THIRTY-TWO.

With my father forcefully fastening the belt around my mouth, imprisoning the apple covered in hay, I fiercely try to wrench it free.

My desperate pleas for help are stifled, while my weary body is overwhelmed by excruciating pain, rendering me unable to mount a formidable resistance.

The surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins dissipates, leaving me vulnerable as my father forcefully tightens the belt.

My head is abruptly jerked backwards, ensnared in his unyielding gaze.

“I should have done this a long time ago. I should have punished you every time you showed us an inkling of defiance. But your mother was too afraid that if they found you, beaten and broken, we would be executed.” My father snarls with his top lip curling upward. “Your mother is weak and if she didn’t come from old money, I would have gotten rid of her many years ago. She couldn’t birth me a son and her twat is as loose as her fucking lips.”

Tears burn my eyes, leaving a trail of heartache down my cheeks as