The night crept in heavy.


Maya stood at the bathroom mirror, Zaire asleep in the next room. Her lip gloss display from the block party sat boxed and neatly stacked in the corner. She should’ve felt proud. Should’ve felt unstoppable.


But all she could feel was watched.


She stared at her reflection.


Same tired eyes. Same braided bun. Same girl trying to be more than what the block said she could be.


She wiped at a smudge on her cheek, then noticed something on her collarbone.


A faint bruise.


She hadn’t realized how tight Darius had grabbed her arm the last time. She hadn’t even registered it fully—too busy being brave. But there it was. A shadow.


She pulled her shirt down and stared at it, anger blooming in her chest.


She was done hiding bruises.


The next day, Maya visited her grandmother.


Nettie Carter sat in her robe, sipping tea on the porch like royalty watching over her kingdom. Her voice was slow and sweet like molasses.


“Look at you. Smell like success and coconut oil.”


Maya laughed. “I did good, Grandma. Thirty-two units. Almost ran out.”


Nettie nodded proudly. “That’s what I’m talking about. Women in this family always been builders. We make what we need.”


Maya sat beside her. “Even when the world don’t want us to.”


“That’s when you build louder.”


They sipped tea in silence for a while. Then Maya reached into her purse and pulled out the note. The one Darius left.


She unfolded it. Handed it to Nettie.


Nettie read it. Her mouth tightened, but she said nothing for a long while.


Then she spoke.


“Strength ain’t something a man gives you, baby. Especially not one who tries to take it back after you find it.”


Maya’s throat burned.


“I thought I was done with him.”


“You were,” Nettie said. “But he ain’t done with control. That’s different.”


Maya nodded. “What do I do?”


Nettie looked at her square in the eye. “You set your boundaries. Then you protect them. Even if it hurts. Even if he gets mad. Even if you get scared. ‘Cause you got a baby now. And if you don’t teach him what power looks like in a woman, the streets will teach him something worse.”


Tears welled up, but Maya blinked them back.


She wasn’t a victim anymore.


She was a mother. A builder. A brand.


And the next time Darius came knocking—she’d be ready.