"You were sent home to die," Margot said, folding the divorce paper until the edges bent.
A cold wind pushed through the ruined shrine and shook the loose stones.
She kept her voice flat because anger sounded like pride, and pride got you beaten.
"Fine," she said aloud, louder than she meant. "Fine. Then I'll die full and loud."
She read the decree so the world could hear the insult. "Colin Saleh to Margot Yang, marriage dissolved. Dowry forfeited. Village notified."
A crow cried on a broken beam. Voices from the lane drifted like smoke.
"Who gets the roof?" someone muttered outside.
"Who gets the pots?" another answered.
Margot folded the paper into a tight square and pushed it under her shirt like a secret talisman.
Footsteps came slow, deliberating—the kind of steps that waited for gossip to bloom.
Margot slid behind the altar stone, a hollow that used to hold offerings.
She watched the dusk through a crack where rain had washed the paint away.
"That's her, isn't it?" a voice said from the threshold. "Bare-faced and back like she thinks she owns anything."
"She slept around, everyone knows. Her uncle saw her with Kellan's cousin last year."
"They say Colin left her for good reason. Magistrate signed."
The voices smelled of stale bread and fresh judgment.
Margot raised her chin. "Tell them I lost a husband and gained air," she muttered.
She had been born sharp-edged and learned to file that
