She just prayed that whoever bought her wouldn’t be cruel.
And then, from the noise of the market, came a voice that didn’t carry laughter.
It was calm. Firm. Unhurried.
“What’s the price for her?”
Gaspar hesitated.
“You don’t even know what she looks like. They say her face will scare you.”
“I didn’t ask that,” the man said. “I asked how much.”
Coins changed hands.
Moments later, Ligia felt someone take her arm.
No yanking. No roughness. Just a steady grip… strangely respectful.
“Get up,” the man said. “A storm’s coming and the road is long.”
Ligia’s stomach tightened.
She didn’t know who her “buyer” was. She didn’t know what waited for her.
All she knew was that the air grew colder and cleaner as they climbed toward the mountains, and her fear wrestled with a new, dangerous thing:
Curiosity.
Why would a man buy a girl without even looking at her?
They rode for hours in silence.
But the silence wasn’t threatening.
When they stopped at a stream, he helped her down and poured water into her hands without trying to lift the sack. A simple gesture.
And yet it hit her like a shock.
Because it had been a long time since anyone treated her like a human being.
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