Chapter 1 – Some Weddings Are Not Celebrations
The drums were beating. The zurnas cried out into the night.
People laughed, danced, and happily enjoyed the food being served. Joy filled the courtyard like a festival.
In short… everyone was happy.
Everyone except me.
Especially my father.
He drank and laughed with the satisfaction of a man who had just made a great deal. Selling his own daughter had filled him with a strange pride. He smiled at people, joked with them—perhaps more than he had ever smiled in his entire life.
And me?
What was my crime?
What sin had I committed to deserve this?
Was it my fate to be sold to a man older than me before I had even turned eighteen?
A man who had barely a shred of humanity left in him. A twisted, useless man.
But he had money.
He had power.
He had influence.
And because of that, everyone bowed their heads before him.
So this was life.
This was the destiny written for me.
Was I supposed to accept it without fighting? Without begging? Without even trying to escape?
To live as the second wife of a man in his thirties who didn't know the meaning of kindness?
Before I even reached my mid-twenties, I would probably have three children.
During the day, I would work in the fields, vineyards, and gardens.
And at night…
I would be expected to please the man they called my "husband."
I would serve his parents like a slave.
And worse…
I would probably end up serving his first wife as well—the woman he had already beaten half to death.
Was this really my fate?
My youth…
My life…
My body…
My womanhood…
Was I supposed to give all of it to him?
Was my heart supposed to race for that man?
Was he the one who was meant to make my heart beat faster?
The thought felt absurd.
Around me, people kept laughing, eating, and dancing. The drums and zurnas played their lively melodies as if celebrating the happiest night in the world.
Because this was my wedding.
I was supposed to be happy.
Across from me stood the man who would become my husband. He looked as if he were floating with joy.
But to me…
He looked more like a bandit than a groom.
Thousands of thoughts raced through my mind. My head felt like a boiling cauldron ready to explode.
Then my eyes drifted back to my father.
He was laughing.
While I was mourning inside…
While I was silently breaking apart…
He laughed.
No.
He should have been crying.
He should have been burning with the same pain I felt.
Slowly, I turned my head to the right.
My stepmother sat with a few neighbor women, giggling and whispering to each other.
Of course she was happy.
Why wouldn't she be?
Thanks to me, she had received a large amount of money.
And she was finally getting rid of the "wild weed," as she liked to call me.
Just like she had done to my sister.
My sister…
Our eyes met.
I knew the sadness in her blue eyes. I recognized the helplessness hidden behind them.
Poor thing.
They had married her off when she was only fifteen.
Now she sat beside me with a baby in her arms and three children trailing behind her.
She understood me.
Because she had lived the same fate.
She had always wanted something different for me.
She wanted me to study.
To become a doctor.
To save myself—and our little sister—from this place.
My dear sister…
Thinking about her hurt me the most.
Then my eyes fell on my younger sister.
She was only eleven years old.
She didn't look happy either.
She was sad for me.
But she was also afraid for herself.
Because she knew the truth.
Her fate would be no different.
The moment she turned fifteen, our father would sell her too.
The drums continued beating.
The zurnas screamed into the night.
And when this night ended…
I would either fly away from here like a free bird…
Or become prey for a vulture and spend the rest of my life under his shadow.
Time was passing.
The end of my nightmare was getting closer.
The final scene of the movie was approaching.
But one question kept echoing in my mind.
Would the writer of this story choose to give it a happy ending?
Or…
Would it end in tragedy?