10-28-2026, 08:36 AM
1 of 2
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October 18th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
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The cool London rain tapped a steady, gentle rhythm against the glass of the bedroom window, casting flickering gray light across the familiar hardwood floor. Inside the modest English home, the atmosphere was quiet and grounded, miles removed from the humid coastal warmth of Miami or the gleaming corporate towers of Charlotte. Now that she put the issue between her and Catalina De Luca in the rearview mirror, The British Bombshell can turn her entire focus back to her real passion: professional wrestling. After bouncing back from Rise To Greatness with a victory over Bree Lancaster, Glory has secured herself a shot at the SCW Television Championship, and she does not intend to squander this opportunity. Glory stood in front of the rustic wooden wardrobe, lacing up a pair of black leather athletic shoes. She was dressed in her usual utilitarian style, wearing a dark gray fitted tank top and durable, flexible black training trousers that were built for hours of hard work on the mat. Her long blonde hair was already pulled tightly back into a neat, high braid, keeping it secured away from her face.
Every movement was crisp and deliberate, driven by a renewed sense of clarity and focus. The road back to championship gold was finally taking shape, and her upcoming bout against Colleen MacDonald at Apocalypse for the SCW Television Title represented a massive opportunity to prove that her momentum was fully restored. She reached into the wardrobe, draped a heavy charcoal hoodie over her shoulders, and grabbed her worn leather kit bag from the corner of the bed, ready to head down the quiet residential street toward the Braddock Wrestling School for an intense afternoon sparring session. Just as she adjusted the strap of her gym bag over her shoulder, a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from the front entryway downstairs, cutting through the muffled patter of the rain outside. Glory paused, her brow furrowing slightly in surprise. She wasn't expecting any company, especially not at her unassuming London sanctuary. Setting her bag down on the edge of the bed, she turned and walked out of the bedroom, her heavy rubber soles squeaking faintly against the polished floorboards of the hallway as she made her way down the narrow staircase. Passing the small framed black-and-white photos lining the wall, she reached the front foyer, unlocked the heavy wooden door, and pulled it smoothly inward.
Standing on the sheltered stone threshold, framed against the soft drizzle and the pale, overcast sky, was her eldest daughter, Melinda Braddock. The sight of her brought Glory to an absolute standstill. Melinda was a striking, ethereal presence, her luminous, porcelain skin contrasting sharply with the deep dark tones of her eyes and the cascading waves of immaculate, ice-platinum blonde hair resting over her shoulders. She looked as though she had stepped straight off a high-fashion runway, completely unbothered by the damp English weather. She wore an elegant, tailored emerald green midi dress that hugged her figure with sharp precision, paired with a lightweight cream trench coat draped effortlessly over her shoulders. On her feet were pristine, high-heeled pointed pumps that added to her tall, commanding posture, and a delicate designer handbag hung loosely from the crook of her arm. Despite the deep, lingering tension that had stretched thin between mother and daughter over past few years, the unspoken friction, the cold distance, and the quiet ideological wars that had slowly pulled them apart, Melinda wore a bright, radiant smile. Her dark eyes sparkled with a warm, picture-perfect charm, feigning complete ease as if nothing were amiss between them, as if she had simply dropped by for a casual afternoon visit with her mother.
“Oh, uh, hi Melinda.” Glory is doing her best to hide how flustered she sounds right now. Her daughter’s visit definitely took her by surprise. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I’m full of surprises, mother.” Melinda smirks knowingly. The Third Generation Goddess looks over her mother’s outfit almost critically. “My guess is you are about to head to grandfather’s wrestling school.”
“I was about to, yeah.” The British Bombshell nods her head.
“Well there’s very wise of you. You haven’t had a championship match of any sort since your World Title Match against Cid Turner almost one year ago. Granted this one at Apocalypse is for the Television Title, the lowest championship on the totem pole, but you take what you can get, am I right?”
This was an obvious jab. Melinda is no longer trying to hide her feelings. Melinda Braddock has long since believed in her heart of hearts that Glory Braddock no longer deserves the right to carry the mantle of the Braddock legacy. Melinda believes that Glory has ruined its legacy and that she alone is destined to restore it to greatness. The problem with that thinking is that the Braddock wrestling legacy is far from tarnished. People respect her and the family all over the world. What makes Melinda believe that she can just usurp her mother? It could simply be arrogance but she didn’t raise her that way. She knows that there are underlying, personal problems that she has with her, problems she refuses to discuss. Nevertheless, The British Bombshell rarely gets a chance nowadays to talk with her daughter. She refuses to let this one slip by.
Glory swallowed down the defensive retort rising in her chest, choosing instead to take a slow, grounding breath. Whatever sharp edge Melinda intended to hone with that barbed comment, Glory was determined not to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Years of strained phone calls and cold, lingering silences had taught her that fighting fire with fire only pushed her eldest further away into the shadows of her ambition. This was her home, her sanctuary, and for the first time in months, Melinda was actually standing inside the doorway.
“It’s good to see you, Mel,” Glory said softly, her voice smoothing out into a warm, genuine tone as she pushed the heavy oak door open wider. She gestured toward the cozy interior of the foyer. “Come on inside out of the rain. The gym isn't going anywhere.”
Melinda’s bright, practiced smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the absence of an argument. She gathered the front of her cream trench coat, stepped over the threshold, and let the quiet warmth of the house enclose them both. The subtle click of her pristine pumps echoed softly on the polished hardwood, bringing with it a faint trace of high-end perfume that mingled with the familiar scent of old wood and English rain.
Before her daughter could settle back into her cool, detached posture, Glory stepped forward and pulled Melinda into a firm, loving embrace. For a brief second, Melinda’s frame held rigid, caught in the unexpected friction between her polished armor and her mother’s honest warmth. But as Glory squeezed her tightly, holding on just a moment longer than usual, the tension in Melinda’s shoulders gave way, allowing a faint, genuine breath to escape her lips before she lightly wrapped her arms around her mother in return.
“I really am glad you came by.” Glory murmured into her platinum hair before pulling back, resting her hands gently on Melinda’s shoulders to look her over.
“Thank you, mother.” Melinda replied, her voice regaining its smooth, refined composure as she lightly adjusted her handbag.
“Let me take your coat. Living room’s right down the hall. Go ahead and sit down, I’ll make us some tea.”
“That sounds lovely, but tea won’t be necessary. I don’t plan on staying long.” Melinda said, her posture effortlessly straight as she glided down the short, familiar hallway toward the sunlit space at the back of the house.
The living room welcomed them with its quiet, unpretentious warmth. The soft gray light filtering through the large sash windows cast a gentle glow across the oatmeal fabric of the deep sofa and the faded Persian rug beneath. Outside, the lush garden hydrangeas glistened under the steady drizzle, framing a view that felt completely detached from the intense, bright-lights world both women occupied. Melinda crossed the rug with practiced elegance, smoothing her emerald green dress beneath her as she sank gracefully onto the soft cushions of the sofa. She sat with her ankles crossed, her back straight, looking around the room with dark, observant eyes that seemed to evaluate every detail of the house her grandfather had once frequented.
Glory walked in a moment later, setting her worn leather gym bag by the doorway before pulling herself onto the sage green armchair opposite the sofa. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, her dark eyes locking onto her daughter with a mix of fierce maternal affection and cautious, quiet watchfulness. The gentle ticking of the mantle clock filled the silence between them, marking the beginning of a conversation both women knew was long overdue.
“For what it’s worth, I do hope you win the Television Championship.” Melinda states. “Despite our…differences…we both want the same thing; the Braddock name to be revered and respected. Colleen should be humbled. Taking that championship would do it.”
“Colleen and I may not exactly see eye to eye…but she wants to step up in terms of competition and I respect that. She wants a true test? She wants something bigger and better than the Television Title she currently has?” Glory grins. “I am a Supreme Champion. That means I have done everything that there is to do in SCW. You don’t get much more of a test than me and Colleen will realize that at Apocalypse.”
“Now that is what I need to hear.” Melinda remarks. “Finally you are sounding more like a true Braddock and not the has-been you had been turning into.”
“Has-been?!” Glory rolls her eyes. “Melinda, we may disagree on wrestling philosophy but you cannot sit there and say I am a has-been.”
“I think I just did.” Melinda snickers. “Then again, you ARE in a title match. The lowest of the titles but…”
“And about THAT…” Glory shakes her head “...who cares if it’s the Television Title? Every title is prestigious, Mel. Plus, I just beat a former SCW World Champion. Bree Lancaster, remember her? I beat her. Again. If you think I’m just settling for the Television Title you’re wrong. I will win it, I will proudly defend it, and ultimately I will EARN my way to another shot at the SCW World Championship. I guarantee it. And it all starts with putting down Colleen.”
“Good.” Melinda sighs. “But if you can’t get the job done.” She winks. “I will gladly succeed where you failed.”
“I don’t plan on failing.” Glory states bluntly. “But hey, I don’t doubt what you have to say about your abilities for a second. I watched your and Fiona’s match against Amelia and Luz. I was very impressed.”
“We were going to win were it not for those damned Glimmers.” Melinda scowls. “And that is precisely what I am talking about regarding our differences. You speak so highly of the spirit of competition yet you are the only one who practices what you preach. Everyone else around you has no problem trying to screw you out of what is rightfully yours. And the funny part? Despite your actions, despite your words, no one believes you.”
“I’m not trying to prove that I am a good person.” Glory shakes her head. “I go to the ring to prove that I am the best wrestler.”
“You say that…” Melinda’s voice trails off as a chuckle escapes her lips “...oh but we’re missing the point, aren’t we?”
“What point?”
“Well I didn’t come here to debate our wrestling philosophies. That would be an exercise in futility because you are too stubborn to recognize when you are wrong.”
“You got half of that right, Mel, I AM stubborn.” The British Bombshell smirks. “But if you aren’t here to debate, what ARE you here for?”
“I thought you would never ask.” A look of mischief forms on Melinda’s face. She holds up her hand and displays it proudly. Glory Braddock looks at it closely, expecting to see the engagement ring Clyde Sutter bought. Instead she now sees the wedding band. Glory’s eyes grow wide as she looks up at Melinda, who now nods her head.
“Melinda…is that what I think it is?!”
“That’s right, mother.”
“I thought you were…”
“Oh we had plans, yes.” Melinda smiles devilishly. “But we figured why wait? Why draw out what Fate itself has already decreed? We skipped the elaborate ceremony and got married.”
“Geez, Mel…” Glory shakes her head in frustration, she can no longer contain herself “...Clyde is volatile. He is violent and prone to anger. Have you not forgotten how he physically abused you? The fact that you ran right back to him was shocking enough but this…!”
“Fate decreed it.” Melinda purrs.
“I don’t want to hear about fate!” Glory snaps, her anger boiling over. “All I can remember is him hurting you, him abusing you, and now you are tying yourself to him!”
“Clyde has seen the error of his ways. He has reformed. He looked into the darkness of his past, did not like what he saw, and he changed. He turned away from his past.” She points an accusatory finger at Glory. “Unlike you. Clyde saw what he has done in the past and has worked tirelessly to erase it, to fix it. You embrace your own dark past, a past that put a stain on this family.”
“What is this really about, Mel? Huh?” Glory asks out of frustration. “You know how this entire family feels about him. You know FROM EXPERIENCE how dangerous he is. Yet you choose to marry him.
“I think you know exactly what this is about, mother.” Melinda sneers. “You CHOSE to bring someone into our family who didn’t belong, a cancer that brought humiliation and embarrassment to this family. So why not bring someone into this family whom YOU despise and detest? Because whether you like it or not, Clyde is FAMILY now.”
“You are making a mistake, Mel.” Glory insists. “A big mistake. You are turning your back on your family.”
“No, YOU are the one who turned your back on this family.” Melinda says in an accusatory tone. “Both personally and professionally.”
Glory’s jaw tightened, the sheer audacity of the accusation hanging thick in the cool air between them. Before she could even begin to process the absurd comparison between her storied wrestling career and Clyde Sutter’s documented history of abuse, Melinda was already on her feet. The Third Generation Goddess rose smoothly from the oatmeal sofa, her emerald green dress falling into place without a single wrinkle. The sharp, victorious glint in her dark eyes revealed everything: she hadn't come to share happy news, nor had she come to seek her mother's blessing. The entire visit had been a carefully orchestrated strike, a calculated effort to rattle Glory’s newfound composure right before one of the biggest matches of her season.
“I won't keep you from your training any longer, mother.” Melinda said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She smoothed her platinum hair over one shoulder and glided back toward the foyer, the crisp click of her pumps sounding like a victory march against the hardwood floor.
Glory stood up slowly, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides as she followed her daughter down the short hallway. The maternal warmth that had welcomed Melinda inside had been replaced by a heavy, hollow ache. She watched in silence as Melinda retrieved her cream trench coat, sliding her arms into the sleeves with practiced elegance and draping her designer bag over her arm. At the front door, Melinda turned back to face her mother. The bright, picture perfect smile was fully back in place, glowing with the satisfaction of a master strategist who had landed a decisive blow.
“Do give my best to the students at the gym.” Melinda added with a subtle, mischievous tilt of her head. “And do try not to let the Television Title slip through your fingers, mother. It would be such a pity if I had to clean up another one of your messes.”
Without waiting for a response, Melinda opened the heavy wooden door and stepped out onto the sheltered stone porch. She didn't glance back as she walked down the stone path, her high heels clicking rhythmically through the soft London rain toward a waiting black towncar at the curb.
Glory stood in the open doorway, the damp chill of the afternoon air biting against her skin. She watched the dark windows of the car roll past before disappearing around the corner of the quiet residential street. Pushing a heavy, exhausted breath through her lungs, Glory slowly closed the door and leaned her forehead against the cool, solid timber of the entrance.
Melinda had gotten exactly what she wanted: she had struck a nerve, exposed a raw wound, and left her mother standing in the quiet house with a spinning mind and a heavy heart. But as Glory looked over at her worn leather kit bag sitting by the living room entrance, her dark eyes hardened with a cold, familiar resolve. She zipped up her heavy charcoal hoodie, grabbed the bag, and stepped back out into the rain, heading straight for the Braddock Wrestling School to turn every ounce of that anger into power.
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October 18th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
==========
The cool London rain tapped a steady, gentle rhythm against the glass of the bedroom window, casting flickering gray light across the familiar hardwood floor. Inside the modest English home, the atmosphere was quiet and grounded, miles removed from the humid coastal warmth of Miami or the gleaming corporate towers of Charlotte. Now that she put the issue between her and Catalina De Luca in the rearview mirror, The British Bombshell can turn her entire focus back to her real passion: professional wrestling. After bouncing back from Rise To Greatness with a victory over Bree Lancaster, Glory has secured herself a shot at the SCW Television Championship, and she does not intend to squander this opportunity. Glory stood in front of the rustic wooden wardrobe, lacing up a pair of black leather athletic shoes. She was dressed in her usual utilitarian style, wearing a dark gray fitted tank top and durable, flexible black training trousers that were built for hours of hard work on the mat. Her long blonde hair was already pulled tightly back into a neat, high braid, keeping it secured away from her face.
Every movement was crisp and deliberate, driven by a renewed sense of clarity and focus. The road back to championship gold was finally taking shape, and her upcoming bout against Colleen MacDonald at Apocalypse for the SCW Television Title represented a massive opportunity to prove that her momentum was fully restored. She reached into the wardrobe, draped a heavy charcoal hoodie over her shoulders, and grabbed her worn leather kit bag from the corner of the bed, ready to head down the quiet residential street toward the Braddock Wrestling School for an intense afternoon sparring session. Just as she adjusted the strap of her gym bag over her shoulder, a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from the front entryway downstairs, cutting through the muffled patter of the rain outside. Glory paused, her brow furrowing slightly in surprise. She wasn't expecting any company, especially not at her unassuming London sanctuary. Setting her bag down on the edge of the bed, she turned and walked out of the bedroom, her heavy rubber soles squeaking faintly against the polished floorboards of the hallway as she made her way down the narrow staircase. Passing the small framed black-and-white photos lining the wall, she reached the front foyer, unlocked the heavy wooden door, and pulled it smoothly inward.
Standing on the sheltered stone threshold, framed against the soft drizzle and the pale, overcast sky, was her eldest daughter, Melinda Braddock. The sight of her brought Glory to an absolute standstill. Melinda was a striking, ethereal presence, her luminous, porcelain skin contrasting sharply with the deep dark tones of her eyes and the cascading waves of immaculate, ice-platinum blonde hair resting over her shoulders. She looked as though she had stepped straight off a high-fashion runway, completely unbothered by the damp English weather. She wore an elegant, tailored emerald green midi dress that hugged her figure with sharp precision, paired with a lightweight cream trench coat draped effortlessly over her shoulders. On her feet were pristine, high-heeled pointed pumps that added to her tall, commanding posture, and a delicate designer handbag hung loosely from the crook of her arm. Despite the deep, lingering tension that had stretched thin between mother and daughter over past few years, the unspoken friction, the cold distance, and the quiet ideological wars that had slowly pulled them apart, Melinda wore a bright, radiant smile. Her dark eyes sparkled with a warm, picture-perfect charm, feigning complete ease as if nothing were amiss between them, as if she had simply dropped by for a casual afternoon visit with her mother.
“Oh, uh, hi Melinda.” Glory is doing her best to hide how flustered she sounds right now. Her daughter’s visit definitely took her by surprise. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I’m full of surprises, mother.” Melinda smirks knowingly. The Third Generation Goddess looks over her mother’s outfit almost critically. “My guess is you are about to head to grandfather’s wrestling school.”
“I was about to, yeah.” The British Bombshell nods her head.
“Well there’s very wise of you. You haven’t had a championship match of any sort since your World Title Match against Cid Turner almost one year ago. Granted this one at Apocalypse is for the Television Title, the lowest championship on the totem pole, but you take what you can get, am I right?”
This was an obvious jab. Melinda is no longer trying to hide her feelings. Melinda Braddock has long since believed in her heart of hearts that Glory Braddock no longer deserves the right to carry the mantle of the Braddock legacy. Melinda believes that Glory has ruined its legacy and that she alone is destined to restore it to greatness. The problem with that thinking is that the Braddock wrestling legacy is far from tarnished. People respect her and the family all over the world. What makes Melinda believe that she can just usurp her mother? It could simply be arrogance but she didn’t raise her that way. She knows that there are underlying, personal problems that she has with her, problems she refuses to discuss. Nevertheless, The British Bombshell rarely gets a chance nowadays to talk with her daughter. She refuses to let this one slip by.
Glory swallowed down the defensive retort rising in her chest, choosing instead to take a slow, grounding breath. Whatever sharp edge Melinda intended to hone with that barbed comment, Glory was determined not to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Years of strained phone calls and cold, lingering silences had taught her that fighting fire with fire only pushed her eldest further away into the shadows of her ambition. This was her home, her sanctuary, and for the first time in months, Melinda was actually standing inside the doorway.
“It’s good to see you, Mel,” Glory said softly, her voice smoothing out into a warm, genuine tone as she pushed the heavy oak door open wider. She gestured toward the cozy interior of the foyer. “Come on inside out of the rain. The gym isn't going anywhere.”
Melinda’s bright, practiced smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the absence of an argument. She gathered the front of her cream trench coat, stepped over the threshold, and let the quiet warmth of the house enclose them both. The subtle click of her pristine pumps echoed softly on the polished hardwood, bringing with it a faint trace of high-end perfume that mingled with the familiar scent of old wood and English rain.
Before her daughter could settle back into her cool, detached posture, Glory stepped forward and pulled Melinda into a firm, loving embrace. For a brief second, Melinda’s frame held rigid, caught in the unexpected friction between her polished armor and her mother’s honest warmth. But as Glory squeezed her tightly, holding on just a moment longer than usual, the tension in Melinda’s shoulders gave way, allowing a faint, genuine breath to escape her lips before she lightly wrapped her arms around her mother in return.
“I really am glad you came by.” Glory murmured into her platinum hair before pulling back, resting her hands gently on Melinda’s shoulders to look her over.
“Thank you, mother.” Melinda replied, her voice regaining its smooth, refined composure as she lightly adjusted her handbag.
“Let me take your coat. Living room’s right down the hall. Go ahead and sit down, I’ll make us some tea.”
“That sounds lovely, but tea won’t be necessary. I don’t plan on staying long.” Melinda said, her posture effortlessly straight as she glided down the short, familiar hallway toward the sunlit space at the back of the house.
The living room welcomed them with its quiet, unpretentious warmth. The soft gray light filtering through the large sash windows cast a gentle glow across the oatmeal fabric of the deep sofa and the faded Persian rug beneath. Outside, the lush garden hydrangeas glistened under the steady drizzle, framing a view that felt completely detached from the intense, bright-lights world both women occupied. Melinda crossed the rug with practiced elegance, smoothing her emerald green dress beneath her as she sank gracefully onto the soft cushions of the sofa. She sat with her ankles crossed, her back straight, looking around the room with dark, observant eyes that seemed to evaluate every detail of the house her grandfather had once frequented.
Glory walked in a moment later, setting her worn leather gym bag by the doorway before pulling herself onto the sage green armchair opposite the sofa. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, her dark eyes locking onto her daughter with a mix of fierce maternal affection and cautious, quiet watchfulness. The gentle ticking of the mantle clock filled the silence between them, marking the beginning of a conversation both women knew was long overdue.
“For what it’s worth, I do hope you win the Television Championship.” Melinda states. “Despite our…differences…we both want the same thing; the Braddock name to be revered and respected. Colleen should be humbled. Taking that championship would do it.”
“Colleen and I may not exactly see eye to eye…but she wants to step up in terms of competition and I respect that. She wants a true test? She wants something bigger and better than the Television Title she currently has?” Glory grins. “I am a Supreme Champion. That means I have done everything that there is to do in SCW. You don’t get much more of a test than me and Colleen will realize that at Apocalypse.”
“Now that is what I need to hear.” Melinda remarks. “Finally you are sounding more like a true Braddock and not the has-been you had been turning into.”
“Has-been?!” Glory rolls her eyes. “Melinda, we may disagree on wrestling philosophy but you cannot sit there and say I am a has-been.”
“I think I just did.” Melinda snickers. “Then again, you ARE in a title match. The lowest of the titles but…”
“And about THAT…” Glory shakes her head “...who cares if it’s the Television Title? Every title is prestigious, Mel. Plus, I just beat a former SCW World Champion. Bree Lancaster, remember her? I beat her. Again. If you think I’m just settling for the Television Title you’re wrong. I will win it, I will proudly defend it, and ultimately I will EARN my way to another shot at the SCW World Championship. I guarantee it. And it all starts with putting down Colleen.”
“Good.” Melinda sighs. “But if you can’t get the job done.” She winks. “I will gladly succeed where you failed.”
“I don’t plan on failing.” Glory states bluntly. “But hey, I don’t doubt what you have to say about your abilities for a second. I watched your and Fiona’s match against Amelia and Luz. I was very impressed.”
“We were going to win were it not for those damned Glimmers.” Melinda scowls. “And that is precisely what I am talking about regarding our differences. You speak so highly of the spirit of competition yet you are the only one who practices what you preach. Everyone else around you has no problem trying to screw you out of what is rightfully yours. And the funny part? Despite your actions, despite your words, no one believes you.”
“I’m not trying to prove that I am a good person.” Glory shakes her head. “I go to the ring to prove that I am the best wrestler.”
“You say that…” Melinda’s voice trails off as a chuckle escapes her lips “...oh but we’re missing the point, aren’t we?”
“What point?”
“Well I didn’t come here to debate our wrestling philosophies. That would be an exercise in futility because you are too stubborn to recognize when you are wrong.”
“You got half of that right, Mel, I AM stubborn.” The British Bombshell smirks. “But if you aren’t here to debate, what ARE you here for?”
“I thought you would never ask.” A look of mischief forms on Melinda’s face. She holds up her hand and displays it proudly. Glory Braddock looks at it closely, expecting to see the engagement ring Clyde Sutter bought. Instead she now sees the wedding band. Glory’s eyes grow wide as she looks up at Melinda, who now nods her head.
“Melinda…is that what I think it is?!”
“That’s right, mother.”
“I thought you were…”
“Oh we had plans, yes.” Melinda smiles devilishly. “But we figured why wait? Why draw out what Fate itself has already decreed? We skipped the elaborate ceremony and got married.”
“Geez, Mel…” Glory shakes her head in frustration, she can no longer contain herself “...Clyde is volatile. He is violent and prone to anger. Have you not forgotten how he physically abused you? The fact that you ran right back to him was shocking enough but this…!”
“Fate decreed it.” Melinda purrs.
“I don’t want to hear about fate!” Glory snaps, her anger boiling over. “All I can remember is him hurting you, him abusing you, and now you are tying yourself to him!”
“Clyde has seen the error of his ways. He has reformed. He looked into the darkness of his past, did not like what he saw, and he changed. He turned away from his past.” She points an accusatory finger at Glory. “Unlike you. Clyde saw what he has done in the past and has worked tirelessly to erase it, to fix it. You embrace your own dark past, a past that put a stain on this family.”
“What is this really about, Mel? Huh?” Glory asks out of frustration. “You know how this entire family feels about him. You know FROM EXPERIENCE how dangerous he is. Yet you choose to marry him.
“I think you know exactly what this is about, mother.” Melinda sneers. “You CHOSE to bring someone into our family who didn’t belong, a cancer that brought humiliation and embarrassment to this family. So why not bring someone into this family whom YOU despise and detest? Because whether you like it or not, Clyde is FAMILY now.”
“You are making a mistake, Mel.” Glory insists. “A big mistake. You are turning your back on your family.”
“No, YOU are the one who turned your back on this family.” Melinda says in an accusatory tone. “Both personally and professionally.”
Glory’s jaw tightened, the sheer audacity of the accusation hanging thick in the cool air between them. Before she could even begin to process the absurd comparison between her storied wrestling career and Clyde Sutter’s documented history of abuse, Melinda was already on her feet. The Third Generation Goddess rose smoothly from the oatmeal sofa, her emerald green dress falling into place without a single wrinkle. The sharp, victorious glint in her dark eyes revealed everything: she hadn't come to share happy news, nor had she come to seek her mother's blessing. The entire visit had been a carefully orchestrated strike, a calculated effort to rattle Glory’s newfound composure right before one of the biggest matches of her season.
“I won't keep you from your training any longer, mother.” Melinda said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She smoothed her platinum hair over one shoulder and glided back toward the foyer, the crisp click of her pumps sounding like a victory march against the hardwood floor.
Glory stood up slowly, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides as she followed her daughter down the short hallway. The maternal warmth that had welcomed Melinda inside had been replaced by a heavy, hollow ache. She watched in silence as Melinda retrieved her cream trench coat, sliding her arms into the sleeves with practiced elegance and draping her designer bag over her arm. At the front door, Melinda turned back to face her mother. The bright, picture perfect smile was fully back in place, glowing with the satisfaction of a master strategist who had landed a decisive blow.
“Do give my best to the students at the gym.” Melinda added with a subtle, mischievous tilt of her head. “And do try not to let the Television Title slip through your fingers, mother. It would be such a pity if I had to clean up another one of your messes.”
Without waiting for a response, Melinda opened the heavy wooden door and stepped out onto the sheltered stone porch. She didn't glance back as she walked down the stone path, her high heels clicking rhythmically through the soft London rain toward a waiting black towncar at the curb.
Glory stood in the open doorway, the damp chill of the afternoon air biting against her skin. She watched the dark windows of the car roll past before disappearing around the corner of the quiet residential street. Pushing a heavy, exhausted breath through her lungs, Glory slowly closed the door and leaned her forehead against the cool, solid timber of the entrance.
Melinda had gotten exactly what she wanted: she had struck a nerve, exposed a raw wound, and left her mother standing in the quiet house with a spinning mind and a heavy heart. But as Glory looked over at her worn leather kit bag sitting by the living room entrance, her dark eyes hardened with a cold, familiar resolve. She zipped up her heavy charcoal hoodie, grabbed the bag, and stepped back out into the rain, heading straight for the Braddock Wrestling School to turn every ounce of that anger into power.
![[Image: qyA5u6K.png]](https://i.imgur.com/qyA5u6K.png)
SCW World Champion 1x
SCW United States Champion 1x
SCW Adrenaline Champion 1x
SCW Television Champion 1x
SCW Underground Champion 1x
SCW World Tag Team Champion 1x (w/Brittany Lohan)
Supreme Champion
2019 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Regan Street & Kellen Jeffries)
2020 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Ace Marshall & David Helms)
SCW Adrenaline Champion 1x
SCW Television Champion 1x
SCW Underground Champion 1x
SCW World Tag Team Champion 1x (w/Brittany Lohan)
Supreme Champion
2019 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Regan Street & Kellen Jeffries)
2020 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Ace Marshall & David Helms)