Maybe it was my name being called, maybe it was the now rising sun, or maybe it was the fresh and familiar scents wafting into my nostrils that awoke me. My eyes creaked open to see Carter with his hands grasped onto the window sill and his head sticking out of the carriage. Then I realized that he had been saying my name.
"What?" My eyes were closing again.
Then my husband let out a disbelieving scoff, and I lifted myself up and followed his gaze out the window. We were crossing the bridge into my home town.
I had stared down that bridge a thousand times over, that long, seemingly never-ending bridge that took you straight into Crosston. Crosston. The only laws anyone seemed to follow were disciplinary, such as being a maid, or a blacksmith, and so on. Yet still, I felt safer in a lawl
