Maggie Greene-Rhee: When The Tides Turned
"little one, little one
the sky is fallin'
your lifeboat of deception is now sailing"

2007 - 2009

Something changed around the time that Maggie left middle school and started high school.

It was like a slow but gradual build-up that she could sense but was unable to identify. Something about the energy around the church and the farm, and even inside the house. And Maggie couldn't help but wonder if the lines appearing on her daddy's face were from aging, or from stress. He looked more and more exhausted every day, and some nights Maggie could hear him arguing with Momma in their bedroom. The stress had appeared on Annette's face, too—yet she was so much younger than her husband. Maggie was observant enough to take note of the rising tension, no matter how hard her parents tried to keep it hidden.

There were little puzzle pieces showing up everywhere whenever Maggie looked for them. And even when she wasn't. In all honesty, she would've rather stayed ignorant to the entire situation. She had enough to worry about with high school and how weird all her classmates were acting since puberty had swept through them, and she still wanted to tell herself that she could go off to college in a few years and leave all of Senoia behind her if she worked hard enough. But she'd seen the bright red Overdue and Final Notice envelopes lying on the end table in the hallway, she'd noticed the lack of upkeep on the farm equipment and in the church, she'd heard her parents having more than one heated argument about money and finances and taxes and recessions, and she was smart enough to piece the puzzle together and figure out that this was worse than when Uncle Lloyd had died; that her parents were far more overwhelmed than they'd ever been before, and that her daddy had most definitely not planned for a new wife and two more children before he'd retired, and their farm wasn't making the profit it once had so many years ago. She reckoned all the other details were more than she could comprehend, and she was certain that they were more than she wanted to know.

When Shawn threw a fit about not getting a brand new and very expensive Carhartt jacket to wear for his fifth-grade year, Maggie merely stood back and watched him argue until he got sent to his room by an irate and frustrated Hershel. She didn't dare ask for anything more than what she was offered—she knew better. By that point, she was pinning all her hopes on earning as many scholarships as possible and leaving once high school was over in her best attempt to lessen the huge load on her parents' shoulders. One less kid to support, one less mouth to feed, one less future to worry about. She even went as far as to form a very shoddy plan—completely secret and hypothetical, of course—in the instance that her daddy passed away before Shawn and/or Beth came of age. He was getting old, after all, and he'd started his blended family later in life than most. She knew that anything could happen, too. Life was just like that. She'd learned that lesson when Josephine had passed away, and again when Annette and Shawn had joined her family, and once more when Uncle Lloyd had died. She wouldn't let Shawn and Beth learn the same hard way.

If there was one thing Maggie was afraid of, it was being caught off-guard. She liked to plan for everything. Just in case. This tiny obsession, as she liked to think of it, spanned from her ritualistic nightly routine of laying out all her clothes for the next morning and triple-checking her backpack, to carrying everything from lotion to aspirin to an EpiPen in her purse, and went as far as her relentless arguing until she was allowed to learn how to clean and operate a few types of firearms, as well as her insistence on learning and maintaining a certification in CPR. And despite Hershel's hesitance, she'd also learned exactly how to resolve most emergency issues around the farm, whether it be equipment-related or animal-related or just plain human-stupidity-related. Uncle Lloyd had always called it a "thirst for knowledge," but when it came down to it, Maggie simply felt—very strongly and from a very young age—that she needed to be confident and sure in every action she took. She needed to be prepared to account for other people's mistakes. No matter how big or small they may be.

When it came down to the fallout of the catastrophe, Maggie was going to make damn sure that she was not the one to be caught unprepared. She might not be the one to save the day, but she'd at least be the one to save somebody from the worst of it.

She needed to be able to tell herself that she was ready, that she was prepared, that she could do whatever necessary to provide for her family no matter what situation might arise. It was her duty, just like her dad had told her so many years ago. Shawn and Beth were her blood, and she had to protect them if Hershel and Annette couldn't. She had to make sure they grew up to be real Greene's, strong and resilient and unflinching. Unharmed.

So when the heated arguments turned to hushed conversations and shared looks; when the entire congregation began gathering together in child-omitted meetings along with every employee on the farm; when a strange pickup truck showed up once and then twice and then three more times over the span of a few months; when parts of the farm became suddenly "off-limits" to her and Shawn and Beth and Arnold; when her dad and Otis and a bunch of other people started disappearing for huge chunks of time and her mom kept making flimsy excuses for their absence; when the lines in Hershel's face and the bags below Annette's eyes grew so deep that they were impossible to ignore… Maggie took it upon herself to find the root cause.

She watched closely and observed silently for nearly two solid years before she could no longer stem the burning curiosity or stifle the building resentment. There was a new variable inserted into the complex equation of her life and her family, and she'd be damned if she was going to be left in the dark. She needed to know what was going on, needed to know that her daddy had a plan for all of them and that things weren't about to fall apart beneath their feet. She had to be prepared for whatever changes might be approaching. She was old enough, wise enough, more than mature enough.

There was no conceivable reason she could see to be left out of anything involving the farm or the church. Especially if it affected her and her siblings in the long-run.

2009

It was the hottest part of the summer before Maggie's junior year of high school when she finally got her answers.

She overheard Hershel quietly discussing some kind of mysterious "meeting" with Annette shortly before breakfast. And a few hours later, she snuck away from her chores and followed him while he wasn't looking. Shawn and Arnold were preoccupied on another part of the farm and Annette was gardening with Beth, so it wasn't all that difficult to slip away unnoticed. If any of the farmhands had taken note of her absence, it was too late for them to stop her or figure out where she was going.

Her daddy was completely unaware of her presence as he hopped into his truck and rumbled off down the dirt road. She already knew where he was going based on the direction he was driving in. And about half an hour later, she'd half-run and half-walked her way to the church. She was covered in sweat but full of confidence when she spotted his truck parked in front of the old building, though she was still confused as to why he was there when no one else was.

Was he meeting someone in secret? That was the only logical inference she could make. But it still left her with a burning question: Why? And who?

Maggie lurked around outside for a few minutes, peeking into windows and trying to figure out what her dad was doing. But then she grew frustrated and impatient and decided that if there was a better time to confront him, it wouldn't come again for several long months. And she wasn't even sure she could wait several more days.

She thought of stupid little Shawn and annoying little Beth and the markers of stress etched into her momma's face. And she finally mustered up the courage to waltz through the front door of the church, shoulders back and head held high. Her hands reflexively clenched into fists and she let all the anger bubble to the surface, all the resentment towards her daddy for keeping something so obviously huge from her. She was almost an adult—she had a right to know everything that was going on.

But before she could get her first words out, Hershel was emerging from his office across the room with wide eyes. "Maggie?!" He rushed towards her and she met him at the small set of stairs that led up to the stage. Once she was face-to-face with him, she could see the genuine fear in his eyes.

"Dad, I wanna know what's goin' on," she said firmly, but she didn't get the reaction from him that she'd been preparing for. So she added, "I dunno what you're doin', but it's scaring me. I'm old enough t'know whatever it is, I just—"

"Mags, this is not the time. You need to go," he cut her off. He kept glancing past her nervously, toward the door, and then he was reaching out with shaky wrinkled hands and grasping her wrists to accentuate his point. "I'll tell you everything, I promise. But you should not have followed me here—there's a reason I came here alone. You need t'head back home right now before—"

"Before what?!" Maggie burst, her anger surfacing as she rose her voice. "Dad, you've been really weird lately. Everybody has. Who did you come here to meet? Why can't I be here—why can't I know about it?"

"Because it's not safe for you," Hershel snapped, and Maggie reeled. She was stunned into silence, left standing before her father like a little girl while he clutched her wrists and firmly scolded her. "If I keep something from you, it's in your best interest. Everything I do is in your best interest. Now is not the time to argue, Margaret. You need to leave."

Her lower lip trembled and she was left speechless. She couldn't remember the last time he'd used her full name when speaking to her. The fear had turned to anger in his eyes like a flash of lightning and suddenly, she wished she'd never followed him in the first place. Why did she always have to be so goddamn nosy, so intrusive? Her incessant distrust and conflicting need to be included was one of the reasons she couldn't keep any friends, and now she was wondering if it would ruin her relationship with her family as well. The last thing she'd ever wanted was to disappoint her father.

Her silence turned his anger to mush before her eyes and he was back to pleading with her when he realized she wasn't moving. "Please, Maggie, you need to go. Run back home as fast as you can, I can't risk havin' you here when they show up."

The tears pooling in his eyes made her want to cry. But she merely swallowed past the knot in her throat and blinked, opening her mouth to respond. Nothing came out.

"These are bad men, sweetheart," he said, his voice as shaky as the hands clasping her wrists. "I don't want you to ever have t'meet them."

Then a sound startled them both and she jolted: the slam of a car door from outside. Then another and one more after it. The tell-tale noises that led to the imminent crunching of gravel beneath boots. And before Maggie could shake off the shock and try to leave, the door was opening and three men were striding into the quiet church.

She had enough time and sense to pull away from her dad and step behind him, standing firm and determined to look these strange new men in their eyes. But they were far more intimidating than she could've predicted. They walked with a confidence that frightened her, smug smiles on their faces and malice sparkling in their eyes, all dressed in dark clothing. She saw the way Hershel forcibly straightened his back and struggled not to tremble as the men approached. She also saw the stoic expression on his face and the way his jaw clenched and his watery blue eyes turned to cold steel just before he stepped forward and met them. She could feel the physical barrier he was placing between her and them.

"Ol' Man Greene, how ya been?" The first man had led the small group and stood before Hershel with the cockiest smile of all three, his blue eyes squinty and his short hair graying and beginning to recede. He was middle-aged and though he looked wily and a little drug-worn, he was clearly out of shape and no taller than Hershel. Nonetheless, he carried himself as though he were seven feet tall and made of pure muscle. His voice was strange in Maggie's ears, scratchy like he'd smoked two packs a day for his whole life. And his Southern accent was strong, unique and easily identifiable.

Hershel's tone was tense as he responded, "Takin' it one day at a time. Good ta see you again, Merle. Who're yer friends?"

The man—Merle—grinned and chuckled as though Hershel had told a joke. Then he turned and gestured toward the men at his flanks. He motioned first towards the shorter of the two, a middle-aged, brown-skinned Hispanic man with a wide nose and a pointed chin. He was a couple inches shorter than Merle and frowning. His dark hair was cut into a military style with buzzed sides and a thin beard shadowed his jaw. His round hazel eyes surveyed Hershel with obvious distaste. Maggie thought he could've been a cop if she didn't know any better.

"This is Martinez," Merle explained in a lazy drawl. "Guess you could call 'im The Governor's Right-Hand Man. The boss himself insisted on sendin' somebody he really trusts. I s'pose it's his way of ensuring he ain't makin' an… ill-advised investment."

Hershel quietly hmphed in acknowledgment, and without missing a beat, Merle was gesturing toward the other man—the largest of the trio, silent and hulking and terrifying. "An' this is Beta. He's, uh…" Merle paused and let out an icy chuckle, a devious grin spreading his lips wide. "Shit, I reckon he's part a the insurance plan. He's the muscle. The strong, silent type, this one. One a the many guys we got at our disposal—he'll snap yer neck and laugh about it, but that's what we love about 'im. We've shared a lotta laughs together, me an' ole Beta here. Ain't we, Martinez?"

Martinez merely nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, the frown deepening on his face. He refused to tear his gaze from Hershel, and Maggie wasn't even sure he was aware that she existed.

The man called Beta continued to stand completely still and silent, glaring down at Hershel with an indifferent expression on his hideous face. He had to have been at least seven feet all, or close to it, and eighty-percent muscle with a broad square chest and equally broad shoulders, each of his hands about the same size as Maggie's entire head. He could've been the same age as the other two men or twenty years older, it was anyone's guess. He had pale skin and his brown hair was long and straight, flowing down past his shoulders and slicked stiffly back off his face, with a chest-length gray-and-brown beard to match. All the hair covered most of his face, but the parts that were exposed were aged and scarred. The most prominent feature about him was the long, red, grisly scar that started at his left temple and trailed diagonally across his entire face, over both cheeks and barely missing his left eye, leaving a pebbly crevice in the bridge of his nose before finally ending somewhere on his jawline within the depths of his thick beard. His lips were thin and chapped and constantly pursed, and he had a low brow and bushy eyebrows that nearly overshadowed his beady azure eyes. Maggie couldn't bear to gaze into them, fearful of what she might see. She couldn't stop staring at the tightly clenched, boulder-sized fists hanging at his sides.

"Well, not that it's any less of a pleasure ta meet y'all," Hershel nodded curtly to Martinez and Beta before turning his focus on Merle again, an obviously forced and somewhat nervous tone to his voice. "But is this really necessary? We were doin' business together before The Governor was ever involved, Merle. Surely you don't think I'd start goin' back on my word now."

Merle frowned and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "That was a different time, Greene. Different business. What we did was strictly between us an' whatever other hypocrites you conned into yer little finance scheme… This is the big leagues now. I told ya The Governor's in charge a everything, and he ain't messin' around—I warned you that joinin' him meant a whole new ballgame. Whatever me an' you did before is ancient history. 'D'you already forget what I told ya? Or you need a li'l reminder?"

Hershel cleared his throat uncomfortably and shook his head. "No. I understand. I just expect a little more trust in this situation. To be frank, I have more t'lose than anyone else. Why would I risk that?"

Merle smirked and his icy blue eyes flicked over to Maggie for a long second, dragging up and down her form before returning to Hershel. She shuddered and tried to shrink back into the shadows, but she was frozen in place. She didn't dare try to step away, just like she didn't dare try to speak up.

"If we didn't trust you, we wouldn't be here," Martinez said simply. His voice was emotionless.

Merle nodded in agreement and raised his eyebrows. "Exactly. 'Sides—how can you expect me ta trust you when I know for goddamn sure that you don't trust me 'sfar as you can throw me? When the fuck did 'trust' come inta play here? Huh?"

Hershel blinked and his jaw clenched. He lowered his voice and said, "That's simply not true. I've known your family for years, we—"

Merle took a threatening step forward and growled, "Don't you fuckin' lie ta me, old man. You never gave a shit's spittle about my pa, not when he was above ground an' sure as fuck not now that he's rottin' in that box six feet under. You ain't ever respected me unless it was convenient for ya. Get yerself in too deep an' ya give ol' Merle a call... Oh yeah, ya think I didn't see right through you?" He slashed an arm through the air, gesturing angrily toward the church around them. "Think I didn't see this flimsy li'l house of cards fer exactly what it was? You ain't no better'an me, so you can stop try'na convince yourself that ya are."

Maggie had never seen her daddy wince at the threat of another man before. Yet he was now, despite how hard he was struggling to keep his back straight and his shoulders squared.

"I asked you for help because I had nowhere else to turn. Yes, that's true," Hershel said calmly. "But I never asked you to—"

"Shut the fuck up already," Merle snapped, refusing to let the older man finish a sentence. "Whatever you gotta say ain't worth diddly-squat at this point. What the boss says, goes. Ain't no point in arguin' with the messenger. You understand that? I'm The Governor's man now. One-hundred-and-fifty fuckin' percent."

Maggie thought her father must've forgotten himself, or maybe he was just too accustomed to being the most outspoken person in a room, because he immediately quipped, "And your brother? Is he The Governor's man now, too?"

Something flared angrily in Merle's eyes and a low growl came from Beta's throat. Maggie could see the hideous man's huge hands clenching into tight fists, and then Merle was taking another step forward and minimizing the distance between him and Hershel. His voice was low and his tone was icy cold.

"My weak little brother made his choice when he left. He abandoned me… but The Governor saved me. He can save you, too... Or he can destroy ya. 'S up to you, Greene."

Hershel pursed his lips, bright blue eyes darting between Merle, Beta, and Martinez. Merle took a step back and smiled. The sight sent nasty chills through Maggie's whole body.

"It's time ta step up, Farmer John. You wanna keep yer land, yer precious little church—keep yer family outta the poor house an' yer pretty little daughters off the pole? Or d'you wanna dig yerself a hole that you can't ever climb out of?" Merle continued. "Seems ta me you already got one foot in the grave—in more ways'an one."

Maggie's heart skipped and she saw her daddy's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard, saw the flicker of confusion that crossed his features. Yet he retained his composure, his steel face and his icy tongue. And he stared Merle directly in the eyes and said, "I have—I've stepped up. I've got your money. There's no need for threats or repercussions today. We did well this month, and we might do even better next month."

Merle gave a humorless laugh. "'S not what I mean. Boss sent his higher-ups fer a reason—not just ta collect payment. We got an offer for ya, Greene."

"Not an offer," Martinez corrected. "An order."

"Yeah, that's more accurate," Merle said with a smirk. "Not really like ya got any say in the matter." He sniggered as though he'd told a joke while Maggie's blood ran cold.

Hershel didn't hesitate and his voice didn't falter. "What kind of order?"

Merle jerked his chin upwards. "This farm an' church thing ya got goin' on—Boss likes it. Thinks it's smart, discreet. Thinks it's got potential."

"Lots of potential," Martinez added. "Almost foolproof."

"Almost," Merle continued. "Unless you decide ta make a fool outta The Governor. In which case…"

His eyes were flicking back toward Maggie.

Hershel interjected immediately, "I would never dare. You don't need to use threats t'make your point with me, Dixon."

Merle blinked at the older Greene's comeback but didn't let it faze him. Instead, he smiled wider and chuckled with joy. "Well then, you know that we came to discuss business matters. And the business that matters is yours, Greene—this pretty li'l farm and picturesque church you got is about ta become one of the most profitable production-slash-distribution centers this side a the Mississippi. Yer gonna be rollin' in the cash... and so is The Governor. We're gonna put all those shit-filled barns a yours to good use, and when the cops come sniffin' around, you won't have nothin' ta worry about. 'Cause yer a man of God, and this shitty little plywood church is more'an enough ta vouch for that." He gestured widely toward the pews around them. "Not a goddamn soul in their right mind that's gonna question this shit."

Maggie's mind was racing and she had a million more questions than she'd had five minutes ago. But she remained silent and frozen, eyes darting back-and-forth between her daddy and the three terrifying men standing before him. She had the feeling that Beta's eyes were locked on her, perversely raking her up and down like Merle's had, but she was too scared to look at him and find out. Hershel remained firm with a steady and business-like tone of voice, and she struggled against the urge to grab his arm and pull him away from these men and out the door. She desperately wished she'd never followed him here.

"And if they do?" He asked. "How big of an operation are we talkin' here? I've only got so many empty barns and sheds, and the employees may not want to—"

"Ain't about want to. We're past that," Merle cut him off sharply. "Y'all are The Governor's people now, those are his employees, they'll do what they're goddamn told. An' that includes lying if anybody comes sniffin' around. 'S not that hard ta understand, ol' man. Use yer fuckin' head—you wanna be rich? Or you want this whole goddamn farm put to the torch? And you right along with it?"

"I never wanted to be rich," Hershel said solemnly. "I just wanted to keep my farm and my church. I wanted to keep my family fed."

Merle turned his head and spat on the floor, then growled out, "And what the fuck did I just say?"

Maggie saw Beta's fists clench, huge fingers flexing threateningly. She pursed her lips and kept her eyes on her father.

"I'm not refusing and I'm not fightin' back," Hershel insisted. "I just don't quite understand why we can't continue with the current state of things—it seems risky t'take it larger. I don't have the experience, and my people don't have the skillset to operate anything bigger than this. I wouldn't wanna put The Governor's business in danger."

At that, both Merle and Martinez let out cold, hearty laughs. Then Merle shook his head, still chuckling and grinning.

"Don't you worry yer gray little head, Grandpa. The Governor's got more'an enough experience with risk management. An' he's got the resources ta spare so we make sure y'all are well trained," he said coolly. "In every aspect. All's you need t'worry about is clearin' out some space and gettin' ready for some major shipments. We'll take care a the rest."

Hershel hesitated, keeping his eyes locked on Merle's, then said firmly, "I thought we had a deal. I've paid off all my debts, I've turned things around. Hell, I've even brought in extra profit right along with it."

Martinez spoke abruptly before Merle had the chance to snap back. "And The Governor has given you protection," he said plainly, the veil of a threat lacing his words. "He's extended his resources to take care of your problems. You owe him."

Hershel's face fell, but Merle grinned.

"That's right," Merle said triumphantly. "And it's time to pay the piper."

The silence that hung over them was tense and full of unspoken hostility. Maggie's nerves were bouncing around restlessly beneath her skin and her heart wouldn't slow down, thump-thump-thumping incessantly inside her chest. She kept her eyes on her daddy for fear of attracting any of the other men's attention. She prayed they would turn around and leave. Just leave—leave her family alone. She'd never felt so terrified in her life, even though she wasn't completely sure what the hell was going on.

All she knew was that talking with these men was like walking on broken glass, and she feared that her father would have much more than bloody feet by the end of it.

Hershel spoke tentatively, clearly struggling to maintain his completely business-like tone. "And if I… can't?"

Martinez furrowed his brow in slight confusion. Merle did the same as he asked, "Can't? Or won't?"

Hershel swallowed hard and paused. Then he muttered, "Do I… have a choice?"

At that, a loud laugh burst out and echoed around the church. The sound was so sudden and terrifying that it made Maggie jolt in surprise. She quickly realized it had been Beta's deep voice, his cold and chilling laughter accompanied by an icy, humorless smile on his thin lips. Merle followed with his own chuckle and when the silence returned, he grinned devilishly.

"Oh, you got a choice alright," he said, yellow teeth bared and azure eyes sparkling maliciously.

Maggie fought not to let her knees visibly shake when Beta took a few steps forward and closed the distance between him and her daddy. At first, she thought he was going to make a show of his strength, and she clenched her fists, preparing to fight back—there was no way in hell she'd let someone hurt her father while she stood back and watched helplessly. But then the monster of a man was bypassing Hershel entirely and it was already too late by the time Maggie realized his beady little eyes were set on her. He reached out a thick arm and his huge hand wrapped around her wrist, yanking her forward and causing her to stumble.

She was about to resist, about to raise her fist and hit him or pull away. But she looked over and found her daddy's fearful eyes, and she immediately interpreted the silent message he was sending her. She went lax in Beta's grasp and allowed him to pull her so close that she could smell his overwhelming stench of body odor and dirty laundry. Another look from her father and she knew to keep her mouth shut, to swallow all the hateful and angry words that wanted to spew forward. Within seconds, she'd figured out that trying to fight back would only cause more damage.

And just like that, she learned that sometimes she would have to keep quiet and suffer silently—if she wanted her daddy to live to see another day. If she wanted to live to see another day.

The beastly man grasping her arm could crush her with one good squeeze and she wasn't about to tempt him with the prospect of an easy victory... an easy lesson. Her daddy didn't need to learn this one. He already knew. She could see it in his face, in the watery fear filling his eyes, in the way his lower lip trembled. She could hear it in his voice.

"This yer li'l girl, right?" Merle chortled.

Hershel nodded deftly, his terrified gaze bouncing between Merle and Beta and Maggie. "Yes, that's my daughter. She's barely sixteen."

Maggie didn't miss how he'd said 'daughter' and not 'oldest daughter.' She knew that with literally anyone else, she was but one amongst three. But with these men, she was one. Only one. And he would've lied about their relation if he could have. But he was cornered. He had no choice. And Maggie found herself silently praying that none of these men knew about Shawn's or Beth's or Arnold's existence.

She also found herself subconsciously acknowledging that these men didn't care how young she was. It didn't matter whether she was sixteen or six. It would never matter to them.

"Well—she's a pretty little thing, ain't she?" Merle continued in a half-mocking, half-threatening tone. "She'd make some awfully good money. Ya know, Boss doesn't discriminate—he dabbles in all kinds a business, anything that brings in traffic. He's somethin' of a venture capitalist... Might be that he'd be willin' to make a deal—if you really feel like you can't follow orders. A couple young, untainted girls would be just about enough ta clear all your debts…"

Beta's huge calloused hand was brushing across Maggie's left cheek now and she knew he could feel her trembling beneath the grasp of his other hand. She no longer cared. She was more focused on not pissing herself.

Hershel's jaw clenched tightly and his eyes reflexively narrowed as he watched Beta tuck a strand of hair behind Maggie's ear and stroke his huge knuckles across her cheek with mock admiration. She fought not to let the tears pool in her eyes. Her father's face was pale and she spotted the way he was pressing his arms tightly against the sides of his body, using all his strength to keep himself from lurching forward and lashing out.

But his eyes were still full of fear. Terror.

"Perky little tits, intact hymens, all pure an' church-like—yeah, they'd make some real good money." Merle cackled coldly. "Pro'lly more'an this whole farm put together, I reckon."

Hershel was trembling now, but Maggie could see it wasn't from fear this time. It was rage bubbling to the surface and threatening to pour outward. She bit her tongue, assuring herself that he had it handled.

He'd told her not to come out here. She should've listened. She should've trusted him.

"That's enough," Hershel's voice boomed through the church. "You've made your point. My daughter is no part of this—I'll pay whatever you want. I'll do whatever you ask. Just leave her alone…" His voice was suddenly pleading as he added, "Please."

Martinez signaled with a curt nod of his head and Beta released Maggie's arm reluctantly. She stumbled back away from him, scrabbling quickly behind her father on shaky legs. Merle laughed coldly and Martinez was smirking in satisfaction. Beta grunted with disapproval and stepped back to stand beside his cohorts, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Now that's more like it," Merle grinned.

"Margaret, go wait out in the truck while we discuss business," Hershel said, and though his tone was measured and calm, Maggie knew him well enough to recognize the tense and half-begging hints in his statement. She didn't even second- guess his choice of name for her.

She wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of there. But not without her dad.

She was about to open her mouth and protest, or maybe even apologize for being in the way, in hopes of easing the tension that hovered threateningly over these men. But when her eyes met Hershel's, she interpreted the unspoken words almost immediately and snapped her lips shut.

Before she could lower her head and rush out of the church, Merle objected, "Now hol' on—"

Then Martinez was interrupting him and, to Maggie's surprise, agreeing with Hershel. "No, let her go. This is a grown-up conversation. She's nothing but a liability."

If it weren't for the current circumstances, she might've disagreed and quipped back with a smartass remark. But for the first time in her life, she was grateful that someone was considering her too young and dumb to be present for the conversation. She glanced a momentary look of relief cross Hershel's face before her gaze jumped over to Martinez, her lips still tightly shut.

That was when she noticed the slight movement of his hand: the casual way he brushed back the hem of his leather jacket, the subtle graze of his fingers over the handgun that was very prominently tucked into his waistband. And when her eyes flicked back upward to see his face, she found him staring at her. And what she saw in his dark eyes made her blood run cold.

She couldn't get out of the church fast enough.

She was already halfway to the truck before the doors fell shut behind her with a banging sound. It wasn't until she was sitting in the passenger seat of her daddy's truck, with the doors shut and locked and the window half-rolled down, that she began to wonder if she'd left him in there to die.

But if she were being honest, she didn't want to watch him be killed. And it wasn't like there was anything she could do to stop it anyway—not realistically. As much as she hated to admit it, she was nothing more than a five-foot-six girl who weighed less than a buck-fifty. Even despite all the heavy haybales she'd thrown around and all the unruly animals she'd wrangled in her life, God had cursed her with the inevitable weakness of being female. And no amount of strength that she could ever gain would even come close to the strength of those three terrifying men.

Plus, they had fucking guns.

She sat and held her breath for as long as she could, waiting for the sound of a gunshot. She ran through scenario after scenario and constructed one plan after the other, mapping out in her mind all the things that could happen and all the choices she could make, trying to prepare herself for whatever consequences may arise. And though it was dissatisfying to say the least, the final and most prominent conclusion she could come to was that she had to run. That was the only thing she would be able to do, the only thing she could do, the only thing that would help anyone.

She would just have to run.

Luckily, it didn't come to that. The gunshot never came, just like none of the other worst-case scenarios Maggie had imagined and planned for. She watched with bated breath as the three men emerged from behind the heavy wooden doors of the church less than half-an-hour later and got back into their car and drove away. Her jaw didn't stop clenching until the clouds of dust from the backs of their tires had dissipated. And a moment later, Hershel was stepping out into the bright sunlight. His head was hung low and he walked to the truck as though he were carrying a hundred-pound weight on his shoulders.

He climbed into the driver's seat and sat motionless for several long moments, staring down at the steering wheel with an inconceivable conundrum plainly plastered across his face. Maggie watched him silently and waited. She didn't speak. Her eyes occasionally drifted down to the keys in his hand. The hot morning sun beat down on them through the windshield. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of her face, but she didn't bother wiping them away. Her hands were still trembling in her lap and her ears were perked for the sound of tires on gravel.

Then, just like that, Hershel was sitting up straight and putting the key into the ignition and starting up the old pickup. She could hear his deep sigh over the rumble of the engine.

"We still got a couple hours till it's lunchtime," he said, turning his head to look over at her. "How about we go shootin'?"

In any other instance, Maggie would've grinned and eagerly agreed. But this wasn't like any other instance.

And she wasn't fourteen anymore—she wasn't a dumb little daddy's girl. Not anymore, and not ever again.

"Dad…" It was all she could manage. Her voice dried up somewhere within her throat and all the questions she'd had in her head were suddenly nothing more than wisps of fog.

But he saw it when she looked at him, and his face fell and the brightness in his crystal blue eyes dimmed, and he put on the same strong yet transparent face that she'd been seeing through for as long as she could remember. He sighed again—more softly this time. She felt a painful stab of pity for her father, something close to what she'd felt when her uncle died. Except it was a lot more intense this time around.

"Yeah. Let's go shootin'," he said decisively. "We don't get a lotta time jus' the two of us anymore. I think we need it."

She pursed her lips and fought back tears, nodding silently. Then she quickly turned her head and stared forward at the windshield as he shifted gears and the truck began to rumble into motion.

They drove in silence back to the farm and when they got there, Hershel didn't stop to talk to anyone. He went straight to the locked shed where he kept all the guns and retrieved what they needed. Then they were back on the road, still not speaking so much as a word. He drove them out towards the empty open acres a few miles out that they frequented for shooting practice.

Admittedly, it had been a while since they'd done such a thing. So the silence of the drive might not have been so jarring except for the fact that the entire thing was out of the norm. Ever since Uncle Lloyd had died and Arnold had moved in, Hershel didn't have much time to take Maggie out for one-on-one father-daughter time. Not that she didn't understand. What made it particularly surprising was how he'd never been very happy about her insistence on weapons practice—he'd always preferred she stick to things like horseback riding, cooking, sewing, and all those other lady-like things that bored the hell out of her. So anytime he actually agreed to teach her or help her practice felt like some kind of one-off thing, or a bout of luck.

This time though, she couldn't even enjoy it. This wasn't a bout of luck by any means. It was more like an… apology. Or maybe another lesson.

Maggie was about sick and tired of learning things, though. She was exhausted with these lessons. Every time she started to think she had life all figured out, something new popped in and fucked up her whole perception. She'd wanted to learn how to use all the guns in her daddy's cabinet—that didn't mean she wanted to learn how to use them to defend herself. She just wanted to know. Just in case.

Was this the 'just in case' she'd always been subconsciously preparing for?

She stopped herself from entertaining that thought for much longer, because she knew it always took her down the same dark path of horrendous scenarios that sent dread racing through all her veins until her chest was tight and her breath was short. And then the truck was bumping its way up and over small grassy hills and she spotted the familiar area of open field, the sky big and blue and unobstructed above them. Hershel silenced the engine and they wordlessly climbed out before walking back to the tailgate and gathering all the firearms and ammunition together.

The silence felt tense and loaded to Maggie, but she did her best not to let it show. She kept picturing the look on Martinez's face in her head, kept replaying the split-second during which she'd caught onto his silent threat. The more times it played in her mind, the angrier she got. After several dozen times, the fury was boiling into a silent and dangerous rage.

What was it her daddy had said so long ago? Something about good men being too scared to stop the bad men? She wondered what happened to that mindset. Had her father forgotten it, or was he just another hypocrite?

Or was the whole world run by bad men, while the Greene's were doomed to sit by helplessly and be crushed beneath the boot of evil? Was their farm and church nothing more than a very small percentage of good amongst an overwhelming amount of bad?

They set up their make-shift targets across the field, a decent distance away from the truck, and posted up next to the old pickup with their guns. Maggie picked a handgun like she usually did, while Hershel picked a rifle to start with. They fired off at least a dozen rounds before a single word was spoken between them.

Though she'd already known she wouldn't be the first to speak. Any questions she could've asked would have been pointless in the long run. Her father would tell her what he would tell her and nothing more. Nothing less either. She'd already witnessed too much for him to leave her completely ignorant.

So she'd accepted that she would get answers, and they may not be the answers she wanted, but at least she would know something. At least she would get enough information to be prepared.

"Maggie, I want you to know… if you've lost all respect for me… if you hate me… I understand. Whatever you feel towards me is exactly what I deserve. And I'll accept it."

Maggie's heart dropped down through the bottom of her stomach and she lowered her gun, turning her body slightly to the side in order to face her father. He stood motionless, his rifle clutched loosely in one hand and hanging against his leg. He stared back at her with watery blue eyes, his jaw stiffened while his lower lip trembled.

He looked more defeated than she'd ever seen him. He looked almost pathetic.

The sight made her sick to her stomach. She'd never wanted to see her daddy like this. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be resilient. He was supposed to be unbreakable.

But he was… broken.

She swallowed hard and glanced away, down at the weapon grasped in her hand. That smug expression on Merle Dixon's face was still burning in her brain; the stench of Beta's body odor; the threatening graze of Martinez's fingers across his holstered gun. That name that echoed so malevolently: The Governor. As if the sound itself held some sort of weight.

She wanted them dead. She wanted to kill them. Just for daring to make her father appear so goddamn helpless.

And now Hershel thought she hated him? That she'd lost all respect for him?

How could she?

He was her daddy. He was her blood. Just like Beth. Maggie could never hate him, no matter what he did. He could kill a man right in front of her and she'd still defend him to her very last breath.

They were Greene's. They had to stick together. They had to look out for each other. How could she ever turn her back on that? It was a promise made in blood, a pact embedded within her very genetics, an unspoken vow weaved so deeply throughout the pores of her skin that she could never hope to know who she was otherwise. She didn't want to know.

She was Maggie Greene, the eldest daughter of Hershel Greene. It was her identity. Her reason for being. There was a precedent to be held within that title.

Yet despite all of that, at the very core of her being, the sentiment of weakness rang true: she was a daddy's girl. Always had been. Always would be. Whatever he said was how it went. She trusted him now just as much as she did when she was four years old. He was the only living person that she could whole-heartedly believe would never lead her astray. In her eyes, he could do no wrong. Because she loved him unconditionally, and vise versa. Nothing could change that.

Her momma's favorite Bible verse, from the book of Corinthians, popped into her head: "Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…"

That was the glue that held the Greene's together, after all. Love.

But there was more to that verse, wasn't there? Particularly, the section that Hershel had always put the most emphasis on during his services.

And until now, Maggie had never quite understood why.

"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

"Daddy," she choked out. She'd tried so damn hard to keep the emotion out of her voice, to fight back the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. But it was impossible. She blinked them away and swallowed past the knot in her throat, forcing her voice to come out more sure and confident. More strong. Like she should be. "I could never hate you. I just… have ta know why."

His jaw clenched and he glanced away. She could see his finger tightening against the stock of his rifle, itching to touch the trigger. He'd picked up on how she'd failed to mention her respect for him. And that was okay with her, for now. She still wasn't sure if she could continue respecting him.

Love and respect were two vastly different things, after all.

Then he cleared his throat and met her gaze. He was the daddy she knew again—but at the same time, he wasn't. Somehow, it was more raw. Like she was seeing him in a new light, bared before her and vulnerable, his outward resilience glowing brightly while the spirit beneath visibly dimmed and wavered.

He was trying. God help him, he was trying. And she couldn't help but respect him for that.

His voice was low and remorseful as he responded, "I had no other choice, sweetheart."

Maggie squared her shoulders. The gun in her hand was hot and slick with sweat, so she gripped it a little tighter. She swiped her free hand across her forehead to push the stray hairs off her brow. But she didn't break eye contact with her father. She licked her lips, finding her mouth to be far drier than she'd expected.

"No other choice?" She repeated. "Why?"

She knew she sounded redundant. Maybe her dad would get irritated with her repetitive why's, like he used to when she was little and kept asking for an explanation to every stupid little thing imaginable. But he didn't.

He simply sighed, and his shoulders slumped a little further down, and the rifle in his hand seemed to weigh ten pounds more. Nonetheless, he didn't look away. "The house where you grew up, the acres of land that have kept us going for as long as you can remember… it belongs to us. To the Greene Family. My grandfather grew up here, and his grandfather before him. Our home is part of our heritage, Maggie. It's been passed down through generations of Greene's. It rightfully belongs to you and Shawn and your sister… And the bank wanted to take it all. We would've been homeless and unemployed—me, your mother, Otis, Patricia, every single person who works on the farm. They wanted to take it away from all of us. Because I failed you all as a provider; I couldn't make ends meet. I tried my hardest, but I just… couldn't make it work. Between the weather and the economy and everything else… I took out too many loans, I relied on too many unreliable people…"

She could hear the strength slowly draining from his voice. She could see the utter defeat appearing on his face.

He frowned and his tone was much softer, much more solemn, as he concluded, "There was simply nowhere else to turn."

Maggie's breath hitched in her throat and she could feel the sneer of disgust that was forming on her face just as well as she could interpret the look of self-abhorrence that was hidden behind her father's stony expression. He was trying so hard to remain strong. But he was crumbling beneath the weight. She was practically watching him fall apart, brick by brick.

And as she looked into his face, stared into his eyes, met his resilience with a pliancy of her own—she saw herself.

She'd spent more than enough time looking into the mirror and staring at old family pictures to know that she had his lips, his mouth, his nose, his forehead, his cheeks, the shape of his eyes (though the color was Josephine's, as Maggie had also learned from old photos). She even had the same subtle shape of his jaw, the same hair color as he'd had before it all went gray. Her shoulders tensed in the same fashion, her legs positioned in the same defensive stance. And whenever she got really angry, it would show, and Shawn would mock her for having "Dad Face."

As she stared back at Hershel, she realized that he pursed his lips just like she did. And he sucked his cheeks in just the slightest bit—the same as her. Had she learned that, or had it been involuntary? Like inheriting his stubborn attitude and self-righteous mindset? LIke adopting his unspoken moral code and latching onto his personal definition of justice? Was it all inherited, misinterpreted and convoluted due to her own ignorance?

It didn't seem to matter anymore. Because all she could really focus on was the glaze in his blue eyes and the expectant look on his face.

He was staring back at her, seemingly hollow except for the dread that kept him upright. Waiting for her response. Expecting her to shun him. To admonish him. To finally reassure him that he'd done exactly the opposite of what was right.

And she couldn't. She couldn't do any of those things.

Because somehow, in a way that she wouldn't understand for several years to come… she understood. She empathized.

She forgave him. Before he ever really needed to be forgiven.

Her voice came out breathy, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"But you tried."

He heard. And he nodded deftly.

She repeated, "You… really tried?"

A question. Searching for a reassurance that would never be found.

He nodded again. "Of course I did. I tried everything, sweetheart."

Maggie wasn't sure where the words came from, but they escaped all the same: "What did you get us into, Daddy?"

The age-worn skin of his face was paler than she'd ever seen, but he didn't look away. His voice wavered, yet remained as firm and steady as she could've hoped. "May God forgive me… But I made a deal with the devil."

She couldn't stop the tears from pooling in her eyes anymore, or escaping to slide down her cheeks. Hershel winced, as though the sight caused him physical pain, but she couldn't hold the stupid tears back no matter how hard she tried. She sniffled defiantly and resituated her hand around the gun. She was resisting the sudden urge to turn and empty her entire clip into the nearest target.

"What kinda deal?" She choked out. And then, "Why?"

"Because I had to. Because I wanted you and Beth to have a chance at a better life. Because I—because I'm a failure. I failed you all. And I couldn't face that truth. I'm a goddamn coward, Maggie."

Maggie's breath caught in her throat and she stared back at her father, wide-eyed. She so very rarely heard him curse, let alone use The Lord's name in vain.

Regardless, it was somewhat close to the answer she'd been looking for; the explanation she'd been dreadfully awaiting.

"Daddy—"

"I am. I'm a yellow-bellied fool. I dug myself into a hole and took the first hand that was offered to pull myself out. I didn't give a damn how much blood that hand was covered in. And I will regret it until my last breath… I truly believed I had no other choice. I did everything in my power to keep us all fed an' happy, and it still wasn't enough. I honestly thought there was nowhere else to turn. When Merle Dixon came knockin', all smiles and handshakes and promises—well, I thought I'd found the solution. I thought, surely, I could make it work somehow. It was so… easy." Hershel scoffed and blinked, flicking his gaze downward for the briefest second before dragging his eyes back up to meet Maggie's. "'Spose I never did learn my lesson: nothing in this life ever comes easy. There's never a painless solution. Everything—an' you remember this when I tell you, Maggie—everything requires a sacrifice."

Maggie didn't breathe. She lingered on his words, allowing them to penetrate her brain and create a permanent residence. Something about his tone, his stance, the deep regret in his eyes—it all melded together to form a sort of cement memory.

Oh, she would remember alright. How could she forget such an important lesson?

There's never a painless solution. Everything requires a sacrifice.

No. She couldn't have forgotten that if she tried. It made too much damn sense.

"What kind of sacrifice?" She asked through gritted teeth and tear-filled eyes. "What deal did you make?"

Hershel's frown deepened, lips pursing together. He glanced away but Maggie continued glaring at him.

She took a shaky step forward and raised her voice. "Dad—"

He met her eyes. "I agreed to produce meth—and sell it." He stared back at her with a frightening determination that made her shrivel in place. "And it's a profitable business. It may be disgusting, it may be reprehensible… but at the end of the day, it's kept this land in our family. It's kept a roof over your head and food in your belly. It's kept the wolves on the outside of our doors."

Maggie could barely form a response, blinking and stuttering indignantly. "Are you shitting me—"

"Watch your mouth, young lady," her father scolded without missing a beat.

She scoffed loudly and glared back at him. "No, you watch your mouth! How could you do such a thing? Meth?! Dad, you've seen what it's done to people, you know it's evil, and you still agreed to—"

"I agreed to be a third party," he cut in firmly. "I agreed to do whatever it took to keep my family safe and happy. You have no idea what it takes to do such a thing, to be so desperate for money, for the means to keep your family alive and thriving… And, God willing, you never will."

It felt like he'd just stuck his hand into her chest and ripped out her heart. "But—"

"I did this for you," Hershel insisted before she could voice her disgust, his bushy gray eyebrows raised, his stance unfaltering as he spoke. "For your momma, for your brother and your sister and the home that rightfully belongs to you. For the dignity that rightfully belongs to our family."

"Dignity?" Maggie spat the word out like it left a bad taste in her mouth. Yet her tone remained weak. She just didn't have it in her to raise her voice at him. "You sold your soul, Daddy. Where's the dignity in that?"

He blinked and she saw a tear roll down his wrinkled cheek. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his empty hand, though he made no attempts to hide it. Who was this man standing before her? He was not the daddy she'd always known and looked up to.

What had this awful world done to him?

"The dignity," he said slowly, his voice choked with unshed tears. "Lies solely with you children. I have three reasons for my being able to sleep at night: you, Shawn, and Beth. I'll confess when Judgment Day comes. I won't shy away from my punishment. But knowing that I gave the three of you the best chance possible to go on, to make something better, to be better people than I could've ever been… that will be what allows me to rest easy. I've sold my own dignity to keep yours. And make no doubt about it, I would do it again and again if I had to."

"But you've given up everything," she argued, her voice trembling. "Everything you ever believed in—yer going back on all of it. How could you?"

He straightened his back and looked her directly in the eye, certain and determined, as he said, "My duty as a father will always take precedence over my duty as God's servant. I can answer for all my sins when my time comes. I won't turn away in shame when I'm finally judged. But if I don't do absolutely everything in my power to be the best father possible while I'm here… well, then I'll have failed you all far worse than I already have. And I simply cannot live with that prospect. That is more shameful than any other choice I could ever make."

She absorbed his words, rolled them over in her head, tried to connect them with everything else he'd taught her throughout her life. But it still didn't make sense. She couldn't fathom it. Is this what being a father meant to him? What being a provider meant? Surely not. God wouldn't want this. Why would He ever push one of His most faithful servants to these ends?

Her daddy's voice was gentle and pleading when he asked, "Don't you understand this, Maggie?"

She took in a shaky breath and responded, "Of course I understand."

She paused and saw how he slightly relaxed. But as soon as she opened her mouth again, he tensed up. As if he were preparing himself for a physical hit.

"I understand completely," she went on, almost blank-faced as she stared at him. "You won't be the one making the sacrifices. Me an' Beth and Shawn—you sacrificed us."

A sick thought popped into her head: For Hershel so loved his family, that he gave his only three begotten children… That's not how it's supposed to go. Not at all.

A fire sparked to life in Hershel's eyes and the next thing she knew, he was setting his rifle down on the open tailgate and taking a step toward her, until he was close enough that she could see the spittle flying off his lips.

"Don't you ever say that!" He bellowed, jabbing his finger at her angrily. "I may have sacrificed my own safety, but I would never put you kids in danger! This is temporary—it's all temporary. This is not a life sentence for you, or Shawn, or Beth. This is your father providing for his family. By any. means. necessary."

"How d'you reckon?" She argued spitefully, pausing just long enough to set her own gun down beside his. "You already got yerself in too deep—I saw it. I watched you cower when those men showed up. You couldn't even try to say no. How the hell d'you think you'll ever change that?"

The rage had turned his face red and his tears were no longer from sadness. All the same, this was the least composed she'd ever seen him. He never would've allowed her to see him overtaken by such emotion like this before. Never. He kept it behind closed doors, reserved for Annette's eyes only. Maggie could count on one hand how many times he'd raised his voice at her, let alone gotten in her face.

But she was no longer the little girl that needed that sort of patience and stability. She'd gotten a crash course in the harsh realities of the world today. And as far as she was concerned, the very least he owed her was a concise explanation.

Besides, neither of them would ever look at the other the same after what they'd experienced today. She already knew. She could feel the change, like a fracture in the foundation of their relationship that resonated painfully through her chest; the veil had been lifted, the curtain had been pulled back.

"Do you realize what those men were threatening me with, exactly?" His voice was levelled and steady again, his tears momentarily dried up.

She shrugged uncomfortably, suddenly overcome with a rush of self-doubt. She'd interpreted Martinez's unspoken threat, she'd caught a few hints from Merle—and more than enough from Beta. But what could be worse than being murdered by those scummy guys?

"What," she huffed out, quiet and uncertain. "You mean… when he threatened to, like—pimp me an' Beth out? Like prostitutes?"

Yes, it had scared her. But they could never really do that. Could they? That's not how it worked. Was it? Beth was only a child. What would they want with—

"Maggie, the man they work for does a helluva lot worse than sell drugs." Hershel's voice shook, his lower lip trembling, and he looked repulsed by the words escaping his own mouth. "If I don't play my cards right, there is nothing stoppin' him from taking you kids away from me. They have much, much worse in mind for you than prostitution. It's called sex trafficking: they would ship you overseas, sell you to any and every man with the right amount of money, keep you as a literal slave. Beth, too. There are sick, sick people out there who would do unspeakable things to you. And there would be no way for me to save you."

"Daddy, yer scaring me," she whimpered, tears filling her eyes as she involuntarily imagined sweet little Beth being abused by some sick man in a foreign country.

"Good," Hershel said flatly. "You should be scared. You should be terrified. Sellin' drugs or illegal weapons is the very least of our worries. Compared to what this man would rather have from me? Cookin' a little meth is nothing. It's nothing, Maggie."

She shook her head and blinked away the tears, swallowing back the knot that had formed in her throat. And she stuck to her guns. "It's not nothing. How're you gonna get out? It'll be down to us ta clean up this mess. If he's already dragged you in this far, how d'you know we won't inherit your debt?"

Hershel narrowed his eyes. "The Governor may be dangerous, but he's no more dangerous than anyone I've dealt with before. I've been scrapin' the bottom of the barrel ever since Lloyd died. You've no idea what ends I've gone to in order to keep our heads above water. My debts will never affect you kids. Never."

She pursed her lips and held back a retort. But how do you know? She wanted to ask. She wanted to scream in his face. How do you KNOW?!

But she didn't.

His anger disappeared. He asked softly, "Don't you trust me, Maggie?"

Do I have a choice? She wanted to say. But the words wouldn't come out.

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres… So what was love without trust?

Of course she trusted him. He was her daddy. If she couldn't trust him, how could she ever trust anyone?

Maggie nodded weakly, tears pooling in her eyes. Then Hershel was reaching out and taking her hand gently in his, clasping it between two large, sweaty palms. His hands were coarse and rough, calloused from years of hard work. But they were warm. Comforting. Familiar. Just as they'd always been.

"You leave it up to me, alright?" He said, straining to keep his voice gentle without letting a sob escape. His eyes were searching hers, silently begging for a forgiveness that she was incapable of giving him. "I'll work it out. I'll find a way to pay all my debts and get these people off my back. It will never become your problem… I promise."

It may have been the biggest mistake she ever made, but…

And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love, she reminded herself. But the greatest of these is love.

Maggie believed him.

to be continued…