"Maya?"
The voice made her halt before she slowly turned around.
Chase stood by the door. His hand on the handle as he regarded her in pure shock, bare-chested, his boxers hanging low on his hips.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then his eyes darting from her to the baby. "It's you… Maya, I didn't know you'd be back today. I would've just—" He trailed off, words crumbling halfway.
Maya said nothing. Her arms tightened protectively around her daughter.
Chase ruffled his hair, looking anywhere but her face.
His gaze landed on the sleeping baby again, and his features softened — for a second. He reached out a tentative hand. "Is she—"
Maya stepped back.
The air thickened.
His hand froze midair, fingers stiff, expression twisting from irritation to a forced gentleness.
"Maya, come on. Don't be like this," he said quietly, like he was trying to tame a child.
Her eyes met his — tired, hollow, unreadable but still held that annoying unquenchable flicker of emotion. But mostly she was numb. It was an inevitable addition for dating someone like Chase.
And then her eyes drifted past him.
Into the bedroom
Claire sat down on the bed. One of his shirts hung loosely over her frame, barely covering her thighs.
Her eyes widened.
Her face was pale, lips parted, words forming but never spoken. Her eyes met directly with Maya's.
The silence was heavier and louder than a scream.
Maya looked away first — at the polished floor, the sterile walls, the home that was never hers — and then back toward the door.
She didn't say a word.
Just turned, her dress brushing softly against her legs as she started down the hall.
"Wait—Maya, it's not what you think," Chase said, voice breaking into panic.
But she was done listening. Her steps quickened. The sling swayed gently with the baby's movements as she proceeded.
"Maya!" His footsteps followed.
She didn't stop. She lifted her skirt slightly, one hand gripping the handle of the nearest door — the small spare room beside the balcony.
She turned the knob, slipped inside, and slammed it shut.
The doorknob twisted behind her almost immediately.
"Maya, come on, open up. Let's talk!"
She pressed her back to the door, breathing hard. "Please," she whispered, voice trembling.
He kept knocking. "Maya, seriously—"
Inside, her daughter stirred in the sling, a small whimper escaping her lips.
Maya froze, heart pounding. "Shh, baby, please," she murmured, unfastening the sling. "Please don't cry."
For a moment, the room held its breath.
Then—
"Maya!" Chase's voice again, followed by another bang on the door.
The baby startled, gasped, and began to cry.
"Damn it," Maya whispered, her own eyes welling. She held her daughter close, trying to hush her, but the little one only wailed louder, frightened by the noise and tension pressing through the walls.
"Maya!" Chase tried the handle again. "Really, Maya, come on!"
Her composure cracked. She turned toward the door, tears streaking down her cheeks.
"Oh, for goodness' sake, damn it!" she cried, her voice breaking through the noise. "Can't you hear the baby crying?!"
The silence that followed was sudden and absolute.
"Get the hell away!" she shouted again, her voice raw. Cracking "Just leave."
Nothing. No movement. Only her baby's small, trembling sobs.
Maya's chest heaved as she slid down against the door, her knees folding beneath her. She pressed her forehead against the cool wood and closed her eyes.
Outside, there was no sound — no apology, no explanation, no more knocking. Only the soft hum of the house and her baby's cries.
She lifted her daughter carefully, pressing the infant to her breast, rocking her slowly until the crying ebbed into little hiccups.
"Shh," she whispered. "It's okay. It's just us now."
Tears slipped down her cheeks unnoticed. She kissed her daughter's forehead and held her tighter, rocking in the dim light of a home that no longer belonged to her.