CHAPTER 24 Maya
Maya
The job listings blurred together after a while.
Different companies. Different towns. Distances that translated, in her mind, into how far she would have to go before no one knew her name.
She tapped into one, then another.
References required.
These were jobs she could do. But she needed to find somewhere that would let her do it again without asking too many questions, without a background check.
She tapped into another listing. This one further out. A longer commute. A company name she didn’t recognize.
That was probably safer.
Maya let out a slow breath and shifted slightly in her chair, drawing one leg in under her as she leaned closer to the screen.
Another listing. Another set of requirements.
Her name sat at the top of her résumé, a fixed point she couldn’t move around.
Maya Lawson.
She could change it back to her maiden name. People did that. It wouldn’t be fraud. But it would be a way to put distance between herself and everything that had happened.
It wouldn’t change anything.
Not really.
Once she pled guilty, she would still be barred from running a charity. She would still be flagged by a background check.
And Maya Lawson wasn’t just her name.
It was her.
She tapped into a new job advert. This one had fewer requirements, lower pay.
She could do it. She could do any of them. That wasn’t the question.
The question was whether anyone would let her.
The building sprawled across the page, all sharp angles and sweeping curves that didn’t follow the laws of physics.
Maya sat cross-legged on the sofa with the notebook open in her lap.
She traced one of her old designs with her fingertip and huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.
It had felt brilliant at the time.
She flipped the page.
More of the same overdesigned facades and complicated internal layouts. There were notes in the margins, little bursts of enthusiasm: glass here? feature wall? double height space!!
Maya’s mouth curved faintly at the multiple exclamation marks.
She remembered that life. Late nights, cheap coffee, the stubborn certainty that she was going to design something that mattered.
She had believed she was going to build something big.
“Maya, dear,” Edith said from the doorway. “I thought you might like some tea.”
Maya glanced up.
Edith stood there, one hand steady on her cane, the other balancing a small tray. The teapot and cups rattled faintly against the porcelain as she shifted her weight.
Maya was on her feet before she thought about it.
“Oh—here, let me,” she said quickly, crossing the room in a few steps. She reached out and took the tray from Edith, steadying it before it could tip.
Edith lowered herself into the armchair, setting her cane within easy reach. Her gaze dropped to the open notebook.
“Oh,” she said. “Are these your designs?”
Maya snorted. “They’re stupid,” she said. “From… a long time ago.”
“They look nice to me,” she said.
“I was studying architecture,” Maya said.
She angled the notebook so Edith could see.
“This was first year,” she added. “Well, the only year for me, technically.”
Edith leaned forward slightly, peering at the sketch. “It’s very striking,” she said.
“That’s one word for it,” Maya replied dryly.
She traced the line of the staircase again, her fingertip following the sweeping curve.
“I thought if I could design something beautiful enough, people would just… fit into it.”
Edith poured tea into one of the cups, the stream steady.
Maya flipped forward in the notebook.
The notes changed. Unrealistic ideas replaced with door widths and turning circles and ramp gradients.
She paused on one page.
A small building, nothing elaborate. The focus was on the entrance. The height of the handrail.
Maya’s fingers stilled on the edge of the page.
“Owen’s accident happened halfway through the term,” she said.
Edith didn’t interrupt. She simply listened, teacup in hand.
Maya kept her eyes on the notebook.
“He was playing basketball,” she said. “It was a school tournament. Nothing unusual. He went up for a rebound and came down wrong.”
She’d told this story enough times that the words came easily now.
“There were surgeries,” she continued. “Rehab. A lot of waiting rooms.”
She flipped the page.
More sketches, more notes.
“I spent a lot of time in the hospital,” she said. “At first I brought my coursework with me because I didn’t want to fall behind.” She shot Edith a small, humorless smile. “I thought I could just… keep going. Like nothing had changed.”
Her finger tapped lightly against the paper.
“I started noticing things,” she said. “Doors that were too narrow. Reception desks that were too high.”
Her voice was steady.
“It wasn’t on purpose,” she said. “No one was trying to make it difficult. It was just… built that way. Whoever planned it never actually thought about the people who would use it.”
Maya turned another page.
“I started redesigning everything I could see,” she said. She smiled faintly, looking down at a dense page of notes. “I drove my professors insane.”
“I imagine you did,” Edith said.
Maya closed the notebook gently and set it down.
“I didn’t go back after that term,” she said. She reached for her tea, wrapping her hands around the cup. “I thought it would be temporary,” she added. “Just until Owen got settled. Until things… stabilized. But then I started and there was so much to do.”
She didn’t regret it. It had been a conscious decision. But it had been a sacrifice nevertheless.
She thought back to the impossible buildings, the ambitious shapes. That kind of design didn’t interest her anymore.
Instead, she had taken those youthful dreams and repurposed them into practical uses. And her community hadn’t let her down.
They had shown up, donated, volunteered.
Maya’s fingers tightened on the cup.
They hated her now.
Edith leaned back slightly in her chair, studying her.
“When was the last time you chose something for yourself?” she asked.
Maya frowned. “I—what?”
“Something selfish,” Edith clarified. “Something that had nothing to do with what was needed, or useful, or good for other people. Just something you wanted.”
Maya opened her mouth, then closed it again.
It was Reid. Her husband. She’d wanted him. She’d married him.
She hadn't needed him, not the way some people needed ramps or railings or a hundred other accommodations she spent her life installing. But she’d wanted him.
She'd wanted him and she’d gone after him with a plain, uncomplicated greed she'd never felt about anything else in her life.
The silence stretched.
“You were studying architecture,” Edith prompted after a moment. “You could finish your degree.”
Maya’s gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment.
“I was studying architecture,” she agreed slowly.
“And you left because of Owen.”
“Yes,” she said. “But…” She trailed off, her fingers brushing absently over the edge of the notebook beside her.
“But?” Edith prompted.
“I still want to work in accessibility,” she said finally. “Something that makes the world better. Even if just for one person.”
Edith’s brows lifted slightly, and waved her hand, wanting Maya to keep talking it out.
“It’s more fun,” Maya went on. “When it is still lines on a page.” She frowned slightly, the thought not fully formed. “Before things are built. When I don’t have to work around load bearing walls.”
Edith didn’t interrupt.
“When I can be more creative,” Maya clarified. “When I could figure out ways to get it right from the beginning instead of… patching it afterward.”
Maya blinked, as if she’d surprised herself.
Edith watched her for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod.
“There we are,” she said.
Maya frowned. “What?”
“That’s something,” Edith said. “We can work with that.”
Maya let out a uncertain breath. “It’s not a plan.”
“No,” Edith agreed. “It’s a dream. Much more fun.”
Maya leaned back slightly, her mind turning over what she’d said.
“I don’t know how that helps,” she said.
“You don’t need to know yet,” Edith replied. “You just need to know what you want in your life.”
"I want—" Maya stopped.
"What?" Edith asked.
Maya shook her head slightly. "Nothing. It's not relevant," Maya said. And it wasn’t. Not anymore.
“Be selfish, Maya.”
Maya let out a small breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.
“I don’t think I get to be selfish right now,” she said.
This wasn’t a fresh start. This wasn’t an opportunity. It was a necessity.
Her marriage was over. Her charity work was over.
Edith reached for her cane.
“Come on,” she said.
Maya looked up. “Where are we going?”
“You’re coming with me to my aqua class.”