The One Who Won't Be Abandoned - Chapter 18

When I suggested going back to the village, Andre stared at me as though he couldn’t believe his ears and asked me to repeat myself. When my answer remained firm, his face crumpled as if he were about to cry.

Surprisingly, there was no argument. Instead, Andre turned away and began packing his clothes into a leather bag, his stiff posture radiating silent defiance. Watching him pack without even asking for a reason, I couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy. It seemed as if he had already guessed my reasons for wanting to leave.

I stuffed the flint I had purchased with silver coins into my pocket, avoiding Andre’s gaze as much as possible.

Once our belongings were packed, I took a moment to look around the cabin. When we had first arrived, it had been a desolate, abandoned shack devoid of warmth. But now, the space was filled with traces of our lives. It had become a home.

“…Ha…”

I hadn’t expected to leave this place so suddenly. This cabin, which had shielded us from the rain and wind, had been a precious haven. To say I hadn’t grown attached would have been a lie. But staying here forever was impossible.

“Thank you,” I whispered, running my fingers along the edge of the bedframe. The bed that had kept us warm and safe through many nights. But as the memory of what Andre had done there resurfaced, I snatched my hand away, suddenly uncomfortable.

“What are you planning to do once we’re in the village?” Andre asked abruptly.

His voice, tight with suppressed anger, broke the silence. I didn’t have a concrete answer for him, so I dodged the question.

“Let’s just get there first. Did you finish packing?”

“There’s nothing much to pack,” he muttered.

We stepped out of the cabin and carefully secured the door, making sure it wouldn’t swing open in the wind and let animals in to ruin the place.

After checking the door several times, I turned to see Andre propping open the gate to Black Cloud’s pen.

Black Cloud, our plump little rabbit, was hopping cheerfully around the yard, nibbling on the lush grass. His round bottom wiggled as he moved, too adorable for words. I thought about giving him one last pat, but the thought of saying goodbye made my throat tighten with unshed tears.

“Stay safe. Watch out for foxes, wolves, bears… and boars, too…”

Leaving Black Cloud behind broke my heart.

But there was no other option. If we brought him with us, I might end up selling him the moment we ran out of money. It was better to leave him here, where he could live out his days naturally. If he was lucky, he might grow up, find a mate, and have a litter of fluffy little bunnies. When his time came, he could rest peacefully, surrounded by blooming flowers.

How long do wild rabbits live, anyway?

“…Hrk.”

Imagining Black Cloud’s happy future brought me to the brink of tears. I bit my lip hard, trying to hold it together. Andre glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, clearly noticing my struggle.

Determined not to look back, I forced myself to turn away from Black Cloud.

“Let’s go,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

I could sense Andre following behind me as we walked away from the cabin, leaving behind the isolated world we had shared.

Sunlight poured down onto the cabin, and small, nameless birds flitted around it, their wings fluttering.

This cabin in the Kayan Mountains, which had been a sanctuary for two lost souls, would now wait patiently for its next visitors. Whether it was someone lost in the forest or a wanderer seeking refuge, the cabin would welcome them as it had welcomed us.

Before leaving, I had made sure to tidy up. I left extra matches for the next guest, cleaned and dried the wooden bowls, covering them with muslin to keep out dust, and marked the map on the wall with the best paths to the village and spots where fruit trees grew in abundance.

I wanted whoever came next to feel the warmth of this place as we had.

“Why are we leaving all of a sudden?” Andre asked.

“….”

“This is because of me, isn’t it?”

He had been holding back his questions for a while, but as we reached the midpoint of the mountain, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. Before I could form an answer, Andre, now visibly agitated, began speaking in a rush.

“It’s because I messed up the bed, isn’t it? I know! I know that’s why you’re doing this! But I couldn’t help it. My body doesn’t listen to me! I didn’t want it to happen either, but every time I sleep next to you—”

“Enough,” I interrupted sharply.

I couldn’t handle this conversation. Andre’s unfiltered honesty made me deeply uncomfortable. I chose to ignore him, focusing instead on navigating the rocky path.

“Watch your step.”

Andre, his breath still uneven from his earlier outburst, suddenly exhaled deeply and hung his head low.

“…I’m sorry, Jeanne,” he muttered.

Hearing his quiet apology, so subdued after his earlier frustration, made me pause mid-step.

I closed my eyes tightly, then opened them, letting out a small sigh. With a resolute expression, I turned to face him. If we were to part ways, I wanted it to be without leaving bitterness between us.

“It’s something every man goes through. It’s not wrong, and it’s not dirty. It’s just a natural part of growing up.”

“…I thought you’d see me as dirty,” Andre said softly, his voice heavy with shame.

“I don’t think you’re dirty. Truly,” I replied, meeting his gaze earnestly.

Of course not. Nocturnal emissions were a normal part of adolescence and a sign that Andre was healthy. But even understanding that, it didn’t change my decision. I couldn’t reconsider—not even for a second.

“Then why are we going to the village?” he asked again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

“Watch your step,” I said curtly, turning away from him and resuming my walk toward the village.

No matter how cold-hearted it made me seem, I couldn’t tell him the truth. How could I look a boy in the eye and say, I’m taking you to the village to leave you behind?

Even as I walked, I could feel the sharp weight of Andre’s gaze on my back, heavy with unspoken emotions. I didn’t look back—not once. I knew that if I saw his face, the fragile resolve I had managed to gather would crumble in an instant.

* * *

The orphanage was located a good distance from the village, so even after descending the mountain, we had to walk quite a bit more. Thankfully, the path wasn’t too remote, and along the way, we came across a small eatery.

I lightly patted Andre on the back, his sulky demeanor still apparent. Whether he was angry or simply pouting, I couldn’t tell. Together, we stepped into the eatery.

The establishment primarily sold freshly baked bread, but we were in luck—they also had a dish of scrambled eggs and spinach on the menu. Excited, I ordered both without hesitation.

As I placed my order, carefree and unbothered by the cost, Andre shot me a pointed look from across the table. His sharp gaze made me feel slightly awkward, so I mumbled an explanation, almost as if to justify myself.

“W-well, it’s been a while since we’ve had food made by someone else. Hahaha. I’m really looking forward to it.”

Ignoring my attempt to lighten the mood, Andre finally slipped the bag off his shoulder and set it neatly under the table.

“Bread… I can’t even remember the last time I had fresh bread,” I said, trying to fill the awkward silence.

But soon, the warm, rich smell of bread filling the eatery stole my attention. Like a mesmerized child, I sniffed the air eagerly, savoring the tantalizing aroma.

“Oh… this is so good. My stomach’s growling already. I hope the food comes soon!”

Just then, the owner approached with a tray of food, setting down the soft, white bread, along with a generous plate of scrambled eggs and spinach. Smiling warmly, she looked between the two of us.

“Eat up. I’ll bring some milk right away,” she said kindly.

“Thank you! We’ll enjoy it,” I replied cheerfully.

I reached out immediately, grabbing a piece of bread. It was just as soft and delicious as I’d imagined—rich with butter and milk, the texture melted in my mouth. It was heavenly. I tore off another piece and held it out to Andre.

“Here, try it! It’s amazing,” I said enthusiastically.

“I’ll eat when I want,” Andre muttered.

“Come on, take it! My arm’s getting tired,” I insisted, waving the bread in front of him.

Finally, Andre accepted it, though he did so begrudgingly. Yet, as he chewed, his expression remained stiff and unyielding. He looked as though he were gnawing on a stale, rock-hard piece of rye bread rather than the soft, delicate loaf in front of him.

“Isn’t it delicious? It’s incredible, right? It feels so good to eat something like this after so long!”

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Andre replied flatly.

Despite his rigid expression, he had no problem spouting a line so embarrassingly sweet that it left me at a loss for words. It was—like so many things about Andre these days—a bit overwhelming.

Ah… Guilt pricked at me like a tiny thorn in my conscience. Hiding my discomfort, I forced a bright smile and reached for the eggs and spinach. Spearing a balanced bite onto my fork, I offered it to Andre.

“Come on, Andre. Eat up and grow nice and strong!”

His cheeks turned a faint shade of pink, but his stiff expression remained unchanged. The look in his eyes—an uneasy mix of doubt and apprehension—also refused to waver.

I couldn’t help but feel increasingly uncomfortable as the meal went on.

* * *

As the familiar silhouette of the orphanage building came into view, my pace slowed instinctively.

Now that the moment was upon me, shame bubbled up inside me, gnawing at my resolve. I felt like a terrible person, as though someone might suddenly appear and point a finger at me, condemning me for my actions. I couldn’t shake the image of a parent abandoning an innocent, trusting child. The weight of what I was about to do felt like an unbearable sin.

What could I possibly say to Andre? That I, a lowly maid, could no longer take care of him? That his very presence had become a burden? Could I truly bring myself to say such things to a boy who looked up to me, trusted me?

Andre, sharp as he was, might already understand that this was the best option for him. Smart orphans often found wealthy benefactors who could fund their education, allowing them to enroll in prestigious academies. Andre, with his noble upbringing and exceptional intelligence, was more than capable of finding a sponsor who would help him thrive. At least, that’s what I told myself, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.

“Where is that place?” Andre asked.

“Watch your step,” I replied, my voice deliberately evasive.

“Jeanne!”

Andre, clearly frustrated, raised his voice, unable to contain himself. Ignoring him, I quickened my pace. Annoyed by the growing distance, he hurried to catch up, nearly jogging to walk beside me again.

“What kind of place is that?” he asked again, his tone demanding this time.

“I’ll explain when we get there.”

“Tell me now.”

I pressed my lips together, refusing to answer. Andre asked a few more times, but when it became clear I wouldn’t respond, he fell silent as well.

The tension between us hung heavy as I carefully rehearsed what I planned to say. I needed to frame it in a way that would hurt him as little as possible, something that would make sense, something persuasive.

Finally, the moment arrived. Standing in front of the orphanage’s weathered sign, I gestured toward the building.

“‘Sally’s Orphanage’?” Andre read aloud, his voice quiet with disbelief.

“Young master…”

“Jeanne.”