My appetite vanished. My eyes drifted to Sarah, who was eating silently with her head down.
Through her hair, I noticed a large bruise on her forehead.
"Sarah, what happened to your forehead?"
Her chopsticks froze, and she lowered her head further. Her voice was barely audible.
"N-nothing… I just bumped it."
I noticed Sarah’s hands trembling, something that made me uneasy, so I pressed on.
"Sarah, how old are you now? Where do you work?"
"She’s twenty-one," Margaret cut in before Sarah could speak. "She got married last year—to Mike Johnson from the next rural community. I found her a good match!" Her voice was raised with pride.
Then her tone darkened as she turned to Sarah.
"It’s rare for you to come home, and you show up empty-handed. And that long face—who’s it for? If you’re not going to eat, get back to your husband’s house!"
Sarah suddenly lifted her head and forced a smile that made my chest tighten.
She was only twenty-one, just three years older than me, but she looked like a woman in her forties or fifties.
When she looked up, I saw more than the bruise on her forehead—her face was covered in marks.
These weren’t from a fall. They were from being hit.