Chapter 5
Maya's POV:
We spent the rest of the morning cleaning. By noon, the apartment finally looked livable again.
I stretched, my back aching. "Alright, baby. Let's go get some food. We'll make something yummy for lunch, okay?"
Amy jumped up from where she'd been folding towels. "I'm ready! I'm ready!"
Five minutes later, we were out the door, hand in hand. There was a grocery store just a block away from our apartment building—nothing fancy, but convenient.
"What are we making, Mommy?"
"How about spaghetti? With meatballs?"
"Yes!" Amy squeezed my hand.
Inside the store, I grabbed a basket and started down the produce aisle. Amy trotted alongside me, her eyes wide as she took in the rows of vegetables.
"Look, baby." I pointed to a pile of tomatoes. "These are tomatoes. We'll use them for the sauce."
Amy reached out and touched one carefully. "They're red."
"That's right. And these—" I picked up a green pepper. "—are bell peppers. What color is this one?"
"Green!"
"Good job. And this one?"
"Yellow!"
We moved through the aisles slowly, Amy naming vegetables and asking questions. She wanted to know why carrots were orange, why onions made you cry, why garlic smelled funny. I answered as best I could, watching her soak up every word like a little sponge.
She's so smart. Too smart.
---
Back home, I put Amy to work washing vegetables while I started boiling water for the pasta. She stood on a stool at the sink, scrubbing tomatoes with the seriousness of a surgeon.
"Am I doing it right, Mommy?"
"Perfect, sweetheart."
Cooking with a four-year-old took twice as long as it should have, but I didn't mind. Amy's laughter filled the apartment as she "helped" me roll meatballs, her tiny hands covered in ground beef.
By the time we sat down to eat, I was exhausted. But Amy was beaming, twirling spaghetti around her fork with the concentration of a master chef.
"This is the best lunch ever," she declared.
I smiled. "I'm glad you like it."
After lunch, I finally collapsed onto the couch. Amy had curled up on the floor with her tablet, watching some nature documentary about lions.
"Mommy, look!" She pointed at the screen. "The baby lion is so cute!"
"He is." I glanced over. "But remember to rest your eyes, okay?"
Amy nodded.
When the episode ended, I closed my laptop. "Come here, baby."
Amy looked up, then scrambled to her feet. I opened my arms and she walked over, letting me pull her into a hug.
"Let's go look at the view," I said. "Give your eyes a break."
She nodded, and I stood, taking her hand. We walked to the balcony together, stepping out into the warm air.
I stretched my arms over my head, groaning as my spine cracked. Amy copied me, stretching her little arms as high as they would go.
I laughed. "You're funny, you know that?"
She grinned. "You're funnier."
We stood there for a moment, looking out at the street below. The rain had washed everything clean, leaving the pavement dark and shiny.
"Hey, Amy." I crouched down to her level. "Do you want to go see your friends tomorrow? We could invite someone from school to play."
Amy shook her head. "No, thank you."
I frowned. "Why not? Don't you have friends at daycare?"
"Not really."
My heart sank. "Is someone being mean to you?"
"No." Amy looked at me with those big eyes. "They're just boring."
I blinked. "Boring?"
"Yeah. The teacher is boring. The kids are boring. The games are boring."
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Amy..."
"It's okay, Mommy." She patted my hand, like she was the one comforting me. "I'll be nice to them. I promise. I just... I like my alone time, you know?"
She's four years old. She shouldn't need 'alone time.'
I swallowed hard. "I know, baby. But it's important to have friends."
"I know." Amy nodded seriously. "I'll try. But I don't have to play with them all the time, right?"
"No," I said quietly. "You don't."
She smiled. "Good."
I reached out and smoothed her curls. "So, what do you want to do tomorrow? We could go to the water park. There's one with slides and a lazy river—"
Amy shook her head. "I want to go to the park."
"The park?" I repeated. "Like... the regular park? With swings?"
"Uh-huh."
I sighed. I should have known. Amy never wanted to do the things other kids did. She didn't care about bouncy castles or splash pads. She just wanted to sit on a bench and watch the world go by, like a tiny old lady.
"Okay," I said. "The park it is."
Amy hugged me. "Thanks, Mommy."
---
Adam's POV
The light turned red.
I stopped the car, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. Traffic in Boston was a nightmare, especially on Saturdays when everyone decided to clog the streets.
I glanced out the window—and froze.
A woman. Brown hair. Walking hand-in-hand with a little girl.
Maya.
My breath caught.
No. It couldn't be.
I leaned forward, squinting. But the woman turned a corner, disappearing into the crowd before I could get a better look.
The car behind me honked. The light had turned green.
I hit the gas, my jaw clenched.
You're losing it, Sterling.
It had been five years. Five fucking years. I should have moved on by now. I had moved on.
Except I hadn't.
Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. Every time I drove past Garrison Industries, I found myself circling the block, waiting like some obsessed stalker.
Two days ago, I'd spent three hours parked outside their building. Waiting. Watching.
And then I'd seen her. Walking out with Julian Garrison. Smiling at him. Getting into his car.
I'd nearly driven my Aston Martin straight into a fucking lamppost.
What is she to him?
The thought made my blood boil. I pressed harder on the gas, weaving through traffic.
I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the steering wheel with the other. My head was pounding. I hadn't slept properly in days.
Every night, the same dream.
Maya. Standing in front of me with those cold, empty eyes.
"Adam, we're not right for each other. Let's break up."
"I want to marry someone rich. Someone who can give me a life without financial worries."
"You're handsome, but you're broke. I'm sorry. We can't keep going."
And then she'd turn and walk away, and I'd wake up sweating, my chest tight, my fists clenched.
I hadn't had those dreams in years. Not since the first few months after she left.
Now they were back. Every single night.
I pulled into the underground garage of my Seaport penthouse and killed the engine. The silence was deafening.
I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes.
This is her fault. All of it.