Madison’s World Redux: Season Two: Episode Forty Nine

Madison sat with one leg stretched out in front of her, her gaze half-absorbed by the television show playing before her. The other half of her attention flickered down to the floor, where her mother struggled to paint her toenail, the tiny brush trembling in Cindy’s hands as she tried to avoid another spill. Madison watched quietly, offering occasional guidance or encouragement when needed, her voice soft, almost distant. She was playing the role of a coach, giving her mother just enough direction to keep going, just enough hope to believe she could get it right.

But beneath that composed exterior, Madison’s heart ached. She hated that it had come to this—her own mother reduced to this helpless state, her own Little. Every time Cindy fumbled, Madison felt the urge to stop, to tell her that it was all a mistake, that things could go back to the way they used to be. But she knew the truth. There was no going back. This was the only way forward, the only path that made sense now. It was the right thing to do, even if it felt wrong at times. She knew her mother would want to live the life she advocated for.

Her friends had promised to help. They had reassured her that she didn’t have to carry the burden alone. Evan, Krysi, Brooklyn—they had all offered to share the load, to help coach and teach Mr. and Mrs. Wessen, to ease the pressure that weighed so heavily on her shoulders. Madison was grateful for their support. The idea of doing this alone, of being the sole person responsible for “educating” her parents, was overwhelming. Every correction, every gentle reprimand she gave her mother felt like a knife twisting deeper. It was hard, so much harder than she had imagined.

Every time she looked down at Cindy, her heart broke a little more. Her mother, the woman who had once walked through the door, nagging her to clean up her things, who had kissed her goodnight, who had held her in moments of joy and sadness—that woman was gone. No matter how much she wished for it, no matter how many times she longed for the door to swing open and her mother to walk in, it wouldn’t happen. Cindy would never nag her again, would never pull her aside or scold her. She would never hug her, kiss her, or hold her the way she used to. All that remained was this—the Little version of her mother.

Her Little.

And the only thing Madison could do now was teach her mother the way she had been taught herself—the way her mother had taught her to train Littles. It was the method Cindy had passed down to her, a way they had once bonded as mother and daughter. Now, all Madison could do was pass those same teachings down to her mother, treating her like any other Little. It was what her mother would have wanted, wasn’t it?

Madison swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump that rose in her throat. She knew the script all too well. Littles always resisted at first, clinging desperately to the remnants of their past lives, holding on to fragments of who they once were. Cindy was no different. They all do it. Her mother had explained this so many times before, with a kind of clinical detachment that had once seemed so wise. Cindy had compared it to Alzheimer’s—how the guardian suffered more than the Little, how it was harder to look after someone when the person you loved was still there in body but not in mind. As littlehood changes a person. So it takes a strong guardian to train someone they were close to in the way they knew is right.

Madison had never realized how right her mother had been. She hadn’t known just how painful it would be to look down at Cindy, to see the familiar face of her mother, but to be forced to treat her like a Little. To guide her, to correct her, to train her, all the while knowing that the real Cindy, the mother she loved, was gone. The moment hte virus took hold of her mother leaving a fragment of her. A littlized version of her mother. Her mother was specific about these situations the little will be confused thinking they are a person. The guardian will need to set htem straight, guide them, mold them into the a proper little.

Madison blinked, her eyes lingering on the screen for a moment before drifting back down to her mother, who was still diligently working on her toenail, the polish uneven but better than before. It would take time, months—maybe even years—for Cindy to get it right. But that was okay. Littles weren’t made overnight. And as much as it hurt, as much as it tore Madison apart inside, this was the path she had to walk. She had to believe it was what her mother would have wanted. She knows McKenzie wouldn’t train Cindy the way she would want. The way her mother advocated and fought for. There was to much animosity between her mother and sister. This was what she had to do to carry on her mother’s will and legacy. Allow her the dignity of living how she advocated for even when the reality was Madison would do things differently if the little she was molding wasn’t her mother.

Cindy had been so passionate about it all—guardian rights, Little rights, the intricate balance of how guardians and Littles interacted. She had dedicated so much of her life to perfecting methods of teaching and training, to advocating for the very system that now controlled her. In her free time, she published academic journals, gave interviews, and spoke at length on the subject. It wasn’t just a hobby; it was her mission. She had fought hard, often not alone but with the backing of nonprofits, raising funds to pass laws that cemented her beliefs into the public consciousness. Cindy had helped push legislation that forced public schools to teach this philosophy, educating future generations on what she considered the proper way to manage Littles. She had even helped fund politicians who aligned with her values.

This cause, this vision of how society should treat Littles, was so much of who her mother had been. It had consumed her. And now, Madison stood here, faced with the remnants of that passion, forced to live out the teachings that had defined her mother’s life. It felt wrong not to honor it, not to sacrifice her own feelings, even if it meant giving up what she wanted. So many times, they had heated passioante debates about these things, arguments that seemed so pointless now. Madison’s heart ached as the memories played out in her mind.

“If only I could go back,” she mumbled quietly, almost to herself. Cindy, still holding the nail polish brush, paused, the moment of silence heavy between them.

Madison caught herself, shaking off the wave of emotion that threatened to pull her under. She took a deep breath before speaking again, her tone gentle but firm. “Remember, Mom, if you aren’t told to stop, you just keep working. A Little needs to know they aren’t the center of the universe. They’re an accessory to their guardian.” Another lesson her mother had drilled into her, a phrase Cindy had coached into her with unwavering conviction.

And now here she was, repeating that very lesson to her own mother, who was crouched on the floor in front of her like any other Little. The irony was sharp, and Madison swallowed hard against it, hoping—praying—that this would somehow get easier over time. The wound of losing her parents as they were, the loss of the life they once shared, was still so raw. It hadn’t even begun to heal.

Today had been a good day, though. She’d been with her friends, laughing, goofing around, acting like a normal teenager for once. For those few hours, she got to feel her age again. No Littles, no responsibilities hanging over her like a storm cloud. Just a moment to breathe, to forget. She knew she should have brought her parents downstairs, let them sit at the table while she hung out with her friends. Evan had suggested as much, even offered ideas, Cindy could fetch makeup for them, a simple task that would reinforce her obedience.

But Madison couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to grab her parents and pull them into that world. She had needed a break, desperately needed a moment without their presence, without the constant reminder of what they had become. Of what was left of them. Littles. That’s all they were now, and that was all she had left. Evan being a good friend had went up to check on her parents moreso her mother when she needed to check her levels. Knowing how hard this all is Evan stepped in to be the bad guy to shoulder that load to honor Cindy beliefs.

This was all so hard for madison, especially with her dad. He had been such a good father, always present, always there. It wasn’t that her mom was bad, they had fought more often, but those arguments were born out of love. They were too similar, she thought. But her dad? He was her anchor. He never missed a moment. Every time she danced, he was there, sitting in the audience, beaming with pride. Halftime shows at football games, between quarters in basketball, at every dance competition, he never missed it. He would always say, “These are the moments that matter. You work so you can have these, because you never know how many you’ll get.”

Madison felt a pang of naivety now, remembering how she had taken it all for granted. She had thought there would be so many more moments, so many more times with him in the audience. But now? Those moments were gone. They would never happen again. Her parents were Littles. They would always be a part of her life, yes. They would always be her parents, and she would always love them. But their purpose had changed. They were no longer her caregivers—they were assistants to her life now. Their sole role was to support her, to be there for her in the way Littles were meant to be.

That’s what Littles do.

Madison knew, deep down, that it was selfish—greedy, even—to make her parents service Littles. But she couldn’t shake the justification she had crafted in her mind, the story she told herself to make it seem right. By making them service Littles, she had a reason—a reason to still bring her parents, especially her dad, to competitions and events. He could still watch her perform, still be there with her. It wouldn’t be the same, of course, but he would be present, and in some way, that would be enough.

Leaving her mom at home wouldn’t feel fair, though. Cindy had often been too busy, too caught up in work to attend every event. She came when she could, but her schedule was never as flexible as her dad’s. Still, Madison didn’t want it to seem like she was playing favorites. She loved both her parents equally, and this was the only way she could justify it. This way, she could have her mom there too—either accompanying her, working with Brooklyn, or helping out her dad. Or, if Cindy wasn’t with her, she could be with Evan or Krysi, still getting out, still being part of something. Still being useful.

That was the key. They needed a role. They needed to feel like they had a place, even as Littles. Madison believed that’s what the community could give them—a sense of purpose. She hoped that, in time, her parents would come to see it that way too. But even that hope felt selfish, driven by her desire to ease her own guilt. The burden of dragging her parents around—parent Littles—needed a reason. Without it, she was just forcing them into her life for her own peace of mind.

As she watched her mother now, focusing intently on the task at hand, Madison couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. Cindy was trying. She was really trying. The polish was streaky, uneven, and not something Madison could ever wear out in public, but her mother’s effort was undeniable. Madison leaned down, offering a few words of encouragement before gently instructing her to remove the polish and start again.

“It’s okay, Mom. Just take it off and try again,” Madison said softly. It’ll take time—she knew that. It would take weeks, maybe even months, for her mother to develop the skill and the core strength needed to paint a proper nail. It wasn’t just a matter of technique; it was physical endurance, something Cindy didn’t have yet. But with practice, with effort, she would get there.

“Keep at it, Mom. You can do it,” Madison said, her voice warm, almost loving. She knew her tone should have been brattier, more demanding. That’s how she was supposed to act, right? But today, for now, she couldn’t bring herself to be harsh. Today, she would be gentle. She would offer her mother the softness she rarely allowed herself to show.

As she looked down at her mother, Madison felt the weight of everything they’d lost—the life they’d had before, the way things used to be. But this was her way of holding onto them, of keeping her parents in her life, even in this new, uncomfortable form. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was something.

Madison took a deep breath, pushing the thought away. Today wasn’t about her guilt or her burden. It was about her mother, working diligently at a task that, while small, was significant in its own way. Cindy was doing her best, and that had to count for something.

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