Momma - by Faye🥀

The carriage bumped over the dirt road. “Momma, where am I going?” Her voice was tiny. Her neck hurt from holding still. Her face was covered in thick white paint, like some sort of doll. It felt stiff on her skin. She sat across from her mother, facing her. But she didn’t look up. She just stole glances from the corner of her eye, too scared to move. Her mother didn’t answer. She just knelt and smoothed the puffy sleeves of her daughter’s dress. Her hands were shaking. Bad. “Momma, I don’t wanna,” the girl said. Her lips were dry. “Why can’t I stay home with you?” Her mother stopped fixing the sleeve. She looked down at the embroidery in front of the dress— as if committing them to memory. “You have to go, baby.” Her voice was low and scratchy. “You have to go because we need the money.” The girl blinked. Her eyes started to sting. She was young but was starting to understand what her mother was saying. “Money? But you said he was nice. You said he has a big house where I could play princess in!” Her mother’s face twisted. She leaned in close. Her breath hot on the girl’s cold, painted cheek. “There’s no big house baby,” she whispered. Her voice broke into a cry. “There is just a man. An old man. And he is paying me to take you.” The girl’s chest got tight. The bow at her back suddenly felt too heavy. The white paint on her face started to crack around her eyes. “Momma,” she whimpered. Her little hand reached back, trying to undo the bow herself. Her fingers were too small. They slipped. “Momma, please. Don’t make me. Please mama!Please!” Her mother grabbed her wrist. She squeezed hard, right over the lace. Her mother’s face was different now. Not sad. Empty. Her eyes looked like an animal that had nothing left to lose— just pure survival. “Let me go! You’re hurting me!” Her mother didn’t let go. She squeezed harder. “I’m saving me!” Her tone flat and cold. “Your daddy took everything from me! The house, the money, my pride. I have nothing left but your youth.” “So don’t sit there and cry. Don’t sit there and look at me like I’m the monster here. You’re the only thing I have left to sell. So sit still. Be pretty and don’t make this harder than it already is.” The girl stopped pulling. She just stared. The words didn’t make sense, but the grip on her wrist did. She was trapped. She started to cry. The white paint ran down her cheeks in thick streaks. “Am I coming back?” The girl asked. Her chin was shaking. “No.”One word that solidified her fate. The carriage jerked forward and stopped.The door swung open. A wrinkled hand reached in. And the girl finally knew— she wasn’t going to a new home. She was being handed over to be a wife.

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