Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I refuse to let the tears fall. Not this time.
I stare at the bruises that surround my wrist. It’s easy to make out the fingerprints. I’d show them to my father, but I know it won’t matter. He’s created the same type of bruise multiple times. Besides, he’s just told me that I’m to marry the man responsible for my new markings.
My father doesn’t care that the man hurts me or that he has a different woman warm his bed every night. All he cares about is binding our families together. He doesn’t care about what I want. He never has. I’ve spent my life living under his thumb.