Madison’s World Redux: Season Two: Episode Interlude

Note: while not wholly all that different. I realized i posted revision 3 instead of revision 4 so the last 1000 words are a bit different. So if you read it in the first 2 hours of posting. The ending when Madison comes downstairs is a bit different but overall sentiment is the same.

A few weeks had passed since the infection turned their world upside down. By now, Greg and Cindy had tried to settle into what their new lives had become, tiny, dependent, and under their daughters’ control. They’d finished Madison, Krysi, and Ava’s homework for the day, plus some extra work on the long-term research papers. It felt strange, doing someone else’s homework at this stage in their lives, but it had become a familar part of their day.

That afternoon, Madison sauntered into her room, letting the backpack slip off her shoulder and onto the floor with a thump. She kicked off her shoes, tossing them aside without a glance. Two large shopping bags crinkled in her hands, and she set them down before glancing toward the habitat. Greg and Cindy tensed slightly, these days, you never knew what Madison would do next. Like any teenager she was moody and that mood changed by the hour it seemed some days.

“Hey, guys,” Madison said, sounding casual as ever. She walked over and peered inside the habitat. The smile on her face was warm, which might’ve been comforting if not for the fact they had been infected by Smallara. “Let’s get you out of there, Mom.” Her tone was sweet, almost too sweet, as she lowered her hand inside for Cindy to climb on.

Cindy hesitated, but only for a second. Arguing never helped. She stepped onto Madison’s palm, feeling every ridge of her daughter’s skin like tiny hills beneath her feet. Once, Cindy would’ve lectured Madison about chores or curfews; now, standing on her daughter’s hand, Cindy’s heart sank at how much the balance had shifted. Madison lifted her effortlessly, and Cindy’s tiny body rose into the air. The sudden change in height made Cindy’s stomach flip. She gripped Madison’s fingers for support, the warmth of Madison’s skin reminding her just how small and vulnerable she was now.

As Madison walked into the hallway, Cindy’s eyes darted around, trying to see her old home from this ridiculous angle. Everything seemed off, familiar decorations looked huge, pictures on the walls felt like giant billboards. The faint scent of laundry soap hovered in the air. Cindy tried not to focus on it too much; the more she thought about her past life, the more helpless she felt.

“I just want to get a soda first,” Madison said brightly. Cindy didn’t respond, she’d learned it was safer not to question these random plans. Madison carried her downstairs, each step causing a gentle bounce. Cindy could feel the slight sway of Madison’s stride, her own body reacting to every movement. She hated how normal it felt now, how she was getting used to it.

Over the past few weeks, Cindy had learned to keep quiet, to go along with Madison’s rules. Once, Cindy was the mom who made decisions. Now, she was more like a cherished pet, expected to follow orders and not complain. She couldn’t help remembering how she used to talk about Littles as if they were meant for tasks like this. Now she was living it, living the consequences of her own teachings.

They reached the kitchen. The light here was softer, the scent of dinner lingering, and Cindy’s stomach growled at the thought of real food. Madison placed Cindy on the countertop. The cool surface sent a small shiver through her tiny form. Cindy watched Madison walk to the fridge, grab a soda, and crack it open. The fizzing sound and the sweet, tangy smell that drifted over made Cindy’s mouth water, but she knew better than to ask.

“Good job, Mom,” Madison said, turning back after taking a long sip. “I’m glad you understand now that people drinks aren’t for Littles.” Her voice held approval, like talking to a well-behaved puppy. Cindy blushed, ashamed that her daughter’s praise gave her a twisted sort of pride. She used to be strong, independent. Now she craved this odd, warm feeling that came when Madison approved.

Cindy’s shoulders slumped slightly. She hated how this new life had rewired her emotions, how she actually leaned toward Madison, seeking comfort and validation. It was humiliating. Yet, she couldn’t help herself.

“Are you thirsty?” Madison asked gently. Cindy just nodded, not trusting her voice. Madison took a small dish and filled it with room-temperature water. Setting it before Cindy, she watched as Cindy bent over and drank directly from it. Cindy’s face burned with embarrassment, she must’ve looked ridiculous, bending over a dish like some pet. The water tasted fine for tap water, but it was the principle of it all. She tried not to think about how far she’d fallen or how normal this was starting to feel.

“Scandalous,” Madison teased when Cindy dribbled a bit. The old Cindy would never have allowed herself to look so sloppy. Cindy’s heart squeezed with shame and frustration, but what could she do?

“You did great on my English assignment,” Madison said, leaning in and petting Cindy’s back with a fingertip. The gentle stroke sent a strange, comforting warmth through Cindy, even as she despised herself for enjoying it. “My teacher was impressed, and I nailed that test today.”

Cindy felt a strange mix of pride and regret. She had hoped maybe Madison’s scheme of using Littles for homework would fail, that bad grades would force a rethink. But Madison was actually doing better in school. Cindy couldn’t deny that for Madison, this system worked. That stung even more.

“Okay, if you’re done, climb on,” Madison said, scooping Cindy up again. Cindy watched Madison put the water dish back into the cabinet with surprising neatness, probably something McKenzie insisted on. Cindy realized bitterly how Madison listened to McKenzie so much better than she’d ever listened to her. McKenzie was thriving as head of the household, while Cindy was forced to excel as a Little. The irony was painful.

Cindy shivered slightly as Madison carried her from the kitchen into McKenzie’s bathroom. The subtle warmth of Madison’s hand, which only minutes ago had been comforting on the kitchen counter, now felt like a reminder of how small and dependent Cindy had become. Through the weeks since the infection, she’d learned to read Madison’s body language, how the tension in her shoulders or the tilt of her chin hinted at the mood her daughter was in. Today, Madison seemed calm, even cheerful, and that should have made things easier. But Cindy knew too well that Madison’s pleasant demeanor didn’t erase the demands waiting for her.

Just a few minutes ago, she’d drunk water from a dish, and before that, she’d watched Madison enjoy a soda that Cindy dared not request. And now? Now there were chores to be done, chores that Cindy herself had once decreed as proper tasks for Littles. How bitterly ironic that she would be living by her own teachings.

As Madison pushed open the bathroom door, the faint scent of eucalyptus from McKenzie’s body wash drifted through the air. The bathroom was neat, each item in its place, a reflection of McKenzie’s no-nonsense style. The bright overhead light revealed the sink basin shining with a hint of dampness from previous cleanings. Cindy’s heart sank as she spotted the tools waiting for her: a miniaturized cleaning harness, tiny brushes, special microfiber cloths, and, most intriguing and daunting of all, a miniaturized pressure washer, fashioned by Generitech artisans who specialized in Littles’ equipment. It looked like a toy at first glance, something out of a dollhouse workshop, but Cindy knew better. It was a real tool, scaled down for someone her size.

“Please, Ms. Wessen,” Cindy said softly, hoping for reprieve. Her voice trembled, carrying a plea she couldn’t fully contain. But even as the words left her lips, she knew how futile they were. Madison had made the household rules crystal clear. Cindy had once praised this kind of structure as a necessary training method. Now, she stood on the other side of her own beliefs.

Madison clicked her tongue, shaking her head in that disapproving way Cindy herself once had when reprimanding a younger Madison about chores left undone. “Tsk, tsk,” Madison chided, her voice not unkind but resolute. “You always said everyone should help around the house, remember? Isn’t that what you preached, Mom? It’s time to walk the walk.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, if anything, it was maddeningly patient, as if explaining something obvious to a child.

Cindy forced herself to meet Madison’s gaze, even as her collar constricted slightly, reminding her of the name rules and hierarchy. “I remember,” Cindy managed, her heart heavy. “I’ll get right to it. It’s my pleasure, Ms. Wessen.”

Madison nodded, seemingly pleased with Cindy’s answer. She lowered Cindy onto the counter beside the tiny tools. Cindy looked up at her daughter’s face, a face that held affection and pride, but also an undeniable sense of command. A strange ache settled in Cindy’s chest. She loved Madison, always would, but she longed for the old days when love didn’t come bound in rules and restrictions. Now every gesture of kindness from her daughter felt like a carefully measured reward.

“You’ll clean McKenzie’s sink first,” Madison said brightly. “Tomorrow, you can tackle the toilets again. Just think,” she added with a hint of amusement, “you once said Littles could handle those hard-to-reach spots. Now you get to prove it each day.”

Cindy nodded, swallowing her frustration. She turned her attention to the tiny tools laid out for her. The mini pressure washer caught her eye immediately. About the length of her forearm (in her reduced size), it had a slim nozzle and a small trigger that would, presumably, release a focused spray of water. How odd that something like this existed. She knew Littles were given tools like these in specialized shops. It made sense, if Littles were employed as cleaners in many households, they’d need proper equipment. But she never imagined she’d be the one using them.

She stepped closer, running a hand along the pressure washer’s smooth casing. It felt light but sturdy. There was a tiny reservoir for water or cleaning solution. Cindy glanced at Madison for permission, a learned reflex now.

Madison gave a brief nod and a smile that said, “Go on.”

Cindy carefully hefted the little washer, her muscles protesting slightly after a day of less strenuous chores. Even though it was designed for a Little, it still required effort. She remembered how easily she’d told people that Littles would adapt, that they just needed the right training. Now, as she struggled to get a good grip, she felt the sting of her past words. Littles needed differently trained muscles, she used to say. Well, here she was, training those muscles herself.

The sink stood before her like a gleaming, oversized landscape. Water droplets clung to the basin’s curve, and the faucet loomed overhead like some industrial fixture. She imagined what McKenzie’s hands had looked like when she last washed them here, perhaps just moments ago, McKenzie’s presence would have been comforting, but now it reminded Cindy of how helpless she was. Still, she had a job to do. Better to perform well than earn more punishment or restrictions.

Cindy connected the tiny pressure washer’s hose to a special attachment Madison had installed weeks ago, something that allowed Littles to access water at a lower pressure than a normal tap. It was a subtle acknowledgment of Cindy’s new limitations. The hiss of water entering the device startled her slightly. She adjusted the nozzle, recalling techniques she’d once described in educational materials for Little guardians. Irony weighed heavily on her heart.

With cautious determination, Cindy aimed the nozzle at a faint streak of grime near the sink’s rim. She pressed the trigger. A fine jet of water sprayed out, surprisingly forceful for its small scale. It rattled in her hands, and she had to plant her feet firmly to maintain control. The spray dislodged bits of soap residue and mineral deposits, sending tiny droplets of water scattering. Cindy’s reflection in the faucet was distorted, but she could make out her own intense concentration.

The sound of the water’s gentle hiss filled her ears, mingling with the steady pulse of the house. She remembered lecturing in a podcast about how Littles could be trained to handle delicate tasks, how their smaller size allowed for precision. Now, she was living that script. Her smaller muscles strained as she guided the pressure washer along a stubborn patch of dried toothpaste, blasting it free and feeling a small surge of accomplishment. At least her work would look good. That was something.

From behind, Madison watched silently, arms crossed. Cindy could sense her daughter’s quiet satisfaction. She tried not to let anger flare. Getting angry would do nothing. She needed to keep her head down, do her best, and survive this strange new life.

When Cindy shifted to reach a spot behind the faucet, she had to climb onto a portion of the sink’s inner curve. Her harness, waiting nearby, was meant to help with exactly this. She slipped it on, an odd contraption with straps that fitted around her torso and thighs. It included small suction pads that could secure her footing. She felt silly and humiliated wearing it, but also strangely grateful for the added support. It allowed her to lean forward without risking a slip into the drain. The last thing she needed was to fall into that yawning abyss.

With the harness on, Cindy felt a bit more stable. She tugged gently, activating the suction pads, and anchored herself to the sink’s inner wall. Now she could spray water upward without fear of toppling over. The gentle vibration of the pressure washer sent tingles through her arms, and she guided the stream of water carefully along the metal surface. Droplets splashed her face, cool and refreshing, if humiliating. This was her life now, cleaning sinks with specialized tools, guided by teachings she once proudly espoused.

She paused for a moment, letting the water run off in rivulets. The roar of water at her scale was a steady whisper, calming if she didn’t think too hard about the circumstances. She remembered once telling a guardian-in-training how satisfying it would be to watch a Little diligently clean a bathroom, how it gave Littles purpose. Now she knew the other side: it was work, cold and demanding, and any sense of purpose felt like a twisted joke. Still, part of her tried to embrace the task. Maybe if she worked hard enough, if she showed true effort, Madison would grant small mercies like better-tasting pellets or a few minutes of conversation without condescension.

Cindy resumed spraying, shifting the angle to rinse away loosened grime. Droplets flicked onto her face, and she blinked, wishing she had a mini cloth to wipe it away. Yet, complaining would help nothing. She pressed forward, clearing another patch until the metal gleamed.

Behind her, Madison stepped closer. Cindy felt the shift in air pressure and smelled Madison’s familiar scent, flowers and vanilla. “You’re doing great, Mom,” Madison commented softly, startling Cindy. There was warmth in her voice, a genuine pride that flickered like a candle in a dark room. Cindy’s heart clenched at that warmth. How could she crave and resent it at the same time?

“I’m glad you’re using the harness,” Madison continued. “I was worried you might slip. It’s designed for Littles, you know, comfortable and safe.”

Cindy forced a small smile. “Thank you, Ms. Wessen,” she replied, careful to maintain the respectful address. She turned off the pressure washer momentarily to catch her breath. Her arms ached from holding it steady. She took the microfiber cloth and wiped down the freshly cleaned area, her reflection in the polished faucet blurred but recognizable.

“You sound tired,” Madison noted. “Make sure you pace yourself. I’m not a monster,” she added with a hint of defensiveness. “I just believe in what we’ve built here.”

Cindy didn’t reply, just nodded and returned to her work. She’d learned the art of silence. Complaining wouldn’t change anything. She let the harness support her weight as she aimed the pressure washer at a final spot of dried soap scum. The water pulsed out in a fine jet, clearing away the last imperfections.

The room smelled faintly of cleaning solution and warm metal now. Cindy flicked off the washer and hung it carefully on a small hook Madison had installed just for this purpose. Then she wiped down the sink basin thoroughly, every muscle protesting but her mind set on perfection. If she did a flawless job, maybe Madison would be pleased, maybe Cindy could earn some tiny reprieve.

When she finished, Cindy stepped away and surveyed her work. The sink shone, reflecting the overhead light. She could pick out tiny details in the reflection, her harness straps, the shape of her eyes, the soft tremble in her shoulders. She tried to take pride in the cleanliness, even if it felt hollow. Work was done, for now at least.

Madison reached in, offering her hand again. Cindy unfastened the harness, feeling a strange relief as she shed the supportive straps. She climbed onto Madison’s palm, the smell of clean water and disinfectant clinging to her clothes. Madison lifted her off the counter, and Cindy felt that familiar rush of air again. She leaned into Madison’s fingers for balance, the warmth of that touch still strangely comforting.

“Looks great,” Madison said, genuine admiration in her tone. She gave Cindy a gentle pet, running a fingertip down Cindy’s back. Cindy shivered, her body, traitorously, leaned into the touch. She hated how good it felt, how her tension eased, how each affectionate gesture became a precious currency in this upside-down life. She was a mother craving her daughter’s approval, a Little longing for her guardian’s praise, all tangled up in one person.

Madison carried her back into the hallway. The shadows had lengthened, indicating late afternoon drifting toward evening. Cindy wondered what Greg was up to, probably doing more homework or maybe resting in the habitat. He’d had his share of humiliations too. Sometimes he handled them better, other times he seethed quietly. Cindy understood both reactions.

“Now, remember, tomorrow’s the toilets,” Madison said casually, as if discussing weekend plans. “I know it sounds gross, but you were the one who said Littles could handle these tasks that normal people find too tedious. Don’t worry, once you get used to it, it won’t seem so bad.”

Cindy bit her lip. She would never get used to it. But she wouldn’t argue. Not now. “Yes, Ms. Wessen,” she said softly.

They passed by the habitat room again, and Cindy glimpsed Greg inside. He looked up, worry etched into his tiny face. Cindy tried to give him a reassuring nod, as if to say she was okay. She noticed he was reading something on a Little tablet, maybe research notes for another of Madison’s assignments. His presence steadied her nerves. At least they faced this together, even if there was precious little they could do for each other beyond moral support.

Madison paused at the habitat’s edge. Cindy expected to be placed back inside, but Madison just hovered there a moment. Through the door, Cindy heard faint laughter, probably Ava and Krysi downstairs. The world continued outside their tiny dramas, a life that once included them fully but now mostly overlooked them.

“You know, Mom,” Madison said quietly, “I never thought I’d be the one telling you what to do. But here we are.” There was no malice in her voice now, just a strange wistfulness. Cindy’s heart clenched. Could Madison regret any of this? Did she recognize how twisted it was? The thought offered a shred of hope, but she didn’t dare ask.

“I’m proud of you,” Madison added, her tone softer than before. “Really. You’ve adapted more than I expected. I know it’s not easy. I know it’s… weird.” She let out a slow breath, and Cindy felt the warm gust against her skin. “But we have to make the best of things, right?”

Cindy nodded. Her throat felt tight. She wanted to say so many things, about how this hurt, how she longed for their old life, how she missed being a mother in the proper sense. But all she could manage was, “Yes, Ms. Wessen. I understand.” As afterall this was the life she had cast herself and every other little into.

Madison’s eyes clouded for a second, then cleared. “Good,” she said briskly, her usual confidence returning. “We should get you settled. I have friends over, and I need to show them you’re fine, that we’re all fine. I know it’s a lot, but I think it’ll help them understand.”

Cindy didn’t know if her presence served as proof of the family’s stability or if she was some sort of twisted trophy. Probably both, and the thought made her stomach churn. Still perched in Madison’s hand, she stayed silent, letting her daughter interpret her quietness however she wished. After all, Cindy no longer had the privilege of steering conversations, she was, at best, a passenger in her own story, carried along by others’ decisions. By now, she understood it was safer to go along and be quiet than to risk provoking more rules or restrictions. It was what she had taught.

Madison stepped out of the bathroom, and Cindy felt the gentle sway of her daughter’s stride. Each footstep reverberated up through Madison’s body, transferring a subtle bounce to Cindy. It reminded Cindy of riding in a car with poor suspension, only now the vehicle was her own daughter’s body. She gripped Madison’s fingers, searching for stability, a faint blush warming her cheeks at this bizarre reversal of roles. Cindy had once held Madison’s small hand crossing busy streets—now she clung to Madison’s giant fingers for dear life.

To her surprise, Cindy felt Madison’s fingers stroke her affectionately. The touch was warm and reassuring, and Cindy leaned into it almost instinctively, heart heavy with conflicting emotions. It hadn’t taken long for Cindy to start craving these moments of gentle contact. She hated how her body responded, how her mind found comfort in Madison’s voice and caress. Yet the pattern was inevitable. She remembered lecturing others, once upon a time, about how Littles would bond with their guardians, learn to appreciate their affection. She had warned them that Littles would come to rely on their guardians for emotional and physical comfort. Now she was living that nightmare, trapped beneath the logic of her own doctrine and her bodies own biology.

As Madison entered the living room, Cindy caught sight of Ava and Krysi lounging on the sofa. The soft illumination from a nearby lamp cast their profiles in warm light, making the scene look deceptively cozy. In what felt like another lifetime, this was Cindy’s living room and her furniture, bought piece by piece over the years. Now it belonged firmly to Madison and McKenzie, Cindy herself had become an accessory, a family Little.

She knew Madison and McKenzie loved her in their own complicated way. McKenzie would peek in occasionally, even when busy, to check on them. Madison, for all her strict rules, offered moments of affection and care. Cindy clung to those small mercies. They were proof that the daughters she’d raised were still in there somewhere, even if the power dynamics had flipped completely.

“You don’t mind watching her, Krysi?” Madison asked, voice light and casual, as if handing off a pet hamster rather than her own mother. She didn’t bother to address Cindy directly, just spoke over her, about her, making decisions without consultation. Cindy felt a fresh pang of helplessness. Another part of her mind coldly noted that this was exactly what she’d described to other guardians: the Little’s perspective would become secondary, their comfort dependent on the guardian’s whims.

“Of course not,” Krysi replied, smiling warmly. She extended her hands, palms up, and Madison lowered Cindy into them. Cindy settled onto Krysi’s open palm, her body tense. Krysi’s hands were slightly firmer, more calloused from years of sports and manual work, yet her grip was gentle enough. Cindy glanced up, trying to read Krysi’s expression, searching for kindness or pity, anything that might signal she still saw Cindy as a person.

“Evan said she’s running late but should be here soon,” Krysi added, shifting Cindy to one hand and using the other to push a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Cindy recognized the names and routines. Evan and Ava had been part of the friend group for ages. Once, Cindy might have greeted them with casual warmth, offered them snacks. Now, her presence among them served a different purpose entirely.

“Okay, I’ll just be upstairs for a bit,” Madison said, stepping back. “I’ll be down later, and then we can hang.” She paused, her eyes drifting down to her mother, perched in Krysi’s hand. “Be good,” Madison added. Her tone was light, but Cindy flinched at the words, a strange blend of affection and command. How humiliating to be told to “be good” like a pet dog, especially in front of teenagers who once respected her as an adult in the room.

Cindy opened her mouth, wanting to protest that she was fine, that she wasn’t worried. But as she inhaled to speak, Krysi turned her attention fully to Cindy, tilting her hand so Cindy slid a bit, forcing her to concentrate on not falling. Krysi’s voice took on a cooing softness. “Don’t worry, Cindy. Madison will be back soon,” she said. Her tone was soothing but patronizing, as if Cindy were a puppy whining at the door. Cindy’s jaw tightened. The last thing she wanted was to appear anxious about Madison leaving, but now Krysi’s gentle reassurance framed her as a needy Little craving her guardian’s return. The narrative was beyond Cindy’s control.

Cindy tried to speak again, to explain that she wasn’t upset, but Krysi and Ava started talking, their voices easily overpowering Cindy’s tiny attempts. The sound of their laughter and conversation washed over her, drowning her words before they could form. Cindy realized, with a hollow feeling in her chest, that she had become background noise, easy to ignore, easy to talk over.

Krysi settled Cindy on her lap. The transition was disorienting. Krysi’s lap felt different from Madison’s. Cindy noted the firmer muscles beneath her, probably from years of softball training. Cindy tried to find a comfortable position, aware that any small movement might draw attention or rebuke. She hated this hyperawareness of her every shift.

“I still can’t believe that’s Cindy Wessen,” Ava said, her tone dripping with disbelief and a hint of scorn. Cindy stiffened. Ava’s gaze felt heavy as it fell upon her. Ava continued, “I was here the other day, and she was cleaning around the bottom of Madison’s toilet. She practically begged me to ask Madison to let her stop. Like she isn’t the one who preached that this is what a Little is for, or like she didn’t compare my parents to Littles because they weren’t born here.”

Cindy’s heart froze. She remembered Ava’s family, the Cruz family, who had done yardwork and snow removal for them. She knew Ava never forgave Cindy’s past words about immigrants and Littles. Cindy tried to speak, to clarify something,anything. “Ms. Cruz,”

“If I wanted to hear from a Little,” Ava interrupted icily, “I’d have gone with Madison and spoken to Greg.” Without even looking at Cindy, Ava grabbed the TV remote and turned up the volume, making it impossible for Cindy’s voice to compete. The sudden blare of sound made Cindy wince. Ava’s message was clear: Cindy’s words were not wanted.

Cindy bowed her head, feeling heat flood her cheeks. Ava’s open hostility hurt more than she expected. Cindy remembered being cool and distant towards the Cruz family, never extending them the kindness they deserved. Now she was reaping what she’d sown.

“Much better, don’t you think, Krysi?” Ava said, settling back. Cindy watched as Ava kicked off her shoes casually, the footwear landing on the floor with a heavy thud. Cindy shivered at the thought: a dropped shoe could seriously harm her now. Everything was out of scale and lethal if mishandled. She was at the mercy of these giant teenagers.

“Be nice,” Krysi chided, but her tone was mild. She reached down and gave Cindy a few gentle pats. It was a small kindness, but Cindy couldn’t help noticing how it didn’t carry the same warmth as Madison’s or McKenzie’s touch. Still, it was better than nothing. Cindy tried to lean into the pats, grateful for even this tiny sign of civility.

“What do you mean, ‘be nice’?” Ava retorted. “Cindy’s been awful to my family for years. She deserves a taste of her own medicine. Karma, right? She called my parents animals, now look at her, living like one.”

Cindy tried to control her breathing. The TV noise rattled her nerves, and Ava’s words stung like salt in a wound. How could she apologize when no one cared to listen?

“She was wrong,” Krysi admitted, fiddling with her hair, “but look at her now. She can’t hurt anyone. She’s a Little. That’s all she’ll ever be from now on.”

Cindy bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. They talked about her as if she was no more than a curiosity, a cautionary tale. Krysi’s hand draped over Cindy’s body, leaving only Cindy’s head sticking out. Cindy felt trapped by even this small gesture, covered, controlled.

“It’s freezing out,” a new voice said suddenly. The front door opened and closed. Evan’s voice, loud, confident, filled the room. Cindy’s heart sank further. Evan had always been charismatic, a natural leader in the circle. Cindy dreaded what Evan might say about her.

A moment later, Evan breezed into the living room, not even bothering to knock. Cindy cringed at how Madison’s friends treated the house as their playground. But who could blame them? Madison was in charge now, and what Madison allowed was law. The days when Cindy laid down rules were gone.

“Hey girls, Cindy,” Evan greeted, vaulting over the back of the sofa. The cushions bounced, and Cindy felt herself jostled painfully close to Krysi’s knuckles. A tiny squeak escaped her lips, but it was lost in the commotion.

“How are you doing, Cindy?” Evan asked, leaning in, her face looming large above Cindy’s tiny form. She lowered the TV volume, giving Cindy a chance to reply. Cindy mustered all her courage. Evan’s question sounded friendly on the surface, but Cindy could guess at the undertones.

“Fine, Ms. Kingsley. Thanks for asking,” Cindy managed. She tried to keep her voice steady, polite. At least Evan had given her a chance to speak.

Evan smiled down at her, not unkindly, but there was a glint in her eye that Cindy couldn’t decode. “That’s good,” Evan said. “Madison and Brooklyn have a dance competition, and McKenzie has a tennis thing on Friday. They’ll be gone, so you’ll be staying with me. I’ve got a few tasks lined up for you to help with. You’re welcome.”

The words landed like a punch. Cindy’s weekend had been arranged without her input. She belonged wherever they decided to place her. She swallowed hard. “I’ll let Greg know,” she said quietly, trying to stay composed.

“Oh, Greg’s going with Madison,” Evan clarified casually. “Didn’t you know? He always supported her activities, so she’s taking him so he can watch her and Brooklyn like normal. Sorry, Cindy, you won’t see him then.”

Cindy’s heart sank further. She’d hoped that at least she and Greg could face weekends together. “Ms. Kingsley,” Cindy began, “I’d love to see Madison perform too. Maybe,”

Ava snorted. “Shame you didn’t care about that before you got infected. Now you think you can ask for privileges? Good luck with that.”

Cindy tried to argue, to explain, but the girls talked over her again. Evan snapped her fingers, demanding Cindy’s attention. “Cindy, come,” she ordered, and Cindy found herself sliding off Krysi’s lap onto the couch cushion. She stumbled slightly, her legs feeling shaky. She crossed the cushion to Evan’s side, each step uneasy on the plush fabric.

“Sit,” Evan commanded. Cindy knew exactly what that meant. She dropped into the “Little sit” position, knees bent, hands resting lightly, head bowed slightly. Every humiliating rule from her own teachings now a script she followed on autopilot.

The girls resumed their conversation about clothes, boys, and upcoming events. Cindy sat there, trapped in her ridiculous posture, her voice lost beneath their chatter. She glanced up occasionally, scanning their faces. Ava looked smug, Krysi seemed thoughtful but distant, and Evan just looked amused. The TV flickered, casting changing light over the scene.

Cindy tried to speak at one point, “Ms. King—” but Evan cut her off with a warning glare and a reminder, “Only speak if you’re asked a question.” The message was clear: Cindy’s voice was only allowed on their terms.

Moments later, Evan decided Cindy had been quiet enough. She lowered her hand, palm up. “Now, what do you have to say for yourself?” Evan asked.

“Thank you, Ms. Kingsley,” Cindy said, forcing politeness. Her heart pounded. She had nothing else to say, what could she say?

Evan seemed satisfied. “You’re welcome, Cindy,” she said, scooping Cindy into her hand. Cindy felt the rough texture of Evan’s palm, smelled the faint lemon-scented soap and maybe a hint of lotion. It was less gentle than Madison’s hold, but at least not painful.

Evan reached into her purse and pulled out a small kit of Littles’ personal care items. Cindy watched curiously until Evan produced a tiny fingernail clipper. It looked scaled down for Littles, just like the cleaning harness and tools. Cindy swallowed, dreading what might come next.

“Clip your nails,” Evan instructed, her voice matter-of-fact. “Keep them short. Littles don’t need long nails, no reason for it. You’re never wearing makeup or polish again, so nails only collect dirt and get in the way of your chores.” Evan’s tone was dismissive, as if explaining an obvious truth.

“My pleasure, Ms. Kingsley,” Cindy said. She took the tiny clipper with trembling hands. The metal felt cool and unforgiving. Cindy remembered times she used to paint her nails alongside McKenzie, sharing laughter and teen gossip. Now, she obediently clipped her nails short and functional. Every little act stripped away a layer of her past identity.

Once done, Evan took back the clipper and rewarded Cindy with a small snack. Cindy’s eyes widened. Real food, or at least, something that wasn’t pellets. It smelled grainy, slightly sweet, like a granola bar. Evan explained it was formulated for Littles, so Cindy’s body wouldn’t reject it. Cindy’s mouth watered. She took a hesitant bite. The taste was mild but better than pellets. She chewed slowly, savoring a pleasure she hadn’t expected.

“Wait, she’s never had anything but pellets?” Ava said, snickering. “It’s been weeks!”

“Yeah, Cindy’s not getting people food,” Krysi said, leaning in. “It seems a bit harsh. I sometimes think—maybe we should have bent the rules. I did for Greg.”

“Greg got special treatment?” Evan asked, curious.

Krysi shrugged. “He’s kind, and I felt bad. But Cindy… I guess I missed that chance. Maybe I should have too, but…” She let the sentence hang. Cindy listened, her ears burning. So, Greg got people food, while she didn’t. A stab of jealousy and regret twisted in her gut.

Ava laughed. “I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t go out of my way for Cindy either,” she said, looking down at Cindy, who hastily finished the snack to avoid choking under their scrutiny. “Cindy’s getting what she deserves. She looked down on my family, called them animals. Now look who’s reduced to living on Littles’ terms.”

Cindy tried to keep her face neutral, but it hurt. She longed to apologize properly, to explain herself, but knew it would fall on deaf ears. In this new dynamic, her sincerity meant nothing; her past actions loomed too large.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Krysi said quietly, giving Cindy another pat. “She’s a Little now. She can’t harm anyone.”

“True,” Evan agreed, stretching. She removed her shoes by hooking one foot against the other’s heel, letting them fall heavily to the floor. Cindy watched in silence, grateful for the small mercy that at least no one was stepping near her. She felt a chill seeing how casually they handled objects that could crush her.

The conversation blurred around Cindy, who sat quietly, unsure if McKenzie had stepped in or if it was someone else. The girls kept chatting, referencing people and events Cindy struggled to place. She wished Madison were here, at least Madison treated her with a predictable pattern of rules and rewards. With Madison absent, Cindy felt exposed to Ava and Evan’s unpredictable moods.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, McKenzie’s familiar voice cut through the chatter. “I’m back. Sorry I forgot my wallet upstairs.”

Cindy’s heart leapt. McKenzie’s presence was always a stabilizing force, even if it didn’t always work in Cindy’s favor. At least McKenzie might keep Ava and Evan from being too cruel. The TV volume lowered, and Cindy dared hope someone might give her a moment’s kindness.

As McKenzie passed through the room, Cindy noted how the girls straightened slightly, acknowledging McKenzie’s authority. Cindy wanted to call out, to show McKenzie she was handling things well. But she remembered Evan’s warning: speak only when asked.

McKenzie glanced at Cindy, offered a small nod of acknowledgment. That tiny gesture warmed Cindy’s spirit. Even if McKenzie upheld strict rules, she hadn’t abandoned empathy entirely. McKenzie’s gaze conveyed understanding: hang in there, it seemed to say.

Then McKenzie departed again, leaving Cindy with Krysi, Ava, and Evan. The conversation drifted back to gossip and weekend plans. Cindy sat still, obeying instructions, her mind racing with thoughts about the future. She dreaded the upcoming weekend with Evan, helping with tasks who-knows-what. She worried about Greg traveling with Madison. Would he handle it better than she did? Probably. Greg always had a way of staying calm under pressure.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the television casting flickering lights across the living room. Cindy’s legs ached from sitting in the Little sit position for so long. She dared not shift too much, lest Ava or Evan take it as defiance. Eventually, Ava muted the TV, turning her attention to Cindy with a mocking smile.

“How’s it feel,” Ava asked softly, voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel, “to be living everything you preached, Cindy?”

Cindy’s throat tightened. She wanted to say that she was sorry, that she never meant for it to be this harsh, that she’d underestimated the Littles’ experience. But the girls had made it clear: no unsolicited speaking. She stayed quiet, muscles tensing.

Ava shrugged. “Guess I got my answer,” she said, leaning back into the sofa cushions. The conversation turned away from Cindy again, leaving her to brood in silence.

Krysi eventually moved, shifting Cindy onto the arm of the sofa, giving her a brief reprieve from bodily contact. Cindy appreciated the small mercy. She let her gaze wander around the living room, her old living room. If she squinted, she could pretend it was just another day, with Madison’s friends hanging out after school. But the illusion shattered each time she glanced at her tiny limbs, her restricted posture, the silent agreement that she was property, not parent.

Madison paused outside her bedroom door, one hand lightly resting on the knob. She could still hear the faint murmurs of Ava and Krysi downstairs with Cindy. The echo of their conversation drifted upward through the house, a reminder of the strange new normal that had settled over the Wessens. But here, in front of this closed door, Madison took a breath and steeled herself. She wanted this moment, just her and Dad, with no prying eyes or interruptions. Things had been so chaotic lately, and despite how much their lives had changed, she still craved those simple father-daughter moments.

Turning the knob slowly, Madison stepped into her room, careful to close the door behind her. The bedroom was her private haven, a space filled with posters of dancers mid-leap, bright tapestries, and a few cherished knickknacks from her childhood. There was a faint scent of vanilla and fabric softener lingering in the air, comforting and familiar. For a moment, she allowed herself a small smile, happy to be home, happy to have a plan. She’d asked her friends to help distract Mom and keep her busy, giving Madison a window to spend time with Dad. It felt sneaky, but necessary.

“Hey Dad,” she said softly, walking toward the habitat. She could see him through the clear acrylic walls, a tiny figure in a tiny world. Greg looked up at her as she approached, and she saw relief and excitement flicker across his miniature face. She still hadn’t fully gotten used to seeing her father like this, so small, so delicate. A familiar ache settled in her chest, a twist of sympathy and regret. She knew it wasn’t her fault he was like this, but she’d embraced her role as his guardian, and that came with complications.

Greg’s expression brightened at the sound of her voice. It took everything in Madison not to let her shoulders slump with relief. She needed this to go well. She had something to show him, something she’d poured effort and thought into, hoping he’d be proud.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Greg said, stepping closer to the habitat’s wall. His voice crackled faintly through the enclosure’s built-in communicator. Even so, the warmth in his tone was unmistakable. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Usually, when your friends are over, you’re busy.”

Madison gave a small, shy shrug. “They’re downstairs with Mom,” she explained, flicking the communicator button on the habitat’s control panel so he could hear her clearly. The device beeped softly, sealing them into a more private conversation. “I just… wanted some daddy-daughter time. If that’s okay?” Her voice wavered slightly at the end, making it sound almost like a question. She hated that hint of uncertainty, but after everything that’d happened, nothing felt straightforward anymore.

Greg’s face lit up. “You never have to ask for that, honey,” he said, a gentle laugh woven into his words. “I’m always happy to spend time with you.”

Warmth spread through Madison’s chest. Despite all the changes, him becoming a Little, her adopting the role of his guardian, the bond they shared hadn’t vanished. If anything, it had bent but not broken. She pulled her computer chair closer to the habitat so she could be nearer to him. The chair’s rollers whispered across the hardwood floor, and Madison eased herself down, elbows on knees, bringing her closer to eye level with Dad.

“I got some things for you today,” Madison said, letting a note of pride slip into her voice. She reached down into one of the shopping bags she’d brought upstairs, rummaging past a few decorative items until her fingers found what she wanted. “And for Mom too,” she added, remembering that Cindy would also benefit. “But mostly for you, Dad. I wanted the habitat to feel more… homey.”

She lifted out a small wooden table with matching chairs. To a normal person, it might have looked like a doll’s dining set. But Madison had chosen the materials carefully, ensuring it was high-quality and comfortable for Littles. Each chair had a cushioned seat, tiny, but perfectly scaled.

Greg pressed closer to the glass, eyes wide with amazement. “Oh, a dining room table,” he said softly, voice crackling with excitement. Through the communicator, Madison could hear the wonder in his tone. It reminded her of when she was little and brought home an art project from school, except now the roles were reversed.

“Just a sec,” Madison said. She popped the lid of the habitat and gently reached inside. She cupped her hand around Greg, lifting him out and holding him in her palm. He felt so light, so fragile, and she took extra care to move slowly. Then she sat cross-legged on the floor, placing Greg in her lap so he could have a better view of the table. The floor felt cool beneath her legs, the atmosphere oddly intimate now that they were away from the others.

“It’s real wood,” Madison explained, trying to sound casual, as if this were no big deal. “I actually made the table at school, in wood shop. I had it stained professionally downtown. That’s why it’s got that glossy look.” She ran a fingertip lightly over the surface to show him the sheen.

Greg gazed at the miniature furniture with admiration. “You made this?” he asked, voice hushed. “This is incredible, sweetheart.” Pride flowed between them, a palpable thing. Madison soaked it in, grateful that she could still impress her dad despite the circumstances.

“I had to make something for a project,” Madison said, her eyes darting away shyly. She didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but hearing Greg’s praise made her heart swell. “I thought… well, since you’re my Little, why not make something that would help your daily life feel nicer?”

Greg nodded, a smile curving his tiny lips. “Your mom’s going to love it too,” he said brightly, adding, “She’s always talking about how incredible you are, you know.”

Madison’s face clouded a bit, and she tried to cover it by adjusting the table in her hands. “She’s not always so complimentary,” Madison replied, the edge in her voice hinting at lingering tensions. “Mom’s favorite pastime was hearing herself talk. I really made this for you, Dad. I want you to be happy. I know it’s been hard on you.”

Greg’s heart skipped a beat. He could hear something vulnerable in Madison’s tone. “I appreciate that, honey,” he said softly. “I know we’re all adjusting. I’m proud of you, for making this effort.”

Madison took a breath and released it slowly. This was her chance. “So, I have a dance competition on Friday,” she began, trying to sound nonchalant. “I was thinking… if you want to come watch, you can. It’s not a big deal if you don’t,” she rushed to add, her confidence faltering. “But I set things up in case you said yes.”

Greg’s eyes lit up, brighter than before. “I’d love to come,” he said, voice warm and immediate. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Madison’s shoulders relaxed, relief washing over her. She’d secretly feared he might say no, that he’d resent her too much to want to go. “Great,” she said, unable to keep a grin off her face. “I mean, Evan’s taking Mom, since McKenzie is busy with tennis, and you’ll come with Brooklyn and me. I’ve been working on this routine for a while, and I thought… you used to come to all my performances. I didn’t want that to end.”

Greg’s chest tightened with emotion. It might be different now, he’d be a Little at a dance competition, probably perched on Madison’s shoulder or on a special seat, but he’d be there. “I’m so happy you asked,” he said, a slight quaver in his voice. “Thank you, Madison.”

“Don’t mention it,” Madison mumbled, cheeks flushing. She knew it was a big deal, but didn’t want to make it awkward. She rose from the floor, still cradling Greg gently in her hand, and settled back onto her bed. The mattress dipped under her weight, and Greg could smell the faint detergent from the freshly washed sheets.

“I know you’re a Little now, Dad, but I promise we’ll always get to spend time like this,” Madison said quietly. She glanced at the closed door, ensuring no one was listening. “Just don’t tell anyone,” she teased, trying to make light of her sentiment. “It’s embarrassing. And since Mom’s not around, you can just call me Madison. It’s okay.”

Greg smiled, a tender look in his tiny eyes. “Thank you, Madison,” he said, savoring the freedom of using her name directly. “It means a lot.” He decided to push just a bit further. “Your mom’s having second thoughts about some of the policies she championed,” he confided softly. “Maybe you could take it easy on her?”

Madison’s jaw tightened slightly, but she nodded. “I have been, Dad. You have no idea how much I’ve softened the rules. Mom couldn’t handle the full strictness of her teachings. She almost cracked the first time I asked her to paint my nails.” Madison chuckled, a rueful sound. “I always make sure she has tools and enough time, so she can succeed without realizing I’m going easy on her. You know how Mom is, if she thinks I’m pitying her, she’ll rebel. I have to be subtle.”

Greg’s heart ached, equal parts admiration and sadness. Madison was bending the rules to help Cindy, yet maintaining the illusion of strictness. “I appreciate that, honey,” he said gently. “She’s struggling more than she admits. But knowing you’re not pushing her beyond breaking point… it means a lot.”

Madison shrugged, trying to look casual. “Mom’s doing fine. At least, fine enough. This is what she always wanted, right? At least that’s what she preached.” Her tone held a bitter edge. “I’ve integrated all her teachings so she’d get the full ‘Cindy Wessen Little experience.’ I know it sounds twisted, but I’m just following her blueprint. You and Mom doing my homework helps too. Reviewing her old materials keeps me on track. Still, I try to keep you out of the worst chores, Dad, because I care about you. You’re still my father, even if you’re my Little.”

Greg felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. His daughter’s complexity, her mixture of resentment, love, duty, and mercy, impressed and unsettled him. He leaned forward to hug her cheek, planting a tiny kiss there. Madison froze for half a second, then smiled softly. The warmth of her skin, the faint scent of her shampoo, these details were comforting and heartbreaking all at once. He could never forget that he was a fraction of her size now, reliant on her kindness.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” Madison said after a moment, voice husky with unspoken emotion. “Now, check out the other things I got for the habitat.”

She reached into the shopping bag again. Greg watched as she pulled out a few more items: miniature cushions, a little rug to put under the table, a tiny lamp that presumably worked on low voltage. Greg’s heart soared. He used to provide for her. Now, she provided for him, creating a cozy space in a world he never asked to inhabit.

“This rug has a pattern I thought you’d like,” Madison explained, unfurling a piece of fabric adorned with geometric shapes. “It should make your living area more comfortable. And this lamp? It’s battery-operated and will give you some reading light. I figured you might want to read without straining your eyes.”

Greg nodded, speechless for a moment. He felt like a parent receiving a heartfelt gift from a child who’d put actual thought into it. The roles twisted in on themselves. He was grateful, yet mourning the loss of what they once had. Still, if he could hold onto something good, something loving, he would.

“Madison,” he said softly, and this time he didn’t attach the honorific “Ms. Wessen.” She’d given him permission, and it felt wonderfully normal to just say her name. “I appreciate this. All of it. You’re really trying.”

Madison looked away, pretending to adjust the mini lamp. “It’s no big deal,” she muttered, her cheeks pink. “I mean, this was part of a school project anyway.”

Greg smiled knowingly. “I’m still proud of you,” he said, voice gentle. “Not just for making furniture, but for thinking of me, for inviting me to your dance competition, and for trying to make this work. It’s not easy for any of us.”

Madison’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, it’s weird,” she admitted. “Sometimes I miss how it was before. Other times, I feel like… I have this new responsibility, you know? And I want to do right by you, Dad. Not just follow Mom’s old scripts, but actually make life okay for us.”

Greg reached out, patting her fingertip. “You’re doing fine, honey. Considering what we’ve all been through, that’s not something small.”

Madison breathed out, as if releasing a weight from her chest. They sat there quietly for a moment, surrounded by the muffled sounds of distant laughter from downstairs, the hum of the house’s air conditioning, and the soft glow of the lamp she’d bought for him.

After a while, Madison cleared her throat. “I should get back down before they wonder what I’m up to,” she said, a reluctant note in her voice. “We can set up your new furniture now, or I can leave it for you to arrange. I trust you know where you want the table and rug.”

Greg grinned. “I can handle it,” he said, looking forward to the simple pleasure of arranging the furniture in his tiny home. It was silly, but it felt like a little autonomy. “Thank you, Madison.”

Madison placed him back into the habitat with utmost care, lowering him slowly as if he were fragile china. Once he stood safely inside, she dropped the table, chairs, rug, and lamp next to him, each item scaled to his size. It formed a small pile of possibilities at his feet.

“Enjoy,” she said lightly. “And about the dance competition, if you change your mind, it’s okay. But I’m glad you said yes.”

Greg looked up at her, heart full. “I won’t change my mind, Madison. I’m happy to go.”

Her smile lit up her face. “Great,” she whispered. Then, lowering her voice further, “Don’t tell Mom I let you say my name like that. She might think I’m going soft on you.”

Greg chuckled softly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Madison stood up, smoothing her jeans and tossing her hair back. She looked like a regular teenager again, no towering figure of authority, no rigid instructor, just a girl who loved dancing and wanted her dad to watch her perform. Greg knew the facade would return the moment she stepped outside this room, but this memory, this brief window of real connection, would stay with him.

“I’ll let you arrange your new stuff. Enjoy, Dad,” Madison said, heading to the door. She paused before turning the handle, glancing over her shoulder. The light from the hall framed her silhouette. “Love you,” she said quietly.

“Love you too, Madison,” Greg replied, voice steady. He watched her exit, the click of the door gentle this time, as if respecting this tender moment.

Outside her bedroom door Madison paused reaching into her pocket she pulled out a tiny pair of pants, sweatshirt and some sneakers. A small smile spread on her face as she thought about Friday

Left alone in the habitat, Greg marveled at the small gifts. The table, the chairs, the rug, the lamp, it all spoke of Madison’s effort. He could practically see her standing in a workshop at school, carefully sanding the wood, imagining him and Cindy sitting at this table, maybe enjoying a break between homework assignments.

He sighed contentedly. Outside, the muffled voices of the girls continued. Greg knew Cindy was downstairs, enduring Ava’s barbs and Evan’s orders, but maybe Cindy would glean some comfort from knowing he was safe and cared for up here. He made a mental note to encourage Madison to extend some more kindness toward Cindy, if possible.

As he started to unroll the rug, his tiny hands smoothing out the fabric, Greg smiled to himself. Life had changed beyond recognition, but love still pulsed beneath the awkward arrangements. He might be a Little now, trapped in a world he didn’t choose, but he had his daughter’s heart and her attention. That counted for something priceless.

He placed the table in a corner, angled just so to catch the lamp’s warm glow. The chairs fit snugly underneath. Greg stepped back, surveying his new dining area with pride. It was a small improvement in a large mess of a situation, but it mattered. And this Friday, he’d watch Madison dance, a spark of normalcy, a token of the old life they shared. He’d cheer her on quietly, grateful for any moments that felt like father and daughter again, rather than guardian and Little.

Outside, life moved on, and he would find his place in it as best he could.

Cindy sat perched on the sofa’s armrest, her legs drawn close to her chest, as Ava, Krysi, and Evan lounged casually around her. The evening air in the living room felt slightly stale, and the low hum of distant traffic drifted in through the window. The television flickered with some show the girls weren’t really watching, they mostly chatted among themselves, gossiping about classmates and planning weekend outings. Cindy tried not to shiver at her position: once the mistress of this house, she was now a piece of furniture in their social scene, allowed to remain out of the habitat but still closely monitored.

Ava crossed her ankles on the coffee table, leaning her head back, eyes half-lidded with bored confidence. Krysi scrolled on her phone, occasionally showing memes to Ava, who snorted in laughter. Evan tapped her nails thoughtfully against her phone’s case, glancing at Cindy every so often with an unreadable expression.

Cindy’s stomach churned softly, not just from hunger but from the quiet tension. She knew Greg was upstairs with Madison. Earlier that day, Madison had excused herself, taking to her bedroom for some private father-daughter time. Cindy couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy and relief. She was glad Greg might have a peaceful moment, but she longed for a similar chance, a quiet conversation with her daughter, something beyond chores and formalities.

Instead, Cindy was downstairs, at the mercy of Evan, Ava, and Krysi. Ava occasionally made snide remarks about Cindy’s past behavior, while Krysi offered mild rebukes but didn’t really defend Cindy. Evan alternated between kindness and pointed reminders of Cindy’s reduced status. No one was outright cruel at this moment, but Cindy felt their eyes on her, felt the subtle power they wielded just by being normal-sized and free. She’d tried to keep her posture meek and cooperative, hoping that might earn some small kindness. At least they’d given her a snack earlier, a tiny improvement over pellets. But what about dinner?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps from the hallway. Cindy’s heart fluttered. Maybe Madison was coming back. She had left a while ago, presumably to spend time with Greg. Could Madison’s return mean a reprieve for Cindy as well?

As the footsteps grew louder as they descended the staircase, Cindy recognized Madison’s profile in the lamplight. Madison looked calm, her expression a mix of satisfaction and residual tenderness. Cindy caught her breath. If Madison had just spent quality time with Greg, maybe she’d be in a good mood. Cindy tried to look composed, not daring to stand or speak without permission. The last thing she wanted was to seem needy in front of Ava and Evan, who would pounce on any sign of weakness.

“There she is,” Madison said, voice bright as she approached the couch. Her arms were folded, and Cindy noted a subtle relaxation in her shoulders, a good sign, perhaps. “How’s Cindy been?”

Krysi answered first, shooting a glance at the tiny figure near her lap. “She’s been good. Quiet, cooperative,” Krysi reported, almost sounding impressed. Cindy’s heart lifted slightly, cooperative earned points, right?

Madison gave a pleased nod. “Perfect.” She bent down and reached for Cindy, who stepped onto Madison’s hand gratefully. The warmth of Madison’s palm enveloped her, and Cindy leaned in, taking comfort where she could find it. It struck Cindy as ironic: after all the humiliations, all the reversed roles, she still found relief in her daughter’s hold. But that was the nature of their new lives.

Downstairs, the girls barely acknowledged Madison’s claim on Cindy. They continued chatting, flipping channels, their voices a backdrop of normal teenage life. Cindy felt a strange disconnect, only days ago, she herself might have hosted these girls, but now she was a part of the scenery.

Madison turned to them and said lightly, “I’m heading upstairs with Cindy. Dinner soon, okay?” The girls nodded, absorbed in their own conversation. Ava smirked at Cindy, but said nothing snide this time. Evan gave a small wave, as if to say, “Behave,” and Krysi just offered a faint smile. Cindy bowed her head, relieved to be leaving this tense environment.

The hallway upstairs felt quieter, more intimate. Madison’s footsteps were measured, her breathing steady. “You’ve had a long day, Mom,” Madison said softly. There was no one else around to judge Madison’s tone now. “I’ve decided no extra chores tonight. Just rest.”

Cindy nodded, a tiny bob of her head. She yearned to say something more, to thank Madison or ask about Greg, but caution held her tongue. Madison seemed calm, even kind, at this moment. Best not to spoil it with unnecessary chatter.

When they entered Madison’s room, Cindy caught the familiar scent of vanilla candles and fresh laundry. The air felt warmer here, safer. Cindy’s eyes darted to the habitat, wondering if Greg was inside. Earlier, Madison had spent time with him. Cindy’s heart twisted in longing, she missed Greg’s quiet strength, his gentle humor. She hoped he had good news, maybe a promise of a better tomorrow.

Madison approached the habitat and gently lowered Cindy inside. Cindy’s feet touched the padded floor, and the soft hum of the ventilation reminded her she was back in her acrylic world. But this time, something was different. Cindy’s eyes widened at the sight of new furnishings neatly arranged inside the habitat. There was a small, beautifully finished wooden table with matching chairs. A tiny rug lay under it, and a miniature lamp stood nearby, casting a warm, inviting glow. Cindy’s breath caught, these weren’t cheap plastic props, but real, crafted items sized for Littles.

Cindy remembered Madison mentioning she made a table for Dad. This must be it, along with the other items Madison had shown Greg earlier. Cindy felt a swirl of emotions: gratitude, surprise, sadness, pride. Madison had thought about them, tried to make their living space more homey. This was a kindness Cindy had never dared expect. The table’s glossy surface caught the lamp’s light, reflecting Cindy’s tiny figure. The chairs looked sturdy and comfortable compared to the rough improvised seats they’d used before. The rug’s pattern added warmth, and the lamp promised easier reading or working. All this effort, for them.

Madison bent forward, her face framed by the acrylic walls. “What do you think?” she asked softly, voice hesitant, as if she feared Cindy’s reaction.

Cindy swallowed. Her throat felt tight. She stepped closer to the table, running a fingertip along its surface. It felt smooth, lovingly crafted. “It’s… it’s beautiful,” Cindy managed, voice trembling. She didn’t dare say more, afraid her emotions might overflow. She recognized Madison’s craftsmanship and the thoughtful touches, this was no mere token gesture. Madison wanted them comfortable, cared for.

Madison nodded, pleased. “I hoped you’d like it. I showed Dad earlier, and he loved it too.” There was a tenderness in her tone when she mentioned Greg. “He’ll be so happy to share this space with you, to eat together and, you know, make the habitat feel less like a cage and more like a tiny home.”

Cindy’s eyes stung with tears. Despite everything, her reduced status, the humiliations, this moment reminded her that Madison cared. Deep down, beneath the guardian-little dynamic, Madison was still her daughter, still wanted her parents happy in whatever small ways were possible. Cindy nodded again, words failing her.

Seeing Cindy’s reaction, Madison offered a gentle smile. “I know this doesn’t fix everything,” she said quietly, “but I’m trying, Mom. I really am.”

Cindy’s heart ached at the honesty. She stepped forward, placing a tiny hand against the habitat wall. The acrylic felt cool against her palm. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice barely audible through the communicator. She hoped Madison understood that gratitude ran deeper than a simple gesture.

Madison cleared her throat, as if trying to regain composure. “Dad agreed to come to my dance competition,” she said, changing the subject to something happier. Her eyes flicked downward shyly. “I asked him if he wanted to watch, and he said yes. I’m glad. I always loved knowing he was in the audience, cheering me on.”

Cindy felt a pang of envy and regret again, but this time it was tempered by understanding. Madison offering the same invitation to Cindy might be more complicated. Still, Cindy mustered courage. “That’s wonderful,” she said softly, forcing a small smile. “He must be so excited.”

A flicker of sadness crossed Madison’s face. “Yeah, he is,” she said quietly. “I know you’d want to come too if you could.” Her voice trailed off. Cindy caught the implication: Cindy wouldn’t be accompanying them, at least not this time. Evan would be taking Cindy elsewhere, and McKenzie had tennis. The puzzle pieces fell into place, everyone’s schedule was set, and Cindy’s place was not with her daughter at the competition.

Cindy tried not to show her disappointment. “I understand,” she said softly, bowing her head. Her reflection in the table’s glossy surface looked so small and helpless. “I’m glad Dad can go with you. It’ll mean the world to him.”

Madison nodded, relieved that Cindy didn’t push the issue. “I’ve been doing what I can to make things easier, Mom. Even with your training, I’ve scaled it back, given you tools. I’m not putting you through the full regimen you always preached. I just… want you to know that.” Madison’s voice held a careful earnestness. She wanted Cindy to appreciate the subtle leniencies, the hidden mercies.

Cindy managed a wavering smile. “I do notice,” she said gently. She thought of the harness and the mini pressure washer, and how Madison gave her enough time and the right tools to succeed. It stung to realize Madison’s ‘kindness’ was following Cindy’s own lessons on Littles, just toned down. But at least it was toned down. “Thank you,” Cindy added, meaning it sincerely.

Madison looked relieved, as if she’d feared rejection or anger. She reached in and with extreme gentleness petted Cindy’s head, the pad of her fingertip warm against Cindy’s hair. Cindy leaned into the touch, ashamed of how comforting it felt. Maybe this was how they survived this new life, small gestures, reluctant acceptance, and love shown in unexpected ways.

Outside the habitat, the muffled sounds of Madison’s friends drifted faintly. The house smelled faintly of dinner cooking, garlic, herbs, something savory. Cindy’s stomach reminded her of her hunger again, but the anxiety had receded. She had this moment of understanding with Madison, and that was worth something.

Madison sighed softly, as if releasing tension. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. “I’ll get you something a bit nicer than plain pellets tonight, okay?” Her tone was gentle, almost conspiratorial. “Don’t tell Mom, sorry, I mean, don’t tell McKenzie. She might say I’m spoiling you. But I think you deserve it after today.”

Cindy’s eyes glistened. Another small kindness. Maybe a tastier pellet variety or a slice of a Littles’ snack, something to break the monotony. She knew it wasn’t people food, but she’d take what she could get. “I won’t tell,” she promised quietly.

Madison smiled. “Good.” She straightened, removing her hand from the habitat carefully. Dad was excited about the table and chairs, just so you know. You two can arrange them together, make a little dining area. He tried his best on his own.”

Cindy nodded, picturing Greg’s delight at setting up their tiny home. It would be strangely domestic, a warped version of the life they once led. Yet, if it made their existence easier, if it added a spark of normalcy, she’d embrace it.

Madison checked the time on her phone. “I should get going. The others might wonder what’s taking me so long,” she said lightly, but Cindy detected reluctance in her voice. Maybe Madison would prefer to stay here, talking quietly, rebuilding something lost. But the reality outside this room was different—a crowd of friends, a life of teenage obligations.

Cindy gathered her courage. “Madison,” she said softly, surprised at herself for using her daughter’s name without permission. But Madison had allowed Dad to use it; maybe now Cindy could take a small risk. “Thank you… for everything you’ve done today.” She managed to get out before she felt the collar tighten. 

Madison’s gaze softened. She didn’t verbally scold Cindy for using her name this time. Instead, she nodded, her eyes shining. “You’re welcome, Mom,” she said quietly. “I know it’s hard, but we’re making it work. One day at a time.”

With that, Madison gave a small wave and stepped back from the habitat. Cindy watched her daughter’s figure recede, the soft rustle of her clothes, the faint scent of her shampoo left behind. Cindy stood quietly inside the acrylic walls, heart heavy but hopeful.

The door clicked shut. Cindy was alone again in the habitat’s dim glow. She turned to examine the table and chairs more closely, running her hand along the smooth edges. The lamp’s gentle light haloed the space, making it feel almost cozy. If she squinted, maybe she could pretend this was just a scaled-down version of her old life: dinner with Greg at a tiny dining table, warm lighting, quiet companionship.

Footsteps and laughter downstairs signaled that life continued outside their small world. Cindy inhaled slowly, preparing herself for dinner in this new reality. Maybe tonight she’d enjoy slightly better pellets, maybe tomorrow she’d get to see Greg and rearrange the furniture. Maybe someday she’d prove to McKenzie that she was serious about adjusting. Maybe Madison would trust her enough to share more candid moments like this one.

For now, Cindy allowed herself a moment of peace, her heart still fluttering from Madison’s gentle kindness. The world outside might be immense and unpredictable, but in here, surrounded by miniaturized furniture and the memory of a tender conversation, Cindy found the strength to face tomorrow.

She closed her eyes. The habitat’s soft lighting comforted her, the hum of the household distant yet steady. Outside, Madison’s laughter mingled with the voices of her friends, a reminder that the world went on. Inside, Cindy listened to her own heartbeat, steady and calm, and promised herself she would face tomorrow with quiet determination—even if it meant spraying toilets with a miniaturized pressure washer.

As dusk approached, the subtle scent of dinner preparation drifted from downstairs. Cindy breathed it in, remembering old family dinners, and let a small hope spark inside her heart. Maybe, just maybe, she could reclaim some part of herself in all this. Until then, she would do what needed to be done.

For now, that was enough.

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