MAYA'S POV
The room is silent. That’s the first thing I notice. Not a peaceful silence. A heavy, expensive silence, soaked up by thick carpets and draped curtains. The door is locked. I checked the moment they left me here with Leo. A soft, final click.
It’s not a hospital room. It’s a five-star hotel room designed by a psychiatrist. Soft edges, calming sage-green walls, no sharp corners. The window is floor-to-ceiling, offering a breathtaking, soul-crushing view of endless pine forests and distant, jagged mountains. It’s also sealed shut.
Leo plays listlessly with wooden blocks on the rug. He’s pale, quieter than he’s ever been. “Are we at the special place, Mom?”
“We are, baby.”
“When can we go home?”
“Soon.” The lie tastes like ash.
A key turns in the lock. I force my shoulders
