Maya

“Good evening, ma’am,” I said softly to the woman behind the counter.

She looked up from her phone, eyes scanning me from head to toe — from my messy hair to my blood-stained hospital gown. Her lips curled. “Good day,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

I looked down at myself and sighed quietly. “I’d like to get a room,” I said, trying to make my voice sound confident.

She burst into laughter, loud and sharp. “A room?” she asked mockingly, clapping her hands together. ...