Chapter 43
The Story Beyond the Door
Aria’s heart dropped at Bonita’s words.
Up until now, their conversation had felt light, but this… this was different.
“Ah… but there were times we slept together,” Bonita continued. “Only when Mother drank.”
“…….”
“Whenever she got extra money, she’d buy meat and alcohol. And if she ate a good meal, she’d let me sleep next to her. I liked those days.”
“…I see.”
Aria’s expression crumbled.
She wiped her bloodied hands on the hem of her dress, thinking—
Good thing I didn’t open the door.
If she had been looking Bonita in the eye when she heard that…
She wouldn’t have been able to hide the emotions twisting her face right now.
She was grateful for the door between them.
As long as she kept her voice steady, Bonita wouldn’t notice how shaken she was.
“Could you… tell me more?” Aria asked softly.
“About Mother?”
“About anything. What your life was like… how you lived.”
She quickly added,
“But only if you want to. I’m just curious. That’s all.”
After all, she hadn’t known Bonita for long.
Most of what she had guessed about the child’s past had come from her first memories upon waking in this body—the sights, the smells, the fear in Bonita’s eyes.
“……”
On the other side of the door, Bonita curled up, wrapping her arms around her knees.
“…I thought the days were long,” she finally said.
For a child, time stretches endlessly.
When Bonita waved goodbye to her mother at around eleven in the morning, she would be left alone until dusk.
She could go outside.
But a little girl wandering the backstreets alone wasn’t exactly safe.
She had learned that the hard way.
She had seen other children, the ones she played with, disappear—one by one.
And once they were gone, they never came back.
That reality was far more terrifying than any childish fear of the dark.
“So I just… cleaned the house, drew pictures… sometimes I went to the main street to shop. But that’s about it.”
“…Have you lived in that town since you were born?”
“I think so.”
Bonita tilted her head.
“I don’t remember anywhere else. And from what I’ve heard, it makes sense. Mother stood out a lot in that neighborhood.”
Aria was a striking woman—golden hair, blue eyes, and a noble air about her that was impossible to ignore.
People talked.
Bonita had overheard plenty of rumors.
But she had never repeated them to her mother.
The one time someone had called her a noble’s mistress, Mother had exploded in rage.
Even as a child, Bonita knew—adults found that kind of talk deeply offensive.
So she had stayed quiet.
“……”
Thinking back, Bonita realized how utterly dull her life had been before coming to the duke’s estate.
A leaky roof that dripped whenever it rained.
A cramped kitchen, a stiff mattress.
Musty blankets that always smelled a little damp because they couldn’t be washed properly.
The only exciting moments were the rare trips to Changé Street, where she saw well-dressed children holding their parents’ hands, smiling as they walked together.
But was her life miserable?
No.
Bonita didn’t think so.
She had seen what true misfortune looked like.
She had never been forced to sleep on the streets in the middle of winter, only to be found frozen to death the next morning.
She had never been beaten senseless by thugs and left to beg for scraps.
She had never been dragged away like some of the other children, trafficked like livestock.
Her idea of misery was that.
And compared to that—
She had a roof over her head.
She had food to eat.
That was enough, wasn’t it?
“I wasn’t unhappy.”
There were times she laughed.
Many times, actually.
Especially when she sat by the window, drawing, waiting for Mother to come home.
When the sky turned red at sunset and bathed the old, worn-out house in warm light…
That was her favorite moment.
If she looked out onto the bustling street, past the crowds, she would see it—
Mother’s golden hair, shining under the fading sun.
And she would be coming home.
Her heart would race every time.
In those moments, she forgot all her fears—of bad people, of being abandoned.
She had a home.
She had a mother.
And that was enough.
A voice drifted through the door.
“I see… so that’s how it was.”
Bonita thought her mother’s voice sounded… lonely.
Like the wind in late autumn.
After a moment, she hesitated before speaking again.
“I have a question, too.”
“What is it?”
“That, um…”
Who are you?
How did you suddenly appear in my life?
The words rose to her throat.
You took over my real mother’s body… but you love me more than she ever did.
Bonita preferred this version of her mother.
She shouldn’t.
It made her feel like a terrible child.
But she couldn’t help it.
This Aria’s love was overwhelming, all-consuming—so sweet and warm it made her want to drown in it.
Even if she was a demon from some old fairy tale, Bonita wouldn’t care.
Even if she demanded Bonita’s soul as payment one day, it wouldn’t matter.
As long as she kept loving her.
But deep inside, fear still festered.
“What if one day, she disappears?”
“She came so suddenly… so she could leave just as suddenly.”
“No. I don’t want that.”
What if, one morning—
She woke up in her mother’s arms as usual, only for that warmth to turn cold?
“Get away from me.”
What if she opened her eyes and saw the old Aria glaring at her, eyes void of warmth?
What if she looked at her as if she were someone else entirely?
Bonita shivered.
It could happen.
It could.
She swallowed the question she had been about to ask.
Instead, what came out was—
“You… you won’t leave me, right?”
“…Huh?”
“You won’t just disappear one day, will you?”
“Bonita, I—”
“If you do… I… I—”
I can’t live without you.
Bonita swallowed the last words.
She didn’t want to say them aloud.
She was terrified that if she did, Aria would run away.
Then, a soft voice from the other side of the door.
“Of course not, sweetheart.”
A gentle, soothing voice.
“I will never leave you.”
“…Never? Ever?”
“Never, ever.”
“……”
Even after hearing the promise, Bonita couldn’t bring herself to relax completely.
A quiet sniffle escaped her.
She rubbed her red nose and leaned her head against the door.
Then she closed her eyes.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
A mother and child, separated by a single wooden door—
But listening to each other breathe.
After about ten minutes, Aria called out softly.
“Bonita?”
No answer.
Her heart clenched with worry.
“Bonita, are you still there?”
All she heard was the faint sound of slow, steady breathing.
She exhaled in relief.
Bonita had fallen asleep.
Aria peered through the keyhole and saw a small, round head of pink hair.
Her tiny body rose and fell rhythmically.
The clock read 11 PM.
Too late for a child to be awake.
Aria sighed.
“She’ll catch a cold sleeping like that…”
She had no choice.
Reaching for the bell cord, she gave it a light tug.
Soon, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall.
Then—
“Oh, my…!”
Mary gasped.
But upon realizing Bonita was sleeping, she quickly lowered her voice.
Aria murmured through the door,
“She snuck out and fell asleep here. Could you take her back?”
“Ah, yes. Of course, Miss Hilton.”
Mary carefully lifted Bonita.
Before leaving, she hesitated.
“Miss Hilton… should I bring you some water? I heard you weren’t feeling well.”
“…Yes, please.”
“I’ll return shortly, then.”
Aria listened as Mary’s footsteps faded.
And then, exhausted, she slid to the floor.
She covered her face with her hands.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“This… is too much.”
****
Mary, after tucking Bonita into bed, planned to return to Aria’s room with a glass of water, some medicine, and a light meal.
Just as she was about to make her way down the hall, a deep male voice, laced with curiosity, called out behind her.
“A meal at this hour? Did Mother order it?”
“Oh—Your Grace.”
Mary quickly bowed upon seeing Luke.
“I was about to bring medicine and some food to Miss Hilton. She doesn’t seem to be in good condition.”
