Chapter 4
The soft sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway caused David to snap his head around, his tear-filled eyes locking onto the figure standing in the shadow of the archway. Maya stood there, her posture rigid and unyielding. She wore a simple, elegant purple sleeveless dress that seemed to drain the remaining warmth from the room. A single, distinct tear tracked down her pale cheek, catching the dim candlelight, but her expression was devoid of any comfort or softness. Her gaze was locked onto him with a chilling, clinical detachment that hurt worse than anger.
David opened his mouth, desperately searching for words, for an apology, for an explanation, but Maya held up a single hand, stopping him dead in his tracks before he could utter a single syllable. The air between them crackled with an unbearable tension, charged with years of unspoken resentment and now, an unbridgeable chasm of irrevocable loss.
"She died while you ignored fifty calls," Maya said, her voice terrifyingly calm, cutting through the silence like a surgeon's scalpel.
The words hit David like physical projectiles, knocking him backward against the sofa. Fifty calls. His mind violently calculated the number. Fifty times his phone had vibrated in his pocket while he laughed in a Manhattan skyscraper, celebrating a multi-million-dollar deal. Fifty times his wife and daughter had reached out into the void, begging for him to anchor them, while he chose to look the other way in pursuit of a gold-plated career.
"Maya... I... I didn't know," David choked out, his voice breaking completely as fresh sobs racked his frame. He reached out a trembling hand toward her, desperate for some semblance of human connection, for a shred of empathy to anchor him in the storm.
Maya did not flinch, nor did she step closer to comfort him. She remained anchored to the floor, her red hair falling straight down her back, framing a face that had aged ten years in the span of a single weekend. The purple dress she wore felt like a shroud, a visible manifestation of the mourning she had already begun alone.
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"Knowing wouldn't have changed the hospital room, David," Maya replied coldly, her eyes boring straight into his soul. "She asked for you until she couldn't speak anymore. The doctors tried, but her heart gave out waiting for her father to care more about her than his next promotion."
The brutality of her honesty left David completely defenseless. He slumped downward, sliding against the sofa until he was kneeling on the hardwood floor among the scattered shadows of the candles, completely shattered by the absolute finality of her words.
