Andrew & Melina Graves

The transport pod hissed as it came to a smooth stop at the massive iron gate. Beyond it, the Graves Estate shimmered like something out of a dream—or a very surreal commercial. White marble fountains danced under the sun, and the pristine path leading to the front entrance was flanked with vibrantly blooming flowerbeds and robotic garden gnomes that smiled and waved as the pod passed.

Jasmine sat rigid in her seat, her knees pressed together, fingers curling and uncurling nervously in her lap. She wore the outfit they'd sent her a week earlier: a sunshine-yellow jumper with ruffled shoulder straps that crossed in the back, paired with a soft, pastel purple shirt patterned in smiling butterflies. Her hair had been brushed into two neat pigtails—done by a government attendant at the transition center—and her feet were snug in velcro sneakers with light-up soles.

But beneath the innocent clothes, the pull-up crinkled faintly with every shift in her seat. It wasn't thick, not like the ones she'd seen in videos of full-regression "babies," but it was noticeable. Her cheeks flushed every time it reminded her she wasn't wearing grown-up underwear anymore.

The pod door slid open with a soft chime.

“Welcome, Little Jasmine,” the pod’s AI cooed. “Please proceed to the entrance. Your caregivers are waiting.”

Her legs moved before she could talk herself out of it. She stepped onto the gravel, the crunch underfoot swallowed by the vast silence of the estate. Towering hedges lined the walkway. A gentle breeze made her skirt flutter slightly, reminding her of the snug, padded garment beneath.

The double doors ahead swung open with a smooth, mechanical whirr, revealing two figures in the doorway.

“There's our sweetheart,” came the woman's voice—warm, lilting, and just a touch too sweet.

Jasmine's eyes locked on the couple. She recognized them instantly. Andrew and Melina Graves. Tech billionaires, owners of SunSprout, the largest chain of regression daycares on the continent. She’d seen their faces on glossy brochures and news segments. Always smiling. Always cooing over their "littles."

But now… they wore soft pastels. Melina in a lavender dress with a pink apron dotted in cartoon rabbits. Andrew in khaki slacks and a sky-blue cardigan, his sleeves rolled neatly at the wrist. Both were beaming.

Yet they didn’t say their names. They didn’t have to.

“We’re so happy you’re here,” Melina said, stepping forward, her arms open wide. “Come here, baby. Let Mommy get a good look at you.”

Jasmine hesitated on the top step. Her heart thumped in her chest. She wanted to run. Or scream. Or cry. But her legs moved forward instead. One step. Another.

Melina enveloped her in a soft, floral-scented hug, swaying gently as if cradling a toddler. “Oh, sweetie… You’re just precious. That outfit fits so nicely. Doesn’t she look perfect, Daddy?”

Andrew crouched slightly to meet her gaze. “Perfect little girl,” he said with a proud smile. “Do you like your jumper, honeybun? We picked it out just for you.”

Jasmine nodded mutely.

“Well,” Melina said, patting her back, “you’ll have lots more cute outfits to try on soon. But first, let’s get inside, okay? We have your new room all ready. And after we settle you in, it’s snack time.”

Melina took her hand—gently, but with a firmness that told Jasmine resistance was pointless—and led her through the doors.