Chapter 1
Maya's P.O.V.
After finishing my shift at the hospital, I was walking home when the sky suddenly opened up, and rain began to pour. I groaned in frustration. Just perfect. I thought, rolling my eyes. Normally, I drove to work, but after crashing my car into a pole yesterday—yeah, stupid move—I had to leave it at the mechanic’s for repairs. I’d be carless for at least a day or two.
Of course, when I had my car, the weather was always sunny, but now, with no car to protect me, the rain decided to make an appearance. Typical.
I hurried toward the bus station, hoping to catch the next bus before I was completely soaked. The rain only grew heavier, and by the time I reached the bus, I was drenched. I barely made it on, panting, my clothes and hair plastered to my skin. Some passengers gave me sympathetic glances, while others gave me looks that made me feel like I was a wet mess.
Fifteen minutes later, the bus reached my stop. It was still raining, though lighter now. The walk to my apartment wasn’t long—just five minutes—but it felt like forever with the rain still falling.
My building wasn’t luxurious or fancy, but it was cozy and perfect for me. It was a small apartment complex with ten units, and I lived on the second floor. It wasn’t too high, and the landlord, a kind old man, had agreed to give me the second floor unit because I was afraid of heights. Being a nurse at a reputable hospital, I made enough to live comfortably on my own, and the rent wasn’t a burden. Life had its challenges, but I managed well—at least, I thought I did.
I took the elevator up to my floor, deciding against the stairs since I was soaked through and wanted nothing more than to change into something dry and warm. The elevator dinged as it reached my floor, and I quickly rushed to my apartment door. I unlocked it and stepped inside, glad to be out of the cold. The weather was harsh, and the chill was seeping into my bones.
After adjusting the thermostat to warm up the place, I dashed to my room, peeling off my wet clothes along the way. I sighed in relief as I slipped into my cozy gray and white long-sleeve shirt and pajama shorts. It was already 8 p.m., and hunger gnawed at me.
Cooking wasn’t something I enjoyed much before, but now that I was living on my own, it was a necessity. At least now I could cook in peace, without anyone to judge me. It was a small comfort in a world that had been less than kind to me.
When I was ten, my father had died in a car accident, and my mother—well, she’d walked out on me. I found out later she had abandoned me because of my father’s debt. I was left alone, a child with no one. The authorities tried to find her, but she vanished without a trace. Eventually, they tracked down my uncle, my father’s brother, who I had never met, and sent me to live with him.
At first, they treated me kindly, but it didn’t take long for things to change. My uncle would get drunk on weekends, and his behavior grew worse. One night, at dinner, he suddenly pushed his plate aside, causing it to crash to the floor. My aunt asked me to clean it up, and I hesitated. But when she shot me a glare, I did as told. As I cleaned, my uncle shoved me, causing me to fall into the broken plate pieces. I cried in pain, but my fear kept me silent. He yelled at me, calling me an abomination. From that day on, things got worse. They mistreated me, forcing me to do their bidding and even beating me whenever they pleased.
By the time I was fifteen, I wasn’t the naive child I once was. I knew what they were doing was wrong. With enough courage, I went to my teacher and told her everything. She helped me, and soon the police arrested my aunt and uncle. They were convicted and sent to prison for ten years, with a heavy fine. The worst part? They had been smart enough to hide their abuse by only bruising me in places my clothes could cover.
At fifteen, I was sent to an orphanage. It terrified me, given my past experiences, but it turned out to be a safe haven. The people there were kind, and the other kids were supportive. Some didn’t even know who their parents were, while others, like me, had been abandoned. I spent three years there, studying hard, earning scholarships for high school and college. I knew I wanted to help others, to care for people, which led me to become a nurse.
And here I was now—after all those years of suffering and struggle—living on my own, finally in control of my life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.
The microwave beeped, snapping me out of my thoughts. My dinner was ready. I ate in the living room, the TV on in the background. I flicked through the channels until a news segment caught my attention. It was about a huge drug deal involving the mafia. The anchor spoke with alarming details about how the underworld was involved.
I quickly changed the channel. I had no interest in anything related to the mafia. I didn’t want that darkness anywhere near my life, not even in the news.
Yawning, I finished my dinner and cleaned up the dishes. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, and as I climbed into bed, the warmth of my blanket enveloped me, pulling me into a deep sleep.
