Maya hadn’t meant to see him that night.


She was leaving the community center after leading a self-care workshop for teen girls—talking to them about healing, about reclaiming softness, about recognizing red flags.


She’d just locked her supply bins in the trunk when she saw him.


Darius.


Sitting on the hood of a black sedan, hoodie up, looking like a memory wrapped in regret.


She debated walking past him. Ignoring him.


But something in her slowed.


He saw her too.


Didn’t move.


Didn’t speak.


Just waited.


Maya crossed her arms as she approached. “You following me now?”


“Nah,” he said. “Heard about the workshop. Drove by to see if it was true.”


She raised an eyebrow. “And?”


“It was.”


Silence.


Then she asked, “Why you really here?”


Darius looked at her for a long moment. “Because I’m tired of everybody thinking I’m heartless. Tired of acting like loyalty to a crew matters more than being a father. Tired of watching you win from the sidelines and pretending it don’t matter.”


Maya didn’t flinch. “You made your choices.”


“I did,” he said. “And now I’m trying to make better ones.”


She looked him up and down. “You clean now?”


He nodded. “Trying to be. Got a job interview next week. Reentry program. Marla’s helping.”


“Marla don’t waste her time.”


“I know.”


Another pause.


Then she sighed. “You want a ride home?”


His eyes widened slightly. “You sure?”


“No,” she admitted. “But Zaire deserves a father who at least makes it to the house in one piece.”


They drove in silence.


But it wasn’t bitter.


It was tentative.


Like maybe something new could grow between the wreckage.


Not love.


Not yet.


But maybe understanding.


And in a world that rarely gave them even that much—

It felt like something holy.