Ania’s obsessive behavior, akin to paranoia, only grew stronger as time went on.

“Where are you going?”

If she even sensed a hint of me leaving somewhere, she would come rushing out, rubbing her eyes as if waking from sleep, and ask,

“Where are you going? Who are you meeting? What are you going to do?”
“Just going to meet Viscount Ballière. His son wants to train as a knight.”
“Is that so…?”

Whether I met another woman or entertained other thoughts, since there was no hiding it, I told her plainly,

“Okay, be careful.”

Only after explaining the situation would Ania, like a puppy, return to her room without energy.

I sighed softly while watching her back.

Honestly, at times, Ania’s obsession was irksome.
While she would send me off without much fuss after explaining, seeing her weak back made me feel strangely uneasy.

Of course, I understood.

The once powerful Brontë family was crumbling.
Continuous business failures forced parts of their estate to be sold off.

Naturally, Ania, being part of the Brontë family, couldn’t remain unaffected.

With the family’s instability, her position was also at risk.

I understood her anxiety.

The Radner family was growing, and if one day I suddenly decided to divorce her, she would have no means to hold on to me.

“Of course, I have no intention of divorcing her.”

Even so, strangely, I didn’t come to resent Ania.

She wasn’t bothersome or unpleasant.

Sometimes, her clinging felt almost pitiful.

Asking where I was going felt like she was seeing me off.

Even her slight hunching of her shoulders as she watched me leave didn’t bother me.

Her tightly hugging me and wishing me well felt entirely satisfying.

Was it because I felt like I was someone she desperately needed?

I’m not entirely sure of the reason, but I knew it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

It felt selfish, to some extent.

The fact that her anxiety brought me happiness was uncomfortably unsettling.

However, the discomfort wasn’t solely because of Ania.

It was my own emotions.
The filthy, dirty emotions bubbling up within me.

“I’ve become quite rotten.”
“Yes… My lord?”
“Just talking to myself.”

Rotten.

Was I such a despicable person, seeking validation through others’ love?

But still, I couldn’t bring myself to love Ania.

I had married her out of necessity and was living with her… nevertheless.

But, I must reiterate, I didn’t hate her.
Nor did I dislike her.
I couldn’t even imagine life without her.

Ania Brontë had somehow become a part of my life.

Yet, was it merely her appearance that prevented me from loving her?

Was it the disfigured mask behind which hid scars and burns that rendered her unlovable?

And thus, had I been holding her feelings hostage to satisfy myself?

No… that couldn’t be it.

The emotions I harbored for Ania weren’t so despicable.

If that’s the case, hypothetically,
If I couldn’t love Ania because of her appearance…

Suppose… Ania Brontë was a beauty.

If she was a woman so stunning that no one could resist, could I have loved her?

“Ugh…”

Suddenly, my head throbbed painfully.

I had been lacking sleep lately.

There had been considerable changes in my life, living like a nomad due to the success of the Radner Knights.

There were many external demands.

As the commander of the Radner 3rd Knights, I had to oversee training, build relations with other nobles, and manage the schedule of the knights.

So, my lack of attention towards Ania wasn’t because I disliked her.

It was just a lack of time.

Not enough time to spend with her.

The fact that the Brontë family was falling, that Ania Brontë had an unattractive face, and even that my heart somewhat found satisfaction in that situation—

None of these were reasons why I couldn’t love her.

“She only has a month left.”

However, time doesn’t wait.

My hesitation was entirely my own.

“Just a month…”

“She’s been sick. She’s been holding on until now, but… the disease has progressed to the point where it’s irreversible.”

As our end approached, I hadn’t firmly decided my feelings for her.

A deadline.

That cruel verdict loomed over us.

While I neglected her due to my lack of time, time relentlessly pressed on her.

“Why… didn’t you tell me?”

I asked Ania, lying in the hospital bed.

Her face looked more serene than usual.

“I didn’t want to trouble you.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”

Ania said calmly.

For someone facing the end of their life, she was remarkably composed.

“I didn’t want to worry you for no reason. I didn’t want you to waste unnecessary time because of me… or to see you sad for no reason…”
“Is that all?!”

I was angry.

Was it because she was strangely composed for someone facing imminent death or because she hadn’t informed me that her life was coming to an end?

No.
In truth, I knew.

The reason I was angry was because I was disappointed in myself.
Disappointed in myself for not giving my heart because of her appearance.
Disappointed for not spending time with her due to lack of time.

All of it made me angry.

But there was nothing I could do.

Helplessly, I had to watch Ania race towards death.

I resigned from my position as the commander of the knights.

I tore up numerous invitations to balls.

I didn’t attend the family meeting convened to discuss the succession issue.

I spent the remaining month entirely by her side.

“I like looking at the garden.”
“Why?”
“It remains the same, no matter what I do.”

Things she liked.
Things she disliked.
Things that brought her joy.
Things that saddened her.

I was curious about everything concerning her.

So, I asked.
Ania answered calmly.

But she didn’t ask about me.

As if to leave no regrets in life,

I didn’t blame her for it.
I didn’t even bother to ask.

I simply wished for the last remaining month to be entirely the life she wanted.

I was happy.

Time flew by unnoticed when I was talking with her.
I didn’t realize meal times had come or when night fell.

Such moments continued.

I wished they wouldn’t end.
I wished this time could continue forever.

But time flows equally for everyone.

Ania grew weaker with each passing day,
As if bidding farewell to life.

Every time I saw her changing, I sensed the impending farewell.

I knew it wasn’t far off.
I didn’t show it.

Because I knew her sorrow would be greater than mine.

So, I calmly accepted her end.

“Farewell.”

On the day when a white cloth covered Ania’s face, the sky was unusually dark.

It rained, much like my heart.

It was then that I realized.

How much I had loved her.
But I hadn’t expressed it.

Neither the words “I love you” nor the question “Do you love me?”

Our relationship just ended like that.
Filled with irretrievable regrets.

Ania’s tomb was erected on a gentle hill with a clear view of the mansion’s garden, where the wind blew softly.

I spent days by the grave on that hill.
It felt like she might come back if I did.
That the regrets of the past might be washed away.

Of course, they weren’t.

Nothing went right… because of me.
All because of me.

Realizing this, tears streamed down my face.
I cried.
I cried loudly, not caring who was watching.

They say crying makes you feel better, but it didn’t.
The actions and regrets of the past days felt like a tight knot in my throat.

Days passed, and I grew exhausted.
I collapsed, lying on Ania’s grave, wishing for death.

I couldn’t imagine a life without her, and only then did I realize why.

She was my reason to live.
The reason for my existence.

“Please. Just once.”

If time could rewind.

“If I could have just one chance, I wouldn’t lose her again.”

If that happened, I wouldn’t have these regrets.

So, I prayed to the heavens for a single act of mercy to reverse everything.

And then it happened.

Suddenly, the overcast sky parted.

Through the opening, someone descended unexpectedly.

A girl with blue hair, somewhat unfamiliar yet strangely familiar.

She spoke to me.

“Do you love Ania Brontë?”

Why was she asking this?
How did she know about Ania?

But the urgency to erase my doubts was so strong that all I could do was shout.

“Yes. I love her; More than life itself.”
“Excellent.”

The girl smiled.

And then, the world around me… slowly began to distort.