Roosevelt.

Prologue.

Prologue.

Maggie.

"You allowed him to look at you with eyes of lust! He defiled your body because you allowed it!" Father exclaims, grabbing a whip from the railing.

My body tenses, knowing that probably that whip wouldn't be used to tame one of the horses.

I hear the sound of his footsteps in the silent barn as I raise a prayer to the sky, pleading for mercy in the punishment I am about to receive.

"I-I'm sorry, Father. I-I..." I try to apologize, but a strong slap across my face silences my words immediately.

My cheek stings, and probably a huge red mark has settled on my skin due to the force of his blow.

Tears quickly blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall. That would only increase his anger.

"Shut your mouth! Shameless! Impure!" He grabs a handful of my hair and drags me to one of the empty stalls.

He throws my body carelessly to the ground, and I have to struggle not to hit my face against the wood.

I sit on my knees, adopting the meek posture expected of me to receive Father's reprimand.

The sound of the whip cutting through the air is the only warning I have before the leather strikes the bare skin of my back.

I didn't even have time to put on the blouse that Ross had taken off me while we were kissing before being discovered by my Father.

Another blow falls, and I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste the metallic flavor of blood flooding my mouth.

"You will leave for the convent tomorrow with your aunt!" he exclaims amidst the lashes.

My back probably looks like a map of pain.

Four consecutive blows hit my shoulder blades, and I have to rest my hands on the ground, feeling nauseous from the pain.

The sound of the whip hitting my skin, the blood sliding down my back, and my father's insults for my offense are too much for me.

The contents of my stomach empty onto the floor in front of me, but that doesn't stop Father's beating.

There comes a point - just before I think I would faint from the pain - when he grabs a handful of my hair and lifts my face to meet my gaze with his eyes darkened by anger.

"Do you regret what you did?" he asks in a soft tone.

I know the answer I have to give to be forgiven, but that's not the one that comes out of my lips.

Instead of lying and escaping punishment, I answer him with the truth, prepared to face the consequences of my actions.

"No. I do not regret it, Father."