Janie sat in the window seat staring toward the door her husband of only a few hours had just left through, wondering what had just happened. Thinking back, she tried to piece it together. He’d come in asking about her favorite color, then seemed to sense she was uncomfortable with her affinity for such a bright shade. How, she’d didn’t know. Somehow, he’d gotten her to talk about growing up, not much, but still, more than she’d planned to tell him. Ever. She’d escaped the cult her parents had been part of when she was fourteen, almost ten years before. She’d learned since that when people found out where she’d come from they looked at her differently, some with pity, others with disgust. She didn’t want to see either on her husband’s face when he looked at her.

She knew her lack of knowledge about electronics was considered weird. But when she’d first escaped and had gone to the police about what was happening in the group her parents were part of, they’d kept her isolated. That meant no electronics where her testimony could be influenced by anything online about the group. She hadn’t needed it. The truth from the inside was bad enough. Girls as young as fifteen were being forced to marry men three and four times their age. The men practiced plural marriage, something that was forbidden to women. Women were basically slaves. They existed to cook, clean, have babies and raise them. Oh, let’s not forget to service their husband’s every need. The other half of that was that they were expendable. Didn’t like this wife anymore? Just marry another. Did she anger you? Beat her.

The group was a law unto itself. No one on the outside knew what went on on the inside, even on the rare occasion when one of the men lost control and beat one of their wives to death. The only person they had to answer to had been the prophet. Since he was the leader, things happened at his dictate, and there were rarely consequences, only taking care of the body and hiding things from the outside authorities. When her father had killed one of his wives, not Janie’s mother but another wife, that was when Janie had taken advantage of the chaos that had erupted as they tried to cover it up and fled. Her testimony about that, and everything else that went on, was why her father was in prison.

She felt a little guilty about that, but not enough to regret it. Nor enough to try to go back, as if they would even let her. She’d tried to build a life.

After the trial, the government had put her in foster care. That had been less than fun, but not horrible either. She’d heard horror stories from other foster kids and didn’t know if she’d lucked out or if she just had low standards for what was horrible. After she’d turned eighteen, Janie had found work, fast food, retail and waiting tables, but she’d hated it. It was survival, that was all. She wasn’t equipped to live alone in the modern world. Then she’d seen the ad for the Diamond Bridal Agency, not that she’d known that was what she was applying for when she’d mailed in her application. Even after she’d found out what it really was, it made sense. She’d been raised to expect to marry someone who had been chosen for her, either by her father or by the cult’s prophet. Either way she would have had no choice. Since she’d escaped, she’d tried dating, looking for a husband on her own, but found she had a knack for poor choices, one way or another. When she’d discovered exactly what Diamond Bridal Agency was, and that they would accept her, a massive weight had lifted from her shoulders. She no longer had to worry about picking the right person.

Mrs. Creed had assured her the male applicants were carefully screened and there was no way she’d end up being matched with anyone like her father, or any of the men from the cult she’d escaped. The older woman had been adamant that men like that were not the clientele of the agency. Staring in her new husband’s wake, Janie had a glimmer of hope that the dour old woman had been telling the truth.

For the first time in a long time, Janie felt like something might finally be going in her way.