Chapter 19
By the end of the day, Olivia felt like her bones were about to fall apart. Not even the army had worked her this hard for this long without a break. Camp Liberty had its training drills, sure–but this? This was straight–up farm life.
She kicked off her shoes the second they got home, and sure enough, her heels were blistered and
raw.
Charlie had already set up a small tub of warm water. He walked over, crouching down to set it at
her feet.
“You’ve had a long day. This kind of work’s rough–you don’t need to do it. I’ve always handled it myself.”
Olivia gave it some thought. Honestly, with how clumsy she was in the fields, she probably slowed him down more than helped. Cooking, though? That she could at least try.
“Then I’ll handle things in the kitchen,” she said, nodding. “Let’s split the work.”
Charlie’s face lit up like a little kid’s on Christmas morning.
He’d heard years ago that some city girl was going to be assigned to marry him as part of a rural support initiative. But then three years passed and… nothing. He figured they’d scrapped the plan. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a letter came. And not long after that–her.
He’d been sure she’d hate it here. A city girl like Olivia? Used to air–conditioning, oat milk lattes, and smooth pavement? No way she’d last out in the sticks.
But she didn’t complain. In fact, she tried to help.
And now, watching her soaking her feet, pale ankles showing, hair still damp and stuck to her neck from the heat–Charlie swallowed hard. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. Not in real life. Not
even on TV.
Suddenly, he pulled something from his pocket.
It was a small cotton sack, a bit worn around the edges.
“This is for you. It’s all the money I have. From now on, you should handle our finances.”
Down here, everything was about grain sales and odd jobs. Charlie’s entire life savings wouldn’t cover Olivia’s wardrobe back in the city. He knew that. His voice dropped to a sheepish mumble.
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“I’ll get more work. I’ll bring in more money. I promise.”
Olivia felt something warm stir in her chest.
In this era, in a place like this, no man ever handed over the household finances to a woman. Even if
she was secretly carrying over ten grand in emergency cash, she’d never considered handing it over
-not until now. Not until Charlie.
She took the pouch quietly, no grand gesture, just a simple nod.
“Alright. But don’t work yourself into the ground. Starting tomorrow, I’ll handle the cooking.”
Charlie beamed and hurried off to heat more water.
One thing Olivia insisted on was staying clean. She could handle the hard work, but walking around covered in sweat and dirt? That was a hard no.
The old farmhouse didn’t have a shower, just a rusty faucet out back and a clawfoot tub indoors that hadn’t seen real plumbing in years. So every night, Charlie made sure there was hot water for her- he’d fill pots, heat them on the stove, then pour them into the tub until she could soak properly.
At first, the neighbors talked.
“Charlie’s running water every night like clockwork. What, his city wife can’t deal with a little
dirt?”
“Guess she’s the fancy type–needs a bubble bath just to feel human.”
But Charlie didn’t care. And neither did Olivia.
She closed the door behind her, stepped into the wooden tub, and let out a deep sigh as the warmth
soaked into her skin.
This life… it wasn’t so bad after all.
Later, after drying off and changing into a loose sleep shirt, she stepped out into the dim moonlight.
Charlie, who’d been waiting just outside, instantly averted his eyes. Her bare arms and legs glowed pale under the moon. One glance felt like sin.
Even though Olivia had told him a dozen times they were already married, Charlie had never touched her. Not once. He barely came within arm’s reach.
The days slipped into routine. Charlie worked in the fields. Olivia stayed home and cooked.
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She’d never been much of a cook, but Charlie didn’t seem to care. Whatever she made–burnt,
bland, or half–raw–he ate it with gusto, always grinning, always grateful.
One time she burned the rice so bad even she couldn’t force it down.
“I’ll make another batch,” she said, already heading to the stove.
But Charlie just grabbed a spoon and dug right in.
“Don’t worry about it. My wife made it–it’s perfect.”
It was the first time he called her that–my wife.
Olivia blinked. He did too, looking stunned by his own words.
“I–I didn’t mean to say that. I just… that’s what people around here call you. Slipped out.
Everyone in the village referred to her as Charlie’s wife. To them, he was the luckiest man alive. But
only the two of them knew it hadn’t exactly been her choice. That was why Charlie had always been careful–respectful.
Now, having said it out loud, he suddenly looked terrified–like he’d crossed a line.
But Olivia only smiled. Somehow, it warmed her heart more than it should’ve.
“From the moment I got here, I’ve been your wife,” she said softly. “you can call me that, it’s
okay.”
It was something she never had with Jack–respect, affection, that quiet kind of devotion.
Charlie’s eyes lit up again. He said it once more, testing it.
“My wife? Honey”
She nodded. “Mhm.”
“Honey!”
“I heard you.”
“I’ll go do the dishes!”
Grinning from ear to ear, Charlie gathered up the plates and darted off toward the outdoor kitchen
like a man on a mission.
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Olivia watched his back disappear into the dark.
Then she thought about the ten grand tucked away in her bag.
Maybe… just maybe… they could build something better with it.
Something like a real life. A real home. Together.
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