Chapter 2: My Friend’s Divorce (2)
Rodielsa.
The moment that name was spoken, Aneta painfully witnessed the change in her husband’s expression.
A face like a sculpture, usually devoid of emotion—making even the slightest shift stand out all the more.
A subtle lift of his eyebrows, the faint tremor in his pupils, a twitch in his temple, lips pressing together before parting again, and the slow movement of his throat as he swallowed dryly.
It was a brief moment. But it was enough to make Aneta’s heart drop.
“Rodielsa.”
The voice that finally escaped his perfectly shaped lips was lower than usual.
Berner seemed to realize it, too, as he paused briefly. In that silence, laden with countless emotions, Aneta nearly took a step back.
“She’s getting a divorce and coming back.”
He tried to act as though he were hearing it for the first time.
Perhaps, to someone else, his pretense would have been convincing.
But not to Aneta.
She had watched him for too long. Even when he had belonged to another woman, she had watched him.
Berner already knew.
Perhaps he had known even before she did.
“Oh? You hadn’t heard? The party was full of gossip about it today.”
“I was busy with business matters.”
“I see. What kind of business this time?”
His response was slow.
Loosening his cravat, Berner took his time before finally speaking.
“The Renstein family is building a large art museum in Nas.”
At the mention of Renstein, Aneta’s expression hardened for a moment.
Noticing her reaction, Berner asked, “Is Renstein still bothering your family?”
The letters had started arriving last summer—letters from Eric Reicher, the attorney of the Duke of Renstein.
The Renstein family wanted to build a villa on the hills of Elgreen Village. They were interested in purchasing a piece of land along Elgreen Lake that belonged to the Bell family.
Aneta Bell.
That was her name before marriage.
Elgreen Lake held countless memories.
After her parents, who had lived in Nas, died in an accident, she had moved to Elgreen Lake to live with her grandfather.
That house contained every moment of her grief, her longing, her loneliness—
And also the slow healing that came from living with her grandfather.
Now that he, too, had passed away, it was the only remaining trace of the Bell family.
Aneta did not want to lose that house.
“A little. But I was firmer with my refusal this time, so they should stop bothering me.”
“Still, isn’t it a shame? They offered quite a large sum.”
They had.
Each time Renstein’s attorney sent a letter, the price they offered increased.
The most recent letter, received just days ago, quoted a price three times higher than the initial offer.
But she had never shown those letters to Berner.
“How do you know about that?”
“Ah, sorry. I thought the letter was for me.”
Berner always needed money.
Having inherited the viscountcy without preparation, he was desperate to keep the family afloat.
He channeled that determination into business and investments, but he lacked both the skill and the foresight.
As a result, the Schreiber family’s finances continued to deteriorate.
For him, the possibility of selling his wife’s land for several times its market value was an opportunity—a chance to rise again.
Aneta suddenly realized that she was doubting her husband.
“Just ignore any letters from them.”
“I don’t know. If they’re offering that much, maybe you should reconsider. You hardly visit that house anyway.”
Aneta gently placed her hand on Berner’s arm and met his gaze.
“Just pretend you don’t know, okay?”
Berner’s blue eyes seemed to waver for a moment. But soon, he curved his lips into a faint smile, bent down, and gently kissed Aneta’s forehead.
It was a relief that his lips were still soft and affectionate.
“I only said it because I was thinking of you. But if you’d rather I ignore it, I will. Just talk to me if you ever want to discuss it.”
Berner looked down at his wife’s hair, which gleamed like the light of a setting sun—at the wife he had never once loved.
The whole time, Aneta was looking up at him. Only when she met his gaze did Berner finally meet hers.
Her ash-gray eyes, as always, were filled entirely with him. That was what made his chest ache.
He had known for a long time—since long before he started dating Rodielsa—how Aneta felt about him.
“Berner!”
The eyes that always sought him, the smile that grew brighter in his presence, the voice that lifted a tone higher whenever she spoke with him.
There was no way he could not have known.
But his heart had always belonged to Rodielsa. And so, he ignored Aneta’s feelings. Even for a long time after Rodielsa had become another man’s wife.
The belief that Rodielsa might get divorced and return had wavered over the years, fading little by little until it finally disappeared.
And when it did, he finally saw Aneta—the one who had stayed by his side, unwavering.
It wasn’t love.
It was guilt.
If he had told her from the start, “I know how you feel, but I can’t return those feelings,” maybe she would have moved on and found a good match.
She wasn’t as striking as Rodielsa, but she was still charming. There were certainly men who admired her cheerful, optimistic nature.
But Berner had pretended not to notice.
He had leaned on her affection, finding comfort in it.
And in the meantime, everyone had come to see Aneta Bell as ‘Berner Schreiber’s woman’.
That was why he proposed.
Because he felt guilty. Because he felt sorry for her.
Because she looked at him like a baby bird gazing at its mother—so devoted, so helpless.
If it wasn’t Rodielsa, then all women were the same to him anyway.
And of all those women, Aneta was at least someone he could talk to.
That was enough.
At least, it had been enough—until he heard his friend say at the salon:
“Rodielsa is returning to Nas next week. She got divorced, apparently. Right now, they’re still negotiating over property and custody.”
Until that moment, he had lacked nothing.
But after hearing those words, he realized he had been waiting for this moment all along.
It had been five years since he married Aneta.
They still had no children.
His mother blamed Aneta for that and tormented her over it.
But in truth, the fault was Berner’s.
He rarely shared a bed with Aneta, and on the rare occasions he did, he secretly used medicine to prevent conception.
If he woke up first in the morning and mixed the medicine into her juice, Aneta would drink it without suspicion.
Seeing his wife trust him so completely made his chest ache.
“I think there’s something wrong with me. I’m sorry, Berner.”
She blamed herself for their childlessness, and he felt guilty.
But he had never wanted a child with Aneta.
Until now, he had told himself, “The family’s situation isn’t stable yet. Once things are better. Once I can afford to raise a child.”
But now he understood the truth.
Deep down, it had always been because of Rodielsa.
Because a part of him had always believed—had always hoped—she might return someday.
It was only now, when that hope had turned into reality, that he realized it.
“There won’t be a divorce.”
After Aneta had returned to her bedroom, Berner sat alone on the sofa, muttering to himself.
Hunched over, he buried his face in his hands and repeated, as if making a vow:
“A divorce? Never. There will never be a divorce.”
He didn’t want to become a despicable, vile man who abandoned Aneta—the woman who had stayed by his side.
He didn’t love her, but Aneta was a good woman. She was kind, gentle, cheerful, and bright.
Even when his business failed, even when he was deceived and swindled, Aneta never got angry. She always smiled warmly and held his hand.
“It’s okay. Everything will be fine.”
Her smile had always been a comfort.
He would not betray Aneta, the one who had stood by him in his hardest times.
Using contraception because he had hoped Rodielsa might return?
That was an unspeakably disgraceful act.
“Yes, Aneta. Everything will be fine. Everything will be okay. I don’t love you, but…”
Aneta always smiled like sunlight. And Berner loved seeing that smile.
“I don’t want to lose your smile.”
***
Esteban Renstein stood by the bedroom window, taking in the distant view of Elgeen Lake.
At sunset, the lake was dyed in shades of crimson, creating a beauty so surreal it hardly seemed real.
The water shimmered like pure gold, gentle ripples casting wavering reflections of the trees, while the orange sun slowly dipped below the horizon.
And then, there was the house.
That house, standing there in stark contrast to this serene, perfect scenery.
It barely deserved to be called a mansion.
That house was a problem.
Like a hangnail that constantly irritated him, it was always on his mind, even when he wasn’t standing at the window, looking down at the lake.
