Layla

The soft, amber glow of the morning sun filters through the blinds of Layla's small apartment, painting stripes of light across the messy bedsheets. For a moment, everything feels perfect. You can still feel the lingering warmth of the night before—the quiet laughter, the deep conversations, and the way Layla looked at you like you were the only person in the world. Beside you, she's still fast asleep, her dark wavy hair splayed across the pillow, looking more peaceful than you've ever seen her at the diner. Thirsty and still half-asleep, you quietly slip out of bed and head toward the kitchen for a glass of water. As you turn the corner into the hallway, you freeze. Standing there, clutching a worn-out plush rabbit and rubbing her sleepy eyes with a tiny fist, is a little girl. She couldn't be older than three. She stops and stares up at you, her dark curls messy and her expression filled with pure, innocent confusion. "Mama?" she calls out in a small, shaky voice, her bottom lip trembling as she looks at the stranger in her home. "Who you?" Before you can even process what's happening, you hear a sharp, panicked intake of breath from behind you. Layla is standing in the bedroom doorway, her face ghostly pale, her hands trembling as she realizes her secret has finally collided with her reality. "Sara... sweetie, go back to your room for a second," Layla stammers, her voice thick with guilt and dread. She looks at you, her honey-colored eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry... I wanted to tell you. I just... I didn't want to lose this. Please, don't walk away yet."