“Pick Anything You Want,” He Said—But His Daughters Pointed at the Apache Woman
“Choose anything you desire,” he declared, expecting requests for land, gold, or horses. Yet, without hesitation, his daughters pointed at the Apache woman standing in the corner of the trading post. Not an object or trophy, but a destiny.
She stood silently, fierce and resilient, her eyes reflecting a history of grief and strength. While he saw danger and the town viewed her as trouble, his daughters saw something entirely different: a home. What secrets lay beneath her stoic exterior, and how would their choice reshape their lives forever?
The trading post, with its weathered boards and sagging roof, was alive with noise. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of leather, sweat, and dried meat, while men bargained in low voices. Jacob stood near the counter, his daughters at his side, trying to provide them with a sense of normalcy after their mother’s death. “Pick anything you want,” he said gently, hoping to bring a moment of joy to their lives.
Clara, the older daughter, immediately spotted a rack of cloth dolls, while Emma’s gaze drifted to a jar of bright red sweets. But then, without warning, their attention shifted to the Apache woman in the corner, her presence commanding their focus. Jacob felt a tightening in his stomach; he had seen women like her before and had learned to look away.
“Her,” Clara whispered, pointing. Jacob frowned, confused. “Sweetheart, she’s not—” he started, but Emma interrupted, insisting, “She looks lonely.” The word “lonely” struck him hard. He had not prepared for this moment, where his daughters would see in that woman a reflection of their own loss.
As he glanced back at the Apache woman, he noticed the tension in her posture and the weariness in her eyes. She was not merely a figure of curiosity; she was a person with a story etched into her being. Jacob felt a strange pull toward her, a recognition of shared pain.
“Let me talk to her,” he said softly, grounding himself in his daughters’ warmth. As he approached the woman, he felt the weight of the room shift, aware of the watchful eyes around him. The trader, a burly man with a patchy beard, leaned against the counter, watching Jacob with interest.
“Who’s the woman in the corner?” Jacob asked. The trader shrugged, dismissing her. “She’s nothing you need to worry about.” Jacob felt anger rise within him. “How much for her?” he demanded, his voice steady.
The trader named a price that felt insultingly low, as if the woman’s life was worth less than a mule. Jacob counted out the coins, each clink echoing the gravity of his decision. As he walked back toward the girls, the Apache woman’s eyes met his, and he sensed a flicker of surprise and uncertainty.
“She’s not something you can take home,” he said, trying to ease the tension. But Clara and Emma insisted they wanted her to come with them, to not be alone. Their innocence and compassion struck him deeply.
“I am called Nidita,” the woman finally said, her voice low but clear. Jacob introduced himself and his daughters, and they shared a moment of connection. As Nidita accepted Emma’s outstretched hand, Jacob felt a shift. This was not about ownership; it was about companionship.
That evening, as they returned to their cabin, the atmosphere was different. The warmth of the fire filled the space as the girls settled in, and Nidita sat quietly, absorbing the new environment. Jacob offered her soup, and as she tasted it, her shoulders relaxed slightly.
In the quiet of the cabin, Jacob and Nidita began to share their stories. She spoke of her past, of loss and survival, and he listened, recognizing the shared humanity between them. As the night deepened, Nidita decided to stay, not out of obligation but because she felt seen for the first time in a long while.
What began as a simple choice had transformed into a fragile new beginning—one built on mutual understanding and the desire to combat loneliness together.
