PRINCEWILL'S RETURN
1027 Words
The low purr of a sleek SUV pierced the quiet evening, its polished frame catching the last golden rays of sunlight. Florra stiffened at the sound. Her instincts flared—something was wrong.
She stepped away from the window, heart drumming louder with every footstep that approached. Her small home had known peace for so long, and yet, the hum of that engine had brought back a storm she’d spent years trying to forget.
The knock came—sharp, deliberate.
She hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob, fingers trembling. For a brief moment, she glanced toward the hallway, where her daughter’s soft giggle had only recently echoed. The silence now felt unnerving.
Slowly, she opened the door.
There he was.
Princewill.
Dressed in tailored linen and quiet arrogance, his presence was as jarring as the silence that followed. He looked untouched by time, untouched by struggle. His eyes met hers with no shame, no apology—only entitlement.
“You think you can just walk back into our lives?” Florra’s voice trembled, but not from fear. It was the tremble of rage held in too long, of wounds reopened too suddenly. “After vanishing when I needed you the most?”
Princewill’s jaw tightened. “She’s my daughter. I have rights.”
Rights. The word stung like a slap. Where were those rights when she lay in a hospital bed, bleeding and alone? When she begged him to believe in her, to stand by her side, to face the world as a father should?
Florra’s eyes burned. “You forfeited your rights the moment you turned your back on us.”
Princewill took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Don’t make this difficult. You knew this day would come.”
She stepped in front of the door, barring his path. “And you knew it wouldn’t be easy.”
Behind her, the soft rustle of Alexia’s movement stirred something fierce in her chest. A mother’s instinct. A lioness rising.
“You can’t just show up with a fancy car and expect her to run into your arms like a fairy tale,” she spat. “She doesn’t even know you.”
“She will,” he said coldly. “Soon.”
Florra’s voice dropped, steady and sharp. “Over my dead body.”
She slammed the door, the sound reverberating like a gunshot through the small house. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she leaned against the wood, heart pounding.
But she didn’t cry.
She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
Instead, she turned toward the living room, where Alexia peeked out from behind a chair, confusion in her wide eyes.
“It’s okay, baby,” Florra whispered, scooping her into her arms. “Mama’s here. Mama’s not going anywhere.”
Outside, the SUV remained parked, its engine still running. Princewill didn’t drive away. He waited.
Princewill wasn’t finished.
Fueled by ego and armed with lawyers, he launched a custody battle that spread through the city like wildfire. In court, he wore his charm like armor, his legal team painting him as the ideal father—wealthy, stable, capable. He presented polished photos, bank statements, and promises.
Florra stood alone, her voice raw with truth. She spoke of betrayal, abandonment, and the nights she wept alone with her newborn. She told the court of the man behind the mask.
But truth was a fragile thing in the face of money.
The gavel struck.
Custody granted to Princewill.
The moment was surreal. Alexia’s tiny fingers slipped from hers, reaching for the unfamiliar hand of the man who had once walked away.
A scream wanted to tear free from Florra’s throat, but she swallowed it. She would not break—not here.
Her world shattered in silence.
Days turned to nights in a blur of emptiness. She wandered through rooms filled with memories—a lullaby here, a laugh there. Every corner of the house whispered Alexia’s name.
But Florra didn’t crumble.
She rebuilt.
Brick by brick.
With each passing day, she clawed her way toward a future. She took jobs others turned down. She scrubbed floors, cleaned offices, worked kitchens. She saved every coin. She learned to fight in her own way—with patience and persistence.
Meanwhile, behind the gates of his mansion, Princewill struggled. The warmth he thought money could buy never came. Alexia sat silent at dinner. She cried for stories only her mother knew. Her eyes searched empty hallways, longing for the woman who sang her to sleep.
She stopped smiling.
She stopped laughing.
The glow in her faded.
And in the stillness of those lavish rooms, the guilt began to fester.
Florra knew.
She could feel it.
Their bond hadn’t broken—it was waiting. Quiet. Steady. Enduring.
One day, the scales would tip. Truth had a way of surfacing—slow, silent, but inevitable. It didn’t matter how deeply it was buried beneath wealth, power, or polished lies. It always found a c***k. And when that time came, Florra vowed, she would be ready—not just to reclaim her daughter, but to rewrite their story. Not with bitterness, but with bravery. Not in courtrooms, but in quiet moments that mattered.
A knock at her door would come again.
But next time, it would be different.
Not Princewill in a tailored suit with his cold eyes and colder demands.
Not a lawyer with crisp documents and polite cruelty.
Not another loss dressed as legality.
This time, it would be Alexia.
Coming home.
Not because she was forced to.
But because she remembered.
Because something in her heart—buried beneath marble floors and gilded silence—refused to forget the warmth of her mother’s arms, the melody of her lullabies, and the scent of flour-dusted fingers after baking bread.
This knock would not shake the foundation of Florra’s world. It would rebuild it.
It wouldn’t carry echoes of war.
It would whisper peace.
And when that moment arrived, when that soft, hesitant knock finally came, it wouldn’t just signal a reunion—it would be the sound of a promise kept.
A mother’s love.
Unshaken.
Unyielding.
Unforgotten.
And finally, returned.
- Writer
