FIVE YEARS LATER;
...
Aurora adjusted the strap of her bag as she walked through the bustling airport terminal, her daughter's small hand nestled in hers. The overhead announcements blended with the murmur of travelers, but at this moment, none of it mattered.
"Then what happened, Mommy?" the little girl asked, her voice carrying the curiosity of a child but the sharpness of someone older.
Aurora smiled, glancing down at the tiny face looking up at her. Five years, and still, it amazed her how much her daughter resembled him.
The same piercing eyes, the same stubborn tilt of their chin. But she had Aurora's fire, her wit. Her curls framed her face, untamed yet perfect, just like Aurora's had been before she stretched them.
"Well, after that, the brave little girl decided she didn't need a prince to save her. She built her own kingdom." Aurora replied thoughtfully.
The child hummed thoughtfully. "But if she built her own kingdom, what happens if the prince comes back?"
Aurora hesitated. The question felt too close to home. "Then," she said, keeping her voice steady, "she decides if he's worthy enough to stand beside her."
Her daughter nodded as if accepting this answer. "I think she should make him work for it." She giggled. "She should make it hard for him Mommy. He betrayed her,"
Aurora laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're too smart for your age."
Aurora smiled and turned around to check the dashboard. Her breath vanished immediately.
Across the terminal, amidst the endless faces of strangers, the one man she had never thought she'll see again stood, staring right at her.
Tim.
The world around her blurred. The noise, the movement, everything faded into the background. Five years had changed him, he looked better, but not enough to make him unrecognizable.
He still had the same intense stare, the same commanding presence. But there was something else—something raw in his expression.
She should move. She should turn and disappear into the crowd. She tried to raise her legs to run, but unfortunately remained frozen.
Tim had been looking at his phone, impatiently checking flight details—until something pulled his attention. He looked up, and for a second, he didn't believe it.
His stomach clenched.
Aurora.
Even from her back, he had known. But now, staring at her, seeing the undeniable reality of her presence, the air punched out of his lungs.
She was different.
She carried herself with a strong confidence that hadn't been there before. Her skin glowed, her hair framed her face with effortless beauty, and the dress she wore—elegant yet strong—only confirmed what he already knew.
She wasn't the same woman who had disappeared five years ago.
But it wasn't just her that left him paralyzed.
It was the little girl beside her.
His chest tightened. He didn't need a second guess. The resemblance was unmistakable. That was his daughter. His blood. His daughter!!!
Tim moved without thinking.
Aurora's paralysis broke the moment she saw him take a step. Panic surged through her veins, and instinctively, she reached for her daughter, pulling her close.
However, the little girl didn't move. She was also staring at Tim, frozen, eyes wide with something Aurora couldn't understand. Like they knew each other.
Tim reached them and immediately dropped to his knees. His body trembled, and his heart ripped open and bled all over.
There was no mistake. For once in his life, he created something so pure, and beautiful. Aurora didn't die, and she stood before him right now.
His heart thundered, and his hands clenched at his sides. His eyes softened as he looked at the little girl in front of him.
The little girl was hesitant. Cautious. But she didn't look away. She didn't even smile. She maintained a straight expression.
"You're staring too much," the child suddenly said, blinking up at him. "It's rude, you know."
Aurora's breath hitched.
Tim exhaled a shaky laugh, something breaking inside him at her words. "You're right," he murmured. "I'm sorry."
He thanked God under his breath that this wasn't so awkward. How did Aurora survive? What happened?
Aurora's pulse pounded in her ears. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Not her daughter. She won't let him take her.
Aurora pulled her daughter back, her grip firm, her voice steady even as her heart raced. Her lips almost trembled, and she fought with her emotions.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, forcing a polite smile. "She talks too much sometimes."
Tim's gaze snapped to her. "Too much? She's perfect." He almost smiled, his eyes returning to his little girl.
Aurora swallowed, tightening her hold on her daughter. "And I've taught her not to talk to strangers." she smiled coldly.
The words landed like a slap.
Tim's jaw tightened, his entire body going rigid. A stranger? His almost smile wiped out of his lips immediately.
His chest burned, but his expression didn't waver. If she thought she could walk away from him again, she was wrong.
He let his eyes drift from their daughter back to Aurora. He parted his lips to speak, his voice quieter but firm.
"I don't think I'm a stranger."
Aurora's fingers curled around her daughter's wrist, ready to pull her away. Yet before she could take a step, Tim straightened, his presence towering over her, blocking any path of escape.
His voice was low, resolute.
"You can lie to yourself, Aurora." He whispered, his voice almost breaking. "But don't lie to her."
Aurora's heart slammed against her ribs. "You won't teach me how to raise my daughter. Also, I have no idea who you speak of,"
Tim clenched and unclenched his fist. His inside roared to hold her, but he couldn't. He doesn't even know which was worse. Five years of not seeing her, or her standing in front of him and still not able to hold her.
His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to stay still. His entire being screamed at him to reach for her, to grab her by the waist, to hold her until she stopped pretending—until she admitted the truth.
But he couldn't.
Aurora stood rigid, her chin tilted up in defiance, her grip on their daughter firm like she was shielding her from him, a possible danger.
His daughter.
Five years. Five years of not knowing. Five years of not seeing the tiny face that stared up at him now, so familiar, so much like his own.
Tim's hands clenched at his sides, his body vibrated with emotions he couldn't even name. "You have no idea who I speak of?" His voice was eerily calm.
Aurora's lips parted slightly, but she remained silent.
He took a slow step forward, and she instinctively pulled their daughter behind her. His stomach twisted at the movement.
"Don't do this, Aurora," he said, his voice dropping lower, "Don't just erase me."
Aurora's nails dug into her palm. "You already erased yourself."