But something was wrong.
The air was unnaturally still in a way that no home with a newborn should ever be.
Maya slowly lowered her bag to the floor.
Just three days earlier, she had walked out of that same apartment, telling herself that she deserved to breathe again.
She was twenty-one years old, beautiful, restless, and used to being noticed. Before the baby, her life had been filled with loud music, late-night drives, cheap perfume, fleeting friendships, and men who loved her only until morning. She liked being the girl everyone called when there was a party. She liked the feeling of walking into a room and knowing people were watching her.
People & Society
Motherhood did not fit into that life.
Her son had been born from a relationship that had never really been a relationship. The man had smiled at her for one summer, touched her as though she mattered, and disappeared the moment responsibility entered the picture. When Maya told him she was pregnant, he looked at her as if she had brought him bad news that belonged to someone else.
