The apartment was taped off. Officers moved through the rooms taking photos, collecting broken tubes like they were blood-stained evidence. Maya sat on the couch, arms crossed tightly, while Zaire slept with his head on her lap—oblivious to the tension vibrating around him.


Devin stood near the door, arguing with a plainclothes officer.


“No, she’s not just some ex with a grudge. She filed a report before this happened. Her name’s already been tied to financial fraud linked to Darius Brooks and Malik Warren. You have motive, opportunity, and history. What more do you need?”


Maya listened, trying to focus on Zaire’s soft breath.


She thought about her booth. Her inventory. Her name.


They hadn’t just broken her space—they tried to break her brand. Her legacy.


Detectives finally left. Tia brought food Maya didn’t eat. Zaire woke and asked why the house was “messy.”


She just said, “We’re gonna fix it, baby.”


By midnight, Maya sat at the kitchen table, laptop open, head pounding.


Her email had been flooded with support after her last post.


Women sharing their stories.


Other survivors offering solidarity.


A sponsor from a women-led business foundation wanted to help rebuild her lost inventory. Another wanted to partner.


Tia had already posted about the break-in.


Her followers were angry. Protective.


This time, Maya didn’t post right away.


She wrote a caption.


Deleted it.


Wrote another.


Then recorded a video—eyes swollen, hair undone, no gloss on her lips.


“They thought I would fold.


They thought if they broke my stuff, they could break me.


But what they don’t know is... I’m not built like that.


I was raised by women who stitched strength into silence.

I gave birth during a thunderstorm and still rocked my baby to sleep with one hand and boxed lip gloss with the other.


You can break tubes.

You can slash labels.

But you can’t unmake me.


This isn’t the end of Glossed by May May.


It’s just the next chapter.

And I promise—it’s about to get real glossy.”


She hit Post.


Let the world see her.


Not as a victim.


But as a fighter still standing in the rubble, crown intact.