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Then she studies me more closely.

“You haven’t given your body to anyone yet, have you, Zaiya?”

The question is intrusive, but there’s something so soft in her tone that I feel safe answering anyway.

I lower my head. “No.”

She beams with approval. “Good. Save that gift for your future husband.”

“Why do we have to be married?” Calista asks.

“Because marriage changes everything in the eyes of God.” Evelyn smooths invisible wrinkles from her dress. “You don’t want to fall into sin, do you?”

Calista lowers her eyes to her hands. “No.”

Evelyn turns to me. “What about you, Zaiya?”

I don’t know what I believe anymore. The God I grew up with was cold and commanding. A presence waiting for mistakes instead of comforting my pain. But I have no desire to argue in this house.

“No.”

“If nothing else,” Evelyn says, “your body is your power. Preserve it.”

If my body holds so much power, why was I never allowed to decide anything for myself? Women like Mother and Evelyn talk about purity as if it can be stored away and grow more valuable with time. But who does it benefit? Certainly not me. Only whoever means to take me.

I try not to think of Edwin.

The memory rises anyway. The cramped darkness of the closet. His breath warm against my neck. His hand circling my throat. The strange tension in him. The stranger pull in me. A moment that should have frightened me more than it did, but I’ve replayed it so many times it’s become comfortable.

Footsteps pause in the doorway.

Frank stands there, looking at his wife, a faint crease appearing between his brows. “A bit much, don’t you think?”

I follow his gaze to Evelyn’s dress. It’s bright yellow and fitted softly to her body, the neckline dipping only a little. It doesn’t seem revealing to me at all.

She glances down at herself, and the smile that appears is held in place. “I was just trying this on. I’ll go change.”

She brushes past him, her hand sliding over his chest in a practiced little motion. He watches her leave with an expression I can’t quite read before turning back to us with a broad smile.

“Come on, girls. Time for church.”

The whole room seems to shift when he says it, like we all fall into whatever roles are expected of us.

I rise and smooth my hands over the daisies on my dress, trying to settle the restlessness inside me.

Church is supposed to offer answers.

All I have are more questions.

Evelyn sits beside me in the front pew, wearing a beige dress with a high neckline, modest enough that even Mother would approve. Calista is on my other side, staring at her phone.

From here, I can see the whole church.

Stained-glass windows spill colored light onto the floor. Pointed arches lift the ceiling so high that it practically breathes through the ribs of the carved beams that frame the sanctuary with a solemn beauty.

More people drift inside until the pews fill, the room alive with greetings and rustling bulletins while the organist plays a slow hymn.

Calista keeps glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. When I follow her gaze, I find Wayne sitting several rows back with who I assume is his family.