Page 83 of Sheltering You

“It doesn’t count, Jazz.” He sounded vehement, almost angry. “You’re not really married.”

She pulled her hand back. “I do not know what you mean.”

“He’s not your husband. You’re not his wife.”

“These are the rules according to Derrick, I think. Not according to God.”

He glared at her. “Do you want to be married to him?”

“It matters not what I want. I am married to him.”

“No, you’re not. Marriage is between one man and one woman. Read Genesis.”

“Was it not in Genesis that Jacob married Leah and Rachel? Were they not both his wives?”

“That’s not… They knew what they were getting into.”

“As did I.”

“You had no choice.”

“I had a choice.”

“What do you mean?” His jaw dropped, and even from the side, she read in his expression. Horror.

She’d expected it. She’d known it would come. Even so, her heart splintered and cracked, knowing that the way Derrick had seen her and the love he’d felt for her were gone. Gone forever.

“Are you telling me that you could have refused and didn’t?”

She crossed her arms and gazed out the window, watching the darkness slip past.

“Please explain,” he said. “I don’t understand.”

“I do not owe you an explanation.”

“Just answer the question.” He was yelling at her, even if his voice was a whisper. “Did you want to marry him or not?”

“Did I want to?” Her head whipped back toward Derrick. “I wanted to not be harmed. I wanted my father to be well, not dishonored. I wanted to stay alive.”

“So you had to.”

“I made a choice.”

“With a gun to your head.”

“Gun? There was no⁠—”

“It’s a…metaphor, Jazz. It means… If your choices were get married or die, it wasn’t a real choice. You really think God would hold you to that?”

“He held Jacob to it, did He not? Jacob married Leah against his will. He didn’t know who he slept with that night. When morning came, it was not Rachel. Jacob didn’t wake up and claim it didn’t…count.” She used his word, then lowered her voice until it was barely audible. “They had been intimate. It was valid.”

“But it was…” Derrick was breathing hard as if they were engaged in a physical fight. “You were forced to marry him. You were forced into his bed.”

“I. Was. Not.”

She had gone willingly to her husband’s bed. It mattered not that she hadn’t wanted to. It mattered not that she’d closed her eyes and prayed it would be over soon. Or that Khalid would not be able to do it, or that he would die of a heart attack before he finished. It mattered not that she’d begged God to prevent his seed from planting inside her.

Go willingly to bed or be forced there—and bring dishonor to her father and pain to herself. Why would she have chosen that?