The air in the parking lot was thick with tension, suffocating, pressing against Maya's chest like a crushing weight. The sky was dark, the streetlights flickering, casting shadows over the cold pavement. She could still hear the echoes of the cafeteria incident in her head—Vic's hands on her, Jackie's smug stare as she filmed it all, the betrayal cutting deeper than any wound.
Now, she stood between the two people who were supposed to protect her—her father, seething with rage, and her mother, the one person she had left to turn to.
Jackie held up her phone. "I have proof," she said, her voice dripping with fake concern. "You should see what your precious daughter was up to."
She pressed play.
The video was damning. Vic's arms around Maya, his hands trailing down her body, his lips close to hers. Maya's struggling wasn't obvious in the shaky footage. Out of context, it looked like she was letting him do whatever he wanted.
Her father's face twisted in disgust. "So this is what you've been doing behind my back?" His voice was venomous, cutting through the cold night. "Throwing yourself at boys like some cheap—"
"No!" Maya's voice cracked. "That's not what happened! Vic—he—"
SLAP.
The force of it made her head snap to the side. A sharp sting bloomed across her cheek, hot and unforgiving. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit down on her lip.
For a second, the world blurred. The impact rang in her ears. The weight of humiliation, betrayal, rage settled deep in her bones.
Her breathing was ragged as she lifted her head, eyes burning with unshed tears. But she refused to let them fall.
Jackie smirked. "Wow. Daddy's little princess isn't so perfect after all."
Maya's fists clenched, nails digging into her palms so hard they might draw blood.
But she wasn't done yet.
Her mother—her last hope—was walking toward her car, her heels clicking .
Maya took a step forward, her voice shaking but determined. "You saw what happened," she whispered, hoping her mother would look at her, show her even the smallest ounce of sympathy. "Tell him the truth, Mom."
Her mother didn't look up. Instead, she sighed, as if this was just another one of Maya's dramas. "Maya, please. Stop making a scene."
Maya's whole body went rigid. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. A scene? She took a step forward, her voice rising. "A scene? You think I'm making a scene?"
Her mother shot her a glance, annoyance flickering across her features. "Yes, Maya, this is a scene. Just calm down."
But Maya wasn't having it. She took another step, her fists clenching at her sides. "You think I'm dramatic? You think I'm just acting?" Her voice was growing louder now, with each word. "You saw him hit me, and you're just standing there like nothing's wrong. You're telling me this is a fucking scene?"
Her mother looked around nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the attention they were starting to draw. "Lower your voice, Maya. People are watching."
"I don't care who's watching!" Maya snapped, her voice sharp and raw. She didn't care about the eyes on her anymore. The tears that burned her eyes were for herself—her life, her pain. "You didn't care when it was happening at home, so why should you care now?"
Her mother finally looked at her, but there was no regret in her eyes, no acknowledgment of the pain Maya was suffering. Just coldness. "Maya, you're exaggerating. It's not that serious."
"Not that serious?" Maya repeated, stepping closer, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Not that serious?" Her voice broke as she grabbed her mother's wrist. "He slapped me, Mom. He hurt me, and you're telling me it's not that serious?"
Her mother yanked her wrist away. "Let go of me." Her voice was flat, dismissive.
Maya's whole body shook with anger. She wasn't going to let this go. She wasn't going to stand here and beg for compassion anymore. She needed answers, needed something—anything—from the woman who was supposed to protect her. "You're my mother. You're supposed to stand up for me!" Her voice cracked as she screamed the words.
Her mother stepped back, eyes cold and emotionless. "Maya, please, you're embarrassing yourself."
Maya let out a bitter laugh, her chest constricting. "Embarrassing myself? You've been embarrassing me my whole life! You've been letting him walk all over me, and I've been begging you to stop it, begging you to protect me, and you've done nothing."
Her mother's face tightened with irritation. "That's not true. You don't understand—"
"Understand what?!" Maya interrupted, her voice rising again, pushing her mother to confront her. "Understand that I'm the problem? That I'm the one who's making everything worse? I'm the one who's dramatic? That's what you've always thought, right?" Her hands trembled as she clenched them tighter.
Her mother blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears, but she didn't speak.
Maya pressed on, her heart racing, her thoughts spiraling. "I spent my whole life thinking maybe, one day, you'd choose me. I thought maybe one day you'd stand up and say, 'That's enough. Don't touch my daughter.' But you never did."
Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Maya could see it—the guilt, the shame, the fear—but it wasn't enough. Not anymore. Maya wasn't going to let her get away with this.
"No," Maya whispered, more to herself than to her mother. "I should've known."
Her voice was soft, barely audible. "I should've known that you were never going to choose me."
Her mother's face twisted, but instead of responding, she turned, walking toward the car. Maya felt the familiar sting of rejection, but this time, it felt different. This time, there was no more begging. No more hope.
"Mom!" Maya called out. "You can't just walk away from me!"
Her mother didn't turn around. She kept walking.
Maya's eyes burned. "I'm not done with you! You can't just—"
But her mother had already gotten into the car and slammed the door shut, starting the engine before Maya could say anything else. Maya stood there, her chest tight, her throat aching. The sound of the engine was like a distant echo of everything Maya had lost.
She felt the sting of betrayal so deep it took her breath away.
Her father was still standing by the entrance to the building, arms crossed, a look of disgust on his face. Maya's blood boiled.
He sneered at her, his words cutting through her. "You're a disgrace."
Her whole body stiffened. Every inch of her wanted to scream, to run at him and unleash every ounce of pain that had been building inside her for years. But she didn't. Instead, she wiped the blood from her lip, her gaze icy.
"Right back at you," she spat, voice low and filled with venom.
She turned on her heel and walked away, not looking back. Not once.
Her father's words hung in the air, but they didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered.
Maya walked through the parking lot, her steps quick, her heart pounding, until she reached the street. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care. She just needed to get away—away from her father, her mother, and this broken home.
Her chest ached with every breath she took, but she couldn't stop now. She couldn't go back.
Not to the life they wanted for her.
Not to the life she hated.
She was done.