His smile was small but real. “That’s what I hoped.”
Later, under a sky sharp with stars, she asked, almost shy, “Would you still ask me proper one day?”
“Only if you ever want to be asked.”
She took his hand and placed it over her heart.
“This is me saying yes,” she said. “Not because you bought me. Because I choose to.”
He didn’t speak.
Just held her hand like it mattered.
And maybe that was the difference between ownership and love.
The next morning, sunlight spilled over the ridge. Wind threaded through pines.
Allora stood on the porch, braid catching light.
No longer the girl sold for three silver coins.
No longer someone’s “stock.”
She was unclaimed.
Free.
And loved without price.
Inside, the fire burned bright.
This time, it wasn’t borrowed warmth.
It was home.
