The prodigal mother Olivia Mendez The prOdigal MOTher Olivia Mendez An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookpublications - all material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. if somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book The prodigal mother The prodigal mother Olivia Mendez Olivia Mendez An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookpublications - all material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks publications & the writer C The prodigal mother S ylvia Davis sat alone in a dimly lit motel room that smelled faintly of mildew and regret. The flickering neon sign outside the window paint- ed her hollowed features in shades of pink and blue. The television hummed in the background, a late- night infomercial promising a better life with just three easy payments. Sylvia laughed bitterly at the irony. Her gaze drifted to a crumpled photo on the night- stand, the edges worn from too many sleepless nights spent clutching it. In the image, a younger version of herself beamed alongside her husband, Mark, and their two children. Emily, with her curly hair and gap-toothed smile, perched proudly on her father’s Olivia Mendez lap, while Caleb, barely more than a toddler, held onto Sylvia’s hand with a grip that seemed unbreak- able then. She reached for the photo, tracing their faces with trembling fingers. The weight of what she’d lost set- tled on her chest like a stone. The man she’d left them for had seemed like an es- cape, a chance at the excitement and passion she’d convinced herself was missing in her life. But his promises had crumbled into lies, and his charm had turned to cruelty. Now, Sylvia was alone, penniless, and aged beyond her forty-two years. She pulled a battered notebook from her suitcase, flipping past pages of scribbled apologies and unfin- ished letters. Each attempt at reconciliation had felt too small, too inadequate. She tore out a fresh page and began to write: “Mark, Emily, Caleb, I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m coming home. ” The pen paused mid-sentence, hovering over the paper. Her hand shook as doubt flooded in. How could she face them? Could she bear the look of betrayal in Emily’s eyes, the quiet hurt in Caleb’s si- lence? Would Mark even open the door? The prodigal mother Her reflection in the cracked mirror caught her attention. She barely recognized the woman staring back, deep lines carved into her once-smooth skin, her eyes sunken and rimmed with shadows. Her chestnut hair, now streaked with gray, hung limply around her face. She reached up and touched her cheek, as if trying to remember who she used to be. “Get it together,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the drumming rain outside. The letter remained unfinished as Sylvia folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of her coat. She rose from the bed and approached the window, staring out at the storm battering the parking lot. The rain pounded against the glass, each drop a reminder of the storm she was about to bring into her family’s carefully reconstructed lives. She had no illusions about what awaited her. Mark would be furious, Emily might hate her, and Caleb ...sweet Caleb, would likely not remember her as the mother she once was. But despite her shame and fear, she couldn’t ignore the aching pull in her chest that whispered, They’re all you have left. Sylvia grabbed her suitcase and the photograph, stuffing them into the worn duffel bag that had car- Olivia Mendez ried the remnants of her life for the past three years. As she stepped into the night, the cold rain soaked through her thin jacket, but she barely felt it. Her car, a rusty sedan that groaned with every turn of the key, waited for her like a reluctant accomplice. She climbed in and started the engine, the headlights piercing through the rain. For a moment, she sat motionless, gripping the steering wheel. The photo- graph rested on the passenger seat, a silent witness to her resolve. Taking a deep breath, Sylvia whispered into the empty car, “I’m coming home.” The words felt heavy, like a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. But as the motel’s neon sign faded in her rearview mirror, she forced herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late to fix what she’d broken. The road stretched ahead, dark and unyielding, and for the first time in years, Sylvia allowed herself to hope. The prodigal mother I. The Davis household buzzed with quiet activity as the evening rain tapped against the windows. Mark stood in the kitchen, absently stirring a pot of soup, the aroma of thyme and simmering vegetables fill- ing the air. Caleb sat at the dining table, sketching a fantastical creature in the margins of his homework, while Emily clacked away at her laptop, her sharp fo- cus interrupted only by the occasional sarcastic re- mark. “Dad, you’re stirring too fast,” Emily quipped with- out looking up. “You’re going to turn that soup into mush.” Mark smirked, wiping his hands on a towel. “And you’re one comment away from cooking it yourself.” Olivia Mendez Before Emily could retort, the doorbell rang, a shrill, unexpected sound that cut through their light banter. Mark froze, his hand mid-reach for the salt shaker. Visitors were rare, especially on rainy nights. “I’ll get it,” Caleb mumbled, already pushing back his chair. But Mark stopped him with a hand on his shoul- der. “Stay here.” His voice was calm but firm, a tone that brooked no argument. Mark moved toward the door, his heart inexpli- cably heavy. Something about the stillness beyond the rain-filled night felt off. He unlocked the door and swung it open, the sight before him stealing the breath from his lungs. There, drenched from head to toe, stood Sylvia Da- vis. Her once-vivid chestnut hair clung to her face in limp strands, and her coat, tattered and ill-fitting, was soaked through. She clutched a small duffel bag in one hand, the other shaking as it hovered mid-air, as though she’d thought better of knocking again. “Sylvia...” Mark’s voice was low, almost disbeliev- ing. The prodigal mother “Hi, Mark.” Her voice wavered, cracking under the weight of her guilt. “I...” She looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t know if you’d open the door.” Behind him, Emily appeared, her expression a mix of shock and anger. “What the hell is she doing here?” Sylvia flinched at her daughter’s tone, her eyes dart- ing to Emily’s face. The last time she’d seen her, Emily had been a twelve-year-old with braces and wide, cu- rious eyes. Now, she was a young woman with sharp features and a fire that Sylvia knew she had stoked. “I...” Sylvia began, but her words faltered. She tightened her grip on the duffel bag. “I need to come home.” “Home?” Emily spat the word like venom. “You don’t have a home here.” Mark stepped between them, his expression un- readable. “Emily, enough.” Emily’s mouth opened to protest, but the look in her father’s eyes silenced her. She crossed her arms tightly, leaning against the wall, her glare unwaver- ing. Mark turned back to Sylvia, his jaw tight. “Why now?” Olivia Mendez The question hung heavy in the air, the rain a faint backdrop to the tension. Sylvia hesitated, her gaze pleading. “I made mistakes, Mark. I know that. But I... I’ve lost everything. And I realized the only thing that ever mattered was right here.” Mark exhaled sharply, running a hand through his graying hair. Behind him, Caleb peeked around the corner, his wide eyes taking in the scene. “You can’t just show up after five years and expect...” Mark stopped himself, his voice cracking slightly. “What do you want from us, Sylvia?” “I’m not asking for forgiveness,” she said quickly, desperation creeping into her tone. “I just need a chance to ...to prove that I can be better. That I’m not the same woman who walked out that door.” Emily let out a bitter laugh. “You’ve got that right.” “Emily!” Mark snapped, his patience thinning. Sylvia turned to her daughter, tears pooling in her eyes. “I know I hurt you, Emily. I know I don’t de- serve your forgiveness, but I want to try. Please, let me try.” Emily’s expression hardened. “You don’t get to ‘try.’ The prodigal mother You don’t get to waltz back in here and pretend you care. We don’t need you anymore.” The words hit Sylvia like a physical blow, her breath hitching as she tried to steady herself. She looked to Caleb, her youngest, who stood partially hidden be- hind the wall. “Caleb,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “You’ve grown so much. I...” Caleb looked at her for a long moment, his face un- readable, before quietly retreating back into his room without a word. The silence that followed was deafening. Mark finally spoke, his tone measured. “You can stay.” Emily’s head snapped toward him, her eyes blaz- ing. “Are you kidding me?” “Emily, enough.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument. “She stays. For now. But there will be boundaries, Sylvia. You don’t get to just come back and pick up where you left off. It doesn’t work that way.” Olivia Mendez “I understand,” Sylvia whispered, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Thank you.” Mark stepped aside, allowing her in. She hesitat- ed on the threshold, the warmth of the house starkly contrasting the chill she’d carried with her for years. Emily stormed past her, her anger palpable. “This is a mistake.” Sylvia watched her go, the sting of rejection sharp- er than she’d anticipated. She set her duffel bag down, her eyes scanning the familiar yet unfamiliar space. The home she had left was the same in many ways, but it carried an air of resilience that hadn’t been there before. Mark gestured toward the couch. “You can sleep there for now. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.” Sylvia nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.” As Mark walked away, leaving her alone in the liv- ing room, Sylvia sank onto the couch, exhaustion and despair washing over her. The weight of her decision to return pressed heavily on her chest. From upstairs, a faint sound reached her ears, the The prodigal mother soft creak of a door opening. Sylvia looked up to see Caleb standing at the top of the stairs, his sketchpad clutched to his chest. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before he disappeared back into his room, closing the door behind him. Sylvia leaned back, staring at the ceiling as tears slipped down her cheeks. The road to forgiveness was longer than she’d imagined, but for the first time in years, she felt the faintest glimmer of hope. Olivia Mendez II. The morning light filtered through the blinds in fractured lines, a reflection of the tenuous state of the Davis household. Sylvia stood in the kitchen, unsure of her place. The smell of coffee brewing filled the air, but the room was heavy with unspoken words. Emily sat at the table, scrolling on her phone with an air of practiced indifference, while Caleb absentmindedly poked at his cereal. Mark leaned against the counter, his expression guarded as he read the newspaper. Sylvia cleared her throat, forcing herself to speak. “Good morning.” Emily didn’t look up. Caleb mumbled something unintelligible. Mark offered a curt nod. The prodigal mother “I, uh, thought I could make breakfast,” Sylvia ven- tured, her voice tinged with hesitation. Emily finally glanced up, her expression sharp. “We don’t need you to. Dad already made coffee, and I know how to pour milk into cereal.” “Emily,” Mark warned, his voice low. “What? It’s true,” Emily said, glaring at Sylvia. “She’s acting like this is some family sitcom where everyone just forgives the mom who ran off to play house with someone else.” Sylvia winced at the words, but she steadied her- self. “I know I can’t erase the past, Emily. But I’m try- ing to—” “Trying to what?” Emily interrupted, her tone biting. “Pretend you care? Where was all this ‘try- ing’ when Dad had to work two jobs just to keep us afloat? Or when Caleb cried himself to sleep because he thought you’d come back and you didn’t?” “That’s enough!” Mark’s voice cut through the tension, startling even himself. He rarely raised his voice, but the weight of the morning was too much. Emily shoved her chair back with a screech, grab- Olivia Mendez bing her bag. “I’m going to class. At least some of us have responsibilities.” Sylvia’s hand twitched toward Emily as she stormed out the door, but she stopped herself. The sound of the door slamming echoed in the silence that fol- lowed. Mark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She just needs time,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. Caleb set his spoon down quietly, watching Sylvia with wide eyes. “Are you staying?” he asked softly. The question startled her, and she blinked back sudden tears. “I ...I hope so, Caleb. If you’ll let me.” He nodded slowly but didn’t say anything more, retreating to his room with his cereal bowl in hand. Sylvia stood alone in the kitchen, her heart heavy. Mark folded the newspaper and placed it on the counter. “You can’t push too hard, Sylvia. Especially with Emily.” “I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whis- per. “I just... I don’t know how to fix this.” The prodigal mother Mark hesitated, his jaw tightening. “It’s not about fixing it. It’s about proving you’re here to stay this time.” That evening, Sylvia tried to help with dinner. She peeled potatoes at the sink while Mark stirred a pot of sauce. The atmosphere was awkward but not hos- tile, which felt like progress. Caleb was at the table sketching again, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Is that for school?” Sylvia asked, trying to sound casual. Caleb shrugged. “It’s for my art showcase. Tomor- row night.” Sylvia perked up. “You have a showcase? That’s amazing, Caleb. What are you working on?” He hesitated, then held up his sketchpad. The drawing was a family portrait—Mark, Emily, Caleb, and Sylvia. But Sylvia’s face was smudged, the lines faint and unfinished. Sylvia’s throat tightened. “That’s beautiful, Caleb. You’re so talented.” Caleb ducked his head, his cheeks flushing. “I used to draw us all the time,” he murmured. Olivia Mendez Sylvia reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing the edge of the sketchpad. “You still can.” For the first time, Caleb smiled faintly. Later that night, the rain returned, drumming soft- ly against the windows. Sylvia sat on the couch, star- ing at the muted television. Mark entered the room, two mugs of tea in hand. He handed one to her be- fore sitting in the armchair across from her. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, cradling the warm mug in her hands. “You looked like you needed it,” he replied simply. The silence between them was heavy, filled with years of words left unsaid. Finally, Mark broke it. “Why now, Sylvia? Why come back after all this time?” Sylvia took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly. “Because I finally realized what I lost.” Mark’s jaw tightened. “Do you even know what you left behind?” His voice was steady, but the pain in it was unmistakable. “We were shattered, Sylvia. Shat- tered. Emily cried for months. Caleb stopped asking where you were. And me? I had to pick up the pieces and pretend I was enough for them.”