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.”

One old hen, traded for a transfer slot back to the city.

That was my price tag in Luther Gilbert's heart.

I lifted my head and stared at her, ice in my gaze：

“Olympia, whether you conned your way into that slot or stole it outright, you know the truth. All I'll say is this: once you're back in the city, I hope you sleep well every single night. I hope you never dream of the child I lost coming to collect what's owed.”

The color drained from Olympia's face. She stumbled back a step：

“You……what child are you talking about……”

“Luther didn't tell you?” The corner of my mouth curled up.

“The day I miscarried, he was up on your roof fixing your tiles, looking after your every need. My baby was killed because of you.”

“You're lying!” Olympia shrieked, her voice shaking.

“That was an accident! It had nothing to do with me!”

“Whether it's a lie, you know perfectly well.”

I closed the distance between us, my eyes cutting into her like a blade.

“You're taking a transfer slot soaked in blood back to the city, Olympia. You'll never wash that clean. Not in this lifetime.”

“Olympia, what's wrong?”

Luther's voice rang out from the doorway.

Olympia switched masks in an instant, throwing herself into Luther's arms the second he stepped inside, tears falling on command：

“Luther! Isabella said……she called me a murderer! She said I killed your baby……I didn't know……I swear I didn't know……”

Luther held her, his face dark as iron as he turned to me：

“Isabella! Haven't you done enough? That's all in the past. What's the point of scaring her?”

Looking at the two of them locked in each other's arms, all I felt was revulsion.

“Luther, take your hands off her.”

My voice was flat, unhurried.

“This is the Settlement. People are watching. You're a married man holding another woman in broad daylight, in front of everyone. Is this the moral standard you're so proud of?”

Luther flinched like he'd been scalded and shoved Olympia away.

Sure enough, a cluster of faces were already peeking in from outside the door.

He coughed awkwardly, straightened his clothes, and turned to Olympia：

“The truck's here. Let's go.”

Olympia shot me one last venomous look, wiped her tears, and walked out.

Luther paused at the threshold, glancing back at me with something unreadable in his eyes：

“Isabella, don't be so cruel. Try to build up some good karma.”

Cruel?

I watched his retreating back and laughed out loud.

Halfway through the laughter, a coppery sweetness flooded my mouth.

I yanked the handkerchief from my pocket, pressed it to my lips, and doubled over coughing.

When I pulled it away, the cloth was stained with a bright, ugly smear of red.

After Olympia left, Luther came home late.

He looked to be in a good mood. He tried to keep it tamped down, but the relief of a man who'd just shed a burden was impossible to hide.

“Got her on the truck?” I asked.

He nodded, pouring himself a glass of water without looking at me：

“She's gone. I can finally relax.”

He turned, his tone softening：

“Isabella, starting tomorrow, you don't have to go out to the fields anymore. I arranged a work-points bookkeeping position for you at brigade headquarters. It's easy. You can stay home and rest up.”

So this was his idea of “making it up to me.”

The old me would have been moved to tears.

Now, it just felt like a joke.

“No thanks.” I said.

Luther frowned：

“What's your problem now? Bookkeeping means no sun, no rain. People would kill for that assignment.”

“I said no thanks.”

I reached under my pillow, pulled out an envelope, and set it on the table.

Luther picked it up, confusion creasing his brow：

“What's this?”

He opened it, and the color in his face shifted on a dime.

Inside was a diagnosis from the provincial capital hospital and a referral letter for transfer to the city.

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.”