Maya covered both of her ears with her hands.
“Don’t say it…”
What did you think he would do, Maya?” Mrs. Linda asked, her voice breaking. “That he would take care of himself? That he would call you when he was hungry? That he would open the door and ask for help?”
Maya began sobbing even harder.
“I thought he would sleep. I thought I would come back before…”
She stopped.
Because there was no ending to that sentence that could save her.
The neighbors gathered in the hallway. No one spoke. They were the same people who had heard the baby crying through the walls. The same people who had said, “Someone should check on him.”
But no one had.
Someone called 911.
The paramedics arrived quickly, but the moment they entered the bedroom, their faces changed. They moved quietly. Carefully.
When there is still hope, people run.
When hope is gone, people become gentle.
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.
