Chapter 3
1258 Words
The bakery didn’t feel warm anymore.
It still smelled like sugar and cinnamon.
Still looked the same.
Still sounded the same.
But the comfort that used to live in it—
was gone.
By the time evening settled in, the rush had faded out, leaving behind quiet and the soft scrape of Carla wiping down tables.
Maya stood behind the counter, staring at the flyer like it had personally offended her.
She hadn’t touched it in a while.
Hadn’t folded it.
Hadn’t moved it.
Just let it sit there.
Ryan Thorn.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
“You still got that look on your face,” Carla said.
Maya didn’t look at her.
“What look?”
“The one where you’re thinking too hard and not saying nothing.”
Maya exhaled through her nose.
“I’m not thinking too hard.”
Carla snorted.
“Okay.”
Silence stretched between them.
Maya’s eyes dropped back to the flyer.
She didn’t feel sad.
That’s what bothered her.
She should feel something, right?
Worry.
Grief.
Panic.
Something.
But instead—
All she felt was irritation.
And something colder.
Something she didn’t like naming.
“He’s missing,” Carla said carefully. “That doesn’t bother you?”
Maya finally looked up.
“It does.”
But her tone didn’t match the words.
Carla caught that.
“How?”
Maya hesitated.
Then looked back down.
“I don’t know.”
That was the most honest answer she had.
Because it didn’t feel like how it should feel.
And that alone made it worse.
Carla walked closer, lowering her voice.
“You didn’t leave on good terms, huh?”
Maya let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“That’s one way to put it.”
Carla leaned against the counter.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Maya’s first instinct was to say no.
Shut it down.
Keep it moving.
But the words didn’t come.
Instead—
Her fingers slowly reached for the flyer.
She picked it up.
Held it.
Stared at his face.
And something in her chest twisted.
Not soft.
Not sad.
Sharp.
⸻
She’s standing in the kitchen.
Older this time.
Middle school.
Old enough to know better.
Young enough to still hope things might change.
Her father’s voice is already raised.
“You don’t listen.”
“I am listening!”
“No, you’re not!”
His hand slams against the counter.
The sound makes her flinch.
She hates that.
Hates that her body reacts before her mind can catch up.
“I said I was listening,” she says again, quieter this time.
Wrong move.
“You got a mouth on you now?”
Her stomach drops.
She shouldn’t have said anything.
She knows that.
Knows it immediately.
But it’s too late.
He steps closer.
Too close.
Towering.
“You think you grown?”
She shakes her head quickly.
“No.”
But her voice shakes.
And that only makes it worse.
“You always got something to say.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t cut me off.”
She shuts up.
Fast.
Her chest feels tight.
Her hands curl into themselves.
She stares at the floor.
Because eye contact makes it worse.
Everything makes it worse.
“Go to your room,” he snaps.
She doesn’t hesitate.
Turns.
Walks away fast.
Not running.
Never running.
Because that would make him angrier.
She closes her door gently.
Carefully.
And only then—
She lets herself breathe.
⸻
“Maya.”
Carla’s voice pulled her back again.
Maya blinked hard.
Her grip on the flyer tightened.
“…Yeah.”
Carla was watching her closely now.
“That wasn’t a good memory, was it?”
Maya let out a breath.
“No.”
Silence.
Then—
“He wasn’t a good person,” Maya said flatly.
Carla didn’t react right away.
Just listened.
Maya swallowed.
“He wasn’t always bad,” she added, almost like she needed to be fair. “But… it didn’t take much.”
Carla’s expression softened.
“What did he do?”
Maya shook her head slightly.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Maya’s jaw tightened.
She didn’t like the way that question sat.
Didn’t like where it could go.
“He yelled,” she said. “A lot.”
Carla waited.
“And?”
Maya’s eyes flicked up.
Then away.
“And he put his hands on me sometimes.”
The words came out clean.
Too clean.
Like they didn’t belong to her.
Carla went still.
“…Maya.”
“It’s fine,” Maya said quickly.
“It’s not fine.”
“I’m fine.”
Carla stepped closer.
“That’s not the same thing.”
Maya didn’t respond.
Because she knew that.
She just didn’t want to sit in it.
Carla exhaled slowly.
“So you haven’t seen him since you left?”
Maya shook her head.
“No.”
“And you never went back?”
“No.”
“Never talked to him?”
“No.”
The finality in her voice shut that line of questioning down.
Carla nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Silence settled again.
Different now.
Heavier.
“So…” Carla said carefully, “what does this mean for you?”
Maya looked down at the flyer again.
At his face.
And for a second—
Something flickered.
Not love.
Not grief.
Something else.
Something uncomfortable.
“I don’t know,” she said.
But her chest tightened anyway.
Because that wasn’t true.
A part of her—
A small, quiet, buried part—
Wanted answers.
Not for him.
For her.
Why her mom ran.
Why everything happened the way it did.
Why it still sat in her chest like something unfinished.
Maya folded the flyer slowly.
More controlled this time.
More intentional.
“I’m not going back for him,” she said.
Carla nodded.
“Okay.”
Maya slipped the flyer into her bag.
“But I might go back for me.”
Carla raised a brow slightly.
“Those are two very different reasons.”
“I know.”
⸻
Later that night, when Maya stepped outside, the cold felt sharper than usual.
She locked the bakery door behind her and stood there for a moment.
Thinking.
The street was quiet.
Too quiet.
Her eyes scanned it automatically now.
More aware.
More alert.
She walked toward her car.
Slow.
Measured.
Her thoughts were louder than her footsteps.
He’s missing.
Still alive.
You’re not going back for him.
You’re going back for you.
Her hand tightened around her keys.
Halfway to the car—
She stopped.
That feeling again.
But this time—
It wasn’t just unease.
It felt… targeted.
Maya turned slowly.
Her eyes scanning the street.
And there—
Across the road—
A figure.
Standing still.
Watching.
Her breath caught.
The streetlight flickered.
And for a split second—
She thought she recognized the shape.
The stance.
Something familiar.
Something she hadn’t seen in years.
Then the light steadied.
And the figure was gone.
Maya’s heart was beating too fast now.
“No,” she whispered.
But the word didn’t settle anything.
She got into her car quickly.
Locked the door.
Her chest rising and falling heavier now.
Her eyes flicked to her bag.
To the flyer inside.
That pull—
It wasn’t subtle anymore.
It was real.
And it was getting stronger.
Maya stared straight ahead.
Hands gripping the wheel.
And for the first time—
Going back didn’t feel like a choice anymore.
It felt like something…
waiting.
- Writer
