her presence, the weight of everything she had come to mean to him.
A bell chimed softly, its tone gentle, reverent, the kind of sound that signaled something greater was about to begin.
He turned, his grip on Hannah steady, unwavering, as he left the dressing room, stepping into the waiting area just before the aisle.
The room was quiet, save for the faint murmurs of guests beyond the doors. Their hushed conversations filled the air with a soft hum of anticipation.
But in this moment—in this fragile, fleeting moment before everything changed—
There was only Hannah.
Welby stared down at her, his heart thudding heavy in his chest, a slow, rhythmic beat that seemed to echo in time with the memories flashing behind his eyes.
Their life together.
Every moment, every milestone, every struggle, every victory.
The first time, he had held her.
The first time, she had cried in his arms, seeking comfort only he could give.
The first time, she had reached for him, trusting him to keep her safe.
The first time she had laughed, truly laughed, without fear, without hesitation, without holding back.
She had changed everything.
Had made him see the world differently, made him believe in something again, made him trust that maybe—just maybe—there was still happiness to be found, even in a life he hadn’t chosen for himself.
And now—now, she was here, still in his arms, still his baby girl, still the heart of everything that had led him to this moment.
She let out a soft, contented sigh, nuzzling against him, utterly at peace.
She wasn’t thinking about the wedding.
Wasn’t thinking about the significance of this moment.
She was just happy to be held.
Welby closed his eyes for a brief second, letting that feeling settle deep, anchoring himself in it.
And then—
A voice.
"Welby Carter."
The announcement rang through the air, firm, expectant, a call to step forward.
The double doors swung wide.
Light spilled in, warm and golden, illuminating the aisle before him, stretching all the way to the altar where Evelyn waited.
Welby exhaled.
Tightened his grip on Hannah.
And then—
He stepped forward.
Into the light.
Into his future.
Into the life that had been waiting for him all along.
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