Maya didn’t sleep that night.
Not because of fear—but because her mind wouldn’t rest. Every sound outside, every gust of wind, felt like Darius standing at the edge of her safety. But she didn’t crumble.
She kept the taser next to the baby monitor. She wrote a new product idea in her notebook:
“Line in the Dirt – A gloss that don’t smear when things get real.”
By morning, the power was still out.
By noon, she had called a different electrician, paid out of pocket, and scheduled the repair. No more waiting on landlords. No more depending on men to make things right.
Tia came by mid-afternoon with bags of supplies—tubes, oils, and a surprise.
“What’s this?” Maya asked, pulling out a small black hoodie with “Glossed by May May” printed in gold letters.
“For Zaire,” Tia said, grinning. “He your brand mascot now.”
Maya laughed, full and real.
But then Tia's face sobered. “You get that message from Malik?”
Maya blinked. “What message?”
Tia hesitated, then showed her phone.
A screenshot.
Malik (1:13 AM):
Tell your girl Maya she better check her circles. The street talks louder than Instagram.
Maya stared at the words. The warning was vague. But the tone? Clear.
Tia muttered, “He thinks I told you to leave Darius. Or that I know too much. I don’t even be in that mess.”
Maya exhaled sharply. “You are in it. Because of me.”
Tia shook her head. “No. Because of him. And because men like that think controlling you is the same as loving you.”
Maya reached out and gripped her friend’s hand.
They sat in silence. Sisterhood as armor.
Later that night, Maya posted a video on her page.
No filters. Just her and her truth.
“To every girl who’s ever been scared to leave. Scared to dream. Scared to fail. I see you. I am you. And we’re not scared anymore.
You can be soft and still have steel in your spine. You can be tired and still keep pushing. You can be bruised and still beautiful.
This ain’t just gloss. It’s survival in a tube.”
She hit Post.
Let it breathe.
And didn’t look back.
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