Chapter 21
The mother’s eyes trembled.
‘I should feel pain—but I don’t.’
Her opinion of herself dropped.
Still, even though she didn’t intend to, a part of her was glad that some of the pain she had suffered was now being returned to those around her. It was a terrible feeling, one she hated—but it was the truth.
She pushed those feelings down. She had never meant to hurt them like this. It was just the childish part of her heart acting out.
If she let resentment take over, the fragile bonds she had only just regained would be torn apart. She didn’t want that.
‘If I can just ease my heart a little—just a little—then I can love them again.’
She could cherish her new life once more. So, just for now…
Was it resentment? Or was it surrender? A lonely acceptance?
She had to stand up. And to do that, she couldn’t afford to consider others.
The good daughter—the one who once lived in that house—had already died. Perhaps in the carriage, long ago.
She didn’t resent them. But she knew one thing for sure: her life belonged to her alone.
If she was stabbed, only she would feel the pain. If she struggled in agony, it was her suffering alone.
No matter how much she screamed, no one would know. No one understood her pain.
She could not die for her mother and father. No one else had suffered through her sleepless nights, her silent tears.
No one had ever shared her pain.
So she did not say sorry to her parents. Instead, she asked them:
“Can you help me? You said you love me. This is my lifelong wish. If this is resolved, I will become a good daughter again.”
Now that she knew they loved her—now that she had seen it—she wanted them to show that love.
“Can I lean on you? Just this once?”
Then, she could forgive everything.
Because they simply hadn’t known. Because they had been careless.
If they had realized she was drowning, they would have saved her—she wanted to believe that.
“Can you do this for me?”
At last, her mother looked at her with an unreadable expression.
She stood up, walked over, and gently knelt. She pulled her daughter’s head into an embrace and whispered:
“If this will bring you peace, then do as you wish. You are more precious to me than anyone.”
Then, in a quiet voice, she added:
“Your father would want the same.”
For some reason, the hatred that had filled her heart—the anger even toward her parents—suddenly wavered.
She closed her eyes, and a cold tear rolled down her pale cheek.
“Thank you for accepting my stubbornness. Just this once… just this once.”
Benon brushed her forehead and asked, “Have you been sleeping well? Are you feeling unwell?”
His eyes were filled with concern, as if he were looking at someone seriously ill.
“If you feel tightness in your chest, tell me. That’s also a pain. You shouldn’t endure it.”
She sighed from where she lay on the chair.
“I’m fine. Don’t treat me like a patient.”
For some reason, after that conversation, her parents had called for the family doctor.
So, when Benon arrived, she had no choice but to be examined.
She knew she didn’t look well, but wasn’t this a bit much?
Benon, however, still looked deeply worried. He sighed and pulled something out of his bag.
“I’ve been worried ever since that… disgrace of a fiancé mistreated you. You were terrified of curtains as a child—how could you endure such shock?”
Tears welled up in his eyes.
She appreciated the concern. But it was overwhelming to see a dignified, middle-aged man nearly crying over her.
And besides—
“That was when I was three, Benon. Why are you bringing that up now?”
She was bewildered.
Benon’s tears spilled over.
“To me, you’ll always be that little girl, toddling around. And now you’ve grown so much, carrying all this pain… It feels like just yesterday you were laughing without a care.”
Apparently, to him, she was still the little child who thought curtains were ghosts.
He quickly dabbed his tears away with a handkerchief, sniffled, and handed her a small glass jar.
“Your complexion is poor. You’re having trouble sleeping, aren’t you? Burn this in an incense burner before bed. If you run out, I’ll bring more. Don’t overuse it, but it’s better than not sleeping at all.”
The promise of a good night’s sleep was tempting, so she accepted the jar.
Inside were dried, finely chopped herbs. The jar looked a bit rough as if Benon had made it himself.
“Thank you. I’ll use it well.”
And indeed, Benon’s remedy worked.
Lysdel, her attendant, burned the herbs for her before bed. That night, she slept deeply, dreamlessly.
She woke naturally, feeling refreshed.
It had been a long time since she’d felt this well-rested.
As she sat up, she realized something:
“…Just sleeping properly can make such a difference.”
Her mind felt clear.
Then, she remembered what she had planned for the day.
“I was going to persuade Bern and take Raina to the Demeter family to talk…”
But as she stepped out onto the balcony, listening to the birds chirping, she suddenly didn’t want to ruin her mood.
“Not today.”
She called her butler and canceled all her appointments.
It was a hassle—rescheduling letters, adjusting plans—but the butler looked pleased.
“Understood, my lady.”
Then, with a surprisingly warm expression, he added:
“You look much better today. You must have slept well.”
He was always strict and composed, his hair neatly slicked back. Yet now, he gazed at her with quiet relief.
She hesitated.
Had even the butler noticed she hadn’t been sleeping well? She thought no one knew.
She considered asking but felt too embarrassed.
Then, the butler asked thoughtfully,
“We recently received a shipment of calming tea leaves from Armen. Would you like some for afternoon tea?”
That was the final straw—too flustered, she fled.
“I’m going to take a walk in the garden.”
It was an excuse, but also the truth.
She felt… strange.
‘Why are they treating me like I’m going through some delayed adolescence?’
It wasn’t a bad feeling. Just odd.
As she walked through the garden, she wondered:
Did the household believe she was still in love with Bern and suffering from heartbreak?
Then, even the gardener gave her a sorrowful look.
That confirmed it.
“The rumor must have spread completely.”
Worse, it seemed they thought she was quietly supporting Bern’s love despite her pain.
The thought made her stomach turn.
The idea that she was pining for that man…
She sighed, gazing at the roses.
Her mood had improved, but realizing she had become a tragic romantic figure left her feeling conflicted.
Still, as she wandered the garden, she found herself smiling.
“At least… I don’t feel bad about it.”
Why?
Was it because she had finally slept well? Because her parents had accepted her childish plea?
Or maybe—
Because even as she acted selfishly, the people around her still cared in their ways?
Just as warmth filled her heart, she saw marigolds.
Flowers the same color as her eyes.
Then, she remembered that day.
The day Raina had said, “Walking into hell is the only choice for me.”
Her smile vanished.
Raina had thanked her.
“Thank you… Thank you.”
No matter what she said, she would have hated Raina anyway.
Yet somehow, that woman always managed to stir up her emotions.
“…Thank you, huh.”
The words were ice-cold.
Bright golden flowers, named after the sun.
She crouched down and stared at them.
“I hate you.”
Raina’s face came to mind—so happy, so unaware.
“So happy, even in a situation like this… I hate that too.”
No matter what Raina did, she would always hate her.
