CELESTE
The taxi ride was a blur of streetlights and silent tears. By the time I stumbled out onto the familiar, tree-lined street in Brooklyn, my face was streaked with mascara and my breath was coming in ragged hitches. I barely managed to pay the driver before hurrying up the steps to Maya's brownstone.
The door flew open before I could even knock. Maya stood there, her face etched with worry, dressed in cozy pajamas. Her eyes went wide at the sight of me.
"Celeste…"
That was all it took. My composure shattered completely. A fresh wave of sobs wracked my body. Maya didn't ask questions. She just opened her arms and pulled me into a fierce, tight hug right there on the doorstep. She held me as I cried, murmuring soft, reassuring words into my hair. "It's okay, I've got you. You're safe here. Just breathe."
She guided me inside, away from the cool night air and into the warm, inviting living room. The space was a comforting mess of art books, throw blankets, and the smell of vanilla candles. It was the exact opposite of the cold, perfect Lawson mansion.
Maya sat me down on the soft couch and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. She handed me a box of tissues and simply waited, her presence a calm anchor in my storm.
Finally, the words began to spill out. It all came tumbling forth in a messy, emotional rush—the missed period, the positive test, the crushing fear. I told her about hiding it, and the devastating moment my mother found it. I described my father's cold disappointment and the brutal ultimatum. And I confessed the worst part: Chris's silent betrayal, him watching me leave and doing nothing.
Through it all, Maya listened, her expression growing more and more serious. When I finished, finally whispering, "...so they threw me out," a heavy silence fell over the room.
Maya was quiet for a long moment, just staring at me. She was in shock, trying to process the enormity of it all. Her gaze dropped to my stomach, then back to my tear-streaked face. She slowly nodded, as if putting a difficult puzzle together in her mind.
She reached out and took my hand, her voice gentle but direct. "Okay. Okay. First, you are staying here as long as you need. Forever, if you want. This is your home now."
She squeezed my hand tighter. "But… Celeste… is it… was it that guy? From the club a few weeks ago? The one you said was… intense?"
My breath hitched. I looked down at my hands, twisting the tissue into shreds. The memory of that night was still a hazy, heated blur of loud music and powerful, possessive hands on my waist.
I nodded, my voice a barely audible whisper. "Yes."
Maya was silent again, absorbing this new information. Her mind was racing, putting the pieces together. A one-night stand. A powerful, anonymous man. A pregnancy. A disownment.
She looked at me, so small and broken on her couch, and a new, fierce determination settled on her face.
"Do you have any idea who he was?"
I shook my head, a fresh wave of hopelessness washing over me. "I didn't get his name," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "He was just... gone by morning."
Maya let out a slow breath, her mind reeling at the sheer impossibility of it all. She gave my hand one more squeeze. "Okay. Look, you're exhausted. You're in shock. We're not going to figure this out tonight." She stood up, pulling me with her. "You're going to go take a hot shower, and then you're going to get some sleep. We'll talk about everything in the morning. I promise. We'll figure it out."
The next morning, the pale sunlight streaming into Maya's guest room felt alien. I had barely slept, my mind replaying the horrible scene with my parents on a relentless loop.
Maya, already dressed for the day in a stylish sweater and jeans, poked her head in. "Hey. I have a morning lecture at Parsons I can't skip," she said softly, referring to the prestigious design school she attended in Manhattan. "But I'll be back by noon, okay? We'll get lunch and make a plan. Just... try to rest."
I just nodded numbly. The thought of facing my own classes at NYU, of pretending everything was normal, made me feel sick. I couldn't do it. I called in sick, my voice hollow, then curled back under the blankets.
But after a few hours, a new, urgent thought pushed through the fog of my misery. I needed prenatal vitamins. It was a small, tangible thing I could do for the tiny life inside me, a first step in taking control when I had none.
I forced myself to get dressed and walk to a small, brightly lit pharmacy a few blocks away. I moved on autopilot, grabbing a bottle of vitamins and a cheap bottle of water from a cooler.
At the checkout, I swiped my platinum credit card out of habit.
The cashier, a bored-looking teenager, shook his head. "Declined."
A flush of heat crept up my neck. "That's impossible," I murmured, my voice tight. "Try it again, please."
He did. The same result. DECLINED.
"Got another card?" he asked, already looking past me to the next customer.
My hands trembled as I pulled out my debit card. I already knew. I swiped it.
DECLINED.
The reality of my situation crashed down on me with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't just my home. It was everything. My parents had frozen every account, cut off every asset. I was twenty years old, pregnant, and utterly penniless on the floor of a pharmacy.
The people in line behind me were starting to stare, their impatience turning to quiet curiosity at the well-dressed girl falling apart at the register.
Tears of pure humiliation welled in my eyes. I was a Lawson. And I couldn't even pay for a ten-dollar bottle of vitamins.
"I... I have to put it back," I stammered, my face burning. I turned away from the counter, the bottle feeling like a lead weight in my hand.
I was completely and totally cut off.
The walk back to Maya's brownstone felt endless. Each step was heavy with a new kind of shame. The humiliation of the declined cards burned hotter than the anger from the night before. Anger was a fire I could use. This felt like being doused in cold water.
I let myself into the quiet house and went straight to the guest room. With a shaky hand, I emptied my wallet onto the bed. The sleek, titanium credit cards, the gold debit card—emblems of a life that was no longer mine.
I lined them up on the floral duvet, a neat little row of useless plastic. I stared at them, my vision blurring with frustrated tears. I wasn't just homeless.
I was broke.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands, and just waited. The silence in the house was deafening, broken only by the occasional rumble of a car outside. I felt utterly hollowed out.
Finally, the front door opened and closed, followed by the cheerful rustle of Maya dropping her bag and keys on the hallway table. "Celeste? I'm back! I got us bagels!"
I couldn't even form a reply. I just sat there, frozen.
Maya appeared in the doorway, her smile bright until she saw my posture, the cards fanned out on the bed like a bad hand in poker. Her smile vanished. "Celeste? What's wrong? What happened?"
The gentle concern in her voice was the final crack in the dam. The story spilled out in a choked, embarrassed rush. "I went to the pharmacy. For vitamins. And my cards... both of them... they just... they said declined." I looked up, my eyes wide with a fresh kind of panic. "Maya, they cut me off from everything. I have nothing. I can't even buy a bottle of water. I'm—"
I broke off, a sob catching in my throat. I felt like a child. A helpless, stupid child.
Maya didn't sigh. She didn't look worried about the money. Instead, her face hardened into a look of pure, unadulterated fury. "Those monsters," she hissed, her voice low and fierce. She crossed the room in two strides and sat beside me, pulling me into a tight hug.
"Listen to me," Maya said, her voice firm against my hair. "Look at me." She waited until I met her eyes. "Their money is trash. It always came with strings anyway. Poisoned strings. You don't need it."
She stood up, grabbed her own stylish leather wallet from her bag, and pulled out a thick stack of cash. She pressed it into my limp hand. "This is yours. For whatever you need. Vitamins, food, whatever. You are not alone in this."
I stared at the money in my hand, then back at Maya's determined face. "Maya, I can't—"
"You can and you will," Maya interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "This isn't a loan. This is what friends do. We're in this together. You, me, and..." she gestured to my stomach, "...and my future niece or nephew. We are a team. And we don't need them."
For the first time since I saw that positive test, a tiny, fragile flicker of hope sparked in my chest. I wasn't alone. I had an army of one, and it was the best army in the world.
"Now," Maya said, her expression softening. "Where is that pharmacy? I'm going back with you. And you're going to walk right up to that counter and buy those vitamins with cash. My cash. Which is your cash. Understand?"
I nodded, a real, albeit wobbly, smile touching my lips for the first time in days. "Okay."