The morning after the DNA test, a fragile, tentative sense of hope lingered in the air of Terra’s modest home.
Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the wooden floor, where Eunice, Florence, and Terra sat around a simple kitchen table.
The DNA report lay before them like a sacred relic: 99.9% match, igniting a light in a world that had spent years trying to erase Florence’s existence.
Eunice’s fingers traced the edges of the paper, and her heart swelled with a mix of joy and apprehension.
Florence, wearing the plain blue dress Terra had given her, now appeared almost like a normal woman—not the battered shadow roaming the streets, but someone slowly reclaiming her identity.
Yet the shadows of her past still lingered in her eyes, ready to surge back at any moment.
Terra, in her forties, resolute and capable, sipped her tea and broke the silence. “We have the DNA. It’s our anchor. But we’re not just fighting for custody, Eunice.
We’re fighting for Florence’s life, her dignity, her freedom. Your father and that woman…”
She paused, weighing each word carefully. “They have money, influence, and they’ve sold their version of the story to the world. We have to be faster, smarter, unyielding.”
Eunice nodded, a lump in her throat. “I’ll do anything, Aunt Terra.
I just want my mother back. Safe.”
She looked at Florence, who was staring at the table, fidgeting with the seam of her dress. “Mom, are you okay?”
Florence’s lips trembled. “I still hear their voices. In my head. Saying you left. That I abandoned you.” Her voice broke, and Eunice gripped her hand tightly.
“I didn’t leave,” Eunice said firmly. “They lied. They hurt you. But now we’re together, and we’ll take back everything they took.”
Terra leaned forward, eyes sharp as blades. “First things first. I’ve contacted a lawyer—Mr. Okeke. Discreet, and I owe him a favor from years ago when I helped his sister.
This afternoon he will meet us in Ikeja. We’ll file a custody petition, but at the same time pursue criminal charges: attempted murder, harassment, parental alienation—anything we can document.
The DNA is our weapon, but we need more—witnesses, records, any evidence showing what they did to Florence.”
Florence lifted her head suddenly. “They’ll deny it. Say I’m crazy. That’s always what they said.”
“Let them talk,” Terra said, her voice steel. “People saw you on the streets, Florence.
They know you weren’t always like that. And Eunice’s testimony—though she’s a child—matters. We’ll build a case they can’t hide from.”
Eunice’s phone lay on the table, shut off after Terra’s warning, like a ticking bomb. She looked at it, then at Terra. “What if they’re following us? Father’s men are everywhere. The police are probably already looking for me.”
Terra’s face hardened. “It’s true. I heard from a friend at the market this morning—your father was at the police station, abusing his position.
He claims you left, maybe even kidnapped. The police are spreading your image. That’s why you stay inside, Eunice. No leaving, no calls, no mistakes. Florence, neither of you leaves. You aren’t safe until we have protection.”
Florence nodded slowly, eyes lost in memory. Eunice held her hand tighter. “We’ll manage. We have each other now.”
In Mr. Okeke’s office, the air smelled of old books and coffee. The lawyer, thin with a sharp gaze, listened carefully as Terra recounted the story.
Eunice sat beside Florence, who nervously toyed with her dress’s seam, a contrast to the homeless, neglected figure she had been just days ago. The DNA report sat on the table next to Mr. Okeke’s notebook, where he was writing meticulously.
“So,” he said, leaning back, “we have a clear custody case. Eunice is a minor, Florence is the biological mother, and her rights were illegally taken. The DNA is undeniable. But the criminal charges…”
He tapped the pen on the desk. “Attempted murder is hard without physical proof or witnesses from nine years ago. Harassment and parental alienation can be proven.
Eunice’s testimony about the stepmother’s behavior, Florence’s condition, and the circumstances of her disappearance will be crucial. We need medical records, police reports, any evidence showing Florence was forced away from her life.”
“And the police?” Eunice asked, her voice weak. “Father controls them. He said anyone with me would be arrested.”
Mr. Okeke’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a problem, but not insurmountable. We’ll file a counter-report, asserting that you are with your biological mother, and request protection from your father and stepmother.
We’ll also seek restraining orders. The DNA gives legitimacy, and I know a judge who doesn’t yield to pressure. But we must move fast—before your father spins the story into a kidnapping narrative.”
Florence spoke for the first time, her voice trembling but determined. “They tried to kill me. I remember… water. A river. They pushed me. I almost drowned.
People thought I was crazy because I screamed for my baby. But I wasn’t crazy. I mourned.”
Mr. Okeke stopped writing and looked sharply into Florence’s eyes. “Do you remember where it happened? Details? Witnesses?”
She shook her head, tears brimming. “It was dark. Maybe they drugged me. I only remember the cold. And their voices. Her voice.” She looked at Eunice, then away, ashamed.
Eunice’s heart tightened. “It’s okay, Mom. We’ll prove it. We’ll find a way.”
Mr. Okeke nodded. “We start with what we have. Terra, can you get statements from anyone who knew Florence before she disappeared? Neighbors, friends, anyone who remembers her with Eunice as a baby?”
“I’ll try,” Terra said. “Years have passed. People moved. But there’s a woman, Mama Tolu, who sold peppers near Florence’s old house. She might remember something.”
“Good,” said Okeke. “Eunice, write down everything you remember about the stepmother’s behavior and Florence. Every detail counts.
And Florence, you need to see a psychiatrist—not to prove you’re ‘crazy,’ but to show that your condition stems from trauma. This strengthens the case for harassment and alienation.”
As they left the office, Terra spoke privately to Eunice. “You’re brave, you know? Most girls your age wouldn’t manage this.”
Eunice shrugged, but her eyes shone. “I’m not doing it for me. I’m doing it for her.”
Florence walked behind, clutching the DNA report like a lifeline.
