55

Camila

My nails tug at the prayer beads on my wrist. I debated wearing them—it felt like the antithesis of my drive to escape Asher to end up with his prayer beads in my possession. But somehow, the sensation of them hugging my wrist brings comfort.

His eyes were full of so much torment when he gave them to me. It was overwhelming; I almost backed out of my plan. But he left so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to change my mind.

Though he assured me he wouldn’t stop me from leaving, I wasn’t about to get sloppy. The next morning when the van arrived, I was watching for it from my window. Layla had instructed me to work my way covertly down to the pantry once I spotted it.

With sweat collecting in every crevice of my body, I tiptoed to the pantry. Layla wasn’t there, but my mother was.

“Camila,” she gushed, hugging me tight. “Is this really going to work?”

“Yes,” I said, faking my bravado. Helping her into the large wooden box stamped with faded markings from whatever farm was selli