The morning arrived quietly, almost deceptively so.
Maya woke to a stillness that felt unfamiliar—the kind that came after emotional exhaustion rather than peace. London light filtered through the curtains in soft gray streaks, settling gently against the walls of her room. For a few seconds, she lay there, suspended between sleep and awareness, her body heavy, her mind momentarily blank.
Then her phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
The sound felt louder than it should have.
She reached for it slowly, her fingers brushing the cool surface of the screen before lifting it. A message from Calvin.
Her chest tightened instinctively.
She opened it.
Images.
Three of them.
Her eyes scanned the first picture—a sheet of paper, slightly creased, resting on what looked like a glass-topped table. The handwriting was neat. Stylish. Almost artistic, each letter curved deliberately into the next.
Expenses.
Utilities—three months.
Maintenance fees.
Advance rent.
Her brows drew together as she flipped to the next image, then the third.
The setting.
She recognized it immediately.
The reflection on the glass. The edge of the table. The faint glimpse of décor in the background.
Lana's apartment.
Maya stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then she let out a quiet chuckle.
It wasn't amusement.
It was disbelief—sharp, edged with something colder.
She zoomed in on the handwriting.
Every stroke was familiar.
Too familiar.
Her lips pressed together as she sat up slowly, resting her back against the headboard. For a brief second, she considered responding immediately.
Instead, she forwarded the images.
First to Ryan.
Then to Jason.
Her fingers moved calmly, deliberately—as if the steadiness in her actions could contain the quiet storm building inside her.
After that, she opened Calvin's chat.
The owner of the apartment building sent this?
The reply came quickly.
Yes.
Maya tilted her head slightly, her gaze lingering on the images again.
The owner couldn't send it as a soft copy or print out? She gave you handwritten notes?
A pause.
Then:
Yes. Why are you asking so many questions? Are you doubting me?
Maya exhaled softly.
I'm not doubting, she replied. Just surprised at the approach. And the amount.
Another pause.
Then:
Yeah, so think of how to settle the expenses.
Straight to the point.
No explanation.
No effort to make it make sense.
Her fingers hovered over the screen before she typed again.
If I get the money, should I send it to you to settle it?
Yes, he replied. Since you're in London.
Maya stared at the message.
Then back at the images.
Her mind began to move—not in panic, but in quiet, careful calculation.
Okay, she typed slowly. But the expenses are too much.
She paused, choosing her words with precision.
With the utilities—we haven't stayed there full time. You've been in Minnesota. I've only been there twice. Two weeks each time. That's about a month total.
She continued.
And the advance rent… I don't plan to stay after the lease is up. So there's no need for that. You should speak to the owner and clarify.
The response came faster this time.
The owner insists we pay everything. No excuses.
Maya's lips curved slightly.
Not in humor.
In recognition.
Okay, she typed. I don't have the money right now. I'll think of something and send it.
She placed the phone beside her.
Then shook her head slowly.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips.
This one carried weight.
Minutes later, her phone buzzed again.
Ryan.
It's definitely Calvin's handwriting.
Another message followed.
Jason.
It might be his… or someone else's.
Maya stared at Jason's message for a long second.
Then something inside her shifted—not loudly, not dramatically, but with a sharp, undeniable clarity.
Her fingers moved quickly.
He takes me for a fool.
The words came faster now, fueled by everything she had been holding back.
He doesn't have money. Lana needs money. So now he's trying to get me to send money so he can take care of her.
She paused, her chest rising and falling unevenly.
And he's doing this now. Of all times. When I'm pregnant. And he knows it.
The message sent.
Silence followed.
Then Jason replied.
I'll talk to him.
Maya dropped the phone onto the bed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Her heart was beating faster now.
Not from confusion.
From anger.
Later that day, her phone buzzed again.
A notification.
Google Photos.
Her brows furrowed as she opened it.
Screenshots.
Her conversation with Jason.
Her stomach dropped.
A slow, sinking feeling settled deep within her.
Jason had sent them.
To Calvin.
And Calvin—
Her breath caught.
Had sent them to Lana.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled.
Lana's responses were there.
Short.
Sharp.
Sarcastic.
Each word laced with mockery.
Maya felt heat rise through her chest, climbing upward, tightening her throat.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe properly.
It wasn't just betrayal.
It was exposure.
Her private thoughts—her anger, her hurt—reduced to something to be shared, judged, ridiculed.
She locked her phone.
Then unlocked it again.
Then locked it once more.
Her hands were no longer steady.
By evening, the tension had settled into her body like something immovable.
She sat beside Adela in her room, the soft glow of the television flickering across the walls. A movie played—light, easy, meant to distract—but Maya's mind wasn't there.
Her phone rang.
Calvin.
She stared at the screen.
Her stomach tightened.
She hesitated.
"I'll just take this," she murmured to Adela, forcing a small smile before standing.
She stepped out onto the balcony.
The air was cool.
Sharp.
She answered.
"Hello—"
"What did you tell Jason?"
His voice cut through immediately.
No greeting.
No pause.
Just accusation.
Maya inhaled slowly.
"I told him the truth," she said.
"That you're trying to swindle me to take care of Lana while I'm pregnant."
Silence.
Then:
"So now you're destroying my reputation?"
Her brows pulled together.
"Destroying your reputation?"
"Yes. Telling everyone you're pregnant when I don't even know if it's true."
The words hit like a slap.
Maya straightened.
"First of all," she said, her voice steadier than she felt, "I told Ryan and Jason. Not everyone. And they're not strangers."
She swallowed.
"And secondly—you know exactly what happened on first January."
Her grip tightened around the phone.
"You know you're the only man in my life. The only one I've ever known like that."
Her voice trembled.
"So don't insult my character if you don't want to take responsibility."
A pause.
Heavy.
Then Calvin spoke again.
"Even so… it doesn't mean the pregnancy is mine."
For a moment, everything inside her went still.
Then anger surged.
Hot. Immediate.
"You don't get to say that," she snapped. "You don't get to disrespect me like that after everything."
Her chest rose sharply.
"I've been faithful to you. I have more self-respect than your so-called ex who cheated on you when you had nothing—"
"Maya, stop."
His voice cut in sharply.
"You don't get to talk about Lana like that."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Oh," she let out a bitter laugh. "So that's what bothers you?"
Her voice hardened.
"Then listen carefully. Lana cheated on you before. And if you still don't have everything now, she'll cheat again. And again."
"Maya—"
"You think she's different? She's not—"
"You can't say that," he snapped. "Lana is a better woman than you."
The words landed.
Heavy.
Final.
Maya blinked.
"Wow," she said softly. "So now she's better than me?"
"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "She's the best woman on earth."
Her chest tightened painfully.
"And even if she cheats," he continued, "she's still better than you. Because you're the worst woman on earth."
Silence.
Thick.
Suffocating.
Maya swallowed hard.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Then she ended the call.
The moment the line went dead, the tears came.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
They spilled over—hot, relentless—as if something inside her had finally given way under the weight of everything she had been carrying.
She covered her mouth, trying to contain the sound, but the sobs broke through anyway.
Footsteps approached.
Adela.
"Maya…"
She didn't ask questions.
She simply stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her.
And that was all it took.
Maya collapsed into her.
"He said I'm the worst woman on earth," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "After everything… everything I've done…"
Adela held her tighter.
"I know," she murmured softly. "I know."
"It's not fair," Maya whispered.
"No," Adela said gently. "It's not."
She pulled back just enough to look at her.
"He's an idiot," she said firmly. "And he doesn't deserve you."
Maya shook her head, tears still falling.
"No… you don't understand—"
"I do," Adela interrupted softly. "And I'm telling you the truth."
She brushed a strand of hair from Maya's face.
"The worst woman on earth is not you," she continued. "It's someone who encourages this kind of behavior. Someone who condones it."
Her voice softened.
"You have a kind heart. You loved bravely. That's not weakness."
Maya's lips trembled.
"He's the one who's wrong," Adela added. "Not you."
Maya leaned into her again, her body shaking with quiet sobs.
That night, Adela didn't leave.
They lay side by side in bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the television.
Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates played in the background.
At some point, Maya let out a small laugh.
It surprised her.
Even through the sadness.
Even through the heaviness.
Adela smiled faintly beside her.
And for a brief moment, the weight lifted—just enough for Maya to breathe.
Not fully.
Not freely.
But enough.
Enough to remind her that somewhere beneath the hurt, beneath the betrayal, beneath the words that had cut deeper than anything else—
She was still there.
Still breathing.
Still holding on.