My mother’s face changed.
Just for a breath.
I saw fear there.
Not fear for me.
Fear of being asked to choose.
Then she lifted the phone higher.
“You are nothing, Maya,” Silas said.
I looked at the microwave clock.
2:02 p.m.
The numbers glowed green above the stove.
Time matters.
In my work, people like to talk about courage as if it is a feeling.
It is not.
Courage is the decision to obey the next correct second.
One second, you breathe.
The next, you listen.
The next, you speak only if speech helps.
I breathed once through my nose.
“Silas,” I said, calm enough that Linda’s phone dipped slightly.
He hated calm.
Calm denied him the performance.
“You have ten seconds to lower that weapon before your world collapses.”
He froze.
Then he laughed.
It was jagged and mean and too loud for the room.
“Listen to her,” he said to Linda. “World collapses.”
