The silence on the other end of the phone lasted only a second before Zaira recognized my voice. Then she swore. “Stay where you are,” she said immediately. “Don’t go back inside. I’m calling the trucks now. Are you safe?” I looked down at Lily, still trembling in my arms, her cheek pressed against my shoulder.
“No,” I admitted. “But I will be.” That was enough. “I’m coming,” Zaira said. “Give me thirty minutes. Don’t move.”
I sat in the lobby, holding my daughter tightly while Christmas decorations surrounded us. The building was warm and beautiful, filled with lights and laughter, but none of it matched what had just happened upstairs. Twenty-eight minutes later, the first truck arrived. Then another. Zaira walked through the doors, looked at Lily’s face, and immediately understood. “Where are they?” she asked. “Seventh floor,” I replied.
She nodded. “Good.” Within minutes, the movers were ready.
I unlocked the apartment with shaking hands, knowing I was walking back into a life I no longer recognized.
STORY CONTINUES HERE… ⬇️ ⬇️ ⬇️
