Convincing Felicia

Michelle's foot tapped restlessly against the leg of her desk as she bounced slightly in her chair, her nerves prickling beneath her skin. Her eyes, wide and stormy, darted around the room — not really seeing, just searching for something solid to hold onto.

"How could I miss that name?" she thought, her fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. It was him. Of all the students in the school, it had to be Gilbert Bruce.

A breath hitched in her throat, and she pushed back against the chair, as if trying to physically escape the wave of discomfort crashing over her. Their past wasn't ancient history — it was recent, raw. Nine months ago, they'd met, and for three fleeting months, she'd let herself believe she could have something real. And then she vanished. No proper explanation, no goodbye. Just silence.

And now… fate had dragged her right back into his orbit.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to still her racing thoughts. This is your life now , she told herself. You're the counselor. He's the student. Keep it together. But no matter how firmly she reminded herself of the roles, the memory of his voice — the soft way he used to say her name — still clung to her like static.

Her chest tightened with the weight of decisions she couldn't undo. There had been a reason for leaving. A necessary escape. But that didn't make it easier to face him now. Not when his face, his presence, reopened doors she'd locked shut.

Michelle's jaw clenched. She needed this job. Not just for the money, or stability — but to rebuild the life she walked away from. She couldn't afford to crumble.

With a long, steadying breath, she sat upright and adjusted the stack of files on her desk with precision, as if order on paper could somehow translate to order in her heart.

"I can do this," she whispered to the empty room. Her tone wasn't confident yet, but it was steady.

And that was a start.

Meanwhile the mall buzzed with weekend energy—bright lights, bursts of laughter, and the rhythmic clink of shopping bags hitting tiled floors. Felicia weaved through the crowd with practiced ease, her heels clicking against the marble beneath her. The scent of cinnamon pretzels and freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, and though her face wore a calm smile, her mind was preoccupied with a growing list of errands.

Then came the voice.

"Felicia!"

She paused mid-step, her name slicing through the noise. Turning sharply, her eyes landed on a familiar figure near a boutique window—Laura, waving with the eager energy of someone clinging to the past. Felicia blinked, her lips parting in faint surprise before she recovered with a warm, practiced smile.

Of all people... Laura?

They hadn't seen each other in years—friends once, maybe, or at least friendly. Now, the air between them felt thin and brittle.

They met halfway, exchanging the usual air kisses. Laura's perfume—light, floral, too sweet—clung to Felicia's cheeks as they pulled apart.

"You look amazing," Laura offered, eyes scanning Felicia's outfit a beat too long.

Felicia chuckled lightly. "Thank you. Just trying to survive the day."

Laura's smile faltered then, as if something heavy shifted beneath the surface. Her lips twitched, uncertain. "How are you… really?"

"I've been great!" Felicia replied too quickly, her voice pitched high with a forced cheer. She clasped her hands in front of her, but the tension had already crept in, coiling around her spine like a warning.

A beat passed. Then two.

Laura's gaze lingered, searching. And then came the question—soft, hesitant, but edged with determination.

"Felicia… can we talk about the kids?"

Felicia's smile froze.

In an instant, her body went rigid, the easy friendliness slipping away like sunlight behind a storm cloud. Her brow furrowed, and something protective darkened her eyes.

So this was why she stopped me. Not for small talks. Not for old times sake.

She should have known.

Felicia didn't need her to say more. She already knew where this was headed. Her arms folded tightly over her chest, a barrier of instinct and motherly resolve.

"I'm sorry, but I won't let you talk me into letting your son date my daughter," she said flatly. Her voice was calm, but each word was sharpened with conviction.

Laura blinked, clearly taken aback. The brightness in her expression crumpled into something more fragile. "I—Felicia, please. I'm not trying to force anything. I just…"

"I'm sure he's a good kid," Felicia cut in, her tone rising ever so slightly. "But she's just seventeen. Seventeen. She's barely figuring herself out. I'm not letting anyone mess with that."

Her heart pounded against her ribs now, harder with every word.

She thought of the moment she saw them—her daughter and Laura's son—kissing in front of the school gates like they had nothing to hide. Like she was a ghost. Like her rules, her sacrifices, her fears… meant nothing.

The memory stung. Rage stirred.

"You know how I found out?" she asked, the words tumbling out. "I saw them kissing. In public. Imagine what that did to me—finding out that way. Realizing their relationship had gone that far without my knowledge ?"

Her voice cracked, the rawness peeking through.

Laura's eyes glistened with tears. She stepped closer, her voice trembling. "I know it's upsetting. I do. I'm sorry. I just thought… I haven't seen my son smile like that in years. He's free, Felicia. And it's not because he's calm or rested. It's because of her. Your daughter makes him happy."

That should've softened her.

But it didn't.

Felicia's hands dropped to her sides, clenched now into trembling fists. Her voice was cold and unforgiving.

"Well, too bad my daughter isn't a tool to make your son happy, okay? If he wants happiness, he should try something else. Maybe another girl."

The words hung there, cutting deep.

She saw the pain in Laura's eyes the moment they landed, a flicker of hurt twisting her expression. And instantly, guilt came crashing in.

Felicia exhaled, her anger ebbing just enough to see the woman in front of her—not just a meddling mother, but someone who was hurting too.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have said it like that. I know you're just trying to protect him. But I'm protecting my daughter too."

Her voice broke a little now, softer, more vulnerable.

"I don't want her to make the same mistakes I made. I don't want her waking up one day full of regret and… trapped. It would be a sin if she did."

Silence pressed in.

They stood still amidst the moving crowd, caught in a quiet war of love and fear—two mothers, bound by the same instinct but facing opposite sides of it.

Felicia glanced at the floor, then back at Laura, her expression unreadable now. "Let's talk some other time," she murmured. And before Laura could reply, she turned on her heel and walked away, her pace quick but not hurried, disappearing into the blur of bodies and voices.

Behind her, Laura stood alone, the tears she'd held back finally slipping free. She dabbed at her cheeks, inhaled a shaky breath, and swallowed the ache in her throat.

Convincing a Nigerian mother... Was proving harder than she thought.