I No Longer Have Love to Offer You - Chapter 12

Mirabelle had thought herself reasonably capable of taking care of herself until she realized this only held true when she was acting as a noblewoman or the daughter of an aristocratic family.

“Who knew I’d be so utterly helpless.”

At the end of a long day, as she lay in bed, Mirabelle couldn’t stop sighing in self-reproach.

After parting ways with Albert, she had been escorted to the women’s dormitory by the manager, who showed her to her room. The dormitory was designed for single occupancy, small but equipped with a washbasin, a toilet, and even a simple bathtub.

For commoners, renting a room of this standard would have been slightly out of reach. Yet the merchant guild apparently provided it to employees at a low cost.

Of course, for Mirabelle born a count’s daughter and later a viscountess. The room felt cramped and the amenities inadequate. Still, having a space where she didn’t have to mind anyone else was more comfortable than she’d expected.

That was, until she faced the problems of meals and bathing.

Though her room had a basic kitchen, there was also a cafeteria on the first floor, open to all employees. But the moment she peeked inside for the first time; Mirabelle knew she couldn’t handle it in her current state.

She didn’t understand the system.

Until now, meals had either been prepared for her at home or served to her in restaurants.

(How does this work? From what I can see, people are talking directly to the chef to get their food plated onto trays? But how do they settle payment?)

Moreover, the large space was filled with tables where people sat however they pleased some in lively groups with friends, others eating silently alone. Overwhelmed by the unfamiliar bustle of the cafeteria, Mirabelle retreated without a word.

(It’s fine to skip one meal. I’ll figure out food somewhere else tomorrow.)

That much, at least, was manageable.

Next came the bathing dilemma.

Until now, Mirabelle had always had a retinue of servants to prepare her baths.

(Who knew heating water would be so much work!)

There were two ways to get hot water: boiling it in her room’s kitchen (though this was mainly for tea) or carrying it up from the boiler room on the first floor, where large quantities were heated for bathing.

(There’s no way I could manage that…)

She later learned that, for an additional fee, dorm residents could request bath preparations, a service established because many women found hauling water too difficult.

In the end, unable to transport the water herself, Mirabelle could only wipe herself down with a thoroughly wrung-out towel.

(I was arrogant to think I could do this on my own.)

Albert could have easily arranged everything without inconveniencing her meals delivered to her room, baths prepared in advance. But he had deliberately chosen not to.

(Maybe he’s testing whether I’m serious about working.)

Not out of malice, but concern.

(He’s worried about me.)

Albert probably navigated dorm life—no, commoner life effortlessly. Perhaps he, too, had once been bewildered.

Indulging Mirabelle would have been easy, but if she was to live alone without remarrying, it was better she faced reality sooner rather than later.

If today’s struggles had crushed her spirit, Albert would likely have urged her to accept the Hylas family’s support, as he’d initially suggested, and perhaps found her some simple work suitable for a noblewoman.

Between that and alimony, she could have scraped by.

But that wouldn’t have been true independence.

(I want to survive on my own strength, no matter what.)

Mirabelle reaffirmed her resolve.

Yes, so she would never be at anyone’s mercy again.