The Weight That Doesn't Fade
Hilda who had returned the remaining women back to their homes, saw the scene she had expected.
The moment they stepped into the village—
It began.
Not with shouting.
Not with violence.
But with something far worse.
Silence.
The narrow dirt paths of Ridge Village were lined with people.
Watching.
Waiting.
Judging.
Their eyes didn't hold relief.
Didn't hold gratitude.
They held something colder.
Something sharper.
The women who had walked beside Clara trembled.
Some lowered their heads.
Some clutched the torn fabric around their bodies.
Some—
Just stared ahead.
As if they had already accepted what was coming.
"…We're home…"
One of them whispered.
But even that word—
Sounded fragile.
Like it might break if spoken too loudly.
Then—
A mother ran forward.
Her hands shaking.
Her eyes already filled with tears.
"My daughter…!"
