A young paramedic looked at Maya.
“How long had he been alone?”
Maya couldn’t answer.
Mrs. Linda whispered:
“Three days.”
The paramedic looked away.
The police arrived shortly after.
They asked Maya where she had been.
“At a lake house,” she said.
“Who was watching the baby?”
No answer.
“Why didn’t you answer your neighbor’s calls?”
Maya stared at the floor.
“I didn’t want to deal with it.”
That sentence brought silence over the room.
Mrs. Linda looked at her as if she was seeing her for the first time.
“You didn’t want to deal with your own son?”
Maya cried, but no one moved to comfort her.
Not this time.
Her mother arrived an hour later, still wearing her work uniform. She rushed into the apartment, looked at the officers, the paramedics, the neighbors, and then at Maya sitting on the floor.
Her voice came out quietly.
“Where is he?”
No one answered.
Mrs. Linda gently touched her arm.
“Don’t go in.”
That was when Maya’s mother understood.
She turned toward her daughter, trembling.
“What did you do?”
Maya crawled toward her.
“Mom, I just needed a break.”
Her mother stared at her.
“A break?” she repeated. “You left a newborn alone for three days and you call that a break?”
“I wasn’t ready,” Maya sobbed.
Her mother’s tears fell, but her voice hardened.
“Then you should have left him with someone who was.”
Those words broke Maya.
