“For Lucie," Peter said quietly, the flame of a gilded saint's candle fluttering in his hand."
"Leave."
Peter had anticipated this reaction and was prepared. He cleared his throat. "I'm paying my respects," he said, still trying to be polite. The woman was grieving for her daughter.
"I can guess the reason you're here. I've just lost one daughter," she said, her hand on the door. "I won't lose another."
"Wait,"
"She's all I have left," she said. "And you have nothing to offer her."
Peter knew that she was right, that Valerie deserved better. But he could not give her up.
"I have a trade. The same one as your husband."
"I know what a woodcutter earns."
Peter began to protest, but Suzette stopped him. "Henry Lazar is her only hope for a better life."
Peter looked into Suzette's anguished eyes, her words hitting him somewhere deep. It sank in: He could not give Valerie a good life.
"If you love her," Suzette said, her voice cracking, "you'll leave her alone.”