Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
She sat down beside me. I took her hand, and I saw her newborn hand in the center of my palm fourteen years ago. Then her four-year-old hand in mine as we ran around the fields on one of my visits. Her shaking hand in mine when she had received her first touch from a man.
All of it my daughter . . . my beautiful daughter.
“You are mine,” I said, unable to hold back the words any longer. “You are my miracle, my little girl.” My voice was cut and broken, but I felt Sapphira tense beside me.
When I looked at her confused face, I smiled, even through the gutting pain. Because she was here beside me. She was here, when I thought she had been lost. There was no more pain now that I had her hand in mine once more.
Her eyes were wide as she listened to me confess my biggest secret. As I watched her, I felt such love for her, so much it was indescribable.
“You are mine,” I told her again, never breaking her gaze. “Mine.”
I kissed the back of her hand and tried not to break down at the sight of her cut and bruised face. “I . . . I do not understand,” she said.
Her hand trembled in mine. I held on to her tighter. “I gave birth to you when I was twelve.” Sapphira sucked in a shocked breath. I felt her pulse race on her wrist and saw her eyes shimmer. She blinked, her long lashes like feathered fans as she tried to comprehend everything I said. I cleared my throat, tears streaming down my cheeks. “They took you from me. They took you from me against my will and would not let me have you.” I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “But I fought to see you. I did everything I could to see you.”
“You . . .” she whispered. “You are my sister. You told me you were my sister . . .”
“I had no choice. They would not let me tell you the truth. They did not want us to become too attached.” I laughed without mirth. “It did not work. From the minute you were born, you were my entire soul.”
Sapphira’s bottom lip quivered as she stared at me. She searched my face as if seeing me as someone new. “I wanted you too,” she said softly and inched closer to me. “I would ask for you all the time, but they said you would not come to me unless I did as they ordered. I . . . I wanted you. My sister Phebe.”
“You did?” I asked in disbelief.
She smiled slightly. “My favorite moments were when you came. I would count the days in between wondering where you were.” She dropped her eyes then, looking up at me nervously, said, “I . . . I always wanted a mother.”
Her words shattered my heart. My eyes drifted to a close. “Phebe?” she said urgently, and I smiled. I smiled through the pain and the tears. “I always wanted you too.”
I opened my eyes and saw Sapphira staring at me with nothing but love in her gaze. Then she looked at Martha’s body on the floor and sadness quickly overcame her. She broke. My daughter broke, and for once in my life, I was here to offer comfort . . . I was here for her . . .
I took her in my arms, pulling her into my chest. And she came. She took the solace I offered and caused my heart to soar. I rocked her back and forth, kissing the hair on her head. I held her in my arms, and even in this hell, I could have been fooled into believing I was beside a river in heaven, peaceful and content.
Sapphira cried. I cried as I held her. “Shh,” I soothed and heard her stuttered breaths. She fell apart in my arms for minutes and minutes, until her breathing calmed and she slowly came back together. Taking advantage of the silence, I said, “I did not know you were here.” Sapphira stiffened. “The prophet, or who we all believed to be the prophet, told me he had saved you.” I winced. “I thought you were safe.”
“I was given to Meister,” she said, and I felt the guilt take root. “I . . . I do not remember much of that until . . . until a few weeks back when he brought me around.” She hiccupped. “He wanted me . . . he used me as his. Wanted me as his white princess, he said.”
Her words sent a stab of pain into my stomach. Sapphira lifted her head. “I cannot believe this.” Blushing, eyes timid, she ran her finger over my forehead, down my cheek and over my lips. “My mother,” she said and the sound of that name from her lips punctured my heart. “You are my mother . . .” She laughed a single laugh, then her forehead creased and she began to weep. “And you saved me from him,” she said. “You took my place. And he . . . he . . .”