Don't Forgive Your Abusers: Fairytale Edition

Chapter 4 (Part 4)

Ava spent her time mashing the potatoes she had just boiled, while Simon continued to educate her and Ophelia on the horrors of life in Glenfield.

    "Maybe even worse than knights are landlords," he told them.

    "Like the Lord of a noble house who owns land?" Ava asked. She had heard of Lords and Ladies before.

    Simon waved his hand. "I'm sure they're all bad too, but what I'm talking about are  rich assholes who buy up a bunch of houses and rent them to people at an inflated price."

    "Why would anyone need more than one house?" Ophelia wondered out loud.

    "That's just it," Patrick cut in. "They don't." He spun one of the plates on the kitchen table. "They have multiple houses so that other people can't buy homes and are forced to rent from them instead."

    "I'm so glad we were able to build this house ourselves." Simon stated. "Technically we don't own the land, but we're far enough away from town that nobody rich notices."

    Ava had the idea of putting in some of the cheese the boys had bought at the village market square in with the mashed potatoes. She shredded it up and added it to the pot.

    "As a treat." She smiled as she stirred it in.

    "Looks good," Rowan observed. "I wish we could eat. I didn't get to do enough of that when I was alive."

(The Story of Rowan)

    Rowan's stomach growled. It had been several days since he had eaten anything. Ever since his father died of tuberculosis three weeks ago, money had been scarce. His mother had picked up odd jobs cleaning houses for wealthier families to attempt to make ends meet. By the time she returned home every night, she would retreat to the rocking chair and simply stare at the wall, too worn out to even cry. The sudden entry into the workforce left her no time to properly grieve.

    There was a knock on the door. Rowan's mother slowly walked toward the door, opening it to reveal their landlord, Mr. Bothwell.

    "Oh, do come in, Mr. Bothwell," Rowan's mother invited. "It's terribly cold out there."

    Mr. Bothwell entered the small house, shutting the door behind him. "Mrs. Fairclough. I'm afraid I haven't received your monthly rent payment yet," he stated, making himself comfortable by the small fire. "So I thought I'd come collect it myself."

    "I'm working on getting the money," Rowan's mother explained. "I've been picking up more jobs to earn more money. Things have been really hard since my husband's passing-"

    "And I'm very sorry about your loss," Mr. Bothwell interrupted.  "But I've got to earn a living somehow."

    Mr. Bothwell, however, already made enough for several livings, as he owned every house on the block. It was an investment which he inherited from his father, who inherited it from his father before him.

    "Please just give me a little more time," Rowan's mother begged.

    "Now, if I let you off the hook for rent," Mr. Bothwell began. "What's to stop my other tenants from thinking they can get away with not paying me?"

    Rowan's mother began sifting through her coin purse. "I can give you everything I have right now in good faith."

    Mr. Bothwell counted the coins. "You're twenty five gold coins short."

    "I'll get you the money," Rowan's mother promised.

    "If you're so worried about money, why don't you put your bastard son to work?"