First Time

The lock clicked, the metal tumblers sliding home with a heavy thud that echoed in the silent hallway. Maria leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the apartment door for a moment, her breath hitching in her chest. The storm-cloud colored dress she wore clung to her curves like a second skin, the fabric damp with the humidity of the city and the sweat of a twelve-hour shift. Her feet throbbed inside her heels, the arches cramping, but she stood tall, rolling her shoulders back to relieve the tension knotting between her shoulder blades. The scent of dark floral perfume—gardenias and night-blooming jasmine—rose from her skin, a sharp contrast to the stale air of the building. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, expecting sanctuary. Instead, the living room hit her like a …

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