I wanted to refuse. I wanted to run back to the wedding house, where there were women, voices, and witnesses. But I was a young wife in a town where women were taught that disobeying their husbands could bring more shame than suffering because of it.
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So I followed him.
The path seemed endless. Behind us, I could still hear the distant laughter from the wedding. With each step, those voices grew fainter, until only the wind, the dust, and the man walking beside me remained.
Then I saw what he was carrying.
A sharp farming tool.
My body understood before my mind could accept it. I told myself he just wanted to scare me. I repeated to myself that no man would actually destroy his wife over two pieces of cloth.
I was wrong.
When we arrived at the empty field, there was no one around. No woman. No neighbor. No one who could stand between his anger and me.
