And if I'm going to escape this place—and I will, eventually—I need my strength.
So, I'll play along.
For now.
I finish my eggs in silence. Drain my coffee and stand.
"May I be excused?" The words taste like ash.
Vaughn looks at me over his newspaper. "Of course. You're not a child, Eden. You don't need permission."
But I do.
We both know I do.
I leave the kitchen, climb the stairs, and walk down the long hallway to my room.
I close the door behind me.
And then—finally—I break.
The tears come fast.
Hard.
Ripping through me like a storm I've been holding back for days.
I slide down the door, pull my knees to my chest, and bury my face in my arms.
I cry.
I cry for the girl I was at the Sanctuary.
The one who believed that if she just worked hard enough, prayed hard enough, submitted hard enough, she'd be safe.
I cry for my mother.
For the way she looked at me the day before she died, like she wanted to tell me something but couldn't find the words.
I cry for the weeks I spent in Sarah's warehouse.
For the other girls there.
For number thirteen sobbing on that stage.
I cry for the Eden who stood in that auction room and thought she could stay strong.
Who thought defiance would be enough.
But mostly, I cry because I'msotired.
Tired of running. Tired of fighting. Tired of being owned by men who think they have the right.
Elder Jacob wanted to own my body for God.
Vaughn Sutherland wants to own it for himself.
Different reasons. Same cage.
