From Chapter Four of Forest of the Dark The only thing Maya had always cared for was the approval of her mother. When she was barely six, her father had left home. She still remembered that fateful night. She had been in bed, cuddling her favorite doll, when the screaming had begun. Her father had used a word to describe her mother that her young mind had been unable to comprehend. Then the door had slammed and she had heard her mother sobbing loudly. Maya had not wanted to move from her bed. Clutching her doll in her arms she waited for the sun to rise, after which she crept out of her room to find her mother smoking in the balcony. “ You’re up already?” she had asked between puffs. Her mother’ s eyes were red and swollen and the ashtray by her elbow had ten cigarette butts in it already. Her mother had put out the cigarette and gone into the kitchen to make breakfast. Maya wanted to ask about her father, but was afraid of the answer. Two days later, aft
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