Leah:

Leah walked down the aisle on shaky legs, feeling tears prickling behind her eyelids. She was dressed in the same ugly white dress so many before her had worn. A simple, white garment that was starting to yellow at the edges. She didn’t feel like a bride. She didn’t have a bouquet or bridesmaids. The only people in attendance were the bribed judge, Mother Abigail, and the other lost and forgotten girls that were stuck in this place.

And of course her groom, whom she’d never even seen before.

The farce of a ceremony took place in their depressing dining hall. The girls sat on either side of the aisle at their assigned steel tables with ageing beige Formica tops. No one moved or smiled or cheered her on – they all looked like she felt. Alone. Sad. Hopeless.

A tall, slender man stood on the other side of the dining hall, waiting for her. Butterflies of fear, and maybe a little excitement, exploded in her stomach, and she swallowed hard against the sudden nausea that pushed up in her throat and made her mouth taste bitter.

There would be no party afterwards. No cake or toasts or dancing. Immediately after the ceremony, she’d leave here to join her new husband and start her life as a good, obedient wife.

When she was a little girl, before her parents died in the accident, she used to dream about her wedding day, like every other little girl she supposed, and the man she would marry one day. Never in her wildest dreams did she think this would be what her wedding day looked like.

Mother Abigail sat her down the previous night and told her what would be expected of her as his wife. “He paid a princely sum for you,” she said, “more than you are worth. Be sure to please him.”

“Yes, Mother,” she said, her head bowed, staring at the expensive diamond rings on Mother’s hands.

She spared no expense on herself, yet the girls walked around in itchy, brown uniforms and tattered underwear. While Mother Abigail would often tuck into delicious steak dinners right in front of the girls, they had to live on the most meagre of diets – just enough to keep them alive and somewhat healthy.

“You are a very lucky girl. He is a wealthy man. Your life will be comfortable, I’m sure.”

Leah nodded, trying her best not to cry. If she cried, it would anger Mother Abigail, and she’d beat her. Despite her age, Mother Abigail was still twice Leah’s size and surprisingly strong.

She knew she had to be grateful – there weren’t many options for girls like her. If Mother couldn’t sell you in that way, she’d earn her money back in other ways – there were always men, often very cruel men, that were willing to pay for one night of pleasure.

“He’s very handsome,” Abigail said, “frankly I’m surprised he picked you. I thought he’d choose Bridgett for sure. But, maybe he likes little mice. There are all kinds of men in this world, Leah, remember that,” Mother Abigail spoke warmly as if she was a real mother giving her daughter real advice. “Men that like pretty girls, men that like ugly girls, fat girls, thin girls…I even had a man in here once asking me if he can amputate one of my girl’s legs. He likes that kind of thing.”

Leah nodded, but on the inside, her stomach twisted in knots of cold fear.

“If I get any complaints. If he returns you, I will give that man with a thing for limbless girls a call. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother,” Leah whispered obediently, and tried to convince herself that marriage wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her.

After almost thirteen years in Mother Abigail’s care, getting married to a rich, handsome man was like winning the lottery – but the threat would always be there. She couldn’t take care of herself, no one ever taught her how, so she’d always be at that man’s mercy. His to do with as he pleased.

To the outside world, this place looked like a home for troubled young girls – the ones no one wanted, the troublemakers, the orphans, the delinquents – looked after by the benevolent and caring Mother Abigail – she wasn’t a nun nor a mother, that’s just what everyone called her.

Everyone thought Mother was a sweet old lady that just wanted to do the best for the troubled girls in her care. If they ran away, which happened sometimes, the police brought them straight back here. If someone managed to get out, and told the police about this place, they never believed the girls. Why would they? Most of them were known as troublemakers, problematic children, and as such, no one really cared about the girls in Mother Abigail’s house.

No one knew what went on inside this place. No one knew that the girls barely received any education. No one knew that they were often beaten, starved, tied to their beds. No one knew that once they turned eighteen, their photographs went into the book and that the girls were sold off to whoever wanted to buy them for whatever reason. Mother Abigail didn’t ask her buyers any questions.

If they weren’t sold by the time they turned twenty-one, Mother moved them to the back to service her regular clients. Leah thought for sure that would be her fate. She was a few days away from her twenty-first birthday, and no one had ever shown any interest in her until now.

The moment had come. She stood before her groom, desperately trying to hold back the tears now – she was afraid of what came next, of what would happen afterwards when she went home with him. And she feared him. Apart from the two burly, and frankly stupid, men that worked for Mother Abigail, Leah had never really spent any time with men; until they were sold or moved to the back, Mother kept them away from any and all men as much as possible.

Her groom lifted her veil. Her heart lurched as she stared into hard, steel-grey eyes. Was he handsome like Mother Abigail said? Maybe. She had no idea. Dressed in a black suit fit for the occasion, his dark hair neatly styled and combed, he looked solemn and serious.

Before she could get a good look at his face, he straightened, turning away to look at the judge. Leah gave him a sideways glance. She couldn’t see his face without craning her neck, he was too tall, but she could see his big, beautiful hands – long fingers intertwined in front of him.

She hoped those hands weren’t cruel.

Directly after they said their “I do’s,” and signed the marriage certificate, Mother Abigail took her to the backroom to change out of the used up old wedding dress. She handed her a drab pair of grey pants, a white blouse, and black shoes. The fabric was itchy and scratched her legs, but Leah knew better than to complain. “Your going away outfit,” Mother smiled. “Brand new and all yours.”

She said this as if Leah was supposed to be happy and grateful for the cheap clothes, as if the old woman did her some kind of favour. Leah said nothing, just quietly and quickly dressed in the new clothes, biting back a groan as the rough fabric of the trousers scratched her skin, and the too small shoes pinched her feet.

The door to the room banged open, and Nathanial Hawthorne, her new husband, confidently strolled into the room, a garment bag draped over one arm. “Ugh,” he scoffed, “take off those hideous clothes, no wife of mine will be seen in public wearing rags like that--” he turned to Mother Abigail --“you can leave.”

To Leah’s surprise, she simply nodded and walked out of the room.

Nathanial hung the garment bag against the door and unzipped it. She watched his hands, mesmerised, as he pulled out a beautiful blue dress with a tight bodice, and full skirt. Along with it, he took out a matching pair of simple, white sandals. He turned and regarded her with critical eyes. Leah concluded that he was indeed extremely handsome – she was definitely drawn to him in ways she didn’t quite understand. His full lips curled into a sardonic little smile, and a small muscle twitched next to his perfectly straight nose. “We’ll need to do something about your hair before you meet my family,” he said and turned his back on her, “get dressed.”

Leah was so used to people talking for her and not to her, that his comment didn’t bother her. She stepped out of the itchy trousers, relieved to be rid of them, but she felt self-conscious in the expensive, soft dress that reached just below her knees. “Excuse me, sir. Can you zip up the dress?” she mumbled shyly.

He spun around. “That’s much better. My name is Nathanial. Nathan, if you like. Don’t call me sir; I’m your husband, not your boss. Turn around.”

She did as he commanded, reached back, and lifted her long, heavy hair out of the way. Wordlessly, he zipped up her dress, and ordered her to sit down. “So,” he said, “I think we need to talk about a few things.”