How Sarai managed to fall for him, and how she managed to get here, was beyond the elderly woman's imagination. She didn't understand any of it, really. All she knew was that she was happier with him than she'd been her entire life. But of course, good things never last.
The pepper-haired female sighed thickly as she watched her adopted daughter, Kadory, walk outside and go off to do whatever the young woman did in her free time. Sarai suspected Kadory simply sat by the river than ran near the side of the little village. Kadory seemed to sit there often—too often, if you asked Sarai. Kadory was nothing like her other children, though. Both of her children had been taken by cholera at a young age, and Sarai was helpless to it. All she could do was try her hardest, and for whatever she couldn't do, and whatever she'd done, she'd just had to sit and watch. Sit, watch, pray. Of course, it wasn't only a hard time on the older woman, but her husband, as well. Sarai tended to avoid the subject, though, and hadn't ever known—or planned on knowing—the full extent of her husband's pain.
Though that had happened long ago, the memories still haunted Sarai to the point there was rarely a day that passed where the smiling faces of her children didn't pop up in her mind at least once. After so much nurturing, so much love, so much laughter…after seeing the promising futures both of the youngsters had… Life was cruel. Sarai was somewhat thankful that her foster daughter knew that life was cruel. They understood each other on some levels, but in those levels, there was silence. It was the simple glance or the simple smile. No words were ever exchanged about their suffering, though Kadory's ongoing suffering showed through her everyday interactions with both of her foster-parents.
Kadory refused to help, but with every little movement, Sarai picked out a single cry for help, hidden away. Her daughter had a way of acting tough, but Sarai knew that, on the inside, Kadory was like any ordinary woman: wanting companionship, love, a family of her own. The poor child had given up on all of that a long, long time ago, though, and Sarai had noticed that a long, long time ago. Despite Kadory's suffering, Sarai paid little attention to it some days.
The little family of three barely had enough food every night, and Sarai constantly tried to find something other than cabbage to serve for dinner, but neither her husband nor daughter complained, and sometimes, just for her own sake, Sarai ignored it and pretended that it wasn't so bad, the cabbage and water. Frowning, Sarai wondered what her daughter would do when Kyrro and she passed on.
The girl's self-esteem was rock-bottom already. Sarai wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't any self-esteem at all. Esteem, in this world, seemed almost nonexistent. Kadory wasn't respected, approved of, and was constantly judged. The young woman, now old enough to move away from home, had never known anything but suffering—besides, perhaps, the two short years she'd had when she was a baby, but Sarai didn't know if Kadory remembered anything besides her family's death.
Sighing, Sarai turned her head away, looking back into the scarcely decorated room she was in. What would happen to Kadory when she died? When Kyrro died? How would her daughter cope? Perhaps… perhaps Kadory would go on to bigger and better things, but Sarai knew that was the equivalent of asking God to kill one of his own children. Kadory would go on to…to…
Sarai had no idea. But it was likely that nothing would change. There would be what there had always been: silence.