Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil

by V.E. Schwab

Her husband laughs, a barking sound with all the softness of an ax. She will learn, in time, how well he wields it, how efficiently it cuts.

Everyone insists it is her purpose, and it drives her mad, the idea that the shape of her body determines the shape her life must take. That her beauty is something she is expected to pass on instead of keep.