by Lissy Jones
I have one life left. Two I already gave away. To my daughters. I bought their lives with precious stones. One stone for one life. I don’t know where my daughters are. My husband gave them away instead of drowning them. But they live.
Three stones had been my dowry given to me by my mother.
“They will save you,” she had whispered when she slipped them into my hand the day of my wedding. Her mother had given them to her, but she didn’t need them. Her firstborn was a son, an heir, and that’s why she was allowed to live and I, the second child, too. Three times you may try to give birth to a son. Then your husband will kill you and take another wife. Such is the custom of our people. I could buy my life with a stone.
But I have only one stone left to plead for a life and in my arms I am holding my newborn daughter.