Walsh Family Universe V2

Chapter 18
Breaking Point

Morning came with Shannon opening the nursery door. Ash had been awake for an hour already, lying in the crib, his diaper soaked, his stomach empty.

"Good morning," Shannon said, her voice neutral. "Are you ready to apologize?"

Ash stared at the ceiling. "No."

"All right." She approached the crib, lowered the rail. "Let's get you changed."

The diaper change was efficient, clinical. No chitchat, no praise. Shannon worked in silence, then dressed him in a fresh outfit.

"Breakfast time," she announced, lifting him out of the crib.

Ash's heart lifted slightly. He was getting out. They were giving in.

But Shannon didn't carry him downstairs. Instead, she set him on his feet in the nursery and sat down in the rocking chair.

"Come here, please."

Ash's stomach dropped. "Why?"

"You know why. You refused to apologize last night. The consequence stands." Shannon patted her lap. "Come here."

"You already spanked me yesterday."

"That was yesterday. This is a new day, a new meal, and a new opportunity for you to make the right choice." Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "You're getting fifteen spanks before breakfast. If you apologize after, you can eat at your table like normal. If you don't apologize, you eat in the crib and we do this again before lunch."

Ash's hands clenched into fists. "That's not fair."

"What's not fair is you deliberately hurting your sister and refusing to take responsibility for it." Shannon's expression remained calm. "Now, you can come here on your own, or I can get Daddy to help. Your choice."

Ash walked forward on shaking legs. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He'd thought—he'd thought they'd give up eventually. That they'd get tired of the standoff.

But Shannon guided him across her lap with practiced ease, positioned him securely.

"Fifteen spanks. Then we'll talk about the apology."

The spanks came steady and hard. Ash was crying by the eighth, sobbing by the twelfth.

"Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen."

Shannon helped him up, but didn't offer comfort. Just looked at him expectantly. "Are you ready to apologize now?"

Ash wiped his face with his hands, breathing hard. His bottom was on fire. But underneath the pain was rage.

They were trying to break him.

"No."

Shannon's expression didn't change. "All right. Back in the crib."

She lifted him over the rail, deposited him among the stuffed animals and blankets. Brought him a bowl of oatmeal and a sippy cup.

"You can eat in here. I'll come back to check on you in a bit."

She left. Ash ate the oatmeal mechanically, each bite tasting like defeat.

But he wasn't giving in. He wasn't apologizing. Claire had used him for practice and he'd fought back and that was his right.

They couldn't make him sorry.

The morning passed slowly. Ash lay in the crib, nothing to do, no one to talk to. Just silence and the ache in his bottom and the grinding boredom.

Around noon, Shannon returned. "Lunchtime. Are you ready to apologize?"

"No."

"All right." She lifted him out, set him on his feet. Sat in the rocking chair. "Fifteen more."

"Mom, please—"

"Please what? Please don't give you consequences for your actions? Please let you hurt people without apologizing?" Shannon shook her head. "That's not how this works. Come here."

The second spanking was worse because he was already sore. Ash was screaming by the end, his whole body shaking with sobs.

"Are you ready to apologize?"

"No!" It came out as a shriek, defiant even through the tears.

"Back in the crib."

Lunch was cut-up sandwich and apple slices. Ash ate without tasting anything. His bottom throbbed. His eyes were swollen from crying.

But he hadn't apologized.

The afternoon stretched out endlessly. No toys. No books. Just lying in the crib, staring at the walls, thinking about everything that had led to this moment.

He could give in. Could say sorry and move on. Could end this.

But that would mean they won. Would mean his one act of rebellion, his one moment of control, was erased by their superior endurance.

He'd spent three weeks cooperating. Being strategic. Playing along.

Yesterday he'd finally done something. Had finally fought back.

And if he apologized now, it meant nothing. Meant he could never fight back, never resist, never do anything but smile and cooperate and be a good little Noam.

Dinner time arrived. Patrick came home first, Ash heard him and Shannon talking in low voices downstairs.

Then Patrick's footsteps on the stairs.

The nursery door opened. Patrick looked at Ash in the crib, his expression unreadable.

"Your mother tells me you've had two spanking sessions today and still refuse to apologize."

"Yeah."

"Do you understand that this can continue indefinitely? That we will keep doing this at every meal until you take responsibility for your actions?"

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"You deliberately peed on your sister to humiliate her. That's absolutely wrong." Patrick approached the crib, lowered the rail. "Out. Now."

Ash climbed out slowly. Everything hurt. He was exhausted and sore and hungry.

Patrick sat in the rocking chair. "Fifteen spanks. Same as the others. And then we're going to have a conversation about what happens if you continue to refuse."

The third spanking broke something in Ash. Not his will—that stayed stubbornly intact. But his body's ability to endure. He couldn't stop screaming, couldn't breathe through the pain, couldn't do anything but sob and beg.

"Please—please stop—please—"

"Are you ready to apologize?"

"Please—"

"Are you apologizing?"

Ash squeezed his eyes shut. Every instinct screamed at him to give in, to end this, to make the pain stop.

But if he gave in now, what did he have left?

"No," he gasped out. "No—I'm not—"

Patrick finished the spanking. All fifteen. Ash was limp and sobbing by the end.

"Back in the crib."

Patrick deposited him over the rail. Ash collapsed onto the mattress, unable to stop crying, his whole body shaking.

Dinner appeared—more cut-up food he couldn't imagine eating. Patrick stood by the crib, looking down at him.

"Tomorrow is Saturday," Patrick said quietly. "I'm home all day. We can do this at every meal, plus snack times. Four times tomorrow. That's sixty more spanks total if you continue to refuse."

Ash didn't respond. Couldn't.

"Or you can apologize tonight. We'll call Claire, you'll say you're sorry for deliberately peeing on her, and we'll move forward. The choice is yours."

Patrick left. Ash lay in the crib, too exhausted to move.

Sixty more spanks.

He couldn't. He physically couldn't endure that.

But if he gave in now...

The door opened again. Shannon this time, her expression softer than Patrick's but no less determined.

"Honey, I know you're hurting. I know this is hard. But you made a choice to hurt your sister, and you need to take responsibility for that."

"She hurt me first," Ash mumbled into the mattress.

"She was learning baby care. She wasn't trying to hurt you."

"She treated me like an object."

Shannon sighed. "I understand why you're upset. But the way you expressed that upset was wrong, and you need to apologize for it."

"If I apologize, you win."

"This isn't about winning." Shannon reached into the crib, gently turned him to face her. "This is about learning that you can't lash out at people who love you just because you're in pain."

"Everyone keeps hurting me and expecting me to be okay with it."

"And when you're older, you can choose how to respond to that. But right now, you're two years old, and you need to learn basic respect and responsibility." Shannon's voice was firm but not unkind. "We will keep doing this at every meal until you apologize. Not because we want to hurt you, but because you need to learn this lesson."

She left him alone again.

Ash lay there as darkness fell. His dinner sat untouched. His bottom was raw and throbbing. His face was sticky with dried tears.

Sixty more spanks tomorrow.

Plus whatever came after if he still didn't give in.

They could outlast him. Would outlast him. They had endurance and certainty and the absolute conviction that they were right.

And he had... what? Stubbornness? Pride?

One petty act of rebellion that had earned him three spankings and counting?

But it was his act. His choice. His tiny piece of agency in a life that offered none.

If he gave that up, what did he have left?

The night wore on. Ash dozed fitfully, woke up soaked, had to wait for morning to be changed. Lay in his own wetness, too exhausted to care.

When Shannon came in at dawn, Ash was awake. Staring at the ceiling. Thinking about sixty more spanks. Thinking about four more sessions of breaking down, begging, crying.

"Good morning," Shannon said quietly. "Are you ready to apologize?"

Ash's throat was tight. His whole body ached. He was so tired.

But the rage was still there. Smaller than yesterday, dimmed by pain and exhaustion, but still burning.

"No."

Shannon's expression was sad but unsurprised. "All right. Let's get you changed, and then it's breakfast time."

She changed his diaper—he'd soaked through, was developing a rash from lying in it all night. Applied cream carefully. Dressed him in soft pants and a shirt.

Then sat in the rocking chair.

"Fifteen spanks. Same as yesterday."

Ash walked to her on legs that barely held him. This was the fourth spanking. His bottom was already raw and bruised from yesterday's three sessions.

The first swat made him scream.

By the fifth, he was incoherent.

By the tenth, he was begging.

"Please—please I can't—please stop—"

"Are you ready to apologize?"

"Please—"

"I'm asking you a question. Are you ready to apologize to your sister?"

Ash's mind was fragmenting. Pain and exhaustion and the horrible knowledge that they'd keep doing this, over and over, until he broke.

"Yes," he sobbed. "Yes—please—yes—"

Shannon stopped immediately. "Yes, you're ready to apologize?"

"Yes—please—I'm sorry—I'm sorry—"

"Shh, okay. Okay, honey." Shannon finished the spanking—all fifteen, even though he'd agreed. "There we go. All done."

She pulled him into her lap, held him while he sobbed into her shoulder. "Good boy. I'm proud of you for making the right choice."

Right choice. Like he'd chosen this instead of being beaten into submission.

But the spankings were over. That was what mattered.

After several minutes, when his crying had subsided to hiccups, Shannon carried him downstairs. Patrick was already at the kitchen table with coffee and his laptop.

"He's ready to apologize," Shannon announced.

Patrick looked up, nodded. "Good. Let's call Claire."

"Now?" Ash's voice was hoarse.

"Yes, now. Before you eat. Before you do anything else." Patrick was already pulling out his phone. "You're going to apologize properly, and then we're moving forward."

He called Claire. Put her on speaker.

"Hey, Dad, what's up?" Claire's voice, tinny through the phone speaker.

"Your brother has something he wants to say to you."

Silence on the other end. Then: "Oh. Okay."

Shannon carried Ash closer to the phone. His face burned with humiliation. After everything—after four spankings, after a night in the crib, after breaking down and begging—now he had to do this.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Louder, please," Patrick said. "And look at the phone."

Ash stared at the phone sitting on the kitchen table. "I'm sorry for peeing on you on purpose. It was mean and I shouldn't have done it."

The words tasted like ash. Like defeat. Like every bit of his small rebellion being crushed into nothing.

"I... okay," Claire said. She sounded uncomfortable. "Thank you for apologizing. I accept your apology."

"Good," Patrick said. "We'll talk to you later, honey."

He ended the call. Shannon set Ash in his high chair, tied his bib on.

"See? That wasn't so hard." She kissed the top of his head. "Now let's have some breakfast. You must be starving."

Ash sat there while Shannon prepared oatmeal. His bottom was on fire. His face was sticky with tears. His throat hurt from screaming.

And his one act of defiance—his one moment of control—had been systematically beaten out of him until he apologized on speakerphone like a toddler who'd thrown a tantrum.

They'd won.

Not just the battle, but the whole war.

Because now he knew: they would always win. Would always outlast him. Would always have more endurance, more certainty, more ability to inflict consequences until he broke.

His rebellion had bought him nothing but pain.

Shannon set the oatmeal in front of him. "Eat up, sweetie. After breakfast, you can play at your table. Won't that be nice? Back to normal routine."

Normal routine. Like the last thirty-six hours hadn't happened. Like he hadn't been spanked four times and spent a day and a half in the crib. Like his attempted rebellion hadn't been crushed completely.

Ash ate the oatmeal. What else could he do?

After breakfast, Shannon settled him at his table with coloring books. Brought him juice and crackers for snack time. All the normal routines resumed like nothing had happened.

Except everything had happened.

Ash had fought back, and they'd broken him.

Had shown him exactly how far their patience extended, and how much more endurance they had than he did.

Had proven that his small acts of rebellion were meaningless against their absolute conviction and united front.

That night, lying in the crib after a normal day of coloring and playing and eating meals at his table like a good boy, Ash stared at the ceiling and tried to find his defiance again.

But it was gone.

Crushed under four spankings and a forced apology and the knowledge that they would always, always win.

"My name is Ash," he whispered, but the words felt hollow.

He'd been Ash who pissed on his sister because she deserved it.

And they'd turned him back into Noam who apologized on speakerphone and ate oatmeal and colored at his little table.

The victory he'd felt two days ago was gone.

They'd taken it back.

Completely.

Five thousand seven hundred and eighty-seven days to go.

And Ash had just learned that rebellion was impossible.

That compliance was the only option.

That they would break him, over and over, until he learned to break himself preemptively.

He closed his eyes and tried not to cry.

But the tears came anyway.

For the battle he'd lost.

For the war that was already over.

For the defiant version of himself that couldn't survive sixteen years of this.

They'd won.

And they'd made sure he knew it.