“You’ve got this, Maya,” he would say. “That baby is lucky to have you.”
Sometimes I believed him.
The pregnancy was incredibly hard. I worked at a call center until I was eight months pregnant. I lived off instant noodles and free food samples from Costco.
At night I would lie awake with my hand on my stomach, thinking thoughts that frightened me.
But I tried to push those thoughts away.
Meanwhile, my parents helped Lauren with everything.
They co-signed her mortgage.
They babysat her kids every weekend.
They threw huge baby showers for her.
For me?
Nothing.
Not even a message asking if I was okay.
I had kept a joint bank account with my mother since I was sixteen.
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