I had saved her from him.

Meister yanked me closer to him. His blue eyes were on fire. “You want a fuck that bad, slut?” he asked through gritted teeth, spitting on my face.

I did not answer, but instead let him spin me around and slam my chest down onto the table. The wind was knocked out from me, but when I looked up, I saw the guard that had previously held me holding my daughter instead. And she was breaking her heart, crying. She watched, she looked into my eyes as Meister lifted my dress and rammed himself inside me. Still sore from his fingernails cutting my insides, his fingers taking me so harshly, and my face still throbbing from his blows, I kept my expression calm. I smiled weakly, trying to tell her I was okay. I smiled at Sapphira and kept her gaze. If she held my eyes with her own, she would not see Meister plowing into me so roughly. She would not see me wanting to scream out in agony at the pain.

He took and he took, but all I could think was that I was glad it was me and not Sapphira. I could not have seen that . . . it would have killed me.

Meister grunted and bellowed behind me until I felt his hips jerking. Until I heard him shout through his release. I felt his seed spurt inside me and breathed, knowing that it was over.

Meister leaned over me, and with his mouth at my ear said, “Tomorrow you will both be out of my life and going to hell. Then I’ll go after everyone you love. Your sister at the Hangmen and that prick you’ve been screwing. Each will die. Slowly. And they’ll die knowing you condemned them. Damned them.” Meister signaled for the guard to release Sapphira. She stood on the spot, not knowing what to do.

I heard the men’s footsteps move toward the exit and the door close behind them. When I looked to check they were gone, my legs collapsed and I fell to the ground. I tried to lift my body, but I could not.

“Phebe!” Sapphira’s soft voice sounded like the welcome of heaven to my ears. “Phebe,” she said again. Tears flooded her face as she looked down at me. When I traced her gaze, I saw the blood coming from between my legs, staining my upper thighs.

“It is okay,” I said, and almost broke when she came to my side and knelt beside me. I drank in her beautiful features. And I let my tears loose when I saw that freckle I had always loved to the side of her left eye.

“You are hurt.” She tentatively reached out her hand, unsure where she could touch me. But I wanted to feel the touch of her hand so much. I reached out and took it, bringing it to my face. “Why?” she said and cried harder, her walls tumbling down. “Why did you do that? He . . . he has hurt you so badly.”

“I could not let him hurt you anymore.” I tried to move my legs. Sapphira put her arms under mine and helped me move to lean against the nearest wall. She was so skinny, so weak, yet she carried me . . . my baby.

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.”