Chapter 4: The Crowd That Wouldn’t Let Go

Last night, Tyler and I had a huge fight. He looked at me with pure disgust and said, word for word, “Maya, what happened to you? You’re so ugly now. If Brooke hadn’t talked me out of it, I would’ve dumped you ages ago.”

His words replayed in my head, sharp as broken glass. I remembered his face—cold, distant, like he barely knew me. That hurt worse than any slap.

Then Tyler shoved me out of the new place: “If you don’t slap yourself twice and apologize to Brooke, don’t come back.”

I stood in the hallway, stunned, keys rattling in my hand. The door slammed, and I realized I had nowhere to go. Not really.

I cried the whole way home, brain in a fog. Only after I got back to my shoebox rental did I start to come back to myself.

The city lights blurred past the bus window. I hugged my knees, replaying every awful word. By the time I got home, my tears were gone. I sat on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and finally started to feel angry. Not broken. Angry.

He’s the one who changed, not me. Why should I leave just because he says so? The new place is half mine. Period.

I clenched my fists, feeling the first spark of resolve. I wasn’t the one who cheated. I wasn’t the liar. That house was as much mine as his, and I wasn’t backing down.

We both saved for the down payment, but I did the remodel, every last bit.

Every late night, every dollar, every bruise—I earned my share. I wasn’t letting him take it from me. Not this time.

If it really comes down to it, he should be the one to leave. Not me.

Why did I let him push me out? Why did I just walk away, like I didn’t matter?

But Tyler’s tall and strong—guys always have the upper hand. He shoved me a couple times and suddenly I was out the door, no way to fight back.

It wasn’t fair. I hated how small I felt, how powerless. I promised myself: never again.

Why should I be the one kicked out? I should’ve stood my ground, made him leave.

I wiped my eyes, anger rising. Next time, I’d be ready. No more running.

I must’ve been out of my mind to just walk away like that. Seriously, what was I thinking?

But that’s heartbreak for you. It scrambles your brain, makes you forget who you are. Not anymore.

“It’s normal. Every time I finish arguing with someone, I always wish I could go back and do it better,” an aunt said, patting my shoulder.

She smiled, knowing and kind. "We all get tongue-tied, honey. Next time, you’ll be ready. I promise."

“Two losers—better to find out now. Breaking up is a blessing.”

A chorus of agreement swept through the crowd. Someone yelled, "Good riddance!" and a few people cheered.

“Yeah, who hasn’t wasted their youth on the wrong person?”

Another neighbor raised her coffee cup. "Here’s to moving on!" she called, and I almost laughed.

“My son’s single. How about meeting up this weekend...?”

The crowd groaned, but the aunt just winked at me. "He’s cute, I swear."

“If not, I have a nephew. You can check him out—graduated from MIT, works at Google, owns a condo and a Tesla..."

Someone else jumped in, "And he can cook!" The matchmaking was officially out of control.

“Don’t listen to her, her nephew’s got a face for radio...”

Laughter exploded. I wiped my eyes, giggling in spite of everything.

“And my family...”

Another voice tried to join, but the crowd drowned her out with playful boos and cheers.

The aunts started bickering, each one louder than the last.

It turned into a full-on debate—who had the best eligible relative, who cooked better, who made more money. I stood in the middle, shaking my head, but for the first time in days, I actually smiled.

I pulled one neighbor in, then another—crying and laughing at the same time. What a mess.

Someone handed me a tissue, another squeezed my hand. The love was real, and it made the pain feel just a little lighter.

"Alright, alright, we’ll organize a mixer for the singles in the building another time. For now, let’s deal with Maya’s issue."

Mrs. Ramirez clapped her hands, snapping everyone back to business. "Let’s focus, people!"

“I just want to break up, get my stuff back, and make him reimburse me for the renovation and the down payment.”

My voice was small but steady. That was it. That was all I wanted—what was fair.

I couldn’t keep talking.

My throat closed up, words sticking. Someone rubbed my back, and I nodded, grateful. I didn’t have to say more.

Suddenly I remembered what Tyler once said: “Maya, my money is for the house. Day-to-day expenses are on you.”

That memory stung. I’d shrugged it off back then, but now it felt like a giant red flag I’d ignored.

Because of that, I worked three jobs a day, so tired I’d fall asleep the second I got home.

I remembered coming home, collapsing on the couch, shoes still on, not even bothering to eat. My body ached, but I kept grinding. I thought it was for us.

He said he was busy at work and moved into the company dorm. I never suspected a thing. Not once.

I trusted him. I thought we were building something real. I never dreamed he’d use my trust against me.

“Jerk!”

The word rang out, echoed by a bunch of voices. Someone even stomped their foot. It felt good, honestly.

Curses bounced around the crowd.

"Scumbag!" "Loser!" "He’s not worth your time!" My neighbors’ anger was fierce and real, and it felt like a shield.