Chapter 2 - The Stranger She Called Dad
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The door opened, and Maya walked in. She was fifteen now, tall but dangerously thin. She wore a faded oversized sweater that I vaguely recognized from years ago.
When she saw me, she froze.
Her eyes darted to the door, then back to me. She didn't run into my arms. She didn't smile. She took a step backward, her hands gripping the straps of her worn-out backpack so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"Maya," I said, my voice cracking. I stood up, taking a tentative step forward. "It's me."
"I know who you are," she said. Her voice was quiet, completely devoid of emotion.
"I... I came to see you. I wanted to surprise you."
"Grandma said you were too busy with your new life to visit," Maya replied, keeping her distance. "She said you only call when you want to complain about how much I cost you."
The knife twisted deeper into my chest. "Maya, that's not true. I call every Sunday. I leave voicemails. I ask to speak to you."
Maya blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "I don't have a phone. Grandma said you refused to pay for one because I'm irresponsible."
"I sent her eight hundred dollars for an iPhone for your fourteenth birthday," I said, the truth spilling out of me. "I send her money every single month. For clothes, for food, for anything you need."
Maya let out a short, bitter laugh. "Right. That's why I'm wearing clothes from a thrift store donation bin. That's why I wash dishes at a diner on weekends just to buy my own bus pass."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, opening my banking app. I set it on the table between us.
"Look," I pleaded. "Please, just look."
Maya hesitated, then stepped forward. Her eyes scanned the screen. Month after month. Two thousand dollars. Three thousand. The eighteen hundred for the laptop.
May you like
Her breath hitched. She looked up at me, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears.
"She told me you hated paying for me," Maya whispered, her voice breaking. "She told me that every time I ate, I was taking money out of your pocket. She said my father was tired of supporting me."
