The Farming Saint in the Starry Wasteland (Elizabeth Schofield) novel Chapter 529

Bracing herself against the couch, Cyndi slowly pushed herself to her feet.

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She had been curled in the same position for too long. Pins and needles crawled through her leg circulation returned in duil

waves.

Her gaze moved across Deborah’s deeply lined face, lingering on the older woman’s careful concern. Then, to Calum, standing there with his chin tilted upward, still watching her with quiet unease. And finally, to the study door, closed and locked, a barrier that refused communication.

When had this house become like this?

When had she–wife, mother, daughter–in–law–become a source of tension, of fear, something her own family had to tiptoe around?

“I’m… just tired.” In the end, that was all she said. Her voice drifted out thin and weightless. “Mom, take Calum to bed. As for dinner… Just eat whatever you want. Don’t worry about me.”

Deborah’s lips parted as though she wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, she sighed softly and only managed to say goodnight.

“Then try to get some rest too. Whatever it is, talk tomorrow when everyone’s calmer.” She reached for Calum’s hard. “Come on, Calum. Say goodnight to your mom, then we’ll go check on your dad.”

Calum looked at Cyndi. “Good night, Mom,” he said softly, then walked away with his grandmother, glancing back over his should every few steps.

They didn’t go to the study. They went to the boy’s bedroom.

The living room fell silent again, empty except for Cyndi and the lonely bowl of strawberries.

She didn’t touch them. Didn’t go to the study to try and bridge the gap with Oscar.

Instead, she walked slowly to the floor–to–ceiling window.

Outside lay the carefully curated nightscape of Oasis Gardens Residential District. Pathway lights glowed softly across manicured lawns, while the distant city skyline dissolved into a blurred ocean of neon light.

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Quiet. Serene. A cruel contrast to the storm still churning inside her.

Oscar’s furious accusation echoed in her skull. Is there anything in your life besides Seafarm?

Then the regional manager’s unyielding voice, handing down the new performance targets. Cyndi, the company has high hopes f you. This quarter’s growth is riding on your store.

The customer who’d pointed a finger in her face, calling their bundling policy nothing but robbery, while she’d kept her professional smile glued in place and explained that it was all part of promoting healthy eating habits.

Newman’s calm voice. Thirty thousand during the internship. Fifty thousand after becoming full–time.

The shifting, uncertain eyes of her own staff. The flickers of doubt. The loss of trust she’d once taken for granted.

11:44 am

Chapter 329 Failure in Every Aspect

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tayer upon layer, pressure had wrapped itself around her life until she could no longer tell where work ended and everything else began.

She thought she had been fighting for her family. Instead, she had dragged the tension of the workplace–the vigilance, the calculation, the endless defensive posture–back into her home.

She’d thought she was defending the company’s interests, but maybe she’d just been the point of a spear for a business model growing rigid and outdated.

She’d thought her loyalty and sacrifice counted for something, only to discover how laughably fragile they were in the face of real opportunity and real value.

Seafarm’s forced bundle–sale strategy had boosted revenue in the short term. It had increased salaries. On paper, it looked like

success.

But was it?

Customer resentment was building quietly beneath the surface. Employee loyalty was eroding. And the competitors were steadily taking market share. Not with pressure, but with better products, fairer sales methods, and more attractive compensation.

Meanwhile, Cyndi stood in the center of the spacious, beautifully furnished home she had spent years working herself to exhaustion to afford, and felt none of the satisfaction she once imagined success would bring. Only loneliness, confusion… and failure.

A sense of failure so complete it had no edges.

Failure as a manager. She’d followed orders, hit her KPIs, and done exactly what was asked of her.

But in the long game, she might just be steering herself straight toward a cliff.

Failure as a wife, as a mother. That much was obvious.

And even as a consumer, for all her anger that her family would rather stand in long lines to buy overpriced produce from a competitor than trust what she brought home from Seafarm…

Deep down, she had her own doubts about the company she worked for.

She turned slowly. Her gaze fell again on the bowl of strawberries.

Under the lights, they rested quietly on the white porcelain plate, impossibly red. Pure in color. Almost painfulty vivid.

Before she realized what she was doing, she had already stepped closer. Her hand reached out and picked one up.

The strawberry wasn’t particularly large, but its shape was flawless, its color rich and even. When she lifted it closer, a clean, delicate sweetness drifted from it, fresh and natural.

Nothing like the sharp, almost chemical smell that clung to the fruit Seafarm sold.

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