The scorching sun of an August afternoon beat down mercilessly as Catherine Fairchild wandered back toward the commune, lost in thought. Her heart felt frozen, like she was trudging through the depths of winter.

A month ago, she’d sent a letter home—begging, really—asking if her family could pull some strings and get her a spot to return to the city.

She’d thought admitting fault, even for something she hadn’t done, might earn her some forgiveness.

She’d waited, counting days like they were years, hoping for a reply. And they finally wrote back:

“It’s good that you realize your mistake. Stay in the countryside, reflect, and do your part for the country. Don’t act out again.”

Why? Why did it turn out like this?

She had already explained how tough things were for her out here. She’d hoped—no, expected—that her family would help. But the people she trusted and depended on turned a blind eye.

Catherine brushed away silent tears, suddenly seeing it all clearly.

Wasn’t it always like this? Every time she argued with Olivia Fairchild, everyone automatically sided with her cousin and blamed Catherine.

Whenever Olivia set her up, nobody listened to her side. They just assumed she was lying.

She should've known back then—when they selected her to be sent to the countryside—that it was just the family casting her away.

But still… she couldn’t swallow this bitterness.

That’s right. It was Olivia. She was the one always scheming, taking what was hers. First her engagement, now her future. Her own cousin, and yet over and over again, stabbing her in the back.

If Catherine hadn’t suffered from all her tricks herself, she might’ve kept believing they were close—more like sisters than cousins. Back before being sent here, she couldn’t understand why Olivia would keep trying to ruin her like this.

Her thoughts drifted to the time before it all went downhill.

When they were little, the two got along fine. Olivia was six months older and pretty timid, shy even. They’d played together all the time, and every time they got into trouble, Catherine would be the one taking the blame—just because Olivia would look at her with those pleading eyes.

Over time, the adults started branding Catherine as the troublemaker. She hadn’t realized back then what those labels would cost her.

It wasn’t until she was older, when trap after trap from Olivia went unnoticed, that she realized no one would ever believe her—no matter how hard she tried to clear her name.

Her real mistake? Not the lies Olivia pinned on her, but thinking of Olivia as her sister. Thinking that covering for her was the right thing to do.

Then came the marriage debacle.

Her engagement was called off, and the very next day, that scumbag of a fiancé showed up—asking not for her hand, but for Olivia’s.

Not because he’d changed his mind. No. It turned out, that dog of a man and Olivia had been sneaking around for who knows how long.

Naturally, the elders wanted her gone. She was an eyesore, a reminder of the messy history. Sending her away as a so-called educated youth became the perfect solution.

Everything that had happened—every bit of her suffering—was because of that vile woman Olivia Fairchild.

She’d written home this last time, thinking maybe, just maybe, the family would let her come back to the capital since she “admitted her fault.”

But she hadn’t done anything wrong in the first place. If she hadn’t been so desperate, she never would’ve swallowed that false guilt.

Now, all that effort? All for nothing.

Her desperate letter felt like a bad joke now.

If she’d known this would be the outcome, she wouldn’t have bothered. She just handed Olivia one more thing to laugh about.When Catherine Fairchild got back to the village quarters, everyone was still napping. She crept quietly over to her bed, scooped up her dirty clothes from this morning into a washbasin, then slipped back outside to do laundry.

She only owned two sets of summer clothes. Since she'd gone to the town to pick up a letter at noon, she had changed after the morning's work. With how hot it was, sweat-soaked clothes turned sour and stiff in no time—no way she could wear them again without washing. If she wanted something clean for tomorrow, she'd have to wash them now.

Carrying her washbasin and sapindus, Catherine made her way to the little creek at the edge of the village, where she started scrubbing under the blazing sun. Thankfully, she didn’t have much to wash, and summer clothes were light, so it didn't take long.

After wringing the clothes out as best as she could, she stood up to leave, but just as she did, her vision went dark and her head felt like it was spinning. Her legs gave out, and with a loud splash, she toppled straight into the river.

Water burst up in a splash, and panic set in—Catherine was from the north. She didn't know how to swim. The part of the river where she'd fallen was at least two meters deep, and all she could do was flail hopelessly, trying to stay afloat, desperate to catch someone's attention.

But it was the middle of the afternoon and everyone was still resting—nobody was out in this heat. Her struggling didn’t stand a chance of being noticed.

After just a few minutes, Catherine, already running on empty after skipping lunch, ran out of energy and started sinking deeper into the water.

Drowning was no joke. The once calm and gentle water felt almost like it was boiling, forcing its way into her nose and mouth, pushing into her lungs, her skull feeling like it was about to burst.

It was a miserable, terrifying thing. Catherine thrashed and writhed in despair, stirring up the silt from the river bottom, clouding the water all around her.

Just when her thoughts started to blur, it was like her brain short-circuited. Everything went blank—and somehow, her limp limbs seemed charged with new strength. She started fighting the water again.

Then—just like that—her vision swam again, and the next moment, she was out of the river, laying on the shore like she’d never fallen in.

Flat on the ground, gasping with all her might, Catherine coughed till her throat was raw, choking out mouthfuls of river water as her body shook.

When her coughing finally eased, she lay flat on her back, staring up at the sky, gulping in air. Her head throbbed too much to make sense of what had just happened or how she’d gotten out of the water. After resting a moment, she shoved her feet into her shoes, picked up her basin, and stumbled back to the village quarters like a ghost.

Once back, she hung the wet clothes up to dry, then flopped onto her bed, still shaken.

She had nearly drowned just now.

The more she thought about it, the more the frustration built. Bad enough to be forced into the middle of nowhere like this, but to almost die washing her only set of clothes? It was beyond unfair.

Tears welled up. She pulled the blanket over herself and cried quietly, not even making a sound.

She must’ve dozed off at some point, because the next thing she felt was someone gently patting her shoulder and calling softly, "Catherine, time to get up. We’ve got work."

She pried open her eyes, crusted with sleep, and mumbled, "Yeah, okay, coming, Grace."

She sat up slowly, started putting on her shoes and getting herself together.

Grace Wallace grabbed her hoe and slung a basket over her back, heading off toward the fields.

Catherine splashed her face with cold water, trying to shake off the grogginess. Then she half-jogged, half-sprinted to catch up with the others who had already gone ahead.

It was mid-August—corn harvest time. Everyone in the village was out collecting ears of corn.

Originally, as a female educated youth, Catherine would've just been helping pick corn like the other girls. But ever since she turned down a local guy's proposal, they had her working with the men, hauling the corn instead.