For ten years, I thought I’d buried the past. But when a little girl with familiar eyes answered the door, I knew—I was here to take back what was mine.

“Is your mom home?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.

“She’s baking cookies! Want one?” she chirped.

A normal morning for her—while my world tilted. Behind me, a car door slammed. Belinda stepped out. The girl’s face lit up. “Aunt Belinda!”

Nina appeared, eyes darkening. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, but I should,” I countered. “Like when you took my granddaughter?”

Nina’s voice shook. “I raised her when you didn’t. I protected her.”

Belinda whispered, “That’s not—” but Daisy’s adoring gaze silenced her.

Then, Scooter, always the observer, muttered, “This feels like a telenovela.”

Nina exhaled sharply. “Go play, Daisy.” Then, with resignation, “Come in.”

As I stepped forward, a voice cut through the tension.

“Hope you saved me a cup of tea,” Harold drawled.

Nina paled. Before I could react, she collapsed.

At the hospital, the doctor was blunt. “She needs a transfusion.”

“Take mine,” I said, no hesitation.

Later, Nina’s hoarse voice broke the silence. “Belinda can’t have children.”

“She doesn’t want to take Daisy—just be in her life.”

Two weeks later, peace settled. Nina lived with Harold. Daisy called Belinda “Mom.” Life finally felt right.

Then—a knock. My past stood there, grinning. “Vivi! Miss me?”

Patrick. My impulsive ex. Uninvited, as always.

Greg’s fork clattered. “Mom. Who the hell is that?”

Scooter grinned, notebook ready. “Now this… this feels like another mystery.”