“Another victim for the slaughter,” Chloe announced loudly to her younger sisters, who snickered behind her back. “Just leave your bags by the door and call a cab now, because your little suitcase is going out the window in five minutes.”
Instead of shouting or looking intimidated, I calmly placed my small canvas tote bag on the floor and looked up at them with a gentle, understanding smile. I knew from my psychology textbooks that behavioral outbursts in children nearly always stem from unexpressed grief, abandonment fears, and a desperate cry for attention. Their mother had passed away tragically a year prior, leaving them in the care of a workaholic father who spent eighty hours a week building a cybersecurity empire. They weren’t truly wicked monsters; they were simply heartbroken children testing every boundary to see if anyone would actually stay.
“I’m Maya,” I said clearly, raising my voice just enough to carry up the high ceilings without sounding aggressive. “And for the record, my suitcase is very sturdy, so throwing it out the window would only ruin your afternoon cleanup.”
