Before heading to the army, my dad left a grim final request: if he didn’t survive, my mom was to take the old farmer next door as her husband. The man’s bad leg only made his fierce name more frightening; rumors claimed he’d even killed his first wife, and people said one punch from him could drop a bull. For my mom, it was a future she couldn’t escape. Three years later, the news of my dad’s death finally came—and my grandma wasted no time selling my mom to The Monster for $2,000.
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