Chapter 3: The Name on the Deed
Maya walked out of the apartment without another word.
Not because she had nothing left to say.
Because her hands were shaking so badly she was afraid of what she might do if she stayed one more second.
She took the stairs instead of the elevator.
Twelve floors.
She needed the time.
By the third landing, she pulled out her phone and opened the message again.
*I saw what they did.
I have proof.
Don't say anything yet.*
She typed back: *Who are you?*
Three dots appeared.
Then stopped.
Then appeared again.
*Someone who knows your family better than you think.
Meet me tomorrow.
Coffee Republic on Strand Street.
10am.
Come alone.*
She stood on the seventh-floor landing and read it twice.
Her brother's voice was still ringing in her ears.
*You're single anyway.* Like that explained everything.
Like her life was worth less because she hadn't found someone to marry yet.
She pushed through the stairwell door at the ground floor and stepped out into the cold.
Her boxes were still in the hallway upstairs.
Her bed.
Her books.
The framed photo of her and her grandmother that she had kept on the kitchen shelf for six years.
She sat down on the front step of the building and called the only person she trusted completely.
"Diane.
It's me."
"Maya?
What's wrong?
You sound—"
"They took my apartment."
Silence.
"What do you mean they took it?"
"My parents.
They gave it to Daniel.
For the wedding.
I came home and everything I own was in the hallway."
"Maya, that's your property.
Your name is on the—"
"I know whose name is on it."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"Where are you right now?"
"Sitting outside the building like I've been evicted from my own life."
"Stay there.
I'm coming."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm already putting my shoes on.
Stay there."
The line went quiet.
Maya looked up at the building.
Twelve floors.
Her light was still on.
She could see it from here — the warm yellow square of her living room window.
Except it wasn't her living room anymore, apparently.
It was Daniel's.
Because Daniel was getting married.
Because Daniel needed it more.
She pressed her palm flat against the cold stone step.
Four years ago, she had signed the papers in a solicitor's office on a Tuesday afternoon.
She had taken a half-day from work.
Her mother had not come.
Her father had not come.
Daniel had not come.
She had signed alone, transferred the money alone, collected the keys alone, and carried the first box up those twelve flights of stairs alone because the lift was being serviced.
Not one of them had helped.
Not one of them had asked how she managed it.
Not one of them had said congratulations.
But they had all accepted her invitation to dinner when she'd finally furnished the place.
Her father had stood in the kitchen and said, *Nice place.
Bigger than I expected.* And she had smiled and said thank you.
She hadn't understood then what that comment meant.
She did now.
He had been measuring it.
Headlights swung around the corner.
Diane's car pulled up to the kerb before Maya had finished the thought.
Diane was out of the driver's seat before the engine had fully stopped.
She crossed the pavement fast and sat down on the step beside Maya without asking permission, without saying anything careful or gentle.
"Tell me everything."
So Maya did.
When she finished, Diane sat quietly for a moment.
Then she said: "Do you still have the deed?"
"It's in a folder in my filing cabinet."
"Which is currently—"
"In the hallway.
With everything else."
Diane's jaw tightened.
"Okay.
First thing tomorrow, you call a solicitor.
Not a friend.
A proper property solicitor.
You bring the deed, the mortgage records, every payment receipt you have."
"Someone messaged me tonight.
A stranger.
They said they have proof."
Diane turned to look at her.
"Proof of what?"
"I don't know yet.
They want to meet tomorrow morning."
"Do you know who it is?"
"No."
Diane was quiet for a moment.
"Meet them.
But take me with you."
Maya looked back up at her window.
The light was still on.
"What if the proof isn't what I think it is?" she said quietly.
"What if it makes everything worse?"
Diane put a hand on her arm.
"It's already worse, Maya.
It can only start getting better from here."
Maya wasn't sure she believed that.
But she was glad someone did.
Her phone buzzed again.
A different number this time.
May you like
Her mother.
She turned the screen face-down against her knee and didn't answer.
