My Trash Husband Is the Grand Chancellor

When the man woke up, he stared at me with the blank, bewildered eyes of a newborn.

I slammed my butcher's knife down on the table, still dripping with blood.

"You're awake. Good. From this day forward, you're my husband."

I pointed at myself, then at him.

"I'm Yvonne Smith. You're Walt. Got it?"

He glanced at the knife. Then he looked at me, taking in every inch of my broad, solid frame. He gave a small, obedient nod.

"Got it."

I was practically beaming inside. I'd hit the jackpot this time.

Everyone in Butcher's Alley knew who I was. I was strong enough to uproot a tree with one hand, and I'd scared off every matchmaker in the neighborhood. And now I finally had a handsome husband to call my own. That alone was enough to make old geezer next door choke on his own words.

The day Walt was well enough to be on his feet, I decided he wasn't going to sit around doing nothing.

"Walt, come here. Hold this pig down for me."

I handed him a smaller knife and pointed to the pig strapped to the butcher's block. 150 pounds, give or take. Nothing I couldn't handle in my sleep.

Walt took the knife. His hands were shaking so badly that it was almost impressive.

The pig wasn't helping. It must've sensed what was coming, because it let out a long, blood-curdling shriek.

Walt's eyes rolled back, then he went stiff as a board and crashed straight to the floor.

He was out cold.

I stared at him. Was this man made of glass?

I pinched him back to consciousness. When he came around, his face was burning red, too ashamed to look at me.

"I'll carry the meat," he muttered.

Determined to prove he wasn't completely useless, he rolled up his sleeves and hoisted half a pig carcass onto his shoulders.

Then I heard a sharp, horrible crack.

He spat up blood and went down, buried under the weight of the carcass.

"Holy crap!"

I threw the meat off him in a panic and hauled him up by the back of his collar like he weighed nothing.

Of course, that was the exact moment the old geezer in the next door butcher store, Tom Walker, came strolling by with a group of idlers in tow. They took one look at the scene and completely lost it.

"Well, well, Yvonne. Did you buy yourself a man to keep as a decoration?"

"That's no husband, that's a pretty doll. Did the pig carcass just kill him? What terrible luck!"

Walt's face went from red to scarlet.

He stared down at his own hands, soft and smooth as any woman's, and his voice dropped to almost nothing.

"I'm useless. I don't deserve you."

I looked at his miserable face, then reached into my pocket and felt nothing but empty fabric.

I'd drained my entire savings to save this man. Every coin I'd set aside for my own future was gone. If he really turned out to be dead weight, my butcher shop wouldn't survive the year.

That evening, Walt decided to make himself useful and went to the kitchen to boil some water.

A few minutes later, I smelled something burning.

I ran in to find the kitchen full of black smoke. Walt was standing in the middle of it all, his face streaked with ash, coughing so hard he could barely breathe. The fire in the stove had climbed so high it was licking the ceiling beams.

I threw water on it and tried not to cry.

I hadn't picked up a husband. I'd picked up a walking disaster.

Once the fire was out, Walt crept into the corner and stared at the floor. Then he started quietly inching toward the door.

"Yvonne, I should go. I don't want to burden you anymore."

I'd never been soft, and I'd never been gentle. But I couldn't stand watching something pretty suffer.

I looked at his thin, defeated back and something in me snapped.

"Get back here right now! If you die out there, I'm the one who has to pay for your funeral. Get inside!"

I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back in, then threw a dry cloth at him.

That night, despite the pain from his injuries, he carried a basin of hot water to the side of my bed and set it down carefully.

"Yvonne. Wash your feet."

The water was so hot I nearly launched off the bed. I bit down hard and was ready to let him have it.

But then I saw the look on his face, so careful and so earnest, and I kept my mouth shut. I sat there and soaked my feet until they turned red without saying a single word.

I sighed inwardly.

Fine. This was just how it was going to be.

I brought him home myself. I'd see it through, no matter what it cost me.