Age regression short stories

Overworking (mama pov)

It's hard to watch her like this—pushing herself so hard, losing herself in her work. I can see it in the way her brows furrow and the way she sighs every few minutes, trying to force herself to keep going. I know when she's overdoing it, when the stress is starting to build up, but she doesn't always realize it herself.

I stand in the doorway of her room, just watching for a moment. Her desk is a mess, papers everywhere, half-empty coffee cups, pens scattered across the surface. The glow of her screen lights up her face, but she doesn't look like she's enjoying what she's doing anymore. Her shoulders are stiff, and her fingers are tapping the keyboard a little too fast, a sure sign she's losing control of her focus.

"Hey, sweetheart," I call softly, stepping inside. My voice is gentle, calm. I don't want to startle her, but I know I need to get through to her before she works herself into a frenzy. "How about you take a little break?"

She doesn't look up right away. Her focus is still on whatever she's typing, her fingers moving quickly, but she lets out a soft groan. "I can't, Mama. I need to finish this. Just a little longer."

I walk over and rest a hand on her shoulder, feeling the tightness there. My touch is light, but I can feel the weight of the stress pressing down on her, making it harder for her to even relax into a moment of care. "Sweetheart, you've been at this for hours. You've done enough. Come on, let's give your brain a break."

She sighs, clearly frustrated, but I can see the tension in her eyes start to crack. "I'm not little, Mama. I'm working."

I smile softly. "You are little, baby girl. You always will be. And right now, your little brain is working way too hard. You need a break, or you'll get more frustrated. Come on, let me help you."

At first, she resists, still holding onto that sense of responsibility, but I can tell she's getting worn out. The stubbornness fades, just a bit, and I take her hand gently, guiding her away from the desk.

"Let's go to the couch, okay?" I say, my voice a little more insistent, but still soothing.

She doesn't argue. I wrap a soft blanket around her once we're settled, pulling her close so her head rests in my lap. She's still a little tense, but I can feel her slowly letting go. Her breathing is shallow at first, but with each minute, she's relaxing more, slipping back into that sweet little space I know she needs.

"Close your eyes, baby," I whisper, stroking her hair. "Just breathe with me. You don't have to worry about anything right now."

Her hand tightens around mine for a moment, but then it relaxes, and her breathing becomes slower, deeper. I can feel her body letting go of the tension she's been holding onto all day. I kiss the top of her head, feeling the warmth of her soft hair against my lips.

"You're okay, sweetheart," I murmur. "Mama's here. You don't have to be big right now. Just rest. Let me take care of you."

She doesn't answer, but I see her face soften. The weight of the day, the responsibilities, it all melts away as she settles deeper into my arms. I know she's not just physically relaxing—she's letting herself slip into that precious, peaceful little headspace where she doesn't have to be anything but my baby.

She's quiet now, her body nestled against mine, the tension completely gone. She's not worried about the world, about deadlines, or to-do lists. All that matters right now is that she's safe with me, and that's enough. I keep stroking her hair, rocking her gently, holding her until I know she's completely at ease.

She's safe now. She doesn't need to carry the weight of being grown-up today. She just needs to be my little one, and I'm so grateful she trusts me enough to let me care for her this way.

I kiss her again, softly, and whisper, "I've got you, baby. Rest now. Mama's here."