Maya sat on the thin mattress in the county jail cell, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the cinder block wall.
Three days. She’d been here three days.
The arraignment had been Monday morning. Maya in an orange jumpsuit, standing before a judge while a public defender she’d met for ten minutes explained the charges. Child endangerment. Child neglect. The DA had argued she was a flight risk—no family, no ties to the community, no reason to stay.
Bail had been set at $50,000.
Maya didn’t have fifty dollars, let alone fifty thousand.
So she’d been brought back here. To a cell she shared with two other women who barely spoke to her. To a world of clanging doors and fluorescent lights and the constant sound of other people’s misery.
“Martinez.” A guard appeared at the cell door. “
