I looked at David. A genuine, relaxed, deeply peaceful smile spread across my face.
Chapter 6: The Unburned Bridge
“Tell her,” I said to David, my voice light, airy, and entirely free of malice, “that I don’t need a door. I bought my own house.”
David smiled, a look of profound relief washing over his face. He raised his coffee cup in a silent, respectful toast. “I’ll be sure to pass that along, Maya.”
We finished our coffee, hugged goodbye, and I walked out of the café into the bright afternoon sun.
The air smelled like approaching rain and hot asphalt. It was the scent of the city, of movement, of life. It was a world away from the bitter, choking smoke of my parents’ suburban backyard.
As I walked toward my car, I thought about that day in the backyard. I thought about the smug, triumphant look on Marjorie’s face as she watched the paper curl and blacken in the flames.
They thought burning that piece of paper would break me. They thought it would force me to my knees, making me realize how small, helpless, and dependent I was on their approval. They thought the fire would consume my rebellion.
Instead, the fire had illuminated everything I had been too afraid, too conditioned, and too guilty to see.
The ashes left in that pit didn’t represent my ruined fortune. They represented the definitive end of my obligation to a family that only loved me conditionally. They were the ashes of my fear.
I got into my quiet, reliable SUV. The leather seats were comfortable, the cabin silent.
I didn’t turn left at the intersection, which would have taken me onto the highway leading back to my old, suffocating neighborhood in the suburbs. I turned right, heading toward the coast, toward my bookstore, toward a future that belonged entirely to me.
