“My whole life, I have had no control. No fucking control. Not over myself, not over what happens to the people I love. And I know you understand what that feels like. Which is why I cannot understand how you could ever behave like this. To lie to me, to keep so many secrets, to leave me no choice. As if I were of no account. As if you owned me. Is that what it feels like to you? Do you think that because I’m a slave, and you are free, you have the right to dictate our lives? To dictate my life?”

“No! I don’t think of you like that; I don’t feel like that . . .”

“Then why have you acted like you do?” He is gazing at her, as if she is a stranger.

“I didn’t want to shame you,” Amara bursts out. “I thought you might be grateful to me for making this decision alone. For sparing you the humiliation of agreeing to hand me over to another man.”

“You think finding you with him today spared me humiliation? That I should be grateful to you for that?”

His contempt cuts through Amara, making her cruel. “I’m only doing this because there’s nobody else in this family to make any fucking money! What do you imagine is going to protect our child? Do you think my parents’ love was enough to save me from slavery? I would have traded their love for a dowry, a thousand times over. Nothing means anything without money. Nothing.”

They stare at one another, and Amara feels sick, unable to take back what she has said, what she has implied about Philos’s worth. “You sound like Felix,” he says. He gets off the bed, walking to the stool where his cloak is lying, wrapping it around himself, his hands shaking with anger and distress.

“Philos, please, don’t walk away from me. Please, talk to me . . .”

Philos explodes. “Now you want to talk?” he shouts. “When you’ve already decided everything? What do you want to fucking talk about? Or are you just going to sit there and tell me how I’m expected to live my worthless life in your absence.”

He strides to the door. Amara gets up to run after him. “You can’t just leave like this! Where are you going?”

He whips around to face her. “I’m going for a walk. Is that allowed? Or will you send me back to my master for disobedience?” Rufina starts to cry, and Amara sees him hesitate, disturbed by their daughter’s distress. She reaches for his arm, but rather than draw him closer, the gesture only reignites his anger. Philos holds his palms up, warning her not to touch him, and walks out of the door.