Part 3
The hallway of the elementary school smelled of floor wax and old paper, a stark contrast to the heavy dread settling deep in my chest.
I walked past the colorful bulletin boards, my boots echoing against the linoleum.
When I reached the main office, I saw her through the glass window of the counselor's small room.
Maya was sitting in a low chair, her knees pulled tightly together. She was holding a small paper cup of water, her hands trembling so badly that the surface of the water ripples constantly.
She looked so small.
She looked exactly like the little girl who used to hide behind my legs when lightning struck close to our old house.
I pushed the door open.
The school counselor stood up immediately, her face etched with professional concern. "Mr. Vance? Thank goodness. Maya wouldn't let me call anyone else."
Maya lifted her head. Her eyes were red, the skin around them swollen and bruised from crying.
"Dad," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.
May you like
I didn't say a word. I just walked across the room, wrapped my arms around her shoulders, and pulled her close against my chest.
She collapsed into me, sobbing quietly, her entire body shaking under the weight of a secret she couldn't carry alone anymore.
