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.
