The next few days moved fast.


Donations poured in. Old customers reordered what they’d lost. Local businesses—many of them run by Black women—reached out to offer free supplies, pop-up invites, and safe spaces to vend.


One woman dropped off boxes of empty gloss tubes and oils and said, “I been watching you since day one. You remind me of my daughter.”


The rebuild had started.


Maya worked from her grandma’s kitchen again, Zaire dancing to music in his diaper, a pot of base bubbling on the stove like it always had.


She had named the new line "Reborn"—colors inspired by pain, power, and rising through it all:


Phoenix Ash – a deep smoky red


Steel Petal – soft gray with shimmer


First Light – a rose gold blend


Floodproof – clear, high-gloss, and unshakable


Meanwhile, Devin delivered more news: Darius had been arrested in a drug sweep connected to the same property scam involving Malik.


“They found your name in their records again,” he said, “but since you filed early and cooperated, you’re protected.”


Still, Maya’s stomach dropped. “So it’s over?”


“For them?” Devin nodded. “Maybe. For you? It’s just beginning.”


The following weekend, Maya hosted her biggest booth yet at a women’s empowerment expo downtown. The event featured vendors, panelists, and survivors turned CEOs—women who wore their stories like armor.


Her booth was the most visited.


Tia helped with sales. Grandma Nettie sat in a folding chair nearby, passing out flyers like she ran the block.


Devin stopped by too, in plain clothes this time.


Zaire clung to his leg.


The crowd was thick, but Maya felt calm. Rooted.


A reporter approached her near the end of the day.


“I heard about your story. The attacks. The rebuild. What do you want people to take away from all this?”


Maya looked down at Zaire.


Then back at the woman.


“That no matter how they try to bury us… concrete don’t stop roses from blooming.”