It was the look in your father’s eyes that finally convinced me. Not that you were homely, or that the dowry was lacking—but I saw he was offering you out of love, not hate.
I’m not sure you could recognize that at the time; you wanted to, that was plain in your face, even under your tears, but there’s only so much a young heart can process.
But the ones that come from love have a much richer taste, are much more trusting and malleable. I try not to abuse that trust, and I like to think that’s why they still come to me. I take the beds price and put it back into the community, making sure your father and sisters prosper; making sure your son is provided for. And you let me live on; in spirit and in flesh. And I let you out, every so many years: unlock that little door in your head, so you can see and speak without me as a filter, when you visit your father, your sisters, your son.
Just remember what they’ve done for you; and you for them. Love them, but come back when you’re done. Because there always others we must save from the mores of your society; until it grows up.
Open to any thoughts on what I might be able to do with this. :)