"She killed her husband," one of the elders on the council said, as a young woman knelt in the center before the council of elderly people. They were settling the case of the death of Mr. Frederick—her practical ex-husband, now deceased.
Another elder spoke up, "So, what are we going to do about the burial? He wasn't even from a rich family. Besides, they're struggling financially, not to mention they haven't paid off the debt owed for the wedding at the church."
Ariana sat on the floor, her blonde hair falling over her face as she sobbed quietly. No words escaped her lips.
"This is very tragic," one of the men said. "She can't even speak. How are we supposed to know the real situation? How are we going to know what happened?"
Another voice suggested, "She could simply write it down."
"And how many hours do you think that would take? Please," came the sarcastic reply of another elder.
The council usually consisted of people above 35, as they believed they had the maturity to handle such responsibilities.
"Her husband is dead now," another elder said. "So what are we going to do? Who is the father of the child she's carrying?"
Ariana continued to weep silently on the floor.
"All we have to do is keep her in a safe place," another man said. "We'll take her case to the government—they'll have to take care of her. Because of the baby, she needs to be well looked after."
"Why should we take care of her?" came a harsh reply.
"Her punishment will come after her death. The child did nothing wrong," another added.
"And who knows," said one elder bitterly, "maybe the child will be like the mother. After all, like mother, like child."
Ariana heard these voices from all directions as they continued speaking and insulting her like she was invisible. Tears spilled from her eyes, but she remained silent.
She had not spoken a word—but how could she, when she had been mute since she was thirteen, after being diagnosed with a rare, unknown sickness? It had left her unable to speak properly; her voice was no more than a slow whisper. Any attempt to stretch her voice caused her throat to ache, forcing her to visit the hospital for more medication. So instead, she chose silence—it was too risky to speak.
"But what are we going to tell the government?" another man asked. "Her husband died on their wedding night. How tragic could that be? And you cannot tell me this pregnancy belongs to him."
Ariana remained there, surrounded in a circle by rows of high tables, drowning in the judgment of the council.
Her life had been nothing short of tragic these past few months. Just a week before her wedding, she discovered she was pregnant—with someone else's child. The weight of it crushed her. The day she planned to tell her father, he broke the news to her instead: she was getting married the very next day—to a man she had never met.
But the cruelty didn't end there. On her wedding night, her husband died. That only made things worse—everyone would believe she had killed him, even though she hadn't. She had heard the news the day after: he had died shortly after the wedding. That only deepened the suspicions. And now, with the child growing inside her—and knowing it wasn't her husband's—they had even more reason to accuse her.
Her father, the man who should have stood by her side, who should have helped and guided her, simply sat among the council—silent, unmoved. No plea, no defense. He listened as the others spoke, distant and cold.
Another elder spoke, "What do you think? Will the government even respond if we suggest she be moved to a designated government facility for some time, so she can be properly taken care of? This lady clearly needs a psychiatrist—we don't even know if she might harm the little one inside her."
The eldest of them all finally spoke up, "How else do you expect her to explain?"
Ariana bit her lip softly, feeling a quiet ache inside. It would have been better if she couldn't hear these people at all. The longer she stayed there, the more invisible she felt, as if no one even noticed she was there.
Even among all these people, the one person Ariana had believed in—the one she had hoped would stand by her—was her father. She had gone to great lengths for him, even pushing aside her own discomfort to marry a man she didn't know, simply because her father told her to—just one day before the wedding. All because of a debt he owed.
In that country, tradition dictated that a man must pay a bride price—a symbolic payment to show he could provide for the bride and care for her as his own. The money was given to the bride's parents, and in return, they were expected to hand the man their daughter—a gesture of trust, union, and responsibility. It was a sacred symbol that a man could now take care of their daughter as his own.
And Ariana had done everything—sacrificed everything. She had swallowed her pride, cast aside her self-worth, and married that man so that her father's debt would be cleared. So he would no longer owe anyone.
Yet now, all her father did was sit there in silence, his head bowed, not uttering a word in her defense.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed quietly. But what ached even more than the betrayal was the fact that she couldn't even speak for herself. No matter how hard she tried, no sound would come. And now, they were even insulting her because of that—because she was mute.
Her lips parted as her body trembled slightly. Her long gown flared on the floor. It was like the tears refused to stop. Her mum—the only one who would have been by her side—was gone.
One of the men sneered mockingly, "So why should we pity her? Who knows if the child in her womb is mute too?"
At those words, Ariana slowly lifted her head. The room fell silent. Her golden hair fell back, revealing a tear-streaked face now set in a hard glare. Her golden eyes locked onto the man who had spoken. Eyes widened—she had not raised her head since she entered, so this caught them off-guard.
A slow, defiant smile curved her lips.
She stood up slowly, every eye fixed on her as she moved with the grace of a model down to where the man sat. Then, to everyone's shock, she raised her hand, clenched it into a fist in front of the man and everyone, extended her middle finger slowly, and mouthed:
"Fuck you… Fuck you and your entire generation."