Joey stands at the edge of the hallway, his small hands anxiously twisting the hem of his faded blue t-shirt. The muffled sounds of pots clinking drift in from the kitchen, but all Joey can focus on is the bathroom door. The hallway feels colder here, as if the very air knows his secret discomfort. Mom's gentle voice calls out from the kitchen, breaking the tense silence. "Joey, it's time to use the restroom, sweetheart! Remember, you can't hold it forever."

Joey[/@ch_1], who sits humming quietly, feet dangling above the floor.] Joey locks the door with a soft click, then perches on the lid, pretending he is doing what is expected. His eyes wander over the yellow ducky shower curtain, the stack of neatly folded towels, anything but the toilet itself. He hums a nervous tune, tapping his heels against porcelain, desperate to convince himself—and his mother—everything is normal. After a minute, he flushes the empty toilet and runs the water, hoping to complete the illusion.

Joey[/@ch_1] slips in, trying not to meet Mom's watchful gaze.] Mom stands by the kitchen entrance, a dish towel in hand, her brow furrowed in quiet concern. She approaches the bathroom door, knocking gently as if not to startle a wild animal. "Are you all done in there, Joey?" "Yeah, all done, Mom!" He scurries past her, cheeks flushed, and buries himself in the living room cushions, hoping she won’t notice the truth in his eyes.

Joey[/@ch_1] grows increasingly withdrawn. The evening light casts long shadows across the walls, and the ticking clock seems to echo his mounting anxiety.] Joey's stomach now gurgles and aches, an invisible weight pressing on him each day. He avoids Mom's eyes, slinking away whenever the urge returns, clinging to the hope that it will simply vanish. The once inviting rooms of the house feel more confining, and Joey hides in quiet corners, willing his discomfort away. The more he resists, the heavier his burden grows.

Joey[/@ch_1] crouches, his breath quick and shallow, face scrunched with effort.] The pressure is unbearable; Joey's breaths come in ragged bursts as he hunches behind the couch, determined to be brave just this once. His face reddens, sweat beads at his hairline, and he grunts softly, pushing past the fear that has held him captive for so long. The room seems to shrink around him, the familiar comfort of the couch replaced by anxiety and embarrassment. Suddenly, Mom's voice drifts over the back of the couch, filled with both concern and relief. "Joey, what are you doing back there?"

Joey[/@ch_1]'s room. The bed is a sanctuary, its covers pulled up high as Joey snuggles close to Mom, who sits beside him, her hand gently ruffling his hair.] Joey emerges from behind the couch, red-faced and trembling, unable to meet Mom's eyes. Mom kneels beside him, her voice soft and soothing. "It's okay, come out sweetheart. Everyone must go sometimes. Let me help you, okay?" For the first time, Joey lets himself be helped, relief flooding through him as the ordeal finally ends. In the quiet that follows, he snuggles close on the bed, the tightness in his stomach replaced by a new, gentle ease. "Next time, let's try the bathroom, okay? I promise it gets easier." Joey nods, a shy smile tugging at his lips. He promises himself, as he drifts off in the safe warmth of his mother’s arms, never to wait so long again.