Mommy Knows Best – Chapter Four – One Step Back, Two Steps Tucked
The first thing Daniel noticed when they stepped into the store was the noise.
Children’s laughter and occasional wailing echoed through the wide aisles. The rumble of carts on linoleum filled his ears, punctuated by the rhythmic beep of scanners and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. Somewhere far off, a baby was crying. Another aisle over, a toddler was shouting “no!” repeatedly with increasing volume.
He wasn’t sure why it all suddenly felt so loud.
Samantha was beside him, guiding their shared cart past the entryway and toward the produce section. Her hand lightly brushed the small of his back as they turned down the first aisle, the warmth of her touch more grounding than he wanted to admit.
“Let’s be quick,” she said gently. “I know this place can be a little overwhelming.”
He nodded, blinking under the overhead lights. The chaos didn’t usually bother him—he wasn’t fragile. He knew that. And yet… today, his steps were slower. More cautious. Maybe it was the slight ache in his belly from skipping lunch, or maybe it was the lingering embarrassment from last night’s early bedtime that had left him feeling strangely exposed this morning.
They stopped at a display of apples. Samantha handed him a produce bag, smiling softly. “Think you can pick us five good ones?”
He nodded again, silently grateful for something to focus on.
As he leaned over to check for bruises on the fruit, she disappeared briefly toward the bread aisle. He breathed out slowly, rolling his shoulders and trying to shake the feeling crawling up the back of his neck. Everything felt… off.
When she returned, she had a loaf of soft wheat bread and a pack of juice boxes. He frowned.
“Juice boxes?”
“They were on sale,” she said breezily, loading them into the cart. “Good for mornings when you’re rushing.”
He didn’t argue, though the idea of him sipping from a little foil-topped box made his stomach twist.
They made their way through the store with methodical efficiency. Samantha steered, directed, and calmly filled the cart as Daniel trailed behind, increasingly passive. By the time they passed the baby aisle, he was already off balance.
It was unspoken, that moment.
She didn’t stop—but her gaze lingered. Diapers. Wipes. Formula. Pacifiers. Bottles. Teething rings. He could feel her looking at the shelves the way someone might look at a piece of furniture they weren’t buying—yet. Evaluating. Quietly deciding. His cheeks went warm, and she didn’t say a word.
He caught himself watching her from the corner of his eye. Watching how confidently she moved. How she handled their shared shopping list. How she carried herself with a subtle air of decisiveness he hadn’t noticed before—not quite motherly, but bordering on it.
They reached the frozen section. Samantha paused to retrieve a bag of mixed vegetables, and as she leaned into the frosty air of the open cooler, Daniel realized he hadn’t spoken in several minutes.
“I can grab the milk,” he offered quickly, desperate to sound normal.
She smiled at him and nodded. “Two percent, please.”
He turned down the next aisle, but his steps were uncertain. Everything in the store seemed a bit larger today. Brighter. Louder. Sharper.
It happened while they were waiting to check out.
The line was long, backed up by a woman fumbling with coupons ahead of them. Behind them, a young couple with a small child in tow waited with a half-full cart. The child, a boy of about three, was tugging on his mom’s coat and whining for a candy bar. His voice rose in pitch as he repeated the same request over and over.
Daniel shifted from foot to foot, trying not to listen. Trying not to look at the boy’s blue dinosaur shirt, or the Velcro shoes, or the small Pull-Up waistband visible above his jeans.
He crossed his arms and shifted again.
And then he felt it.
Warmth.
Not much. Just a flicker. A tiny surge of wet heat that hadn’t been there before. His breath caught in his throat. His legs pressed together. His fingers twitched.
No no no—
Not here. Not now.
He glanced at Samantha, who was calmly unloading items onto the conveyor belt. She hadn’t noticed. Or had she?
Then her eyes flicked down, just for a moment. Just long enough.
His heart pounded.
“Sweetie,” she said, voice low and soothing, “why don’t you wait by the door for me? It’s getting a little crowded here.”
He froze.
That voice again. That tone. Not asking. Telling—gently. Carefully. But telling.
His lips parted to protest, but nothing came out.
He gave a shallow nod, then slowly backed away from the cart and moved toward the sliding exit doors. The world outside was dimmer, overcast. The glass doors whooshed open every time someone passed near him, letting in occasional gusts of cool air.
Daniel stood next to a coin-operated giraffe ride, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He couldn’t bring himself to look down. Couldn’t bear to check the front of his pants for signs of dampness.
He just… waited.
Samantha joined him a few minutes later, pushing the full cart with calm efficiency.
“Ready?” she asked softly, as if nothing had happened.
He nodded, wordless.
They loaded the groceries in silence. Samantha drove. The radio was off. Daniel stared out the passenger window, his reflection ghosted over the passing buildings.
He wanted to say something. Anything. A joke. A deflection. But his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.
At home, he helped carry the bags inside. As he moved to head toward the kitchen, Samantha’s voice halted him mid-step.
“Upstairs, please.”
He turned.
“I… what?”
She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t frown. She just looked at him with those calm, assessing eyes.
“I want to check something.”
He hesitated.
“I didn’t have an… accident,” he said quickly. “It was barely anything. It’s fine.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m not angry. Come on.”
Her hand touched his again, and somehow the words caught in his throat. He followed.
The bedroom was quiet. She closed the door behind them.
He stood awkwardly in the center of the room, as if waiting for instructions.
She stepped forward, fingers finding the button of his jeans.
“Samantha—”
“Honey,” she interrupted gently, “just let me check.”
He closed his eyes.
The zipper came down. The jeans slid to his knees. Boxers. Dark fabric. A small, faint spot—nothing dramatic. But obvious. Present.
He felt her fingers lightly touch the front.
“Mmm,” she murmured. “Still a little damp.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.
“I know,” she said, straightening. “You’ve been distracted. It’s okay.”
“I’m not a child.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
She kissed his forehead. Then stepped over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of soft flannel pajama pants with little forest animals on them.
“Here,” she said, holding them out.
He blinked. “Aren’t those—?”
“They’re soft,” she said simply. “And dry.”
He hesitated, then took them without a word.
Dinner was quiet.
Samantha didn’t mention the store. Didn’t comment on the pajamas. She asked him about the movie they’d watched last night, what he wanted for breakfast tomorrow, whether he preferred peach or apple yogurt. It was all gentle, conversational, almost like nothing had happened.
But Daniel could feel it in the air—something had shifted. Again.
After they cleaned up, he drifted toward the living room, but Samantha gave him a soft look from the kitchen doorway.
“You look tired.”
“I’m not,” he said automatically.
She walked toward him, arms loosely folded. “It’s past nine.”
He glanced at the clock.
“It’s only just past nine,” he said, a hint of resistance in his voice.
Her smile didn’t falter. “Exactly. A good time to start winding down.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered. “I don’t need—”
“Daniel.”
That voice again.
Not harsh. Not sharp. But firm. Parental.
He stopped.
She stepped closer and gently took his hand.
“Go brush your teeth, sweetheart. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer, then sighed, breaking the eye contact.
“Fine.”
In the bathroom, he leaned over the sink and stared at his reflection. His face looked younger than he wanted it to. Vulnerable. Still slightly pink with frustration. Still shaken.
He brushed his teeth. Washed his face. Dried his hands slowly.
When he entered the bedroom again, Samantha was already waiting. The covers were turned down. A plush Charmander lay on the pillow.
He blinked. “Did you…?”
“I found him when I was putting laundry away,” she said. “I thought maybe he could keep you company tonight.”
He hesitated.
Then crossed the room and picked it up without a word.
She smiled softly, smoothing the blanket and gesturing toward the bed.
“Hop in.”
He frowned. “You’re really serious about this bedtime thing.”
“I’m serious about taking care of you,” she replied.
He climbed into bed, the pajama pants swishing softly as he moved. Samantha tucked the blanket up under his chin, brushing his hair gently back from his forehead.
“Warm enough?” she asked.
He nodded.
She hesitated, then leaned in and kissed his temple.
“I think soon we’ll put a few little rules in place,” she said, almost to herself. “Nothing scary. Just to help make sure you’re getting what you need.”
He stiffened.
“What kind of rules?”
She shrugged gently. “Let’s not worry about that tonight. Let’s just get some rest.”
Her hand moved under the blanket for a final bedtime pat—not invasive, just present.
“All dry,” she said, and her voice was a mix of kindness and subtle praise.
Daniel said nothing.
She turned off the light and pulled the door halfway closed.
In the dark, Daniel held the plush close to his chest.
He didn’t cry. But he didn’t sleep right away either.
And somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t entirely hated it.
The End of Mommy Knows Best – Chapter Four – One Step Back, Two Steps Tucked
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