She sat on the porch, waiting for her husband. The father sat with her. She couldn't bear to look at him, the worry on his face too closely mirroring that in her heart. Instead she gazed at her lap, at the hands resting there. They were spotted and hooked, parchment skin stretched tight across swollen knuckles. She raised her head to stare at the empty doorway.
The silence was broken by the father's voice. To his left, the sun was drawing long shadows across the dusty yard.
"Why did you try to send me away?" he asked. She would have expected to hear anger in the words, but there was only confusion.
She felt her own anger rising, aimed toward a man who was only trying to save his daughter. "I tried to turn you away because I knew he would help you."
The man sat forward. "Is that so bad? I'm willing to pay any price--"
She gripped her skirts in an effort to stop her shaking hands. "You'll pay nothing!" He sat back, surprised by her sudden fury. "You'll pay nothing," she repeated. "Nothing." She slumped in her chair, her hands going limp. "You don't know," she whispered, "you don't know what you've asked him to do."
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