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She may not have been formally educated, but she wasn’t an idiot. General attractiveness had nothing to do with the ability to conceive a child. Of course, no one ever wondered if he was the problem. No, the defect had to lie with the woman.
She’d been so close to her goal. Within touching distance, really. Four more months and she and her brother would have finally saved enough to run away with the rest of their siblings. Every penny she’d found, bribed, or won, she’d stashed away. Most of the money came from her sixteen-year-old brother, Eric. Once boys became men at thirteen, they began earning a small wage for their farming duties. Her work as a seamstress had never been and would never be compensated. All in all, the meager amount they’d managed to scrimp together over the years was laughable, but enough to leave.
In four months, her youngest sister, Rae, would turn six months old. While not ideal, a six-month-old baby would be easier to care for on the run than a newborn.
But then, two days ago, Delilah’s world had crashed down around her. They’d discovered her secret. A girl in her late teens had found the hidden stash of birth control pills and had immediately squealed to Delilah’s husband. Didn’t help that the brainwashed twit was hoping to slide into Delilah’s position as Roger’s wife when he wised up and tossed her aside. The bitch probably thought she’d struck gold.
Now that Delilah been caught with the worst kind of contraband possible, her husband was bound to search every inch of her measly personal property.
Would he find the money? The thought turned her stomach.
The cash was hidden well, but how thoroughly would he hunt?
And what would he do to her once he found it? Maybe he’d finally kill her. It’d be the only way to stop her from finding a way to leave.
Delilah rotated her head to the side, wincing as her torso protested the small movement. Darkness waited behind a tiny rectangular window six feet off the ground of the tiny shed. Her husband had stuck her in here as punishment. That tiny window was the only glimpse of the outside world she’d had for the past three days. While minuscule, she might have been able to haul herself up, then squeeze through the little opening if her body didn’t feel so broken.
She could still try.
It’d be agony, but freedom was worth any amount of pain. However, she’d only have the illusion of freedom. She couldn’t leave the community. Not without her siblings. The bodily harm caused by attempting an escape wouldn’t be worth it. The only option was to wait it out. Suffer through whatever additional punishment he had planned for her and hang on until he allowed her free rein of the compound again.
Then she would begin again. Because someday she’d get out.
If past behavior was predictive of what awaited her, Roger planned to keep her in the shack for a while. A solid number of days without food and only a scant amount of water, until she was too weak to defy him. She’d been in this same position, in this same shed many times before. Prior to her marriage, her father had been in charge of doling out discipline, and now the task fell to Roger. They shared a similar penchant for using their fists to express displeasure.
The shudder that coursed through her had nothing to do with physical pain this time.
She had to find a way to swallow her true nature, display sincere remorse, and play the role of meek, dutiful wife. Roger wanted her to suffer for her wrongdoings. As long as he was satisfied with her contrition and submission, there was a chance he’d keep his fists to himself even if he wouldn’t release her for a bit longer.
Tap, tap, tap.
Delilah jumped then gasped as her ribs screamed.
Tap, tap, tap.
There it was again. A sound like someone was lightly rapping on the door. She struggled to a seated position on the floor, hissing and panting the entire time. Once she’d propped her back against the wall, she gave herself a moment to catch her breath and let the rush of blood in her ears calm.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Delilah?”
The low whisper barely met her ears. Either she’d gone mad from lack of food and water, or someone called her name through the door.
“Delilah?” A little louder this time.
Oh, my God. It was real. And it was Eric. “E-E?” she croaked. Could her throat get any drier?
Yes, it could—and would. She knew from personal experience.
“Oh, thank God,” Eric said.
“Not so sure He’s on my side, Eric,” Delilah whispered.
Keys jangled, then two seconds later, her brother burst into the room.
Even as relief chased away much of her despair, Delilah frowned at him. “What are you doing here? Go! Do you have any idea what Roger will do to you if he catches you? And—oh, my God, is that Rae?” she said, staring at the bundle strapped to his chest.
