He Burned My Future, So I Built a New One

The date on the referral letter, however, was tomorrow's.

“You're leaving?” Luther's head snapped up.

“What are you going to the provincial capital for? Where did you get this letter?”

“I've felt something wrong with my body for a while now. Last month I asked Dr. Simmons to send a blood sample to the provincial capital for testing.”

I said it calmly.

“The results came back. A severe lung infection, and……a suspected tumor. They're recommending I check in for further examination.”

There was no tumor. Only a serious risk of tuberculosis and uterine damage from repeated miscarriages.

But I had deliberately asked Jeremy Simmons to write the diagnosis vague, to make it sound worse than it was.

Sure enough, Luther's hands began to tremble.

“A tu……tumor? That's impossible! You've always looked so healthy……”

“Luther, what you call healthy is me clenching my teeth and never saying it hurts.”

I stood and began gathering my small bundle of belongings.

“Dr. Simmons arranged a hospital for me there. This referral letter is a special approval he helped me apply for through the Commune. Filed under medical discharge.”

Luther panicked. He rushed over and grabbed my shoulders：

“Jeremy Simmons? That political dissident doctor they sent down here? How did you get mixed up with him? And……and if you leave, what am I supposed to do?”

“You?”

I looked at his panicked face.

“Aren't you the man of noble principles? You're the party secretary. The world keeps turning without anyone. But if I stay here, the only thing waiting for me is death.”

“No! I won't let you go!”

Luther crumpled the referral letter in his fist.

“If you're going, I'm going with you! I'll request leave right now!”

“You can't leave.”

I laid out the truth without mercy.

“It's the critical period for the winter irrigation project. Olympia just left and the Settlement is already restless. If you walk away now, what happens to your commendation? What happens to your career?”

Luther froze.

That was him.

When it came down to his own interests, even with his wife possibly dying, he still had to weigh the costs.

“Give me the letter.” I held out my hand.

Luther gripped the paper like his life depended on it, knuckles white.

A long moment passed. Then his hand went slack, as if every last ounce of strength had drained from his body.

“Isabella……do you really have to go?”

“I really have to go.”

“Then will you……come back?”

I tucked the referral letter away carefully and looked out the window at the ash-gray sky.

“We'll see what fate decides.”