“If you're jealous of Amy, just say so. But dripping blood on her clothes? Have you no shame at all?”

The embroidery frame had slammed into my shin. The bruise still hadn't faded, a deep purple smear against my skin.

Back in my room, I started packing.

The suitcase was small. So was the pile of things that went into it.

I was in the middle of folding when a dull, dragging ache twisted low in my belly. By my count, my period was almost due.

I bent over the suitcase, pressing my forehead against the open lid.

That was when the door swung open.

Louis came in carrying a bowl of brown-sugar ginger water and set it down on the table with a heavy thud.

He glanced at the luggage on the floor and let out a scornful little laugh.

“All right, drop the act. That whole performance today, you just wanted to make me jealous, didn't you?”

“Once you've thrown your fit, put your things back. I made you ginger water. Drink it and get to bed early.”

He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, watching me pack with a look that said he'd already decided this was nothing but me playing hard to get.

I said nothing and kept stuffing things into the suitcase.

Louis's patience ran out.

“Mr. Gilbert was only amusing himself with you. When he doesn't show up tomorrow, I'd love to see how you clean up that mess.”

I didn't touch the bowl of ginger soup.

Last time, Louis had told me to stop putting on airs, to stop imitating city girls who drank brown-sugar ginger water during their periods.

Now he'd suddenly carried in a bowl, and it was only so I'd be grateful, so I'd meekly admit I was wrong.

He sprawled back in the rocking chair, eyeing me sideways as I gathered my things.

Then his gaze locked onto something and held.

“What's that you're clutching?”

My hand tightened on instinct. This silver hairpin was the only thing my mother had left me.

She had once been the finest silversmith in the village, her craft unmatched across three provinces.

Before she died, she'd held my hand and pressed this hairpin into my palm.

“Doris, this is the one thing your mother leaves you in this whole life. Wherever you go, never lose it.”

Louis crossed the room and snatched the hairpin from my hand.

“Amy says the pattern's worth studying. Perfect. I'll give it to her to go with that Hundred-Birds Robe.”

“Louis, you can have anything else, but not this. This is all I have left of my mother.”

Before I could finish, he shoved me to the floor.

The back of my head struck the corner of the suitcase with a dull ring. The case toppled over, and everything inside spilled across the floor.

Louis slipped the hairpin into his pocket and looked down at me, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

Then, as if he'd remembered something, the expression vanished in an instant.

“Today, in front of all those people, you ran off to hand a comb to an outsider and left Amy with nowhere to hide.”

“You walked away quick enough, but Amy's been taking the blame ever since. Consider this hairpin compensation for her grief.”

He crouched down, his tone suddenly softening.

“Go apologize to Amy first thing tomorrow. And be nice about it.”

“Once her fieldwork's done and she's back in the Capital City, I'll be generous enough to throw a wedding banquet and marry you.”

When he said generous, he said it without a shred of doubt, truly believing that marrying me was a gift he was bestowing.

I lay sprawled on the floor, staring at the scattered old clothes and broken bits of silver.

Everything I'd done for him all these years was probably worth just as little to him as these things on the ground.

Taking that wild boar's charge and ruining my face for him, worthless.

Standing by him through countless brutal winters and scorching summers, worthless.

Giving him the finest craft of my life, my best years, my deepest love, all of it, worthless.

I pushed myself up slowly and began gathering the scattered things back into the case, my movements light and slow.

“Don't bother, Louis.”

I heard my own voice, hoarse and ruined.

“I don't want you anymore.”

He froze for a moment, and then his face turned ugly.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, I don’t want you anymore.”

“Doris, I’m offering you a way out and you’re spitting on it?”

He sucked in a breath, looked around, and his eyes landed on the embroidery design archive at the corner of the table. He snatched it up.

Those pages held the craft my mother had passed down to me. It had taken me three years to compile them.

“You don’t want me? What can you even do without me? You think that Gilbert man is really going to come for you?”

“Fine. Then you can forget about keeping this junk too.”

He hurled the whole archive into the fire basin in the corner. The flames licked up instantly, belching black smoke.

I lunged to save it. He shoved me back, and I watched three years of my life turn to ash.

“Ungrateful little wretch.”

He slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.

“Apologize to Amy first thing tomorrow, and I’ll think about whether I still want to marry a freak like you.”

His footsteps faded down the path.

I knelt in front of the fire basin and clawed at the charred paper with my bare hands.

Blisters rose across my fingertips. It was already too late.

Most of the archive had burned to ash. Only a few scorched corner pages were left, still smoldering.

That was when the door opened again. Amy Fox poked her head in.

She glanced at me, crouched by the fire basin, and used a teapot to douse the last of the embers.

I looked up at her.

She bent down, picked up those few surviving pages, leafed through them, and carefully tucked them into the front of her clothes.

When her eyes met mine, she smiled.

“Doris, don’t hold it against Louis. His temper runs a little hot, but he’s already been good to you.”

“These things are burned anyway. There’s no point keeping them. Let me take care of getting rid of them for you.”

Then she turned and left with a light, springing step.

She didn’t know yet what those surviving pages would bring her.

The storm came at midnight, without warning.

By the time the thunder jolted me awake, the water inside the house was already up over my ankles.

The village loudspeakers had started blaring the alarm: “Flash flood. Everyone get to high ground.”

I rolled out of bed, bare feet splashing into the rising mud, grabbed my bag, and ran.

The whole village was in chaos.

Adults shouting, children crying, chickens and dogs all tangled into one wall of noise.

The water rose too fast. It was already over my knees.

As I passed the ancestral hall, I heard someone inside screaming.

It was Amy.

I had no idea what she’d run out here for in the middle of the night, but she was trapped inside the ancestral hall.

I cursed under my breath, then turned back to save her anyway.

When I pushed the door open, the water was already up to her thighs.

She was crouched on the altar table, soaked through, screaming until her voice cracked.

“Doris, hurry, save me, I can’t swim!”

The water had climbed to my calves. The earthen walls of the hall were giving off a horrible groaning creak.

I rushed in and grabbed her. “Move, this place is coming down.”

The words were barely out when a crash split the air overhead.

The roof beam had snapped.

In the instant it fell, instinct made me shove Amy clear.

The whole beam came down across my right leg.

The sound of bone breaking was sharper in my skull than the storm.

The pain whited out my vision. I opened my mouth and no sound came.

The water beneath me turned red, fast.

Amy stood a few steps away, a thin scrape of skin torn off her arm by the splinters.

She started sobbing: “Help, Louis, help me!”

It didn’t take long for Louis Carpenter to break in through the window with his men.

He stood in the water, his headlamp swinging from me, then to Amy, then back again.

The moment Amy saw her rescuer, she clutched her arm and shrieked.

“Louis, my arm, I’m bleeding, it hurts so much, it hurts.”

Louis came wading through the water toward me.

I thought he was coming to pull me out. Instead, he stepped right past me and scooped Amy into his arms.

"You grew up in these mountains. You're a strong swimmer. Just hang on. I'll get Amy out and come back for you."

"She's delicate. She can't take this."

My voice was already cracking. "Louis, the beam is crushing my leg. I can't get out."

It was the first time I'd ever let him see me weak.

And for a moment he froze, his eyes torn, something close to reluctance in them.

Amy clung to his neck, shaking all over.

"Louis, I'm so cold. I don't want to die in here."

In the end, Louis only held her tighter, kicked my hand off him, and turned toward the door.

"I told you, I'll come back for you. You're tough. You won't die. Don't drag Amy down with you."

Then he carried Amy out into the storm.

The water was still rising.

It reached my chest in no time.

The few able-bodied men who'd rushed in to help all turned and followed Louis out.

Not one of them stayed.

The water rose past my chin.

I hooked my arm around a snapped section of the beam and kept my face just above the surface.

My right leg had gone numb, no feeling left in it at all. Good. At least it didn't hurt anymore.

From very, very far away, I heard the motor of a rubber raft sputter to life.

It was the only one our village had, the one we used during floods to ferry emergency patients down to the hospital.

Just as my mind started to blur, I heard a sound that didn't belong to the storm.

Something was forcing its way down through the rain, sending roof tiles flying everywhere.

Then footsteps, splashing fast and heavy through the water.

Someone was clawing at the beam pinning me, prying at it with bare hands.

The beam was too heavy. He shouted for someone to bring hydraulic cutters.

There wasn't time. So he wedged his shoulder beneath the beam and forced it up by sheer strength.

I barely managed to open my eyes, just long enough to make out one face.

That man who was always so fastidious, whose face was always spotless, was now caked head to toe in mud.

Stewart Gilbert lifted me into his arms. His whole body was trembling.

The icy floodwater had soaked me until I was about to lose the last thread of consciousness.

Only one voice remained in my ears, over and over.

"Doris Dotson, you are not allowed to die."

"You are not allowed to die."

I woke up in the best hospital in the Capital City. The room was bigger than the house I'd lived in for over twenty years.

One whole wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out over half the city's skyline.

Stewart sat at the edge of the bed, his hands wrapped in bandages, asleep against the back of his chair.

His assistant told me softly that he'd kept watch for four days and four nights straight.

There was a steel plate in my leg now, and the old scar on my face had been worked on too.

The top-three plastic and reconstructive team in the world. Stewart had bought out the entire department.

"Miss Dotson, Mr. Gilbert said no expense is to be spared. Whatever it takes to bring you back."

Hearing my voice, Stewart saw I was awake. He poured me a cup of warm water and brought the straw to my lips.

"How's the village?"

"Heavy damage. I've already arranged the funds to rebuild it."

He paused.

"Louis took Amy down to the town that night and didn't get back until daybreak. When he returned, the ancestral hall had collapsed and the helicopter was already gone."

"He assumed that since you grew up in the mountains, you'd climbed out on your own and were off sulking in the back hills."

I said nothing.

Stewart didn't ask again.

The days that followed were quiet in a way that didn't feel real. I had four surgeries in that hospital.

They took the shattered fragments of bone out of my leg one piece at a time, fixed it with a steel plate, and slowly it began to heal.