They Tried to Mock Him by Giving Him a Blind Daughter, But He Gave Her a Last Name, a Home, and His Heart

The prairie sun was merciless that afternoon, baking the dirt road until it shimmered like glass. Anika walked with careful steps, clutching her basket as though it were the only thing holding her upright. Her shawl slipped from her shoulders, and she adjusted it quickly, hoping no one would notice the tremor in her hands.

She had only come into town for flour, salt, and lamp oil. Simple things. Everyday things. But for Anika, the trip was always heavier than the basket she carried. She felt the stares as soon as she entered the mercantile. The whispers trailed her like smoke.

The foreign girl. The widow. The burden.

Behind the counter, Mrs. Tate leaned forward, eyes glinting. “What is it this time, Anika? More credit you’ll never be able to pay back?”

Heat rushed to Anika’s face. The sting of shame pressed in—but before she could speak, the sound of heavy boots crossed the wooden floor.

Caleb stepped into the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, with gray eyes that seemed carved from stone, he carried a sack of grain as if it were no heavier than a loaf of bread. Setting it on the counter, he said evenly, “I’ll cover her account.”

The mercantile went silent. The men near the stove shifted uncomfortably. Caleb—the solitary widower, the man who spoke little and kept to himself—had just spoken loudly enough for the whole town to hear.

Mrs. Tate sputtered. “Caleb, you can’t just—”

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