Evan[/@ch_1], a slight, blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy of 13, sits on the edge of his rumpled bed, staring down at his pajamas in frustration.]
Evan squeezes his eyes shut, wishing away the accident that happened again last night. He hears the creak of the hallway floorboards and tenses, knowing his parents will soon discover what happened. He mutters to himself, "Why can’t this just stop? Why can’t I be normal like everyone else?"
Mom[/@ch_2] and Dad stand together, mugs in hand, their faces set in tired lines. The smell of burnt toast lingers in the air, and the tension is palpable as Evan shuffles in, head down.]
Mom sighs and glances at Dad, who shakes his head in disappointment. "There was another mess, Evan. We’re getting really tired of this," he says, voice low. "You’re our little stinker, but you need to grow up. Maybe if your friends knew, you’d finally stop," she adds, her voice sharper than she intends.
Evan[/@ch_1] stands awkwardly among his friends—Jake and Zeo—and a few classmates gathered for a weekend barbecue. His parents stand a few feet away, voices carrying loud and clear in the open space.]
"Guess what, everyone! Our little stinker had another accident last night," Mom announces, her tone light but her eyes searching for a reaction. Jake shifts uncomfortably, glancing at Evan with wide eyes, while Zeo looks away, unsure how to respond. Laughter bubbles up from a few of the classmates, and Evan feels his cheeks burn with shame.
Evan[/@ch_1] sits curled into the corner of the couch, arms wrapped around his knees. The voices of his extended family echo from the speakerphone as his parents recount the morning’s events, their words sharp and unkind.]
Aunt Lisa, her voice tinny through the phone, says, "Oh, Evan, you’re too old for this! Maybe you need a chart or something to keep you in line." Evan bites his lip, wishing he could disappear, the humiliation pressing down like a weight.
Evan[/@ch_1] sits at his desk, scribbling furiously in his notebook. The room is silent except for the scratch of his pencil and the occasional sniffle as he tries to make sense of his feelings.]
Evan writes, "I wish someone understood. I’m trying my best. I don’t want to be the little stinker anymore." His shoulders shake, but he keeps writing, desperate to express what he can’t say aloud.
Evan[/@ch_1]’s room. He approaches his parents, notebook in hand, and stands tall despite his nerves.]
"I need help," Evan says, voice steady. Mom and Dad exchange a glance, softening as they see the pain and courage in their son’s eyes. "We’re sorry, Evan. We didn’t realize how much this was hurting you. Let’s figure this out together," Mom replies, pulling him into a gentle hug as the morning sun pours in, promising a new beginning.
