Aria's pov

I hummed a little tune as I skipped along the familiar dirt path, the basket swinging gently on my arm. The morning sun was warm on my face, and the air carried the sweet scent of wildflowers blooming along the hedges.

I had woken up early to bake the bread myself with the help of Mrs. Harlan watching to make sure I didn't burn it this time. Two golden loaves, still warm, wrapped carefully in a clean cloth. On top, I placed the small jar of blackberry jam I made last summer, the one with extra sugar because Elias liked it sweet.

He promised, we'll go walking today, down by the river maybe, where the water sparkled over the smooth stones. I loved those walks.

Elias would listen while I chattered about everything, always talking about the shapes of clouds, the way birds seemed to sing secrets to each other, how I sometimes pretended the wind was carrying messages from faraway places. He always laughed in that deep, warm way and said I made ordinary days feel special.

We were supposed to be married in three weeks. Me, little Aria from the orphanage, and the village chief's son. It still felt like a dream. Sometimes I touch the simple ribbon he had tied in my hair last spring and smile until my cheeks hurt.

The chief's house came into view, larger than all the others, with its wide porch and sturdy timber walls. But something was strange. The front door stood slightly open.

Elias's mother was usually so careful about keeping flies out. I hesitated for only a moment, then pushed it wider with my shoulder, mindful of the basket.

"Elias?", I called softly, my voice light and happy. "I brought you something nice!"

There was no answer, but I heard sounds from coming from his bedroom at the back. A low murmur, then a soft, breathy laugh that didn't sound like him. Maybe he had a visitor, or perhaps he was still asleep. The bread would cool if I waited, so I tiptoed down the hallway, my shoes barely whispering on the wooden floor.

His bedroom door was ajar, a thin blade of sunlight slipping through the crack. I leaned forward, ready to peek in and surprise him with a giggle.

What I saw stole every bit of air from my lungs. Elias was on the bed, shirtless, his wheat colored hair tousled. But he wasn't alone.

Lydia, the cooper's daughter with the bright red ribbon she always wore was beneath him. Her dress had slipped down to her waist, leaving her shoulders and chest bare.

Elias's hands moved over her skin, pressing close in a way that made the bed creak rhythmically. Her head was tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted in a silent gasp.

I knew instantly it was wrong. Sister Agnes had taught us clearly. The joining of bodies was sacred, a gift meant only for husband and wife, after promises made before God and the village.

What they were doing... that was the married thing. The private thing that happened in the dark and made babies. Not here. Not now. And certainly not with someone who wasn't me.

My fingers went numb. The basket slipped from my arm and hit the floor with a dull thud. One loaf rolled out, and the jar of jam shattered against the wall, its purple black color spreading across the wood like a bruise.

Elias's head jerked up. His eyes which were usually so warm when they looked at me now met mine through the narrow opening. Time stopped.

Lydia let out a sharp gasp and scrambled to pull up her dress. Elias shoved himself away from her, grabbing for his discarded shirt.

"Aria...", he started, voice rough and startled. I didn't wait to hear whatever came next. I turned and ran.

Tears blurred everything as I burst out of the house and into the bright daylight. My chest burned, not from running but from something deeper. A sharp, twisting pain I had never felt before struck me hard.

The village square blurred past. women at the well, men mending a cartwheel, children chasing each other with sticks. They all turned to stare as I flew by, braids whipping, face wet with tears I couldn't stop.

I didn't slow until I reached the orphanage gate. I collapsed against it, pressing my forehead to the cool wood, gasping for breath that wouldn't come easily.

He had promised. He had said I was his only one.

But promises, I was learning, could break as easily as a jar of jam.

I didn't stop until I reached the orphanage, the only home I ever known. I pushed through the gate and collapsed on the steps, hugging my knees to my chest.