Madison’s World Redux: Season Two: Episode Fifty Eight

It was late, the kind of still quiet evening that crept in slowly, bringing with it a sense of calm. Unlike Madison, McKenzie allowed natural light to filter into her room. Through the window, Greg could see the sky had shifted into night, the last traces of sunlight having long disappeared. The hours had passed by without him realizing it. He’d been talking with McKenzie, and for a brief moment, it felt like old times, like nothing had changed. The conversation had flowed easily, like the countless talks they used to have. For a fleeting second, he almost forgot that he was a Little. It felt so normal, so familiar, that he let himself believe, just for a moment, that everything was the way it used to be.

But as soon as his thoughts drifted to Cindy, that comforting illusion shattered. What is she doing right now? Is she okay?

McKenzie must have sensed the shift in him because she looked down, her face softening with understanding. “You want to check on her, don’t you?” she asked gently, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken empathy. Without waiting for his answer, she carefully scooped him up from the floor. For a split second, Greg braced himself, he thought she might place him on her shoulder, like he’d seen Littles carried before. But McKenzie hesitated, as if sensing his unease. He wasn’t ready for that. Instead, she cradled him in her hand, the warmth of her palm grounding him as she walked out of the room.

As they reached the top of the stairs, McKenzie stopped abruptly, and Greg’s heart sank a little, knowing what was about to happen. “MADISON, IS MOM WITH YOU?” McKenzie’s voice boomed, filling the quiet house with its sudden force. Instinctively, Greg covered his ears. It was one of his biggest pet peeves, this habit both his daughters had—yelling across the house instead of walking to speak like normal people. It grated on him, always had.

He missed Madison’s reply, her voice too far away to make out. But McKenzie, without skipping a beat, began walking down the hall. Greg watched the familiar walls of their home pass by, a strange feeling of detachment creeping over him. The hall seemed longer now, and everything loomed larger—just another reminder of how different things were.

They entered Madison’s bathroom, and Greg braced himself for what he thought might be a chaotic mess. The state of Madison’s bathroom had been the stuff of legend in their household. But as they stepped inside, he was surprised to find that it wasn’t as bad as he had imagined. It was messy, yes, but not the disaster zone he had expected.

Then, a sound broke through the quiet—a steady, rhythmic spraying noise. Greg glanced down from McKenzie’s hand and saw, to his shock, Cindy standing near the sink, cleaning. She was using a what looked like a toy water gun but he recognized it as a pressure washer, her tiny hands gripping it with effort as she blasted Madison’s sink then scrubbed away at any remaining flith left in Madison’s sink.

The sight hit Greg harder than he expected. Cindy, his wife, reduced to cleaning their daughter’s bathroom like a maid. It was hard to reconcile this image with the strong, confident woman he had spent years with. This was Cindy, the woman who had raised their family, who had been his equal in every way—and now, she was in Madison’s bathroom, scrubbing sinks like a Little tasked with a chore.

Greg’s heart ached. As much as he had tried to prepare himself for this new reality, seeing Cindy like this was different. It was one thing to know, logically, that they were both Littles now. But to see it, to witness Cindy in that role—it was another thing entirely.

McKenzie’s hand shifted slightly, and Greg felt her gaze on him, watching for his reaction. He didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to leap down, to rush to Cindy and pull her out of this humiliating situation. But another part of him—the Little part—knew that wasn’t his place anymore. He had no control over this. He was just as helpless as she was.

Madison’s voice echoed from the hallway, and though Greg couldn’t make out what she was saying, the casualness of it stung. To Madison, this was normal. Cindy was her Little, and having her clean the bathroom was just part of that reality.

For Greg, though, it was anything but normal. It was a reminder of everything they had lost.

“Hey, Mom,” McKenzie said, her voice calm but firm as she looked down at Cindy. Greg sat quietly in her hand, the warmth of her palm against his back both grounding and unsettling. McKenzie had explained earlier that she had to reactivate the name restrictions on his collar. It was late, and she didn’t want Madison finding out. Even though McKenzie could technically override her sister’s decisions, she didn’t want to undermine her. She remembered too well what it felt like when her own mother had dismissed her authority in the past, and she wasn’t about to make Madison feel the same way.

“M-Mistress Wessen, Greg,” Cindy said, trying to inject cheerfulness into her voice, though it came out strained and unnatural. Greg winced at how far she had to bend herself into this new role. It was heartbreaking, watching the once confident and formidable Cindy now forced to act like this.

“Dad wanted to check on you,” McKenzie added, her tone softening. She made sure to mention Greg to reassure her mother, to let her know that he was here and thinking of her. But as Greg looked at Cindy standing by Madison’s sink, scrubbing away at layers of grime, it was hard to believe this was the same woman he had shared a life with.

Cindy smiled weakly, a shadow of her former self. “Greg, Madison left a mop over there—you can—” she began, trying to include him in the task, trying to make this feel like something they could still do together. Maybe, in her mind, this was a way to maintain some connection, some semblance of partnership.

But McKenzie cut her off, her tone gentle but resolute. “Oh, you misunderstand, Mom. Dad is staying with me. This is your task. I’m sure you have it all planned out.” There was a subtle edge to her words, a quiet reminder of how their roles had shifted. “I wouldn’t want Dad or me to get in the way. After all, our methods would never be good enough.” Her eyes held steady on Cindy, delivering the message with the same patience Cindy had once used on others.

Greg felt a stab of guilt. McKenzie was referencing something deeper, something only the three of them understood. Cindy had always insisted on doing things her way, dismissing other methods, even McKenzie’s, as inadequate. Now, it was being thrown back at her, and the weight of it was crushing.

“Right, Dad?” McKenzie turned her gaze to him, her expression expectant but kind. She was giving him the opportunity to side with her, and Greg knew that this was one of those moments that carried more weight than it seemed. The tension was palpable, and Greg hesitated, feeling the pull between his wife and his daughter.

He glanced at Cindy, whose expression faltered. He could see the hurt there, the hope that he might stand up for her, even just a little. But Greg also knew the stakes. If he didn’t side with McKenzie, it would hurt her deeply. McKenzie was fragile in ways Cindy wasn’t. He had to choose.

“Y-yes, right, Mistress Wessen,” Greg replied, almost slipping and calling her McKenzie. The words felt foreign on his tongue, the formality between him and his daughter adding an extra layer of discomfort to an already painful situation. He saw the disappointment flicker in Cindy’s eyes, her lips pressing together in a tight line. She was upset—of course, she was. But in his mind, it was easier to try to soothe Cindy’s feelings later than to risk wounding McKenzie in the moment.

McKenzie’s hand came down gently on top of him, her fingers brushing through his hair in affectionate strokes. Greg stiffened slightly under the touch. It was meant to be comforting, reassuring, but it only reminded him of the deep imbalance between them now. Her fingers, which had once been so small in his hand, now loomed over him, offering not just comfort, but control.

Cindy looked up at him, her face a mask of forced composure, but Greg could see the cracks. She was trying to keep it together, but the hurt was there, just beneath the surface. She had always been strong, always been the one to hold things together, but now, in this moment, she was vulnerable in a way he had never seen before. The sight of her standing there, cleaning their daughter’s sink like a servant, while he was perched in McKenzie’s hand, being petted like a cherished pet, was almost too much to bear.

His stomach twisted with guilt, but he couldn’t show it. Not now. He offered Cindy the smallest of nods, a silent apology, hoping she would understand why he had made this choice. Later, he told himself. I’ll make this right later.

But the truth was, he wasn’t sure if he ever could.

“What’s going on?” Madison’s voice rang out as she poked her head into the bathroom, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. It wasn’t normal to find McKenzie in here, especially standing with their father in hand. Her gaze shifted from Greg, perched in McKenzie’s palm, to their mother hunched over the sink, scrubbing away with visible tension in her movements. Something wasn’t right. It didn’t look like Dad was here to help, and Mom—Cindy’s expression held a simmering anger beneath a veneer of forced compliance.

Madison furrowed her brow. They must’ve squabbled again.

“I was just explaining to Mom that this is her task,” McKenzie said, her voice smooth but edged with the unmistakable undercurrent of frustration. “Dad won’t be helping. It’s her job to clean this sink, and once she’s done, she can move on to mine. It’s not as dirty, but it could use a good once-over.” McKenzie’s tone held a sharpness despite the smile she wore. “You don’t mind, do you, Mom?”

Cindy’s heart sank. She could feel McKenzie’s words cutting deeper than they appeared. It wasn’t about cleaning sinks, this was payback, plain and simple. McKenzie still carried the weight of all those times Cindy had overridden her, those moments where she hadn’t trusted her daughter to handle things her own way. And now, McKenzie was using her newfound power to press that wound. Cindy glanced up at Greg, still cradled in McKenzie’s hand. Her anger wasn’t directed at him; she knew he was just as powerless against their daughters as she was.

But knowing that didn’t lessen the sting. McKenzie’s hurt was tangible, and Cindy knew there was nothing she could do to change it, not now. Any resistance would only make things worse, especially with Madison standing right there. She had to play along, to trust that Greg could smooth things over later.

“Yes, Mistress Wessen,” Cindy replied, her voice soft, controlled. “It would be my pleasure.” Each word tasted bitter, but she knew better than to push back. Not here. Not now.

Madison, sensing the tension, stepped in, her tone surprisingly gentle as she attempted to ease the situation. “See? She’d love to help, Kenz. Mom’s been saying how she wants to make things right with you. I’m sure she understands this is just a small step toward earning your trust again.” Madison’s eyes flickered with a rare softness, an unspoken plea for McKenzie to relent. “With enough time, months, even years, she could work her way back into your good graces.”

Cindy blinked, startled by Madison’s unexpected attempt to help her. It was small, but it was something. Madison’s words held a thread of hope, a lifeline for Cindy to hold onto. If doing these menial tasks for McKenzie could pave the way for reconciliation, then maybe, just maybe, things could improve. Even if it was through endless chores and submission, it was better than the alternative.

McKenzie, however, wasn’t so easily swayed. She looked down at her mother, eyes hardening. “Yeah, well, let’s see how she does,” she said, her voice thick with the pain she hadn’t fully released. “Because judging by the mess on your nails, Mom isn’t exactly skilled at doing the work herself. Talking? Sure, she excelled at that.” McKenzie’s words hit with a biting sarcasm, her anger barely masked. “In case you didn’t know, Mom, Dad’s staying with me tonight.” She paused, her gaze piercing as she watched the hurt bloom across Cindy’s face.

“You can see him in the morning when we get up. Or maybe not. We might decide to hang out all day Sunday. We’re just playing it by ear,” McKenzie added, her voice cold as she delivered the final blow. “But I expect you to keep up your training with Madison. You need to make yourself useful around here. After all, it’s like you always said, everyone has to pull their own weight. Being a Little doesn’t mean you get to slack off. You need to apply yourself to your role of service, right? Isn’t that what you always taught us?”

The air in the room thickened, and McKenzie’s voice, though steady, couldn’t fully hide the hurt that bled through. “I know I’m not Madison, but I listened too.”

Greg, from his vantage point in McKenzie’s hand, could feel the tension radiating off both women. He watched as Cindy’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of her. The words McKenzie had thrown at her mother were like a double-edged sword, cutting deep while reminding Cindy of her own past mistakes. She had drilled those lessons into her daughters, and now they were being turned against her, with brutal precision.

Greg’s heart ached. He wanted to step in, to say something that could defuse the situation, but he knew better. Any attempt to defend Cindy now would only backfire. McKenzie was hurting, and she needed to feel that Cindy understood the depth of her pain. There was no quick fix here. All Greg could do was hope that the storm would pass, that time—and perhaps, these small acts of submission—might begin to heal the rift.

Cindy remained silent, her eyes cast downward. There was nothing she could say that would make this right. Not now. Not while McKenzie stood there, her own voice echoing the disappointment she had held onto for so long. Cindy had always been the strong one, the one in control, but now, all she could do was wait, trapped in the consequences of her own teachings, waiting for her daughters to decide when, or if, she could be forgiven.

“Of course, Kenz. Mom’s a good worker. She’ll get better,” Madison said with a lightness in her voice, though the undercurrent of control was unmistakable. “I was just telling her and Dad earlier—they get to be part of the community my friends and I are building. It’ll be good for them.” Her tone carried a mix of pride and reassurance, as though the community she envisioned was a gift she was offering her parents, a structured world where they could be molded into something useful.

McKenzie’s gaze lingered on their mother, her expression hardening despite Madison’s optimistic words. “Fine,” she said, though her voice was flat. “Just remember what I said about Dad.” Her eyes flicked back to Cindy, the hurt still raw and visible beneath the surface. It wasn’t just about the chores or the new reality Cindy found herself in—it was about the years of having her ideas dismissed, her thoughts pushed aside because they were different. McKenzie had been made to feel as though Cindy Wessen knew everything, and she knew nothing.

And now, seeing her mother reduced to a Little—a servant, even—there was a twisted sense of satisfaction buried deep within McKenzie. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her mother, but the care was buried beneath layers of old wounds. The sting of having been silenced, overruled, ignored. This, watching Cindy scrubbing away at Madison’s sink, felt like some form of justice. Even if it hurt to feel this way, McKenzie couldn’t deny the satisfaction that came with seeing her mother in a position where she couldn’t belittle her anymore.

Greg, who had been quietly observing from McKenzie’s hand, furrowed his brow, confusion etching across his face. “Uh, what’s going on? What about me?” he asked, his voice hesitant. He had heard snippets of their conversation, but nothing concrete enough to make sense of.

McKenzie shifted her attention back to him, her face softening. “Don’t worry, Dad,” she said gently, though her words carried the weight of decisions already made. “Once you get the hang of things, you’ll be trained as Trina’s assistant until I can take care you.” There was a pause, the words hanging in the air like a final decree. “As a male Little, it’s the best I could do for you.  Once I get more time, you’ll be with me, Dad. Just like we talked about. I’ll always take care of you.” Her voice was kind, but there was no hiding the finality in it.

Greg’s heart sank as he processed her words. Trina’s assistant? The title stung in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He knew what it meant—to be relegated to a subordinate role, to serve under a Little just like him. He’d be a service Little, expected to follow commands, learn the ropes, and prove himself useful. He knew it was coming—this reality—but hearing it laid out like this felt like a punch to the gut.

“It’s important, though,” McKenzie continued, her voice steady, “that you socialize with other Littles. It’s an untrained role, but it’s one of respect. You’ll have to put in the work, but I know you can do it. I promise to fetch you, though, as much as I can.” Her words were meant to be encouraging, but to Greg, they only highlighted his loss of agency.

Greg swallowed hard, the weight of his new life pressing down on him like never before. He had always been the provider, the decision-maker. Now, he was being told how to live, how to work, how to serve. He glanced over at Cindy, still scrubbing the sink, her shoulders tense, her movements mechanical. They were both caught in this world now—this community that Madison and her friends were building.

McKenzie’s voice softened as she addressed him again, trying to offer comfort. “It’s like we talked about, Dad. I’m going to take care of you as best I can, but Madison’s going to have to be responsible for your day-to-day care for now. I know you don’t want me to give up tennis, so this is how it has to be for now. It’s not forever. I just need time to breathe and get things in order. I love you dad.”

Greg felt a hollow ache in his chest as she lifted him up, pulling him into a gentle hug. The gesture was meant to soothe him, to make him feel loved and protected, but all it did was remind him of how small he had become. McKenzie’s arms, once tiny in his embrace, now enveloped him completely, cradling him like a child. It was both comforting and humiliating. He leaned into her warmth, closing his eyes for a moment, wishing he could go back to when he was the father—when he was the one offering protection.

But that was gone now. The only relief he had was that he could feel her love and affection flowing into him.

“I know, pumpkin. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Greg said, his voice soft but sincere. “The last thing your mother and I would want is for you two to give up dance or tennis because of us. We don’t want to be a burden that gets in the way of your passions.”

McKenzie’s face softened, a warm smile spreading across her lips. “Aww, Dad. That’s so sweet. It really means a lot to us.” She turned to look at Madison, who was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed with an expression of mild disinterest.

“Doesn’t it, Mads?” McKenzie added, nudging her younger sister.

Madison rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by the sentimental moment. “Yeah, sure,” she muttered, her tone flat, though a hint of amusement flickered in her gaze. The gushy hallmark moment wasn’t her style, and it showed. Mckenzie remembered herself at fourteen not wanting to show that needed something as embarrassing as your parents love. 

McKenzie chuckled at Madison’s reaction, then shifted her attention toward their mother. Cindy stood quietly, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, her eyes downcast. The weight of the room felt heavy on her, as if her presence were an intrusion rather than a contribution.

“I’m sure you’ll grow into your role, Mom,” McKenzie said, her tone suddenly cooler, more detached. “As a service Little, you’ve got a lot to learn. But I’m sure the girls you guided and instructed over the years are eager to show you everything they’ve picked up from your lessons.” There was an edge to McKenzie’s voice, the words dripping with irony as she reminded Cindy of the very system she had once championed.

Greg looked up at his eldest daughter, sensing the shift in her tone. His heart ached for Cindy, but he remained silent, knowing that any intervention on his part would be futile. McKenzie’s authority was absolute now, and they all knew it.

Turning back to her father, McKenzie’s face softened again, her tone immediately becoming warm and affectionate. “I think we’re done here, don’t you, Daddy?” she asked, her voice lilting with love. “It’s probably not nice to keep Mom from her work. She’s got another sink to clean tonight, after all.” She paused, a playful glint in her eye. “But it’s the weekend, so we can stretch your bedtime a little. How about we watch a movie with Madison and me?”

Greg nodded, offering a small smile. He appreciated McKenzie’s kindness toward him, but the knowledge that Cindy was being left behind to clean made his stomach twist with guilt. He looked over at Cindy, who stood frozen, her eyes pleading silently for some reprieve.

“Mistress Wessen, Ms. Wessen… please, could I maybe wash the sinks tomorrow and—” Cindy’s voice broke as she spoke, her tone trembling with desperation. She didn’t even get to finish her plea before McKenzie cut in sharply, her expression hardening.

Cindy’s heart sank as she looked up at her eldest daughter—not as her child, but as her guardian. The look in McKenzie’s eyes was no longer one of familial affection but of authority. This wasn’t a daughter speaking to her mother. This was a highly ranked guardian addressing her Little.

“Or,” McKenzie said coldly, her eyes narrowing as she stared down at Cindy, “you can wash them now, like you were told.”

Her words struck Cindy like a slap, the finality in them leaving no room for argument. She could see the transformation in McKenzie, the way she had taken on this role with confidence and conviction. Cindy had never doubted McKenzie’s ability to lead, but seeing it in action—especially against herself—was a harsh reminder of how far she had fallen.

“I came to visit you with Dad because he wanted to see you, and I allowed it,” McKenzie continued, her voice unwavering. “You may not believe I can run this house, Mom. You’re probably waiting for me to fall flat on my face. But regardless of what you believe, you will respect me now. I do run this house. I do care for Madison. And I do care for both of you—as your guardian.”

Cindy’s chest tightened as McKenzie’s words cut deeper, each one reinforcing the new reality she had to face. McKenzie wasn’t her little girl anymore. She wasn’t asking for respect—she was demanding it, as Cindy had once demanded from her.

“You are a Little,” McKenzie stated plainly, her voice cold as ice. “That’s your place now. So, I guess it doesn’t really matter what you want, does it? After all, that’s what you believed, isn’t it, Mom?”

Cindy’s throat tightened, her mind racing with all the things she wanted to say. But she knew McKenzie was right—these were her beliefs. She had spent years teaching this exact philosophy, believing it wholeheartedly. Now, it was being thrown back in her face, and the hypocrisy of it all stung more than she could bear.

“So,” McKenzie said, stepping closer, her eyes fixed on Cindy’s. “If you want to prove to me that you’ve changed, if you want to apologize to me for everything you put me through, you can start by doing what I had to do for years. I accepted that you ran this house, that it was your home and your rules. And now, things are different.”

Cindy’s hands trembled as McKenzie’s words sank in. She felt trapped, powerless, unable to defend herself against the truth of what McKenzie was saying. This wasn’t just about cleaning sinks—this was about power, about control. It was about the shift that had taken place in their family, one Cindy had never imagined would happen.

“You can say you were wrong all you want,” McKenzie continued, her voice hardening again. “But like I told Dad—you’re just a hypocrite. All of this is only wrong now because it affects Cindy Wessen. If I’m wrong, prove it.”

Cindy stood there, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know what to say. Every word that came to mind felt inadequate, every argument hollow. She had built this world, crafted the very system that had now entrapped her, and there was no escape from it. The only way forward was to live within it—to survive within the confines of the life she had once created for others.

Greg watched silently, his heart heavy as he looked between McKenzie and Cindy. He knew there was nothing he could do to fix this, nothing he could say that would undo the damage that had already been done. He had picked McKenzie when it mattered most, and now Cindy had to find her own way through the world she had made.

As much as Cindy hated to admit it, McKenzie was right. She had spent her life enforcing these rules, believing in them, teaching them. And now, the only influence she had left was through Madison and McKenzie, her daughters—her guardians.

Her daughters, who were now her masters.

Related Images: