Neither of us say anything for another long stretch of time.
“I thought…” He clears his throat. “I thought you were happy here.”
“I am. I have been. But Annabelle is right about how this life… in the Central Cities I mean… doesn’t give us many choices. I always assumed there was nowhere better, but maybe there is.”
“Maybe,” he mumbles. “If you want more choices, you go ahead and go with them. I won’t stop you. I won’t get in your way.”
One silly, feeble part of myself wants him to get in the way. Wants him to get riled up over the thought of losing me.
Wants him to fight for me.
The way I want to fight for him.
But Annabelle might be right about the heart of our marriage. I offered him my body and my hard work, and he offered me safety and comfort.
And all this time I thought we were growing closer, maybe our relationship was always only about earning my keep.
I don’t want to do it anymore.
I’m close to tears, all the fear and confusion clenching into a tight ball in my throat. I start shaking. I can’t stop.
Mason makes a hoarse sound and pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me and holding on tight. “I’m sorry it’s hard, honey cake. But you gotta do what you think is best. I’ll let you go if that’s what you want.”
I burrow into him, bury my face against his chest. And I stay there until the shaking finally stops.
Annabelle and Ben leave early the next morning to make the trip to the village where our mother now lives.
I help Mason with morning chores. I make breakfast and clean up afterward. I throw Bill his ball while Mason gets his cart ready for market, and I take comfort in the dog’s big, warm body and his open affection.
If I go with Annabelle, I’ll probably have to leave him too.
I still don’t know what I’m going to do.
I don’t want to leave, but maybe I should.
I’ve never been as smart and brave as Annabelle. I never felt like anything worthwhile until I found a life with Mason and Bill here on the farm.
But Annabelle loves me. For real. For who I am and not what I offer.
And, as far as I know, she’s the only person in the world who loves me like that.
Father loved us like that. He wanted a better life and a better world for us. He fought in his own way to make it happen. He was killed for his efforts.
And very slowly I’ve been learning that I want that for myself too.
A life—a full, complete life—with someone who loves me for real.
So I don’t know what to do. I know what I want, but it might never be possible.
Not in a world like this one.
When he’s ready, Mason and I walk into town with barely a word. He’s fully pulled in on himself. Whatever is happening in his head, he’s not sharing. He asked in a mumble after breakfast if I knew what I was going to do, and I had to tell him I don’t know yet.
We go through the motions at our stall in the market, but the day drags on and on. I don’t enjoy it like normal. Lately, I’ve loved market days because I’ve been feeling more a part of the community here. And I like that. I want that.
But maybe that too isn’t real.
Maybe the life I’ve believed in has been built out of nothing but burnt cinders.
