I Pray That You Forget Me - Chapter 54
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
read more chapters on luna kofi
Not because he doesn’t know, but to confirm with certainty.
He knew it’s a meaningful day for my husband and me, and he called me in early on purpose.
Although I was angry, reacting would only play into the major’s hands. I clenched my teeth and began to put a new sheet on the bed.
“Ah, it’s not his first day at work. He was already a teacher before. What was the real first day like?”
“……”
“Didn’t your husband tell you about it? A teacher facing such an emotional return to the classroom would normally talk about their first experience. Strange, isn’t it?”
I thought he would let it go today, but I was mistaken. The major’s insinuations about my husband began as usual.
“He hasn’t even told you where his first assignment was, has he?”
I haven’t asked. If I answer like this, he’d assign it as homework, then harass me later about whether I followed up. The time before last, it was about Johann’s hometown, and last time it was about his alma mater.
“Rize Einemann, think about it. If there’s nothing to hide, there’s no reason to conceal. Doesn’t that seem odd?”
“Johann has hidden nothing. Call him yourself and ask anything you’re curious about.”
“Even if I did, he’d probably just lie.”
How dare he, a r-pist, slander my angel-like husband as a liar? As if his slander would hold.
“So you say your husband hides nothing. Rize Einemann, you’re a liar too. Think about it. Aren’t you curious and find it odd that he hasn’t told you?”
The major calling me here does two things. Demand I sleep with him or insist that something is off about my husband. Perhaps, in his mind, these are the same thing.
“Major, are you trying to shake my trust in my husband because you aim to make me a woman without a husband?”
“No. If that was my goal, the easiest way would be to have your husband re-enlisted.”
His words implied that taking Johann away from me by sending him back to the battlefield to possibly die chilled my blood.
“Major.”
The Major, who was dressing without looking at me, paused and turned around. I looked into his eyes with earnest intent and said.
“If my husband dies, I will die too.”
“…..”
“Our lives are one.”
For some reason, the major clicked his tongue and looked at me with the same disdain Johannn showed at the women who threw themselves at him.
“There’s no fanatic like a lover.”
Reducing love to fanatical worship. How could you, who understand nothing of love, comprehend me? Just as I cannot understand you, who would consider killing for a night of physical pleasure.
I stared intently at the major, hoping my resolve had been fully conveyed. However, he no longer looked at me, hastily adjusting his clothes before grabbing his bathrobe and towel and walking out of the room.
‘I better finish cleaning and escape from this bunker before he comes back undressed .’
As I busied myself again, the major suddenly stopped, turned around, and asked.
“Did you say Johann Renner was a writing teacher?”
I had never said such a thing. It was clear the major had been probing about Johann. It was unsettling and unpleasant. Just as the thought crossed my mind that Johann might actually need a gun, the major made an unexpected suggestion.
“Bring me a collection of Johann Renner’s writings. The Prime Minister is looking for a writer for speeches and statements. If his work is good, I might recommend your husband.”
* * *
As soon as the major left, I quickly finished cleaning and headed to the bunker entrance. The soldier stationed at the door no longer asked for my name.
“You may go.”
He simply opened the door as soon as he recognized my face. Apparently, there was no order to detain me. I was relieved.
The truck that took workers back to the village from the bunker usually left 30 minutes before lunchtime, which was less than two hours away. However, I chose not to wait and started walking instead.
The forest path hadn’t seen snow in the last few days, making it walkable. The journey to the village was long and desolate, slightly frightening due to no one around.
On a cold day like this, it’s surprising to see a woman walking alone on the mountain path.
“Where are you headed?”
“To Eshbron Village. I’m going to Mrs. Becker’s bakery.”
“We’re headed that way as well.”
“Please, get in.”
Fortuitously, just as my feet began to ache, I encountered a couple heading towards the shopping district in my village and managed to catch a ride in their wagon.
“Thank you!”
Because of this, I returned home 30 minutes earlier than planned.
‘Should I rest for 30 minutes before starting?’
The old sofa looked unusually inviting today, almost cloud-like, tempting me with these lazy thoughts. I could afford a 30-minute rest, but I was too excited to sit still.
Instead of resting, I rolled up my sleeves and headed straight to the kitchen.
“Wow… perfect.”
The bread dough Johann had prepared in the morning before he left had risen plump and perfect. I carefully shaped the dough and placed it in the iron pot, then covered it with a tea towel.
While the dough rose again, I didn’t stop working. I boiled eggs and whipped cream I had gotten from Mrs. Bauer the previous day, busy preparing other ingredients.
After the church bells rang for the third time, fifteen minutes apart, I slashed the top of the fluffy dough, sprinkled a handful of poppy seeds over it, and placed the iron pot in the lit stove.
‘The timing couldn’t be more perfect.’
