When I was carrying his child, he turned around and marched back to the capital, all to prop up Scarlett's position.
I tried to stop him.
He said I had changed.
"The Norma I knew would never be this unreasonable."
I stood there, frozen.
Something cracked open in my chest, and the cold wind howled straight through.
Three years of marriage. Three years in that countryside, choking down porridge made from wild greens.
Hands that once held embroidery needles split open at the knuckles from chopping firewood.
When the kindling was too damp to catch, I got on my hands and knees and blew into the stove until tears streamed down my face.
I never once complained.
And in the end, because Scarlett whispered one word of grievance,
he blamed me.
I ran after their carriage.
I just wanted to ask what I had done wrong.
I lost my footing at the cliff's edge. Two lives gone in an instant: mine, and my unborn child's.