Maya I unlocked the front door and pushed it open with my right elbow. I was balancing a brown paper takeout bag containing two plastic containers of spicy lamb noodles from the small Chinese joint three blocks down. It had cost me fifty dollars that I really needed for bus fare and groceries next week, but Trevor had been complaining about stress at work all morning, so I bought it anyway. I thought a hot meal would cheer him up. "Trevor?" I called out, kicking my worn sneakers off onto the rubber mat by the entryway. "I brought dinner. I asked the guy for extra spicy sauce just how you like it." Nobody answered. The living room was dark, the blinds drawn shut to block out the gray rain outside. The only sign of life was a thin strip of warm light spilling onto the floorboards from under the bedroom door at the end of the narrow hallway. Then I heard a groan. It was followed immediately by a low, breathless gasp. I panicked. My first instinct wasn't suspicion; it was fear. I thought someone had broken into our apartment or that Trevor had fallen and hurt himself. I dropped the takeout bag straight onto the floor. The plastic containers clattered together inside as hot, greasy broth immediately began soaking through the bottom of the brown paper. I didn't care about the food. I ran down the narrow hallway, reached the end, and shoved the bedroom door wide open. The room hit me with a wall of heavy scent-cheap vanilla perfume mixed with stale sweat. Trevor was on the bed, completely naked, his broad, tanned shoulders glistening under the bedside lamp. And lying beneath him, her fingers gripped tightly into his back, was my mother. Colette. I stopped dead in the doorway. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs before giving a sickening, hollow thud. My throat went bone-dry in a fraction of a second. Trevor looked over his shoulder and panicked. He scrambled backward off the bed, his feet tangling violently in my clean floral sheets. He knocked the bedside lamp sideways, sending the shade crooked as he grabbed a throw pillow from the floor and jammed it over his waist. "Maya," he stuttered, his face turning pale as paper. "It... it isn't what it looks like." "You're in bed with my mother," I said. My voice didn't sound like mine. It was completely flat, devoid of anger, tearfulness, or emotion. It sounded like an announcement made by a stranger. "What else is it supposed to be?" Colette didn't even try to hide herself right away. She lazily pulled the top sheet up over her breasts, using her manicured fingers to push her dyed blonde hair out of her face. She looked at me from the pillows like I was an annoying neighbor who had knocked on the door during an inconvenient moment. "You came home early, Maya," Colette said, adjusting her position against the headboard. "You said on the phone this morning that you had practice at the dance studio until eight." "You're sleeping with my boyfriend," I repeated, staring straight at her eyes. "In my apartment. On my bed." "He was lonely," Colette said, her tone completely unbothered. She was thirty-six years old, but she had given birth to me when she was only fifteen, a fact she never let anyone forget. She spent most of her adult life dressing in clothes meant for women my age, desperate to be mistaken for my older sister. "You two have been distant lately anyway. A man has needs, Maya. You can't expect him to wait around while you work all night." "I was working twelve-hour shifts at the diner to pay for this place!" I shouted, the flat tone finally cracking as a surge of hot rage burst through my chest. "I gave up my ballet scholarship so Trevor could focus on his business ideas! I paid the rent! I bought the groceries!" "Maya, please," Trevor said, taking a cautious step toward me. He looked pathetic standing on the hardwood floor, clutching the small accent pillow against his stomach. "She tricked me. I was drunk from last night, and I came in here to sleep, and I thought-" I stepped forward and slapped him across the jaw with every ounce of strength in my arm. The sound of my palm hitting his skin rang through the small room like a whip cracking. Trevor's head snapped to the side, his hair flying across his forehead, and a bright red handprint began blooming across his cheek instantly. "Don't touch me," I told him, my hand throbbing with a sharp, burning sting. "Don't you ever step near me again." "Maya!" Colette snapped, sitting up straighter in the bed, her sheet slipping down an inch. "How dare you hit him in front of me!" "This is my lease!" I turned on her, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "You've been sleeping on my living room couch for three months because your last boyfriend threw your bags into the street! You're a leech! Both of you!" Trevor took another half-step toward the door, trying to reach for my arm while awkwardly attempting to pull a pair of sweatpants up with his free hand. "Maya, baby, let's just sit down and talk," he begged, his voice cracking with desperation. "We can fix this. I love you, you know I do." "Do not call me baby," I said, stepping back into the hallway out of his reach. I turned around, picked up my phone from the kitchen counter where I had set my keys, and looked back at Trevor's handsome, ruined face one last time. He stood in the frame of the bedroom door, looking like a guilty child caught stealing. I turned my back on him, walked out into the carpeted building hallway, and slammed the heavy apartment door behind me so hard the doorframe rattled.

Maya The rain was coming down in heavy, gray sheets by the time I pushed through the glass doors of the apartment building and stepped onto the street. I didn't have an umbrella, and I didn't care. Within two minutes, my jacket, shirt, and jeans were completely soaked, clinging ice-cold to my skin. I dragged my feet down the sidewalk for three blocks, my sneakers squelching with water, until I reached a bus stop with a small glass shelter. I sat down on the cold metal bench, pulling my wet knees up to my chest to stop myself from shivering. The chill outside was nothing compared to the hollow, frozen feeling in the center of my chest. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out with cold, clumsy fingers. The screen lit up with a text from Trevor: Please come back. We can talk about this. I made a massive mistake, Maya. I love you. A second later, a second notification popped up right beneath his. It was a text from Colette: You are being childish running off into the rain. You have nowhere else to go and no money. Come home right now and stop making a scene. I stared at the messages until the screen dimmed and went black. I didn't reply. I held the power button down until the screen displayed the shutdown logo, then shoved the cold phone deep into my wet coat pocket. I didn't cry while waiting for the bus. I didn't cry when the driver opened the folding doors, or when I paid my fare with three wet dollar bills. I only started crying when I reached the very back corner seat of the bus. I leaned my head against the cold, vibrating window, staring out at the blurry red taillights of the traffic while silent, scalding tears ran down my cheeks. Two whole years. I had given Trevor two years of my life. I had taken extra shifts at the diner until my ankles swelled. I had stopped attending ballet auditions because he said my late-night rehearsals made him feel lonely. I had bought his clothes, managed his schedule, and believed every single word he said about our future. And in return, he had slept with my mother on the sheets I bought with my own hard-earned money. When the bus finally reached Kiki's stop, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. I stumbled off the high bus step onto the cracked sidewalk and walked the final block to her building. Kiki lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of an old brick building that always smelled faintly of roasted coffee and old radiator pipes. I walked up the creaking wooden stairs, reached her door, and knocked three times. A few seconds passed before I heard deadbolts sliding back. The door pulled open, and Kiki stood there wearing a gray oversized t-shirt and athletic shorts, holding a wooden cooking spoon in her right hand. Her eyes went wide as saucers the second she saw me standing in the hallway-soaked to the bone, shivering, with black mascara smeared down my cheeks. "Maya?" Kiki dropped the wooden spoon onto the small entryway table and reached out, grabbing my arms to pull me inside. "What happened? Were you hit by a car? Did someone jump you?" "Trevor," I choked out. The moment I said his name, my throat closed up completely. "What did that idiot do now?" Kiki asked, kicking the door shut and locking both deadbolts. She ran into her small bathroom and came back a second later with a big, dry yellow bath towel, wrapping it firmly around my shoulders. "Talk to me, Maya." "I came home early," I said, sitting down heavily on her worn fabric sofa. My wet jeans left a dark stain on the cushion, but Kiki didn't even look at it. "I bought him food. And when I walked in... he was in bed with Colette." Kiki froze in the middle of rubbing the towel over my damp hair. She blinked once, then twice, her mouth staying slightly open as if she were waiting for me to laugh and tell her it was a joke. "With who?" Kiki asked, her voice dropping an octave. "My mother," I whispered, staring down at my knees. "Your... Colette?" Kiki's face twisted into an expression of intense disgust and horror. "Are you serious? In your apartment? On your bed?" I nodded once. "She told me I was neglecting him. She said I was distant. And Trevor said he was drunk." "That disgusting, pathetic, useless excuse for a human being!" Kiki exploded, throwing her hands up in the air and pacing furiously across her small rug. "I knew he was garbage! I told you six months ago he was too vain to be trusted! He spent more time styling his hair in the bathroom mirror than looking for a real job!" "I hit him," I said quietly, looking at my red, stiff palm. "Good!" Kiki stomped her foot against the floorboards. "You should have broken his nose! And your mother? She is a villain! How could a mother do that to her own child?" "She's hated me since I turned eighteen," I said, resting the back of my head against the sofa cushions. "Every time a guy looked at me, she acted like I was taking something from her." Kiki sat down beside me, pulling the towel tighter around my shoulders and wrapping her arm around me. "You are staying here. For as long as you need. We'll put sheets on this couch, and you never have to go back to that place again." "I don't have any money, Kiki," I said, staring at the small light fixture on her ceiling as fresh tears brimmed in my eyes. "I spent my last fifty dollars on his stupid dinner." "Forget about the money," Kiki said firmly, shaking her head. "We'll figure it out together. You're done with him, Maya. You're completely done." I buried my face in the dry cotton of the towel, letting out a ragged sob as the realization finally settled into my chest. I was broke, exhausted, and homeless, but as I lay on Kiki's couch that night staring at the dark walls, I knew she was right. I was never going back.

Maya The next three days passed slowly. I stayed on Kiki's sofa, wearing a faded gray hoodie she lent me that smelled faintly of lavender detergent and stale tea. I didn't leave the apartment once. Most of my day was spent staring at a strip of off-white paint peeling from the corner of her ceiling, listening to the muffled hum of traffic on the wet street two floors below. Kiki brought me bagels and hot chamomile, but my appetite was completely shot. Every time I tried to force a bite down, my stomach tightened into a hard, sour knot. My jaw stayed clenched even when I was trying to sleep. On Friday afternoon, the rain finally stopped, leaving behind a cold, thick fog that pressed against the windowpanes. Kiki pulled on her boots to go down the street to the corner bodega for milk, eggs, and paper towels. She was only supposed to be gone for ten minutes, but fifteen minutes went by before I heard her key scrape against the lock. She shut the front door hard behind her, the heavy wooden frame rattling in its socket. I sat up on the sofa, rubbing my dry eyes with the back of my hand. "What happened?" Kiki set the plastic grocery bag onto her small kitchen counter with a sharp plastic thud. Her face was flushed, her dark eyebrows drawn tight together in a hard, furious line. "I ran into Sarah on the corner," Kiki said, kicking her boots off into the entryway mat. Sarah was an older girl who lived in my old apartment building, two doors down from the unit I had shared with Trevor. "Okay?" I asked, pulling the hood of the sweater over my head. "She told me what's going on at your place," Kiki said. She pulled out one of the wooden dining chairs from the small kitchen table, dragged it over to the sofa, and sat down directly across from me. "Trevor was outside an hour ago." I felt a dull, heavy thud in the center of my chest, but my face didn't move. I kept my hands buried inside the front pocket of the hoodie. "What was he doing?" "He had his silver sedan parked up on the curb right in front of the gate with the trunk popped wide open," Kiki said flatly, her voice tight with anger. "Sarah said he was carrying large cardboard boxes and a metal suit rack out of his trunk and hauling them right up the stairs into Colette's apartment." I stared at her for a long moment, processing the image in my head. "He's moving in with her?" "Yes," Kiki said, resting her elbows on her knees. "And that's not even the worst part. Colette was standing out by the front gate in her pink silk bathrobe, holding the iron door open for him while he carried his stuff inside. Sarah said they looked completely comfortable, like they'd been planning it for weeks." I didn't yell. I didn't break anything, and I didn't start crying. The sharp, overwhelming panic from Tuesday night was gone, replaced by a cold, heavy stillness that settled into my bones. Trevor didn't feel an ounce of guilt. He didn't care that he had ruined my life, or that I had worked double shifts at the diner until my feet bled just so he could afford to register his fake consulting company. He didn't care that I gave up my spot at the ballet academy for him. He simply needed a place to sleep without paying rent, and my mother offered him a bed. He had traded me for my thirty-six-year-old mother in less than seventy-two hours because it was easy. "Hand me my phone," I said. Kiki looked at me carefully, her eyes narrowing. "Maya, don't call him. He isn't worth the breath." "I'm not calling Trevor," I said. My voice was steady, almost monotone. "Hand me the phone, Kiki." Kiki reached into her tote bag on the counter, pulled my phone out, and handed it over. I held down the power button, waited for the screen to light up, and opened my settings. I unblocked Colette's contact number and pressed the call button. She answered on the second ring. "Maya?" Colette's voice drifted through the small phone speaker. She sounded calm, completely relaxed, as if she were taking a routine call from a grocery store clerk. "Are you ready to stop being dramatic now?" "You're moving him into your apartment," I said. I leaned my head back against the wall behind the sofa. "Trevor needed a place to stay," Colette said, her tone unbothered and dismissive. "He couldn't afford your lease on his own after you threw a fit and walked out on him. I'm just helping him out until he gets back on his feet. You can't expect a grown man to sleep in his car, Maya." "You are a disgusting human being," I said quietly. "Oh, please don't start with the dramatic victim act again," Colette snapped, her voice turning sharp and annoyed. "You left him. You packed your bags and ran off to sit on Kiki's couch like a child. What he does now is none of your concern. You were always too stubborn and cold for him anyway. He needed someone who actually paid attention to him." "If you ever try to contact me again, I will come back to that building and throw every single thing you own straight into the street," I told her, every word deliberate and slow. "Do not call me. Do not look for me. You don't have a daughter anymore." "Maya, listen to me-" I hung up before she could finish the sentence. I re-blocked her number, did the exact same thing to Trevor's contact, and set the phone face down on the low wooden coffee table between us. Kiki watched me silently from her wooden chair. "Are you alright?" "I'm fine," I said. And for the first time since walking into my bedroom three days ago, I actually meant it. The heavy, suffocating sadness in my chest had evaporated. I just felt clean, cold, and clear-headed. "He's a literal parasite," Kiki muttered, shaking her head. "He's handsome," I said, looking past her out the window at the gray sky. "That's his real problem. He grew up with a symmetrical face and blue eyes, so people always gave him what he wanted without him having to work for it. He thinks he can cheat, lie, and take advantage of women because he knows someone will always give him a pass for looking good." "Most handsome guys are like that," Kiki agreed quietly, pulling her legs up onto the chair. "They think they're doing you a favor just by standing in the same room." "I'm done with them," I said, turning my head to look at her. "I am never going near a good-looking man again." Kiki raised an eyebrow at me. "What is that supposed to mean?" "It's simple logic," I said, resting my chin in my hand. "Ugly men don't have options. Women aren't throwing themselves at them on the street, in restaurants, or at work. An ugly man knows he isn't pretty, so he actually has to bring something else to the table. He stays loyal because he knows how hard it is to get a woman in the first place." Kiki stared at me for a few seconds, her mouth slightly open, before letting out a short, quiet snort. "Are you actually being serious right now?" "Completely," I said. "I gave two years of my life to a pretty boy who lived off my diner tips and slept with my mother. From now on, I'm using my head. I'm going to find a plain, ugly man with money, fix my life, and never look back." Kiki leaned back in her chair, studying my face to see if I was joking. When she realized I wasn't, she slowly nodded. "Well... at least you have a plan."