Chapter 209: The Outburst
Barlow dragged his leaden, exhausted body back to his shack.
The sky had turned a bruising shade of black, and the moon hung high above,
casting a cold, indifferent silver light over the slums. He pushed open the
creaking door to find Hilde sitting at the scarred wooden table, her chin
propped in her hands, waiting for him.
"Papa! You're finally home!"
The girl sprang from her chair, her face a mask of relief and suppressed
grievance. "You've been gone for days! I was so scared here all by myself!"
"Mr. Baras from next door said wraiths have been appearing outside the city!
Everyone is afraid to go out at night! Every single night, I lay awake wondering
if you were dead in a ditch somewhere!"
Hearing this barrage of complaints, the suffocating impotence Barlow had felt
while wandering the city that day finally found its spark. The panic about his
unemployment, the anxiety for their future, and the crushing weight of his own
failure boiled over.
"Enough! I'm fine, aren't I?" he snapped, ripping off his dust-caked coat and
tossing it onto a chair. "What does a child like you know about anything?"
"I'm out there working myself to the bone, risking my life to keep you fed, and
this is how you greet me?"
Hilde flinched, her eyes widening at his tone. "I... I was just worried..."
"Worried, worried! That's all you ever say!" Barlow's rage surged unbidden,
fueled by the exhaustion in his marrow. "Do you have any idea how much my hands
ache from digging in that lightless hole? Do you know what it's like to have the
ceiling groaning over your head every second?"
"I come home for peace, and all I get is your nagging! Can't you just let me
have one moment of silence?!"
Hilde's eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to spill over. "I... I only
wanted to—"
"I don't care what you wanted!" Barlow was beyond reason now, his tongue lashing
out like a whip. "You're just like your mother! Nagging, prying, suffocating me
every hour of every day! It's enough to drive a man mad!"
The room went deathly silent.
Hilde stood frozen, her head bowing as tears began to splash onto the
floorboards. Her shoulders shook with a silent, jagged sob before she looked up,
her voice a piercing shriek.
"I hate you! I hate you more than anything!"
Barlow felt a pang of regret the moment the words left his mouth, but his pride
wouldn't let him back down. He sneered, the bitterness in his heart acting as a
shield. "You think I'm fond of you? I hate you too!"
BANG!
Hilde slammed her bedroom door with enough force to rattle the thin walls.
Barlow stood alone in the center of the room, feeling suddenly hollow. He
slumped into a chair and buried his face in his hands. What did I just say? How
could I take it out on her? How could I mention her mother like that?
He looked at her closed door, his hand half-rising to knock and apologize, but
he pulled it back. Later. Tomorrow. If I go in now, she'll just scream. I'll
make it right in the morning.
He retreated to his own room, but sleep was a ghost he couldn't catch. His mind
replayed the sight of Hilde's tear-stained face and the finality of her "I hate
you." He knew she didn't mean it. Just as he knew he didn't mean it either. But
the words were out now, floating in the air like a lingering curse.
Barlow tossed and turned until the grey light of dawn began to seep through the
shutters. He finally drifted into a shallow, fitful doze.
He was jolted awake by the harsh glare of the morning sun.
"Hilde? Where are my clothes?" Barlow called out habitually. Usually, by this
time, she would have laid out his work gear and mended any fresh tears in the
fabric.
There was no answer.
Barlow sat up, rubbed his eyes, and walked out into the living area. The table
was bare. No steaming porridge, no slices of black bread—not even a cup of
water. He stared at Hilde's door, still firmly shut.
Should I knock? Should I apologize now? He hesitated. No... she's probably still
fuming. I'll give her the day to cool off. The foreman said today is the last
shift. Once the mine is closed, I'll have all the time in the world to make it
up to her. I'll spend every copper I have to make her smile.
Barlow dressed himself in his filthy rags and stepped out into the street. The
argument from the night before felt like a thorn embedded in his chest, pricking
him with every step.
He walked through the familiar streets of Leaffall City as the shops began to
open. The smell of fresh bread from the bakery and the rhythmic clink-clink of
the blacksmith's hammer filled the air. Barlow walked mechanically until
something caught his eye in a shop window.
It was a rag doll. It had a little blue dress, golden yarn for hair, and black
button eyes.
He remembered Old Tom, a fellow miner, bragging a few days ago. "I bought my
girl a doll," Tom had said, drunk but beaming with pride. "You should've seen
the look on her face! She hugged me so tight and called me the best Papa in the
world!"
Barlow had smiled and nodded then, but the memory had stuck. Looking at the doll
now, a desperate thought took hold. What if... what if I buy it for Hilde? As an
apology?
He checked his pocket. He had a dozen copper coins—the "condolence money" from
the foreman. He gritted his teeth and pushed open the shop door.
The air inside smelled of expensive silk and dye. Bolts of vibrant fabric were
stacked neatly on the shelves. A middle-aged man with a protruding belly was
dozing behind the counter, snapping awake at the sound of the bell. When he saw
Barlow, his customer-service smile vanished instantly.
Barlow stood there, covered in coal dust and dried mud, his face a mottled mask
of grime. He looked like a creature crawled out of the earth.
"What do you want?! Get out!" the owner barked, waving his hands as if shooing a
stray dog. "You're filthy! You'll ruin my silks! Out, now!"
Barlow stood his ground, awkwardly wringing his hands. "Wait... Boss... please."
He pointed at the doll in the window. "The doll. How much?"
"I have coin. I want to buy it."
The owner looked him up and down with utter disdain. "You? Coin? You don't have
enough to buy the thread on that doll's dress! Scram! You're bad for business!"
"I really have it!" Barlow grew frantic, pulling the coppers from his pocket.
"Look! I can pay! This is... it's important. I had a fight with my daughter... I
need to bring her something to make it right..."
The shopkeeper let out a mocking sneer at the sight of the meager copper coins.
"Is that it? Listen, that doll isn't for sale to the likes of you. Even if it
were, you couldn't afford a single limb of it! Now get out before the Noble
Lords see you and decide my shop is a hovel!"
Barlow was physically shoved out the door. He stood on the cobblestones, staring
at the coins in his palm, feeling a wave of self-loathing so cold it numbed his
heart. I can't even buy a toy for my own child. What kind of father am I?
"Forget it..." he whispered, his head hanging low. "I'll find something else.
Something cheaper..."
He turned to walk away when a voice barked from behind him. "Wait!"
Barlow turned to see the shopkeeper standing in the doorway, holding a bundle.
It wasn't the pristine doll from the window. This one was old, its fabric
yellowed. One button eye hung by a loose thread, and the stitching was crude and
uneven.
"Take this piece of junk!" the owner spat, tossing the doll at Barlow. "And get
lost! If a Noble sees you lingering near my storefront, I'm finished!"
Barlow caught the doll, stunned. "This... I..." He hurriedly reached for his
coins. "Boss, how much? I can pay—"
"What are you doing?!" the owner yelled, grabbing a wooden club from behind the
door. "If you don't start running, I'll give you a beating you won't forget!"
Barlow flinched and scrambled backward. But despite the threat, he paused and
gave a deep, respectful bow toward the shop.
"Thank you, Boss! Truly, thank you!"
He bowed several more times before carefully tucking the tattered doll into his
shirt to protect it from the dust. He turned toward the mine, his steps lighter,
a genuine smile breaking through the grime on his face. She's going to love it.
☆☆☆
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