—“Damn it! What on earth do you think you’re doing? Filthy. Revolting. That’s something you never touch.
You serve it. You watch it. But you never hold it.”
Nathaniel Blake’s words cut like shattered glass. He stormed into the room, ripping the infant from Maya Williams’s arms with such force it knocked the breath from her chest.
“No, please, she had just dozed off.”
“She wouldn’t stop crying.” “I don’t care,” he snapped. “You’re the help. Not her mother. You’re nothing.”
Nothing.
The baby shrieked the instant she was torn from Maya’s breast. It sounded like something inside her cracked.
Her tiny fists clawed at empty space. Her cries were sharp, piercing, desperate.
“Shh. Lily. Shh. It’s all right, sweetheart.”
“I’m here,” Nathaniel shouted.
But her sobs only grew wilder, her bo:dy writhing, face flushed and gasping.
“Why won’t she stop?” Maya froze, heart pounding.
“I’ve tried everything,” she whispered. “She only sleeps in my arms. That’s the truth.”
He didn’t answer. He just stood stiffly, his daughter’s wails rising higher.
“Give her back,” Maya said, low but firm.
His jaw latched.
“I said give her back. She’s frightened. You’re frightening her.”
Nathaniel looked at the baby, then at Maya. His gaze was cold, yet beneath it flickered something else—uncertainty, reluctance… then surrender.
He placed Lily back in her arms. The baby curled into Maya’s chest instantly, as though her body remembered where safety lived. Within half a minute, the sobs dwindled into shaky hiccups, then faded into fragile sleep.
