"Teresa, just listen to your sister this once. It matters who you tie your life to. That Swanson man—he's not the kind who'll ever settle down and give you a real life. You go with him, sure, maybe it looks good on the outside, but how miserable you are inside? Nobody's gonna know that but you."
She'd even hired a donkey cart. If I was willing to go, she'd take me to the city herself to start a business.
But the next morning, it was still my brother who carried me out the door.
After that, I never saw Layla again.
Looking back now, she tried to save me over and over. I was the one too stubborn to listen.
This time, I held her tight, eyes brimming with tears, and said against her ear:
"I'm sorry. I was wrong."
She hadn't expected this. She stood frozen, the broom slipping from her fingers without her even noticing.
She heard me crying, and all she could do was pat my back the way she used to when we were little, trying to calm me down.
Her warm arms, that familiar smell—for the first time in so long, I felt like I was home.
Nothing like Nathaniel's cold, lifeless house.
I was never going back to that. Falling asleep to the smell of ink, and everything I put on paper was suffering.