He Burned My Future, So I Built a New One

I did wash them. I scrubbed those blood-soaked trousers clean in a basin of cold water.

The chill seeped from my fingertips into my chest and settled there. It never left.

“Luther,” I said his name, and my own voice sounded foreign to me.

“You always thought I was the strong one. That I could take it. That Olympia was the fragile one, the one who couldn't survive without you.”

“But I'm flesh and blood too. I'm human.”

“I lost my child. My body broke down. And now the one road I had left to get back to the city for treatment, you burned it with your own hands.”

Luther's chest heaved. Guilt, shock, and a flicker of cornered anger fought for control of his face.

After a long silence he crouched down, clutching his head in both hands, his voice muffled：

“I'm sorry……Isabella, I really didn't know. If I'd known……”

“If you'd known, would you have given me the transfer slot?” I asked quietly.

Luther said nothing.

A silence like death spread through the room.

A long time passed before he lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, yet he was still scrambling to salvage things：

“Olympia's paperwork……has already been submitted. It's too late to change it now. Isabella, since the baby is already……we can have another one. I'll make it up to you. From now on I won't let you do any of the housework. I'll take care of you. Isn't that enough?”

I looked at this man, and the last ember inside me went dark.

Even now, after everything, his first thought was still to protect Olympia. I was still the one who could be sacrificed, the one who could be “compensated.”

He would never understand. Some things, once shattered, can't be pieced back together no matter the cost.

“Fine.”

I smiled. The smile never reached my eyes.

“I don't blame you.”

Because from this moment on, he was a dead man to me.

The next morning, the Settlement was buzzing.

Olympia was leaving for the city, and everyone pitched in to help carry her bags.

She wore Luther's old military overcoat. It was too big for her, which only made her look smaller, more pitiable.

A shy, excited flush colored her cheeks as she said goodbye to each person in turn.

“Where's Isabella?” someone asked.

“Probably can't bear to come out,” someone else murmured.

“I heard the transfer slot was supposed to be hers, but she gave it up for Olympia. Secretary Gilbert is truly selfless.”

“If you ask me, Isabella always seemed shrewd enough, but when it really counted, it was Secretary Gilbert who had the principles. A girl as frail as Olympia would've died out here.”

I stood behind the curtain, listening to every word.

This was Luther's brilliance.

He had swapped my transfer slot behind my back, then told everyone that we, husband and wife, had “nobly” volunteered it to someone more in need.

That way he got the reputation, Olympia got the transfer, and if I dared make a scene, I'd be the one with “low principles” and a “petty heart.”

The door curtain lifted, and Olympia walked in.

No one else was inside. Luther had gone to borrow the tractor.

The timid look vanished from Olympia's face the instant the curtain fell, replaced by the posture of someone who had already won.

She glanced around our bare little room, then let her gaze settle on my pale face.

“Isabella, thank you so much.”

She moved closer, her voice dropping low.

“Actually, Luther told me everything last night. He said you're strong, you can handle hardship. But me? I can't survive without him.”

I didn't respond. I kept sorting through the old books beside me.

When I refused to take the bait, a flicker of boredom crossed Olympia's face. She leaned in closer：

“Oh, and Luther said that to make it up to you, once you're feeling better, he'll slaughter that hen of his and stew it for you. See? He treats you so well.”