The First Love's Return
His face was cold, eyes cruel. “So it’s true. You only care when it’s your own child. When Joy was stung yesterday, you showed no concern.”
“If you can’t love her as your own,” he growled, “I’ll teach you empathy.”
I understood: this was revenge for his old flame’s daughter.
Three days ago, Vivian—the woman he’d loved and lost—reappeared after seven years with six-year-old twins. She’d slapped a paternity test on the table and said, “I just want my children to know their father.”
Yesterday, while I gardened, Joy was stung by a hornet. I hadn’t known until evening.
Now Vivian stood beside Paul, smirking smugly.
I said nothing more. After all, it wasn’t my daughter in that room. Let them vent their anger.
1
“I’ve arranged a press conference,” Paul commanded, his face grim and unyielding. “You will issue a formal, public apology to Joy. The draft must be no less than ten thousand words. Bring it to me for approval when you’re done.”
In our six years of marriage, he had never once looked at me with such contempt. Before Vivian’s return, he had always been gentle, his voice a soft murmur, never raised in anger. Just three days ago, he had sworn to me, “I only want to fulfill my duties as a father, to give them the love they deserve. It means nothing else.”
How quickly that promise had shattered. On the third day, for the sake of Vivian’s child, he was ready to torture our own daughter to death.
Vivian feigned a conciliatory tone. “Paul, let it go. You can’t expect a stepmother to love a child like her own mother would.” She sighed dramatically, adding, “Your parents already dislike me. It’s fine if the children and I have to endure a little hardship.” As she spoke, she squeezed out a few crocodile tears, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate hand.
Her poison worked. Paul’s expression softened into guilt and adoration as he comforted her. “I’m sorry, Vivian. You and the girls have suffered the moment you returned. Don’t worry. From now on, I am your rock. No one will ever hurt you again.”
As he spoke, a desperate, heart-wrenching cry echoed from the playroom, barely audible over the hellish drone of the hornets.
“Help me… please, let me out… help!”
The buzz of a single hornet is small, but the sound of ten thousand was a deafening, terrifying roar. It distorted the child’s voice, making it sound strained and unfamiliar.
A wave of dread washed over me, but I forced myself to speak. “I’ll write the speech. Just let the child out. That’s Felicity in there. Don’t let this go too far.”
In my heart, I had already decided. That speech would not be an apology. It would be my declaration of divorce.
“Felicity is watching TV with Joy inside the main house, Nina. I know you’re desperate to protect your daughter, but you don’t have to lie,” Vivian said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Besides, they’re just hornets. They can’t kill anyone. Joy was stung yesterday, and she was fine.”
Her words snuffed out the flicker of doubt in Paul’s eyes. His face hardened, his anger flaring anew. “Nina! You still show no remorse. And now you’re lying to my face! No wonder Joy and Felicity said Elara doesn’t like them. It’s all your influence! She needs to be taught a lesson today, or she’ll never learn to respect her older sisters!”
He spun around and barked at a staff member, “Throw a pen and notebook in there. She is to write a five-thousand-word apology. She’s not coming out until it’s finished!”
The butler, looking horrified, dared to protest. “Sir, the young miss is only five. She’s just learning her letters… I don’t think she can…”
Vivian shot the butler a look so venomous it could have killed, then turned back to Paul, her expression melting back into one of sweet reason. “She can sound it out, letter by letter. It’s actually good for her. Think of it as practice.”
Her words were all the justification Paul needed. He repeated his command without hesitation. “Tell her she can sound it out, but she will produce five thousand words.”
The butler, covering his ears against the horrifying sound from within, tossed the supplies through a small window slot and shouted through a megaphone, “Young Miss, Mr. Ashford says you are to write a five-thousand-word apology by sounding out the words. You cannot come out until you are done.”
The door rattled violently as the child inside threw her small body against it. Her voice was raw, shredded with terror. “Let me out… I’m going to die in here… Please, let me out… HELP!”
From our vantage point in the glass-walled tea pavilion, the sound was muffled but clear—the desperate cries of a little girl swallowed by the monstrous hum of insects. Even Vivian, the child’s own mother, didn’t recognize the voice of her daughter in that chorus of terror.
Seeing me standing there silently, Vivian nudged Paul. “Since Elara is writing the apology, perhaps Nina doesn’t have to? I just hope she’ll stop taking her anger out on my daughters in the future.” She then launched into a piteous monologue. “I’ve been such an inadequate mother, letting my children suffer with me all these years. When they misbehaved, I used to make them write apology letters under the hot sun. That’s how they became so well-behaved. I’m just so grateful they can finally be part of the Ashford family.”
Paul was clearly inspired. The more his heart ached for Vivian, the more his fury was directed at me.
He turned, his voice like ice. “You. Go stand in the sun and write your ten-thousand-word confession.”
The pavilion was a pleasant 75 degrees. Outside, the summer sun beat down with a punishing heat of 108 degrees. It was the hottest part of the day.
A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. I felt something inside me shatter.
My reaction clearly infuriated Vivian. “Nina, you know better than anyone why I had to leave all those years ago, why I let Paul misunderstand me for so long,” she spat, her voice rising. “I’ve been patient, but if you have a problem, direct it at me. The children are innocent. I’m begging you, please, don’t hurt my children!”
I stared at her, utterly bewildered. Seven years ago, when the Ashford family business had collapsed, she was the one who fled overnight for greener pastures abroad. Paul himself had told me. What in God’s name was she talking about?
Paul wrapped a protective arm around her, glaring at me. “For a woman like you, writing a confession in the sun is getting off easy! If Vivian hadn’t pleaded for you, I wouldn’t be letting this go so lightly!”
My heart turned to stone. I met his gaze. “A woman like me?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Fine. If that’s how you feel, let’s get a divorce. Isn’t that what you’ve been pushing for this whole time?”
Vivian jumped in. “Nina, neither of us wants that. You know Paul’s parents would never agree. You’re the one who made a mistake, so why do you always use his parents to pressure us?”
My eyes narrowed. She had a real talent for twisting the narrative.
“He’s not the one ending this. I am,” I said, my voice sharp and clear. “I want the divorce. And if his parents ask, I’ll tell them it was my decision.”
Paul’s brow furrowed. “You’d rather get a divorce than write a simple apology?”
“Yes.”
His frown deepened, a look of disbelief on his face. Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across his lips, as if a great weight had been lifted. “You said it, not me! Don’t you dare blame me for this.” He nodded curtly. “I agree. But if you want me to sign the papers now, you’ll still write that ten-thousand-word apology. You owe that to Vivian and her daughters.”
I ground my teeth, unable to believe this was the same man who once swore he’d love me until his dying breath. He was already calling his lawyer, ordering him to draw up the papers, while a staff member brought me a pen and a clipboard.
I snatched them and hurled them straight at his face.
“Paul, you’re the one who owes me! I don’t owe anyone a damn thing. Don’t push me, or you’ll be the one to regret it!”
He flinched, his eyes squeezed shut as the clipboard struck his nose, leaving an angry red mark. His eyes snapped open, blazing with rage.
Vivian gasped and pushed me. “How could you hit him!” she cried, then immediately turned to coo over Paul, gently blowing on his nose. “Does it hurt? Let me make it better. You always loved it when I did this.”
Just then, the butler rushed over, his face pale with anxiety. “Mr. Ashford, something’s wrong with the young miss. She’s saying she’s been stung badly, that she’s dying. Should we… should we open the door?”
Fearing Paul might soften, Vivian interjected immediately. “Oh, children that age love to play make-believe. One minute they’re playing house, the next they’re pretending to be dead. It’s just a phase.” She paused, then asked pointedly, “Does Elara lie often? I’ve read that some children pretend to be hurt to avoid punishment when they’ve done something wrong.”
Paul frowned in thought. “Elara never used to lie. But since Joy and Felicity arrived, she’s lied several times.”
“Then she’s definitely faking it,” Vivian declared with certainty. “You have to be strict with children from a young age, or they’ll be impossible to manage when they’re older!”
Paul bought it completely. His resolve hardened. “Ignore her,” he told the butler. “Don’t let her out until she’s written five thousand words.”
The butler gathered his courage. “Sir, the voice inside… it doesn’t sound like Miss Elara. I believe she had her tutoring session this afternoon. She isn’t home from it yet.”
Vivian sneered at him. “My, what a loyal servant. Always ready with an excuse for his little mistress.”
“Miss Vivian, I’m only speaking the truth,” the butler said, his voice pleading.
“The truth?” she scoffed. She pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and put it on speaker.
A moment later, a child’s voice answered. “Mommy?”
“Joy, sweetie, where’s your sister?”
“Felicity is sleeping. She just fell asleep.”
“Okay, honey. You two be good. Daddy and I will be home soon.”
Vivian hung up and shot a triumphant look at the butler, then at me. “So much for your excuses.”
Paul turned his glare on me. “Elara learned this from you! This constant lying!”
I just laughed. You can’t reason with the willingly blind.
My laughter seemed to enrage Vivian even more. She turned to Paul, goading him. “Nina, your daughter is being tormented by hornets, and you’re laughing? Are you even a mother? You don’t even care about your own child, so how could you ever care for mine? I never knew you were so heartless.”
Paul looked at me with profound disappointment. “Nina, you don’t deserve to be my daughter’s mother. You’ve let me down completely.”
“Then divorce me!” I shot back. “That way, you won’t have to worry about me being cruel to Vivian’s precious daughters anymore!”
The lawyer arrived. “Mr. Ashford,” he asked respectfully, “what are the terms of the settlement?”
Paul didn’t even look at me. “Give her five hundred thousand. I get full custody. No visitation rights.”
Five hundred thousand dollars? From the Ashford fortune? The earrings I was wearing were worth more than that. He was tossing me out like trash.
“I don’t agree,” I said, my voice cold. “I get our daughter. As for the assets, you have no right to divide them.” When the Ashford empire had crumbled years ago, it was my family’s money and my work alongside him that had rebuilt it.
He let out a bitter laugh. “You, a mother? Don’t you forget, my father is still the head of this family. He controls the assets, not you.”
“If you want my signature, Elara comes with me!”
Vivian, eager to take my place, whispered to him, “Just sign it, Paul. If Elara stays, I’m afraid her bad influence will corrupt Joy and Felicity. And don’t give her a cent. For years, she’s lived off you, worn your clothes, stayed in your house. She’s taken enough. Just have your men hold her down and force her to sign.”
At this point, her word was his law.
“Hold her,” he ordered two of his bodyguards. “Make her sign.”
Two colossal men grabbed my arms, their grip like iron vices. I was a puppet, my hand forced to scrawl my name on the divorce papers.
But I felt no panic. Only a cold, burning resolve. I had helped him rise from the ashes once. I could just as easily turn him back into dust.
Vivian gave me a victorious smirk. She then turned to the staff, feigning concern. “Hasn’t Miss Elara finished her five thousand words yet?”
“No, ma’am,” the butler replied grimly. “She hasn’t written anything. She’s lying on the floor. I think… I think she’s been stung quite badly.”
“That child is so spoiled,” Vivian tut-tutted. “She’s probably just enjoying the air conditioning and playing games with the hornets.”
Paul, led by the nose, commanded, “Turn off the air conditioning in that room!”
“Sir.”
In 108-degree heat, with no air conditioning, trapped with ten thousand hornets… that child wouldn’t last long.
But Vivian wasn’t done. “Like mother, like daughter,” she muttered. “The mother refuses to write an apology, and so does the daughter. It’s uncanny.”
That was the last straw for Paul. He strode towards me, his voice a low, vicious threat. “I’m giving you one last chance. Write the apology, or I will destroy your family. I’ll have your parents thrown in jail and your brother’s company bankrupted. You know I can do it.”
I just snorted. “Go ahead. Do your worst, you ungrateful bastard.”
His eyes narrowed. He pulled out his phone, his voice filled with venom as he spoke to someone on the other end. “Crush the Sterling family. I want them ruined.”
I looked at him with pity. Did he really think he was so powerful? That he could touch my family? A few good years had clearly made him forget who he really was.
Two hours later, right on schedule, I finally heard the sound I had been waiting for.
From the long driveway, a sweet, cheerful voice called out, “Mommy! Daddy! I’m home from my lessons!”
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