On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 32
“Mother, I’m sorry. I’ll do better. Please, let me out of here.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll do well. I’ll practice a lot… Mother, I’m scared. Please open the door. Please…”
In the darkness, where only a sliver of light seeped through the door crack, young Layla cried. She pleaded and begged for forgiveness, but the door remained shut.
“Madam!”
A frantic voice jolted Layla back to reality. But her vision swayed, and the world around her blurred into a distorted haze. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor.
Her heart pounded rapidly, as if she had just run a great distance. Her breath came in short gasps.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.”
The words were not meant to comfort someone else—they were for herself.
It felt as though she had plunged into icy water in the dead of winter. Her body trembled.
“Madam…”
Like a child caught doing something wrong, Jerry looked down at Layla anxiously.
Layla bit her lip. She was the one who should be worried, yet here Jerry was, taking care of her instead.
This was not the time to let her emotions waver.
Taking a deep breath, she reached out and grasped Jerry’s hand.
She wanted to ask if he was okay, but her lips only parted soundlessly. Rage twisted inside her, making her insides tremble.
She, too, had been struck with a cane before. But since marks could not be left on her body, it had always ended after one or two lashes. Punishment was always inflicted in a way that left no visible scars.
‘This isn’t right. This shouldn’t happen.’
Strict lessons were necessary, and she herself had endured them, but still—this was too much.
Steadying herself, Layla looked at Jerry.
Right now, her emotions were secondary. Jerry was the priority.
“I’m sorry.”
At the unexpected apology, Jerry’s eyes widened.
“…What?”
“I told you I would pay more attention to you, but I didn’t try hard enough. I’m sorry.”
Mature beyond his years, Jerry lowered his head, looking at a loss for words. His ears turned red.
Layla studied him carefully. At some point, he had pulled on his pants and climbed over the balcony to reach her. Now, he was crouched down, looking after her. His legs must have been aching from the pressure.
A burning sensation welled up behind her eyes.
Suppressing the surge of emotion, she asked in a quiet voice. Right now, anger wasn’t what mattered.
“Did you apply the medicine?”
“I was… just about to.”
“Can I do it for you?”
* * *
The two of them entered Jerry’s room together. Blushing, Jerry hesitantly lowered his pants. Up close, the injuries looked even worse. His skin was swollen and uneven. Though there was no bleeding, just looking at it was enough to imagine the pain of the blows.
Layla guided Jerry to lie down on the sofa. She opened the ointment case he had handed her and gently applied the medicine to his calf.
Though he had been eating well and had gained some weight, with fuller cheeks, his arms and legs were still thin.
Layla forced herself to hold back tears, tightening her gaze.
It was cruel. It reminded her of her own childhood. Back then, she had no choice but to endure, no matter how painful or difficult it was. The punishments terrified her, making her believe that one day, they might actually kill her.
Now, she knew that what had happened to her was wrong. But even if she could go back in time, she wasn’t sure she could have changed anything.
She had been a child. Her parents had been like kings—absolute rulers of her world. There was nowhere to run and no one to ask for help.
“Just because someone is a noble, older than you, educated, or strong, it doesn’t mean they are always right. Rather than blindly following, it’s important that you think for yourself. If something feels wrong, seek advice from an adult who truly cares for you.”
Jerry was different. Layla knew what was right and wrong, and she did not want to force Jerry into enduring the same things she had.
“You have Blake, and you have me too.”
She hoped Jerry would understand that.
“I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault. I knew he was strict and proud, but I never imagined he would act so violently.”
As Layla applied the ointment to his other calf, she observed Jerry carefully. Without hesitation, she voiced the name of the suspect she had in mind.
“Did Mr. Jefferson say why he punished you? You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too difficult.”
“…He got angry because I didn’t praise him in front of Blake. He said it was disrespectful.”
“I see… I understand now.”
So it was Jefferson. Layla squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. The lessons had been going on for two weeks now.
‘Could it be…?’
Her heart, which she had just managed to steady, began to beat anxiously again.
“Has Mr. Jefferson ever hit you this severely before?”
“No. Not like this. He only hit my palms before.”
Jerry curled into himself even more as he spoke. Layla felt a spark ignite in her vision—rage burning within her.
She had often dined with Jerry after his lessons, and she remembered that he frequently dropped his fork during dinner.
Back then, she had assumed he was just nervous about table manners.
‘So that was it.’
His hands had been hurting, which was why he kept dropping the fork.
Layla bit her lip. She was furious, but her mind remained cold and clear. As her thoughts settled, she knew exactly what she had to do next.
“You don’t have to attend lessons until your legs heal. For now, we’ll focus on learning etiquette through daily life.”
“But I have a lesson tomorrow. Mr. Jefferson said I need to learn a lot to enter Wynwood Academy. He said I have to work hard to hide my origins.”
“You’re already doing well.”
Jerry glanced at Layla before lowering his head, hiding his face.
“Jerry, you’re doing incredibly well. I truly admire you.”
“…Really?”
His murmuring voice carried a hint of happiness.
“Of course. I was so impressed. Etiquette is something you get used to over time—you don’t have to rush to learn everything all at once. There’s no need to feel pressured.”
The tension in Jerry’s shoulders eased. Though his face was hidden as he lay down, Layla could still sense his emotions from the way his small frame relaxed.
“I’ve applied all the ointment. Let it dry before you put your pants back on. I’ll go get some sandwiches.”
She could have asked a maid to do it, but instead, Layla stood up and headed to the kitchen herself.
After all, Jerry was a boy, and having to expose his legs to an adult woman must have been embarrassing. Besides, she also needed some time to collect herself.
The kitchen was quiet at this hour. A kitchen maid, busy washing dishes, was startled when she saw Layla enter.
“My lady? I-I’ll fetch the head chef right away!”
“No, it’s fine. I just want to make a simple sandwich.”
Layla had never been in the Burman estate’s kitchen before, but all kitchens were more or less the same.
The familiar mix of soot, fire, and the scent of food filled the air. It was a place that felt strangely nostalgic.
Back at the Edgestone estate, the longtime head chef had often cut up bread and made sandwiches for her whenever she sought refuge in the kitchen as a child. Remembering those times, Layla instructed the maid on the ingredients she needed.
She spread butter and jam on the bread and added ham, making a light sandwich.
The maid fidgeted nervously beside her, unsure whether to assist or step back.
As Layla followed the simple, rhythmic process of preparing food, her thoughts gradually fell into order.
With fresh milk brought in that morning and the sandwiches covered with a cloth, she returned to the study room.
Jerry had already put his pants back on and was sitting properly.
She had made enough for two. Only after watching Layla take a bite did Jerry hesitantly follow suit.
He chewed slowly, his eyes widening in surprise.
“I made it myself. Tastes good, doesn’t it?”
Layla’s special trick was spreading a generous amount of sweet jam inside the sandwich.
She placed one of her two sandwich halves onto Jerry’s plate. As she ate, she gazed out the window.
Then, in a small voice, Jerry spoke.
“…Please keep it a secret.”
“Blake needs to know. This is something adults must handle.”
“He’ll be disappointed in me… for letting it happen without fighting back.”
The opponent had been an adult. Most children couldn’t win against an adult, yet Jerry blamed himself for it.
“You’re just a child.”
“I was already planning to deal with Mr. Jefferson anyway, since another teacher is coming soon.”
Layla was so taken aback that she couldn’t even ask what he meant. But Jerry explained on his own.
“There are a lot of gold trinkets in Whaler’s room. I was going to slip some into Mr. Jefferson’s coat and frame him as a thief to get him thrown out. Whaler is so possessive of his belongings that he would definitely have him kicked out. That’s how masters often got rid of chimney sweeps without paying them. I wasn’t just going to sit back and take it.”
His words were impressively shrewd. Theft was an undeniable reason for dismissal.
The problem was that Jefferson Moore was related to Layla’s mother, Lewinda, through her maternal family.
Even if he was fired, there needed to be a solid reason that would ensure he wouldn’t spread rumors about the Burman estate outside.
“…You really thought this through. But for now, leave this to the adults. I’m sure you would handle it well, but you don’t have to take action this time. If I need your help, I’ll let you know.”
“Alright.”
Jerry was delighted at the idea that he could ask for help if needed. His cheeks lifted in a bright smile.
“Oh, this ointment?”
It hadn’t occurred to her while applying it, but now Layla noticed that the ointment Jerry had brought was a manufactured product. She had often seen the servants at Edgestone Manor using it.
Layla knew how children in the slums treated their wounds. Those who understood hygiene would at least rinse them with water and leave them be. If the wound was deep, they might sprinkle ash over it. Ointment was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
A housemaid’s salary would be enough to buy it, but for Jerry, who had worked as a chimney sweep, it was unlikely he had ever owned something like this.
Her thoughts were confirmed when Jerry answered,
“A maid gave it to me.”
Layla took a deep breath and slowly closed and reopened her eyes. A wave of dizziness hit her. The calm she thought she had regained tightened around her chest again.
“So the maid knew you were hurt.”
“Ah…”
“My God.”
She couldn’t hide her distress in front of Jerry. Layla suddenly felt like crying.
“I-I was just going to use a little and return it…”
“No, it’s not that. I just… I’m grateful. I’m grateful that she looked after you.”
She tried to smile, but even Jerry could tell that something was off. Her expression didn’t quite relax.
‘This is my fault.’
Did she even have the right to be upset with the maid for not reporting it?
A political marriage arranged to secure a truce. A wedding forced upon her in the aftermath of a charity fund embezzlement scandal.
Blake had suggested they divorce after two years, and Layla had welcomed the idea with some relief.
And so, she had evaded responsibility.
She had told herself: ‘We’ll be divorced in two years anyway. We aren’t a real couple. I’ll return to being a Greymers citizen.’
Even as she saw the problems within the Burman estate, even as she recognized them, she had turned away and ignored them.
‘This was my fault.’
Layla admitted her own wrongdoing.
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V
Finally, Layla’s going to make things right now. Poor Jerry my heart’s breaking for him T-T..And hopefully Blake will soon know the truth about Layla.