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shower last night,” I whispered, somehow thinking I could convince her to leave me alone.
    She hesitated, then yelled toward the zippered flap. “She says that she had a shower last night. Is that okay?”
    Both of us looked toward the tent door, my stomach crawling into my chest.
    There was a moment’s hesitation as he considered. The absurdity was surreal. It was as if she were asking, Is she clean enough for you?
    “Yeah, that’s okay,” he answered. His voice was very close. He was waiting just outside the tent. Anxious. A starving animal ready to devour.
    She turned to me again, my feet still inside the basin. “Take your clothes off,” she repeated.
    “No,” I said again.
    “Take them off, or I’ll have him come in and rip them off you,” she rasped in anger. I knew that she would call him. And I knew that he would indeed come and do exactly as she said he would do.
    Pulling away, I started crying. I couldn’t stop it. My heart seemed to break inside me. The tears left my face wet, my eyes stinging and red.
    “Take your clothes off, or he will rip them off you!” she repeated.
    She then handed me a white robe. Again, it wasn’t the kind you can wrap around your body, but one you have to pull over your head. I quietly slipped it on. And wiggled out of my pajamas underneath.
    She waited, and then pointed. “Take off your underwear.”
    I choked on more tears. “No,” I stumbled simply.
    “I’ll have him rip them off your body.” Her voice was firm, and certainly not kind.
    Lowering my eyes, I slipped them off.
    She looked at me with satisfaction, then crawled toward the opening of the tent.
    I sat on the bucket, sick with dread, huge tears rolling down my cheeks. My body was so tight I felt I couldn’t breathe. I shivered, my feet still wet. I waited, crying softly as he came into the tent. He had changed his clothes and was now dressed in a linen robe just like mine, except his had a sash tied around the waist.
    I waited on the bucket, my head low. Tears of horror filled my eyes. I choked in order to keep on breathing. He started talking, but through my sobbing it was difficult to understand what he was saying. Then I caught some of his words: “I seal you to me on this Earth, and what is sealed here on Earth will be sealed in the afterlife, and I take you to be my wife. Before God and His angels as my witnesses.”
    “No!” I screamed, unable to contain my horror.
    He reached out as if he was going to slap me, moving suddenly very close. “If you ever scream again, I’ll duct tape your mouth shut!” he sneered.
    Then he forced me off the bucket and onto the dirty bedding. I fought him as best I could. “I’m just a little girl,” I begged in desperation. “I haven’t even started my period. I’m still a child!”
    He stopped, his face tight, as if he were suddenly unsure of what to do.
    He yelled outside to the woman, telling her what I had said. “Is it still okay?” he asked.
    My heart leaped in hope. I was a child! Might there be a miracle? Might he let me be?
    The woman didn’t hesitate. “It’s okay,” she answered.
    He turned to me again.
    I fought and kicked and struggled. I did everything I could. But he was a powerful and driven man. There was nothing I could do.
    When it was over, he got up and crawled out of the tent, leaving me crying on the floor.
    *
    Over the next nine months, Brian David Mitchell would rape me every day, sometimes multiple times a day. He would torture and brutalize me in ways that are impossible to describe, would starve and manipulate me like I was an animal. Many times I would think, Okay, this is the bottom. Things couldn’t get any worse.
    But whenever I began to think that way, I would quickly find out that I was wrong.

9.
Broken
    After he crawled out of the tent, I lay alone. The sun was up, but it was still early and the thick trees provided heavy shade, keeping it cool inside. I lay on the dirty blankets, curled in a fetal position, the