Chapter 33:


    She opened the fridge. It was empty.


    “Let’s go shopping,” Isolde said.


    They walked to the local bodega. Isolde counted the cash in her wallet. Forty dors for the week.


    She bought milk, bread, eggs, and a box of generic cereal. Effie wanted the colorful brand-name one. Isolde looked at the price tag. $6.99.


    She looked at the generic one. $2.99.


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    “This one has a puzzle on the back,” Isolde said, her voice firm but gentle. It wasn’t a lie; it was a lesson in finding value where others saw none.


    Effie smiled. “Okay!”


    At the checkout, Isolde watched the total climb. $18.50.


    She paid. Her hand lingered on the bills. This wasn’t just money; it was independence, bought one dor at a time.


    Back in the apartment, they sat on the floor and ate cereal out of mugs because they didn’t have bowls yet.


    “Mommy,” Effie said, milk mustache on her lip. “I like this house.”


    “Why?”


    “Because Daddy isn’t here to yell.”


    Isolde’s heart broke and healed in the same second.


    “No,” she said. “He’s not.”


    Later that night, after Effie was asleep on the mattress on the floor, Isolde sat at the wobbly kitchen table. She opened herptop.


    An encrypted email from Nelson.


    ISSDC Challenge: Sustainable Martian Colony. Closed Loop Ecosystem. 500 inhabitants.


    Isolde stared at the screen. Her mind began to race.


    She grabbed a pen. She started to draw.


    For the first time in five years, she wasn’t a wife.


    She was Sophia. And she was going to build a world.


    The phone rang at 6:30 PM.


    Isolde was deep in a schematic for a water remation system. She almost didn’t answer.


    She saw the name. Lancaster Penthouse.


    She hesitated. Then she swiped right.


    “Hello?”


    “Isolde? It’s Maria, the housekeeper,” a flustered voice whispered. “Mr. Kaiden, he got into Mr. Lancaster’s phone and found your number in the recent calls. I’m so sorry to bother you, but he won’t eat. He’s… he’s screaming for you.”


    In the background, a child’s wail was unmistakable.


    “Where are you?” Kaiden’s voice was shrill. “It’s dinner time.”


    Isolde blinked. She looked at the clock. “I don’t live there anymore, Kaiden.”


    “But I’m hungry!” Kaiden shouted. “The new chef made pasta with green stuff. I hate green stuff. I want your meat sauce.”


    Isolde felt a phantom urge to apologize, to rush to the kitchen. It was a reflex honed by years of servitude.


    She crushed it.


    “I’m not your chef, Kaiden,” she said calmly.


    “You have toe back! Dad said you’re just being mean!” Kaiden whined.


    “No.”


    “I’m telling Dad you won’t feed me!”


    “Go ahead,” Isolde said. “Tell him. Tell Belle. She’s your mother, Kaiden. Ask her to cook.”


    “She can’t cook!” Kaiden yelled. “She burns water!”


    Isoldeughed. A dry, humorless sound. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”


    “Please,” Kaiden’s voice dropped. It wobbled. “I’m really hungry.”


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