I do. He’ll starve me otherwise. He tells me I’m beautiful. I could have been a hero. I could have affected change. I could have been braver at...the Forks. His eyes burn me in the old hotel suite, and I know what I’ve become. He tells me to turn around. He wants to see my back. ‘Perfect skin. Perfect curves. Perfect face,’ he says. And I hate what I’ve become. ‘The perfect beauty,’ he tells me. I hate who I am. ‘My perfect Sophie,’ he whispers. * * * Michael is not the man I dreamed. I stayed in the dark cabin and loaded the musket, and when I stepped out I was glad I had for a ranger was standing in the lane between the cabins pointing his gun at my belly from about twenty feet away. I ducked back in as he fired. His ball hit the doorway, and I stepped out and ran at him as he began to reload. He threw his weapon at me and turned just as I reached him, raising his hands in surrender as he saw the slaves approaching. A noise made me look to my left, and there was another. More

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