Chapter 29
Maya's POV:
The plane landed at 9:47 PM.
I should've gone straight home to crash. My body was screaming for a hot shower and my bed. But the thought of Amy spending another night at Adam's place made my stomach twist.
I needed her back.
By the time my Uber pulled up to Adam's building, it was already past ten. The lobby was eerily quiet, all marble and chrome reflecting the harsh overhead lights. I stepped into the elevator and watched the numbers climb—15, 16, 17—until I reached the top floor.
The hallway stretched out before me, silent and imposing.
I pressed the doorbell.
Through the intercom screen, I could see the camera feed flicker to life. Adam's face appeared briefly before his voice crackled through the speaker, cold and flat.
"What is it?"
I ignored the chill in his tone. "Mr. Sterling, I'm here to pick up Amy."
Silence.
Then a buzz. The lock clicked open.
Adam stood in the foyer, tall and rigid in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants. He looked down at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then turned and walked toward the living room without a word.
I closed the door behind me and followed.
"Mr. Sterling," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Where's Amy?"
"Asleep."
"That's fine. I won't wake her. Which room?"
He turned to face me, his jaw tight. "Maya, Amy's already asleep. Why the rush to drag her out of here? Are you trying to make some kind of statement?"
I met his gaze. "I've already imposed on you for several days. I think it's time to take her home."
"Imposed?" His laugh was sharp, humorless. "You think this is about inconvenience?"
I didn't answer.
"You're drawing lines," he said quietly. "That's what this is. You're making it clear where we stand."
Isn't that what you wanted?
"Mr. Sterling," I said, my voice calm. "Please show me to her room."
---
Amy was curled up in a massive bed, her tiny body barely making a dent in the white comforter. Her Frozen pajamas looked impossibly small against the luxury of the room.
I moved quietly, gathering her clothes and toys into the little suitcase Adam had bought for her. When everything was packed, I leaned over and carefully scooped Amy into my arms.
She stirred slightly, her head nestling into my shoulder.
"Mama?" she mumbled, half-asleep.
"Shh. It's okay, baby. We're going home."
She sighed and went limp again.
I turned toward the door.
Adam was standing in the hallway, holding the suitcase. He didn't say anything, just walked downstairs ahead of me.
By the time I reached the foyer, he'd already grabbed his keys.
"I'll drive you," he said.
"That's not necessary—"
"It's past ten, Maya. Good luck getting an Uber out here that isn't surge pricing."
"Fine," I said quietly. "Thank you."
---
Adam loaded the suitcases into the trunk—Amy's and the one I'd left by his door.
I blinked. I almost forgot it.
Adam opened the rear door for me, and I climbed in with Amy still cradled against my chest. He shut the door gently, then got into the driver's seat.
The engine purred to life.
We pulled out of the garage and onto the empty street. The city lights blurred past the windows, but inside the car, it was silent.
---
When we finally pulled up to my apartment building, Adam killed the engine and got out without a word. He opened the trunk and hauled both suitcases onto the curb.
"I can take it from here," I said quickly, adjusting Amy in my arms.
"You have your hands full."
"I can manage—"
"Maya." His voice was firm. "Let me help."
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
He grabbed both suitcases and followed me to the entrance. I fumbled with my keys, balancing Amy against my hip, and finally got the door open.
Adam set the luggage inside the doorway, then stepped back.
"Thank you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded once and turned to leave.
---
Sunday morning came slow and golden.
I woke to the sound of birds chirping outside the window and Amy's soft breathing beside me. She was sprawled across the bed, one arm flung over her head, her curls a tangled mess.
I smiled.
I slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen, humming under my breath. Pancakes. Scrambled eggs. Orange juice. The smell of butter sizzling in the pan filled the apartment, warm and comforting.
By the time Amy appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, I'd already set the table.
"Mama!" she squealed, running straight into my arms.
I caught her and spun her around, laughing. "Good morning, baby."
"I missed you!" She buried her face in my neck. "I had a dream that I flew all the way home, and when I woke up, I really was home!"
"I missed you, too," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Now go wash up. Breakfast is ready."
---
We ate together, Amy chattering between bites about the yummy tacos she'd had with "Mr. Sterling" and all the toys he'd bought her at the big store.
I listened, nodding and smiling, but a knot had formed in my chest.
Finally, I set down my fork.
"Amy," I said carefully. "Did you... did you have fun at your dad's place?"
She paused mid-bite, her fork hovering in the air.
Then she nodded slowly.
"Yeah," she said quietly.
But before I could respond, she added quickly, "But I like being with you the best, Mama!"
My throat tightened.
I reached across the table and took her small hand in mine.
"Baby," I said softly. "You don't have to choose. You can love both of us."
Her eyes widened.
"I know things are... complicated," I continued. "But if you want to see your dad, you can call him. Anytime."
"Really?" Her voice was small, disbelieving.
I nodded. "Really."
I can't give her a whole family. But I can give her this.
"I'll talk to him," I said. "I'll tell him the truth. That you're his daughter."
Amy slid off her chair and ran to me, throwing her arms around my neck.
"Mama," she whispered.
I held her tight, burying my face in her hair.
I won't let my pain take this from her.
When I was her age, I used to watch other kids with their dads—laughing, playing, holding hands—and wonder why I didn't have one.
I'd asked my mom once.
She'd slapped me so hard I saw stars.
After that, I never asked again.
But I remember the ache. The emptiness. The silent question that followed me everywhere: Why doesn't he want me?
I won't let Amy carry that weight.
Even if it kills me.
"I love you, baby," I whispered.
"I love you too, Mama."