Caidend get's a fresh pullup, but first....

Caiden stood frozen, his face burning, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted nothing more than to yank his pants back up. But the teacher gave him a pointed look, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Well?” she prompted, tapping the chart at the side of the room.

Mia could see his throat bob as he swallowed hard. Then, with a soft, humiliating crinkle, he waddled forward, his soggy pull-up sagging between his legs, forcing him into an awkward, slow shuffle. Every step he took made the wet padding press uncomfortably against him, the damp fabric swelling with every motion.

The classroom was silent except for the faint rustling of his training pants.

When he reached the potty chart, Mia could finally see the full display.

At first glance, it looked like an ordinary behavior chart—rows of names, organized neatly. But instead of stars or checkmarks for good work, it was sunny and rainy stickers that tracked progress.

Mia's stomach twisted as she read the patterns.

Some students had only suns, their rows bright and untouched. They were the ones who never had accidents, the ones who had solidified their place in the Primary Level.

Most of the names, however, had a mix of suns and clouds. A few mistakes, maybe a rough day here or there, but nothing too serious.

But then… there were the other names.

The ones like Caiden.

Mia’s breath caught as she saw his row. It was full of rainy stickers. There were so many. Some had little storm clouds drawn on them, while others were plain and gray. At the very end of his row, the last sunny sticker sat lonely, separated from the last few rainy ones.

And now, Caiden was about to add another.

His hands trembled slightly as he peeled the sticker from the sheet on the wall. His shoulders hunched as he pressed the small rainy sticker onto his row, right underneath his name.

The teacher stepped forward, tapping the chart for emphasis.

“As you can all see,” she said, her voice smooth but firm, “Caiden has had quite a few accidents this week. And unfortunately for him…” She let the words hang for a moment before turning back to the class, a small, knowing smile on her face.

“…one more, and he won’t be wearing training pants anymore.”

Mia’s stomach twisted.

Caiden visibly flinched. His fists clenched at his sides as the teacher continued.

“If he has one more accident this week, he’ll be moved back into proper protection—diapers. And with that change, of course, comes a reassessment of his level.”

The class murmured softly. Mia didn’t have to look around to know what they were thinking. Toddler Level.

Caiden didn’t say a word. He just nodded stiffly, his face bright red.

The teacher gave him a final nod. “Now, go to the back of the room. I think it’s time you were changed.”

Mia barely had time to process the words before she saw one of the classroom assistants—a young woman in a neat uniform—standing near the supply cupboard, holding a fresh pull-up.

Caiden hesitated, his jaw tightening. But there was no room for protest.

He shuffled toward the back, his wet pull-up sagging with each step. The classroom assistant led him behind a small privacy screen, though it wasn’t enough to fully block out the embarrassing sounds.

Mia heard the soft rip of the pull-up’s sides being torn open, followed by the rustle of fresh padding.