(tw: mentions of domestic abuse and suicide)

Mother and Daughter - Part 4

I won't let this happen. I won't!

I locked eyes with that smug orange furball sitting on Matilda's desk. Garfield stared back, unblinking, radiating pure feline indifference. My jaw tightened, and I gripped the arms of my chair like they were my last lifeline. My eyes stung with unshed tears.

I can't lose this battle. Not to him. Not today.

"Maria!"

I blinked. DAMN IT. Garfield's whiskers twitched, his expression as smug as ever. Victory was his, and he knew it. Or worse—he didn't care. Which somehow stung more.

I turned back to Matilda reluctantly, slouching in my chair as she gave me that classic counselor look: arms crossed, brow furrowed, and the ever-present "I'm not mad, just disappointed" energy.

"Maria," she repeated, her voice patient but firm, "are you listening?"

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, waving a hand. "You want to talk about recess." My voice was casual, but inside, I was cringing.

Okay, maybe beating up a kid wasn't my finest moment… but hey, it led to a surprisingly fun game of freeze tag.

Matilda sighed, gently grabbing Garfield and placing him back on his cabinet. The little orange devil yawned dramatically before curling up. Bastard. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Maria, this is serious..." Matilda said, her tone firm but patient, the kind of patience that made my skin crawl.

"How am I the one in trouble here?!" I threw up my hands, my voice rising. "Jimmy was the one actually bullying David! And don't even get me started on Mrs. Trotter—she was on her phone the whole time!" My frustration boiled over, each word dripping with indignation. School is so unfair.

Matilda let out a quiet sigh, leaning back in her chair. She pulled off her glasses and started cleaning them with a slow, deliberate motion that felt more like a pause for effect than a necessity. "Mrs. Trotter has been reprimanded accordingly…" she began evenly, not a hint of satisfaction or disapproval in her voice.

That got my attention, and I sat up straighter. Okay, maybe a win for the day after all.

"As for Jimmy's bullying," Matilda continued, slipping her glasses back on, her tone staying calm but clipped, "it's been addressed with his parents before. But considering he apologized and, frankly, ended up being a victim of violence…" Her gaze settled on me, pointed and unwavering, making me squirm in my chair.

"…the school has decided to give him a formal warning and assign him lunch detention for a week."

I blinked, my mouth dropping open in disbelief. "Lunch detention? For a week? That's it?" I spluttered. "He was literally holding David by his collar and taunting him! And I'm the one getting the lecture?" My hands gripped the armrests, the injustice of it all making me want to scream.

Matilda sighed, her expression weary but unyielding. "Maria, I understand why you're frustrated, truly I do. But the school has a process for handling situations like this."

She leaned forward slightly, folding her hands on the desk as her voice took on that firm, teacher-like tone that made it impossible to argue. "Which brings me to you. Your actions were... well, let's just say they're not what we expect from our students."

I rolled my eyes, slumping back in my chair. "So, what? I should've just let David get bullied? That's the lesson here?" My voice was sharp, the sarcasm dripping.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Maria, you're a bright, caring student, and this is your first offense. That's the only reason I haven't recommended suspension. But this school has a strict no-violence policy, and that includes retaliating—even if your intentions were good."

Her voice softened slightly, her gaze steady but not unkind. "I need you to understand that, okay?"

I crossed my arms, my glare fixed on Matilda. "I get that. But the moment called for action and someone had to stand up for the little guy!"

Matilda tilted her head slightly, her expression calm but inquisitive. "Teachers are avail—"

"No one was paying attention! Mrs. Trotter was on her phone!" I shouted, the words spilling out before I could think. Frustration boiled over, and before I could stop myself, I slammed my hands on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "I had to be the responsible one!" My chest heaved with anger as I locked eyes with Matilda, daring her to argue.

She remained still, her gaze steady and unreadable. The calmness in her expression only made the tension in me coil tighter. It was as if she was studying me, dissecting my words and actions in a way that made me squirm. It unnerved me, like she could see past me—straight into all the stuff I tried so hard to bury.

I faltered under her gaze, the anger ebbing away just enough for doubt to creep in. "Sorry…" I mumbled, sinking back into my chair. My eyes dropped to the floor as my arms instinctively wrapped around myself, a weak shield against the vulnerability washing over me. "I just… hate bullies," I admitted softly. The words felt small, like they didn't fully capture the storm in my chest.

Matilda's voice broke the silence, calm yet piercing in a way that made my chest tighten. "Did you have to be responsible, Maria?"

What kind of question was that? Of course, I had to be! There was no one else—

"Mrs. Trotter was on her phone, sure," Matilda continued, her gaze unwavering, as if she could see straight through me. "But what about the other teachers? Why didn't you go to them? Why did it have to be you?"

I froze, her words slicing through my instinctive justifications like a blade. My mouth opened, then closed, but no response came. My mind raced, replaying the scene from recess—the yelling, the chaos, the sheer uselessness of Mrs. Trotter.

I acted because someone had to… didn't I?

But her question burrowed deeper, tugging at threads I didn't want to unravel. Memories bubbled up, raw and unbidden. The bullies. Their laughter. My desperate pleas for help that went unanswered. I shivered, the sting of those moments feeling as fresh as if they'd just happened. No one had been there for me then.

And now? Now I wasn't going to let someone like David face that alone. I refused to.

But she's right, isn't she? I could've gotten the other teachers. I could've tried something else. But I didn't. I decided I had to handle it myself. Why?

Because that's what heroes do! Obviously! And I'm going to be the best hero there is yet! My internal voice shouted, brimming with confidence, trying to drown out the uncomfortable questions Matilda was forcing me to confront.

But then, softer, quieter, a smaller voice whispered in the back of my mind: Because you knew what it felt like to be the little guy… and it ended with you jumping off a bridge.

The memory hit me like a cold wind, and I clenched my fists, trying to shake it off. No. That wasn't me anymore. That was a past life, a different person. This time, I'm stronger. This time, I'm in control.

"What does being the responsible one mean to you, Maria?" Matilda asked, her tone calm but laced with a quiet intensity that made the question feel heavier than it should have.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms with a smirk. "I mean… with great power comes great responsibility," I said, throwing out the classic quote like it was my personal mantra. Something I could totally live by without giving it much thought. "I had the power to stop David from being bullied, so I did."

Matilda raised an eyebrow, her expression thoughtful but unamused. "And do you think that's all there is to it? Using power just because you have it?"

I blinked, caught off guard by her response. "Well, yeah," I said hesitantly. "If you can help someone, why wouldn't you?"

Her gaze softened slightly, but her tone didn't lose its edge. "Helping is one thing, Maria. But responsibility isn't just about action—it's about understanding the ripple effects of your choices. Did you think about what would happen after you stepped in? To David? To Jimmy? To yourself?"

Her words hit me like a splash of cold water. I frowned, gripping the arms of my chair tightly. "Jimmy was being a jerk! He deserved it."

"Maybe he did," Matilda conceded, tilting her head. "But did your actions stop him from being a bully?"

I flinched at her words, the weight of them hitting me square in the chest. "I… I don't know," I admitted quietly, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of my sweater. The confidence I'd carried into this conversation was slipping through my fingers like sand.

The thought hadn't even occurred to me until now. What had I actually accomplished? Sure, I saved David, and I'm confident Timmy and Carly will think twice before messing with him again… but Jimmy? My mind replayed the image of him on the ground, his wide, tear-filled eyes staring up at me. At the time, it felt like justice, like victory. But now? The satisfaction I'd felt in that moment tasted bitter.

What's to stop him from just finding someone else to bully? Worse, what if he becomes even meaner because of me? Did I really solve anything, or did I just… redirect the problem?

Is that the type of hero I want to be? The question gnawed at me, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. Heroes are supposed to stop the cycle, to make things better—not leave someone angry and humiliated, stewing in their resentment. What if leaving Jimmy like that only makes him worse? What if I didn't solve anything at all?

Matilda leaned forward, her voice softer but no less firm, each word deliberate. "That's what I mean, Maria. Responsibility doesn't end with the choice—it's about what comes after. It's about the ripples you create, the impact your actions have on everyone. Not just the people you clash with, but even more so the ones you hold closest to your heart."

Her words hung in the air, a quiet weight pressing against my chest. I looked down at my lap, my fingers curling into the fabric of my jeans. The thought of my choices rippling out, affecting more than just me—or even the people I stood up to—was something I'd never truly considered. Not until now.

"Your mother mentioned during one of our sessions that you want to move," Matilda said, her tone neutral but probing. "Have you thought about how that would affect her?"

"I…" My mouth opened, but the words caught in my throat. Of course, I'd thought about it! We talked about it! She said she'd be fine! She—
My thoughts froze mid-rationalization. She'd be in harm's way.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. New York wasn't just the Marvel universe's playground—it was a disaster zone. Alien invasions, supervillains, mass destruction... Sure, an infinity gauntlet might wipe out half the universe, but 99% of the time? New York was ground zero.

And I wanted to take her there.

My stomach churned. The dream of skyscrapers and swinging through the city suddenly felt less exhilarating and more… selfish. Reckless. What if I brought her there, and something happened to her? The thought hit me like a freight train, hollowing me out with dread.

What if she got hurt because of me?

My fingers tightened around the edge of my sweater as the worst possibility clawed its way to the forefront of my mind.

What if… she became my Uncle Ben?

The weight of that thought settled over me like a suffocating blanket. The idea that my dream—my ambition—could put my mom in danger clawed at my chest. How could I ever live with myself if something happened to her? If she got hurt, or worse, because I dragged her into my world? Because I was too caught up in my own selfish dream to see the risks?

No. I could protect her. Of course, I could! I'm not like Peter—I wouldn't fail like he did.

But then the faces flashed in my mind: Gwen, Captain Stacy, Aunt May… all the people he couldn't save. The ones who paid the price for his choice to be a hero.

For the first time, the idea of becoming Spider-Woman felt less like a promise and more like a curse.
And the worst part?

I still wanted it.

Even with everything I'd just realized—every doubt, every fear clawing at my chest—I couldn't let it go. It wasn't just a dream anymore. It was a need, burning and unrelenting.

Because if I wasn't Spider-Woman… who would Maria even be?

I stared at the blank page of my sketchbook, my mind drifting as I waited for my mom in the carpool lane. Matilda's words from our meeting kept looping in my head, like an annoying song I couldn't shake: Responsibility doesn't end with the choice—it's about what comes after.

I sighed, closing the sketchbook with a soft thud. For once, I didn't feel like drawing. My brain was working overtime, wrestling with the weight of her words, trying to make sense of them, trying to figure out what they meant for me, the choices I'd made, and the choices I will make.

I glanced up, spotting my mom's car pulling into the lane, and my heart sank a little. I think I need to have another talk with her...

Especially since, unlike Jimmy, I'd gotten a full month of lunch detention. Consequences to my responsible actions… yay.

I slipped my sketchbook into my book bag and stood up, adjusting the strap on my shoulder. Usually, a teacher would guide us to the waiting cars in the carpool lane, but today was different. My mom got out of the car. And she looked… panicked.

"Maria!" she yelled, her voice frantic as she scanned the crowd of students. A few teachers tried to intercept her, gesturing for her to return to her car, but she ignored them entirely.

What's going on?

I raised my hands above my head, waving to catch her attention. "Mom! Here!"

Her eyes found mine, and relief flooded her face. But my stomach dropped when I noticed… was she bleeding? My heart thumped loudly in my chest as she sprinted toward me.

Before I could say a word, she pulled me into a tight hug, her arms trembling as she sobbed into my shoulder.

I froze, shocked for a moment, before slowly wrapping my arms around her. "Mom… you're scaring me. What's going on?" My voice wavered with nervousness as I felt her tears against my neck.

"Maria… you're okay… you're okay…" she whispered, her voice trembling as she held me tighter.

She held me for a few more moments, trembling against me. I stayed silent, holding her back, trying to offer her whatever comfort or support I could. Eventually, she pulled back, her face a mixture of worry and love. My heart twisted seeing the cut along her cheek.

I reached up with my sleeve and gently wiped at the cut. She winced, but didn't pull away. "Mom? What happened?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her lips pressed into a thin line before she answered. "I'll explain on the way, but we need to go to the police station," she said, her tone firm but shaky. She grabbed my hand and quickly led me toward the car.

A couple of teachers shot us worried looks, but she ignored them entirely, her grip on my hand tight but not painful. When we reached the car, she opened the door and helped me into my booster seat. That's when I noticed the shattered glass on the ground, the window on the driver's side smashed to pieces. My eyes widened in shock as I looked back at her.

She gave me a sad smile, brushing my hair back before leaning down to kiss my forehead. "It's okay, mija," she whispered, closing the door gently before hurrying to the driver's side.

She pulled out of carpool quickly, her movements sharp and focused. The tires squealed slightly as she sped toward the police station, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her jaw was clenched, and her whole body radiated tension.

I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, but before I could say anything, she spoke first, her voice low and tight.

"Maria… we need to talk about your father."

My stomach dropped at her words. My father. The man she never talked about, the one whose name was barely a whisper in our home. I blinked, startled. "What… about him?" I asked hesitantly, my voice small.

She glanced at me briefly, her eyes filled with worry, before turning back to the road. "He found us." Her voice cracked slightly, the words heavy, almost impossible to process.

"What?" My voice came out in a squeak, panic bubbling in my chest. I thought he was dead! Or, at least, I'd assumed he was—he'd never been a part of our lives, and honestly, I'd never cared to learn.

But the tone of her voice… it was heavy, trembling with something raw. Something… horrible.

"He's… he's a bad man, Maria," Mom said, her voice trembling as her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "He hurt me. In ways I didn't think I'd ever recover from." She glanced at me briefly, her eyes filled with raw fear before darting back to the road.

My stomach churned, a cold weight settling in my chest. Hurt her? My mind raced, piecing together what she wasn't saying. My fists clenched in my lap as anger and dread wrestled inside me. What kind of man—

"I got away," she continued, her words tumbling out faster now, like she was trying to outrun her own memories. "I found help. He was arrested, and I thought… I thought that was it. That he was gone."

"But there was a riot," she said, her voice cracking. "At the penitentiary. And he… he escaped." Her breath hitched, and I noticed her hands shaking as she gripped the wheel even tighter. "And now he's found us."

My heart dropped. Riot? Escape? He's here? My breath quickened as fear took hold. I didn't know this man—this stranger she called my father—but the way she spoke of him told me everything I needed to know. He was dangerous. And he was close.

"Mom," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, "why didn't you tell me?"

She shook her head, her movements sharp and jerky. "Because I thought we were safe," she said, her voice heavy with regret. "I didn't want you to grow up with that fear, with that darkness hanging over your life. I wanted you to feel free. To feel happy."

Her words hit like a gut punch. My mom—my strong, unshakable mom—had been carrying this alone, shielding me from a shadow I hadn't even known existed. And I… I had been so consumed by my own feelings about this new life, so wrapped up in my own depression.

Oh god, what did I put her through?

The weight of my selfishness pressed down on me, a sharp pang of guilt twisting in my chest. While I was busy resenting everything, she was fighting to keep us safe—fighting to keep me safe.

"What do we do now?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady even as my heart raced.

"We're going to the police," she said firmly, her tone laced with urgency. "They'll know what to do. I'll make sure they do." She glanced at me again, her jaw set in steely resolve. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, mija. Whatever it takes."

Her words hung in the air, and for the first time, I saw the cracks in her armor—the fear she was fighting to push down. But beneath it, there was a strength that burned just as fiercely.

I reached over, placing my hand on hers. "We'll get through this," I said, trying to mirror her determination, even as my own heart pounded in my chest.

She gave me a small, fleeting smile, but the urgency in her eyes remained. "We have to," she whispered, more to herself than to me, as she pressed down on the gas and the world outside blurred past.

I tightened my grip on her hand, feeling the faint tremble in her fingers. My mom had always been my rock, my constant. But now… now she needed me too. I could see the cracks in her armor, the weight she carried alone for so long. If she could be strong for me all this time, then I needed to be strong for her now. I swallowed hard, forcing my fear down, and silently vowed to protect her, no matter what.

They rode silently the rest of the way, the tension in the car thick and suffocating. Storm clouds gathered in the sky, casting an ominous shadow over the streets. Elena gritted her teeth, her mind racing. The broken window and the rain it might let in were problems for another day—right now, safety was all that mattered.

As she pulled into the police station's lot, her stomach dropped. The parking lot was eerily sparse, with only a couple of patrol cars scattered about. Where was everyone? The absence of police vehicles set her nerves on edge, every instinct in her screaming that something wasn't right.

She parked quickly, unbuckled Maria, and pulled her into her arms. Maria didn't protest, sensing the urgency radiating from her mom. Clutching her daughter tightly, Elena hurried inside, her heart pounding with every step.

She scanned the station quickly, her eyes landing on the front desk. Relief washed over her when she saw an officer stationed there, his uniform slightly rumpled but his expression alert.

Elena set Maria down gently, keeping a firm hold on her hand as she hurried toward the desk. The officer looked up as they approached, his brows furrowing slightly at the sight of her disheveled appearance and Maria's anxious expression.

"Officer," Elena began, her voice shaky but determined, "my name is Elena Martinez. My ex—Carlos Reyes—he's dangerous, and he shouldn't be out of prison. He… he attacked me outside my car and threatened to find my daughter. I managed to get away, but he's not going to stop."

The officer's expression shifted immediately to concern, and he straightened in his seat. "Ma'am, take a deep breath. You're safe here," he said, his voice calm but serious. He began typing Carlos's name into the system, his demeanor growing more focused as the information loaded.

As the file came up on the screen, the officer's brows knitted tightly together. He let out a measured breath, his tone now more somber. "Ma'am… I need to be honest with you. Every precinct in the area is stretched thin right now. Your ex wasn't the only one who escaped during the riot at Hudson State Penitentiary. We've got dozens of escapees, and it's all hands on deck trying to track them down."

Elena's heart sank, her grip on Maria's hand tightening. "So… so what are we supposed to do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The officer held her gaze firmly. "We're going to document everything—his threats, the attack, your concerns. I'll flag this as a priority for our investigators. In the meantime, I recommend staying somewhere secure, away from your usual places. If you have family or friends you can stay with…"

Elena shook her head, her voice low but steady. "We don't have anyone nearby. It's just me and Maria, and I can't afford to stay in a motel." Her shoulders tightened as the weight of the situation pressed down on her.

The officer's face softened. "I understand, ma'am. Let me see if I can arrange for a patrol unit to keep an eye on your apartment. It's not ideal, but it's something. And I'll make sure you're connected with our victim services team—they can help you with resources and safety planning."

Maria glanced up at her mom, her wide eyes full of worry, but Elena nodded, determination hardening her features. "We'll take whatever help we can get. Thank you, officer."

"Of course," he replied, his voice steady. "You're doing the right thing coming here. We'll do everything we can to keep you and your daughter safe."

They traded information, Elena answering the officer's questions with as much clarity as her frazzled mind could manage. He assured her he would do everything he could to find a patrol unit to watch over her apartment and urged her to stay in the precinct for now. Elena thanked him again, her gratitude almost spilling over into tears as she led Maria to the waiting area.

She sank into one of the hard plastic chairs and let out a shaky sigh, her body slumping under the weight of everything. The tension that had carried her this far ebbed away slightly, replaced by the overwhelming realization of what had just happened. They were safe. For now.

But the relief wasn't enough to stem the tide. Carlos. The attack. The sheer terror of seeing him again, of realizing he was free. Her hands trembled as she held her face, her breath catching as she tried to keep it together. For her daughter. For Maria.

"Mom?" Maria's voice was soft but steady, grounding her as a small hand gently rested on her thigh. Elena lowered her hands, blinking through tears she hadn't even realized were falling. She sniffed and wiped at her face quickly, forcing a smile she didn't quite feel.

"It's okay," she whispered, though her voice wavered. She wasn't sure if she was trying to convince Maria or herself.

Maria didn't say anything else. Instead, she leaned in, wrapping her arms around her mother in a hug that was warm, firm, and full of love. Elena froze for a moment before melting into the embrace. She clung to her daughter tightly, her hands shaking as they gripped Maria's back.

The dam broke.

Sobs wracked Elena's frame as the tears came freely now, all the fear and anguish pouring out. Maria didn't pull away. She held her mom tighter, her small hands rubbing gentle circles on her back, her own eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"It's okay, Mom," Maria whispered, her voice steady despite the crack threatening to break it. "I've got you too."

After what felt like an eternity, the officer returned, his expression slightly less strained. "Ma'am, this is Officer Chen. She'll escort you and your daughter back to your apartment," he said, stepping aside to reveal a woman in her late thirties.

Officer Chen's uniform was slightly wrinkled, her eyes shadowed with the exhaustion of a long shift, but she offered a warm, reassuring smile. "We'll make sure you get home safe," she said, her voice calm and steady.

Relief washed over Elena like a wave. She stood, pulling Maria with her, and without thinking, she reached out and hugged the first officer, murmuring a heartfelt, "Thank you."

Then, turning to Officer Chen, she hesitated for a moment before pulling her into a hug as well. Chen chuckled softly, patting Elena's back. "Just doing my job, ma'am," she said gently, her tone kind despite the weariness that clung to her.

Elena pulled back, tears of gratitude threatening to spill again. "Thank you. Both of you. Truly."

Officer Chen nodded, her warm smile never wavering. "Let's get you two home."

The car ride home was nerve-wracking. It wasn't as tense as the ride to the police station, but the unease lingered like an unwelcome guest. The storm clouds had thickened, the sky a swirling gray, with thunder ripping through the air. Each rumble seemed to echo the weight of the day, adding to the tension that refused to dissipate.

When they arrived, Officer Chen guided Elena and Maria to their apartment. The officer's demeanor was calm but focused, her hand resting near her holster as her eyes scanned the surroundings. Before they entered, Officer Chen stepped inside to conduct a walkthrough. Elena and Maria waited in the hallway, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the building's lights and the occasional muffled voice from a neighboring unit.

After what felt like an eternity, Officer Chen returned, giving them a firm nod. "The apartment is clear," she said. Her tone was professional, but there was warmth in her eyes. "You're safe."

Elena let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thank you," she murmured, still clutching Maria's hand.

Officer Chen gave a reassuring smile. "Here's the plan: I'll park my patrol car out front and make periodic checks throughout the night. There's also another unit patrolling the area. We're not taking any chances. We'll find him, ma'am."

Elena's voice wavered as she replied, "Thank you… thank you so much."

The officer crouched down to Maria's level, her expression softening. "You have a very strong mom," she said, gently booping Maria's nose.

Maria's lips curved into a small smile as she looked up at her mother, squeezing her hand tightly. "I know," she said with quiet confidence.

Officer Chen chuckled and reached into her pocket, pulling out a badge sticker. She peeled it off and carefully placed it on Maria's sweater. "You're one of us now," she said playfully, winking.

Maria looked down at the sticker, her fingers brushing over the shiny surface, and grinned. "Does this mean I can arrest bullies?"

Elena let out a small laugh despite herself, the tension easing ever so slightly. Chen smirked. "Only if you promise to follow the rules. Even superheroes need to follow the rules, okay?"

Maria nodded solemnly, her grin unwavering. "Okay."

Officer Chen stood and gave Elena another nod. "I'll be right outside. If anything feels off, call me immediately."

Elena watched her leave, feeling a small flicker of relief. For the first time in hours, the weight on her chest felt just a little lighter. She closed the door behind her and locked it, leaning against it for a moment before turning to Maria.

"Are you okay, mija?" Elena asked gently, crouching to meet her daughter's eyes. Her voice was soft, but the concern was unmistakable.

Maria looked up at her, pressing her lips together in thought. "Honestly… I'm a bit scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. But then, as if summoning all her courage, she straightened up and pointed to her sticker badge with a grin. "But… I'm a police officer superhero, so… I'm ready for anything!" She struck her best superhero pose, her little fists on her hips, chest puffed out in defiance of the fear.

Elena's lips twitched, and a chuckle escaped despite the weight on her shoulders. "A very brave police officer superhero," she said warmly. Then, as if on cue, Maria's stomach growled loudly.

Maria blinked, then broke into a sheepish grin. "Okay, maybe a hungry one too."

Elena chuckled softly and reached out to take her daughter's hand. "Well then, let's get our superhero fed. Rice and beans okay?"

"Perfect!" Maria exclaimed, her earlier apprehension momentarily forgotten.

They moved into the kitchen, and Elena began gathering ingredients. Maria climbed onto a stool beside the counter. "Can I help?"

"Of course," Elena replied, handing her a wooden spoon. "You can stir while I add the spices."

As they cooked, the rhythmic sounds of chopping and stirring filled the small space. The scent of cumin and garlic began to warm the air.

"Mom," Maria began tentatively, her voice soft but carrying a flicker of warmth, "do you remember that time I tried to make rice for you?"

Elena glanced over, her confusion melting into a playful grin. "Oh, you mean the rice that somehow managed to be burnt, raw, dry, and soggy all at the same time?"

Maria gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. "How dare you! The chef is always right!" she declared, lifting her chin dramatically like a TV cooking show judge.

They both burst into laughter, the memory chasing away some of the tension lingering between them.

"It wasn't that bad," Maria protested, trying to stifle her giggles.

Elena raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Honey... it was probably the worst rice I've ever eaten." Her tone was playful, filled with love.

Maria pouted, crossing her arms. "But the beans were good, though…"

Elena chuckled, shaking her head. "It's not exactly hard to mess up canned beans, mija."

Maria huffed dramatically, but a playful glint sparkled in her eyes. "I still made them taste better, though."

"Yes, honey… they were delicious," Elena said with a grin as she reached over to ruffle her daughter's hair. Maria squirmed and giggled, her pout vanishing into laughter. For a moment, the heaviness of the day seemed to fade, replaced by a warm, shared connection.

They finished their meal in a less tense but still quiet atmosphere, a comfortable silence settling between them. As Elena washed the last of the dishes, she glanced toward the window, noticing the first soft patter of rain against the glass. Outside, the streetlights cast a hazy glow through the gathering storm, the drizzle slowly building into a steady rhythm. The rain outside added a faint, calming backdrop, though the tension of the day still hung faintly in the air.

Once their plates were cleared and the kitchen tidied up, Elena turned to her daughter, her expression soft but serious.

"Maria," she began gently, "Just in case… we're going to pack some bags with clothes and necessities, alright? Don't put your pajamas on yet, okay?"

Maria hesitated for a moment, her worry evident in the way she bit her lip, but she nodded. "Okay…"

Elena leaned down, brushing her fingers gently across her daughter's cheek, offering as much comfort as she could muster. "Do you want to sleep together tonight?" she asked, her voice tender.

Maria's eyes lit up with a hint of relief, and she nodded again, this time more eagerly. "Mhmm."

Elena smiled, pulling her into a brief hug. "Alright, let's get packed first. Then we can snuggle up and try to get some rest, okay?"

Maria nodded against her mother's chest, her small arms wrapping around her tightly. "Okay, Mom."

The apartment was quiet, save for the distant patter of rain against the windows. Maria shuffled off to her room with a small smile, clutching her sketchbook as if it were a shield. Elena lingered in the hallway for a moment, watching her daughter disappear before turning toward the bathroom.

Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, weary and pale under the dim light. She splashed cold water on her face, letting it drip down her cheeks as she tried to wash away the lingering tension. As she reached for a towel, she hesitated.

The air… felt colder.

Elena frowned, glancing toward the vent, but nothing seemed out of place. A shiver crawled up her spine as the temperature seemed to dip further. The lights above flickered once, twice, casting long, dancing shadows across the tiled walls. She stared at them, her breath catching in her throat. Outside, the rain that had been so constant now sounded… muted. As if the world itself were holding its breath.

Shaking her head, Elena tried to push the unease aside. "Just nerves," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the faint hum of the flickering lights.

Leaving the bathroom, she grabbed a bag from the closet and began packing hurriedly. Shirts, pants, a pair of sneakers—all the essentials. Yet with every item she folded, the sense of dread grew heavier, like a shadow stretching long in the dim light of dusk. The rain's absence became oppressive, the silence deafening. Even the familiar creaks of the old apartment seemed to have gone still.

Elena paused, clutching a shirt in her hands as a chill swept through the room. Her eyes darted toward the window, where the storm clouds loomed like a dark bruise against the sky. Her heart raced as she felt it—a weight, an unshakable feeling that something was watching her.

A faint whisper carried through the air, barely audible but chilling, like a breath from something ancient and unseen. Elena's hands trembled as she dropped the shirt she was holding, spinning around to face the empty room. Nothing was there.

Yet the air felt oppressive, as if it were pressing down on her, thick and suffocating. Shadows stretched unnaturally, curling and shifting at the edges of her vision, defying the steady glow of the room's light. Her breath quickened, her chest tightening, as she pressed a trembling hand against it. The instinct to flee warred with the paralyzing grip of fear, rooting her in place.

And then, everything went still. The flickering lights steadied, the silence deepened, and Elena was left standing in the center of the room, clutching at her pounding heart.

Then she heard her daughter scream.

"MARIA!" Elena bolted out of the room, her voice cracking with panic. Her feet felt heavier with each step, like some unseen force was pulling her back. She stumbled, catching herself on the wall for support as her breathing quickened.

Every instinct screamed at her to stop, to turn away, to run—but not toward her daughter. No. Something was wrong. Deeply, profoundly wrong with the world right now. She felt it in her very soul, an unsettling vibration that seemed to resonate with the air around her, as if reality itself had shifted, leaving her moving through a dream—or a nightmare.

But Maria was all that mattered. Gritting her teeth, Elena forced herself forward, the weight on her chest intensifying with every step. The air grew colder, and the hall stretched impossibly long, her movements feeling sluggish as though she were wading through water.

Finally, she reached Maria's door, her trembling hand pushing it open. "Maria!" she gasped, her voice laced with desperation.

The sight in front of her sent a jolt of terror through Elena's entire body. A hooded figure loomed over Maria, who sat frozen on her bed, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on it. Silent sobs wracked her tiny frame, and Elena's heart shattered at the sight.

"CARLOS!" Elena yelled, her voice trembling with fury as she surged forward. But the figure tilted its head, its movements slow, deliberate. Then it turned, and the sight of its face stopped Elena dead in her tracks.

It wasn't Carlos.

The figure was a woman—or at least, part of one. The upper half of her face was human, her features delicate, almost hauntingly beautiful. But the lower half... Elena's stomach churned. The skin was gone, replaced by exposed bone, a skeletal jaw framed by rotting skin that clung to her neck in sickly patches. Around her neck hung a necklace, its centerpiece a glowing orange stone that seemed to pulse faintly in the darkness.

Elena's breath caught, her limbs frozen in place. She tried to scream, to call out, but no sound came. She couldn't move. She couldn't think. The figure's eerie, emotionless gaze held her in place.

Then it tilted its head again, almost... curiously. Like it was studying her.

Something flickered in Elena's mind, a distant memory clawing its way to the surface. This figure—it was familiar. Her eyes darted to the necklace, to the gaunt face, to the peeling skin, and then it clicked.

Maria's drawings. She looked exactly like...

"Death…" Elena whispered, the word barely audible over the sound of her own pounding heartbeat.

The figure's eyes gleamed, a chilling flicker of amusement that seemed to pierce through Elena's very soul, as if savoring the weight of its own name.

"Hello, Elena…" Her voice carried an unnatural echo, reverberating as though it came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The sound wasn't cruel, but it wasn't kind either—it was void of emotion, yet it gripped Elena's chest like icy chains. "We have much to discuss about your daughter."

Death's skeletal fingers brushed against the orange gemstone hanging from her necklace, the simple motion rippling with an ominous finality. The room seemed to darken even further, the air thickening as if holding its breath, waiting.

Maria's eyes widened in fear, her knuckles white as she clutched her sketchbook to her chest like a shield. Her trembling breath was barely audible in the suffocating stillness.

Elena caught her daughter's gaze, the silent exchange heavy with unspoken words: Stay strong. Stay with me.

She turned her attention back to Death, her body trembling but her voice steady. "What do you want with my daughter?"

Death turned her attention back to Maria, her skeletal gaze locking onto the trembling child. Lightning illuminated the room, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, Elena saw it—a flicker of raw disgust in Death's eyes, sharp and unmistakable.

As thunder struck, its deafening roar amplified Death's chilling words, reverberating through the room like a dark proclamation: "I want… her soul."