She struggled to come to terms with the reality staring at her. Without Tesot, she felt as though there was no place for her in the entire world. She lifted her gaze to the heavens, then back to her husband, before letting out a weary sigh.
Turning toward the narrow footpath that led away from the homestead, she dragged her feet, each step heavier than the last.
Tesot remained rooted to the same spot. He watched her slip beneath the shade of a nearby tree and sank onto the ground definitely overwhelmed. The sobbing continued relentlessly.
Eventually, her tears dried up, yet her body still shook with the force of her grief. Her nose was sore from constant blowing. She was torturing herself, searching for answers she knew she would never find.
She thought now, bitterly, of her inaction. There had been signs: Pabonya's chilling words, his steady malice, the warning glances. But she'd been stupid — too wrapped up in the warmth of being loved and accepted, too quick to dismiss his threat as empty taunts. If only she had shared those fears with Tesot, maybe he would have seen through the lie.
Now it was too late. They had deceived him. A sickening unspeakable feeling of regret crept into her.
Her gaze drifted to Tesot again, still standing outside the doorway, waiting for her to go.
But her feet wouldn't move.
One last time, she had to try.
She rose, breathing shakily, and walked back toward him. "Look, honey," she whispered, voice breaking. "I'm not going. I'm not leaving you."
Tesot's face stayed hard. "You have no choice," he said.
Her heart lurched. Was this really him — the man whose voice had once been soft even in anger, who'd held her through tears? Now he was turning against her, throwing her away, leaving nothing but shattered memories of what they had built together.
She had never imagined it could end like this — not them.
But now, in the wreckage of her hope, she felt something cold and heavy settle in: maybe she really had no choice.
She managed to steady her shaking voice. "Please… don't let them win," she whispered. "We belong together. You know me. You know my heart."
Tesot's jaw clenched, his eyes glinting with something — regret? Doubt? — but he looked away. "Just go," he rasped. "Before I say something worse."
A sob caught in her throat. "I won't go!" she insisted, stepping closer. "I won't leave the man I love, the father of my child. Think, Tesot! Remember what we swore to each other — to stay, to fight, to love, no matter what."
"Don't," he said, voice trembling. "Don't make this harder."
"I'm begging you," she whispered. "For our son. For us."
But Tesot's eyes hardened again. "Get out."
Becky swayed on her feet, crushed by the finality of his words. Her chest felt hollow, as if the life had drained out of her body.
Slowly, her shoulders sagged. "It's okay," she choked out. "Bye… honey. Bye."
She turned, trudging toward the path. Tesot stood where he was, watching her silently as she rounded the corner beyond the gate.
---
She walked blindly, body in the present but mind caught in the past.
Three years she had given to that home. She had sweated, scraped, and loved fiercely, building a life stone by stone. Even her own son — the blood of her blood — had been left behind.
She remembered the day she had given birth to Kiplimo.
Alone in the field, pain crashing through her like waves. The cattle had watched, lowing softly, as if they sensed her agony. Breathless, gasping, she had pushed — and finally, with a scream that echoed across the valley, he had come into the world.
A small, wet bundle of life. "Hi… hello there," she had whispered through tears, pressing his tiny body against her chest.
Then the relief when she'd checked: a baby boy.
"Kiplimo," she'd murmured. "Born among cattle."
She'd walked home barefoot, trembling, the cattle trailing behind as if guarding them. Villagers had rushed to meet her, her mother-in-law among them, eyes wide in shock and tenderness. "Oh, my child… you did it," she had said, holding the baby.
---
Now, Becky dragged herself back to the present.
She had to keep walking. She had missed the graduation ceremony, missed the speeches, the songs, the dancing.
Then she saw her father's car — but it wasn't parked by the house where she had left it that morning. Tesot, under the elders' orders, had driven it to the road and kept the keys.
Even the car had been thrown out.
A moment later, she saw her family coming down the road. The ceremony must have ended. Her father approached first, brow furrowed.
"I didn't know you learned to drive," he said gently.
"I haven't," Becky whispered.
He glanced around. "I don't see your husband, is he in the car?"
"He isn't here."
"Then… who drove the car and parked it there?"
She swallowed. "Father… my husband has thrown me out of his house."
Her father stared at her, disbelief and dread battling in his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"It is over between us."
"Oh my God, you can't be serious, Becky," he murmured, his voice cracking.
Becky forced herself not to cry. "And look — even your car was thrown out too."
Her father shook his head, pained. "They called me earlier for a meeting… I told them I was busy." His voice was low, heavy with regret. "If only I had known…"
"It's over now, Dad," she said. "They've destroyed us."
"How can that be? Were you two fighting?"
"No."
He looked at her, saw the devastation in her eyes, and his heart clenched. "Get in the car," he ordered softly. "We're leaving. You're not alone."
"But it hurts, Dad. It hurts so much," she whispered.
"I know. Now, give me the key."
"I don't have it."
"He didn't give you the key? How do they expect us to travel?"
Sigilai dialed Tesot's number, but he didn't pick up. He was too much of a coward to talk to him—too afraid to answer questions he couldn't defend. Left with no choice, Sigilai sent him a text, demanding the key. Tesot, avoiding direct confrontation, sent his little brother to bring it—the same boy who had earlier been sent to fetch Becky from the ceremony.