Glory Braddock vs. Colleen MacDonald

[Braddock]

2 of 2
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October 19th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
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The gray London rain had returned in full force, sweeping across the rooftops of the quiet residential street and drumming a heavy, persistent rhythm against the expansive, spotless glass windows of the renovated Braddock family home. Outside, the neighborhood remained grounded in its traditional, overcast British charm, but inside the three-story Victorian, the transformation was absolute. The modest, lived-in warmth that Glenn Braddock had maintained for decades, the scuffed floorboards, the lingering scent of his old pipe tobacco, and the worn leather furniture cluttering the front parlor, had been systematically erased. In its place stood a showcase of modern luxury. Light oak hardwood floors stretched into an expansive, open-plan living space framed by sleek slate panels, minimalist floating shelving, and a clean, ventless gas fireplace that cast a soft, flickering amber glow over the room. Soft ambient light reflected off polished marble surfaces, and the faint, refined fragrance of white tea and crushed linen hung in the air, creating an atmosphere that felt more like a high-end Mayfair gallery than the house where “The British Bombshell” Glory Braddock and her sister Julia had grown up.

The three sisters were gathered around the low-profile marble coffee table in the center of the living room, surrounded by the tension of what Glory insisted was a very important meeting, but she had yet to notify them of the circumstances. The British Bombshell alone knew that Melinda had secretly married Clyde Sutter. Glory Braddock sat on the edge of the sweeping cream sectional sofa, her posture rigid and her broad shoulders squared against the soft cushions. She was dressed in her typical, uncompromisingly practical style, wearing a fitted charcoal gray crewneck sweater tucked into a pair of dark, tailored denim jeans that broke over her heavy leather boots. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a neat, functional braid resting over her shoulder, completely free of styling or product. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her knuckles pale beneath her skin, and her dark, focused eyes stared intently into the soft flame of the gas insert, her mind clearly replaying every barbed word her eldest daughter had spoken.

To her right, seated gracefully on the opposite end of the sectional, was her younger sister, Julia Braddock. Julia was the picture of tall, polished elegance, her long blonde hair styled into soft, flawless waves that caught the warm light of the room. She looked effortlessly sophisticated, wearing a rich camel-colored cashmere turtleneck tucked into a high-waisted, dark chocolate brown pencil skirt that fell neatly past her knees. On her feet were a pair of immaculate leather pointed-toe heels, and a slender gold chain rested against her sweater. She held a porcelain teacup in her lap, her posture perfectly straight, though her perceptive gaze lingered on Glory with a mix of sharp concern and quiet frustration.

Standing near the edge of the floor-to-ceiling glass doors overlooking the rain-slicked patio was their half-sister, Sophie O’Brian. Though she shared their father’s blood, Sophie carried a distinct, striking appearance, her rich dark hair falling in soft waves around a delicate, highly expressive face. She wore a tailored, slate blue A-line dress with long sleeves, paired with dark tights and neat, low-heeled leather pumps. Her dark eyes were observant and calm as she looked out at the falling rain, holding a crystal glass of water in her hand. Having only discovered her true parentage two years prior, Sophie often approached family matters with a cool, analytical distance, yet the quiet tightness in her jaw made it clear she understood the gravity of the situation unfolding inside the room.

The space between them felt heavy, charged with the unsaid thoughts of three women who carried the weight of the Braddock name in vastly different ways, waiting for the first words to break the silence.

“Julia, Sophie, I am glad we could all meet on such short notice and about such an important matter.” Glory says, her voice carrying the weight and gravity of the situation. Sophie sighs and nods her head.

“Gloria, dear sister, I believe even Julia would agree with me that we would do anything for you. And the opportunity to gather here today in this home where our father was raised, and where he raised the two of you…even if it doesn’t bear any resemblance to his vision…of course we are honored to be here and we would do anything for you.” Sophie frowns. “Although it would be nice if we knew precisely WHY we had to meet with you.”

“Sophie and I don’t agree on much but we agree on this,” Julia reiterates “we would do anything to help you. But she’s also right about the fact that you didn’t tell us anything.” Julia shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, what’s the big deal? What is so bloody important that we couldn’t talk about it over the phone?”

“It’s bad.” Glory says, her voice remaining very serious and grave. “And it involves Clyde.”

“Clyde Sutter?” Julia’s eyes grow wide. “He’s still dating Melinda. Did he hurt her?”

“No.” Glory shakes her head. “They secretly got married. Mel stopped by my place and told me yesterday.”

The entire room goes quiet as the shock of the news settles in. All three sisters have a similar look of skepticism on their faces. None of them have ever got along too well with Clyde Sutter as all three recall too well how he once treated Glory’s oldest child. He insists, and Melinda insists, that he has changed. But believing that and accepting has been difficult for the Braddock family collective, especially The British Bombshell. She does not want to see her daughter hurt.

“I hate this.” Julia shakes her head. “I hate it because there’s nothing we can do, is there? I mean, she’s an adult now, Glory. We cannot force them to break up.”

“So you see why I’m panicking right now?”

“Oh absolutely. Unfortunately our hands are tied. We just have to wait until the inevitable happens. Melinda will just have to learn the hard way about life and when they do eventually break up, we’ll be there to support her.”

“You do not believe their marriage will last?” Sophie asks with an arched brow. Julia and Glory both look at their half-sister with curiosity. “I do not trust Clyde Sutter. I do not like him. But he has been fiercely protective of her ever since they began dating again. There is another fine point I would also add to this that I think you both are overlooking.”

“What’s that?” Glory asks.

“Young Melinda reminds me a lot of myself when I was her age; rebellious, angry at the world, ruthless.” Sophie points a finger at Glory. “You certainly do not approve of MY methods. Still, my methods are practically the same as young Melinda’s. Yet you accept me despite our differences, you forgave me despite our differences.”

“What are you suggesting?” Glory asks.

“Why couldn’t YOU have that same relationship with your daughter?”

The soft hum of the gas fireplace and the relentless patter of the rain against the glass seemed to amplify the sudden silence that settled over the room. Sophie’s words hung in the air like a physical weight, cutting straight through the collective anxiety and forcing Glory to re-examine the very foundation of how she interacted with her eldest child.

Julia shifted slightly on the sleek cream sectional, her fingers tightening around the handle of her porcelain teacup as she looked between her older sister and Sophie. The comparison was uncomfortable, but it struck an undeniable nerve. Sophie had entered their lives as a stranger, carrying a heavy burden of resentment and fighting with a sharp, uncompromising edge that mirrored the worst of the Braddock pride. Yet Glory had eventually opened the door, choosing patience and steady acceptance over constant conflict, ultimately building a bridge across years of separation.

Glory stared at her half-sister, her dark eyes wide with a mix of realization and stubborn resistance. Her jaw tightened as she processed the comparison, her mind racing back to all the fiery arguments, the cold silences, and the barbed comments Melinda had hurled at her just a day earlier. Sophie wasn't wrong, but accepting the truth of it meant admitting her own failings as a mother in the face of her daughter's escalating rebellion.

“It is not the same thing, Sophie.” Glory finally defended, her voice dropping into a low, measured register as she shook her head. “You and I found common ground because we grew up, we talked, and we learned to respect each other’s boundaries. Melinda isn't just rebellious. She is actively trying to tear down everything our father built, everything I stand for, just to prove a point. She married a man who abused her, and she flaunts it like a weapon to hurt me.”

“And yet, she is still your flesh and blood.” Sophie countered smoothly, her dark eyes holding unwavering focus as she stepped away from the glass doors, crossing her arms over her slate blue dress. “She inherited every stubborn, destructive trait of the Braddock family, Gloria. Traits she undoubtedly learned by watching you. You pushed her away because you were terrified of seeing your own flaws reflected back at you through her eyes.”

Julia let out a long, quiet breath, setting her teacup down onto the marble coffee table with a soft clink. She looked over at Glory, her expression softening into a blend of sympathy and hard-earned wisdom.

“She has a point, Glory. We’ve all spent so much time worrying about Melinda’s choices and hating Clyde that we forgot the most basic rule of parenting: the harder you push a Braddock away, the tighter they hold onto their mistakes. If you keep treating her like an enemy who needs to be defeated, she will keep treating you like one.”

Glory leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, the fight suddenly draining out of her broad shoulders. She pressed a hand against her forehead, rubbing her temples as the exhaustion of the past few weeks finally caught up with her. The realization was bitter, but inescapable. In trying to protect her daughter from the world, and protecting herself from the sting of Melinda's ambition, she had built a wall instead of a bridge.

“I will grant that I have made mistakes.” The British Bombshell states. “All three of us sitting here have made mistakes.”

“You remember how dad freaked out when you dated Randall Williams? And later MARRIED Kurt Logan?” Julia asks, a wry grin forming on her face. Glory chuckles and nods her head.

“I remember. Dad hated Americans. He despised them. The fact that my one and only relationship with an Englishman went completely south and that I proceeded to date two Americans, ultimately marrying one of them, drove him bonkers.”

“He learned to love Kurt. He learned to accept him.” Julia states. “Maybe…and I admit that this is out of left field…but maybe we are wrong about Clyde? Maybe he is treating Melinda properly now?”

“I hate the man more than either of you.” Sophie states bluntly. “Even I must admit that he is treating my niece as if she were a princess.”

“Ok, wait a second…” The British Bombshell pauses to collect her thoughts “...let’s just say I give Clyde a chance. Let’s assume I give him a chance, he proves me wrong, he proves that he has changed.” Glory shakes her head. “There’s something else there. Something else is bothering her that she won’t tell me. This isn’t a simple matter of me not liking Clyde, it isn’t as basic as the two of us having conflicting wrestling philosophies. If it were that simple she wouldn’t feel as if she were ‘saving’ the Braddock legacy, that she was somehow restoring it.”

“Maybe she’s just delusional?” Julia suggests.

“No, there’s something more to it.” Glory insists. “I can feel it.”

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October 20th, 2026
London, England
On Camera
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The pale morning light streamed through the tall, multi-paned window of the sunlit room, casting a soft glow against the clean white woodwork. Perched casually upon the deep wooden window sill, Glory Braddock turned her head to look back over her shoulder, her striking blue eyes fixing on the space with an unreadable, watchful intensity. Her long, layered blonde hair framed a sharp, confident face, accented by turquoise earrings that caught the stray glints of daylight. The British Bombshell wore a structured, multi-toned plaid button-down shirt tucked neatly into a flowing, tiered cream-colored skirt that pooled softly around her legs. With one leg drawn up toward her chest, a flash of vibrant blue embroidery peeked from beneath the fold of the rich brown leather over-the-knee boot that stretched high up her leg, matching the sturdy heel of the boot firmly planted lower down the frame. In that quiet, suspended moment against the backdrop of the tall window, she looked entirely untouchable.

“Grit, determination, and heart; those are qualities that define a professional wrestler. When someone steps up to you in the center of the squared circle and punches you in the mouth, how do you respond? Do you fold up like a circus tent or do you fight back, do you punch your opponent in the mouth and show them and the rest of the world that you are not going down without a fight? This business is about challenging yourself. You can coast by, take on easy challenges, avoid all the obstacles, but you will never EVER know if you truly are as good as you think you are. My own closest friends and family warned me about signing with Supreme Championship Wrestling. They warned me that this place has the absolute best, the toughest competition bar none. They warned me my reputation might take a hit if I signed with SCW and I failed to deliver. But did I back down? Did I decide to coast?” Braddock shakes her head.

“Hell no. I fought back. I was relentless. And eventually I proved them all wrong. I won every championship available to a competitor in this company. I became Supreme Champion, proving that I am just as good as I say that I am. That is what competition is; rising to the challenge and meeting the challenge without giving up. I have had my fair share of ups and downs but no matter what obstacles I face, no matter how many times I get knocked down, I will never EVER give up. I will always meet my challenges head on because that is who the hell I am.” Braddock points a finger at the camera.

“What about you, Colleen? What kind of person are you? I give credit where its due. You have certainly grown and matured to become much more than just Polly Playtime’s stooge. For a long time you had the Underground Division on lockdown. Even my brilliant yet unstable cousin Kimmy couldn’t pry it from your cold dead hands. But there always comes along someone who will challenge you unlike anyone else, someone who will give you fits. The Monster Machine Enigma came along and took that Underground Title from you. And despite your best efforts you could not reclaim the Underground. How did you respond? Some might say you went and SETTLED for being Television Champion.” Glory smirks and shakes her head.

“I would never degenerate a championship by saying you are just simply settling. Any championship here in SCW is prestigious and hell, look at what you have done with the Television Title. Did I hear Sharper correct? Did he say you were now the longest reigning Television Champion in company history?” The British Bombshell claps her hands, somewhat sarcastically. “Congratulations, MacDonald. I mean it. You have a record to your name. But let’s peel back the layers on your run as SCW Television Champion, shall we? This most recent defense of your title, against Crystal Zdunich. In fear of diminishing that victory, but Zdunich’s head wasn’t in the game, her heart and soul wasn’t in the game, and hell, I’d question whether ol’ Crystal even showed up at all. And that really defines your run as champion, Colleen; defenses against opponents who DID NOT SHOW UP.” Braddock smirks.

“Now I know you don’t make the matches, you just defend against whoever CHBK or Frank put against you. But even you have to admit that you have NOT been properly tested since your Underground wars against Kimberly Williams and The Monster Machine. Also you went three months without a title defense due to an injury. Now as a fellow competitor I do not wish ill on another competitor, but somewhere along the way I thought the Television Title was supposed to be defended on EVERY BREAKDOWN? Except YOU got a three month reprieve. How convenient for your now record setting longest reign as Television Champion.” The British Bombshell holds up one finger.

“There is ONE THING I will give you credit for; you are willing to defend this championship against me at Apocalypse. In the past, Television Champions GLADLY took the easy way out, because per the rules the Television Title does not have to be defended on pay per views. But you recognize that you need to be challenged, you recognize that you need to be tested, and so not only are you stepping up to The British Bombshell but you are also putting that same championship on the line at Apocalypse. Unfortunately there is one small problem, Colleen.” Her voice trails off.

“You have gone soft. Your last real test was in the Underground against volatile warriors like Kimmy and monsters like Enigma. Ever since you set foot into the Television Title picture you have gladly embraced easier challengers. Your opponents have been fighters, no doubt about it, but not the kind of warriors or monsters that you used to face. Now at Apocalypse you are set to face one of the absolute BEST wrestlers in the world today, right after taking a three month hiatus due to injury.” Braddock grins knowingly.

“The ring rust alone is going to be a nightmare, Colleen. But pair that physical rust with the fact that you’ve gotten comfortable beating fighters who don't have the stomach for deep waters? That is a recipe for disaster. While you’ve been coasting on past glory and resting up on the shelf, I’ve been right here in the thick of it, grinding, sharpening my edge, and tearing through every obstacle put in front of me. I haven't had the luxury of a three-month breather. I haven't been coasting on easy defenses. I’ve been fighting for my life against the absolute elite of Supreme Championship Wrestling every single week.” Glory pauses, letting her strong words sink in.

“So ask yourself: when the bell rings at Apocalypse and the reality of who you’re in there with finally sets in, what happens? When I hit you with everything I've got, when the pressure mounts and the lungs start burning, are you going to dig deep and find that old underground instinct? Or are you going to realize, far too late, that the environment has changed, the bar has been raised, and you’ve been left behind?” Braddock shakes her head.

“You see, holding a record on paper is a lovely little distinction for the history books. It looks great in press releases, and I’m sure it gives you a warm feeling when you strap that belt around your waist in the morning. But paper records don't hit back. History books don't break your momentum or push you to your absolute absolute limit. I do. And at Apocalypse, you aren't fighting a ghost from your past or a competitor who forgot to show up. You are fighting Glory Braddock. So bring that Television Championship to Apocalypse, Colleen. Hold it tight, take a good, long look at it while you walk down that ramp, and savor every single second of being called the champion. Because when that bell rings, I am going to push you into a place you haven't been in a very long time. I am going to test every ounce of your resolve, strip away every excuse you’ve built up over the last three months, and take that title for myself. You wanted a real test? Be careful what you wish for, MacDonald...because class is about to be in session.”

Glory offers one final, icy smile before stepping off the window sill, leaving the quiet light of the room behind as the camera fades to black.