Three weeks later:
Ephraim has come to me once since his wedding. Only once. I have never considered him a coward until now, but when he walked into my chamber earlier this evening, he averted his gaze just long enough for me to be sure of it.
And it comes to my mind, suddenly and quickly, that I could hurt him as he has hurt me.
"Hanna," he says, crossing the room. "How are you?"
I raise my hand and slap him across the face. I have never done this to anyone, and my eyes grow as wide as his.
He stands there a moment, stunned, but the next moment he has grabbed me by the wrist and twisted so my whole body is twisted around, my arm behind my back and my elbow bent so hard tears shoot to my eyes.
"No, stop," I beg.
He releases me and I fall backward, toward the bed.
Ephraim is not a cruel man, or at least I never thought so. Rough, unfeeling, but not cruel.
Until this moment, that is.
"Never, ever, raise your hand against me again," he spits, and then he grabs me by the hair with such incredible force a shock goes through me, and then a second later I am lifted up off the ground, and the next I am lying on the floor, dazed and with stars spinning above my head and something trickling out the side of my mouth.
I hear his footsteps receding, reverberating through the earth so close to my ear.
I lift myself up, trying to breathe. But it comes in short spurts.
Nothing will help me right now. Nothing. So I do not pray.
Instead, I reach my hand down to my stomach, almost wishing he has done what I did not have the courage to do myself.
"Oh God," I finally say, and I hoist myself to the bed and straighten my hair. A few drops of blood fall on my still-flat stomach, and it is then that I know.
YOU ARE READING
I Am Not an Adulteress Anymore
Historical FictionHanna has been married off to a man of the rival Samaritan tribe, forsaking her people and her God. But when he strikes her and she loses her child, things change forever.
