CHAPTER 9: IN THE END, IT’S LOVE

It was winter, and a chill seeped near the window. The dry and frosty weather persisted. As the seasons changed, so did Isabelle’s belly.

Compared to before, her body had become noticeably heavier, and standing or walking for a short time quickly caused pain in her back. Her legs easily swelled more easily, and she had to go to the bathroom more often.

She still hadn’t seen Richt. He didn’t come home until a day turned into a week, and then a month.

The stories Fabian left behind lingered in her mind for a long time. In Isabelle’s mind, Richt was only an image, not the real thing.

She vaguely suspected that he had grown up in the best of circumstances, with all the power, wealth, and honor that came with being a Calitheon. The realization that she had never really known him troubled her.

She’d thought everything Richt had said in his letter for forgiveness was self-serving nonsense, but now she realized it was the clumsy sincerity of a man who hadn’t learned to keep his head down.

Every day, Isabelle visited his room, gazing at the b*by crib and the letters he’d written, and thought long and hard about her relationship with him.

She demanded a divorce, but they didn’t divorce. On paper, they were still married, but they didn’t live together—an ambiguous and unclear relationship.

Eventually, she took out the address she couldn’t bring herself to throw away. She looked down at the single line of writing. It was the location she first learned about through Fabian.

When she was in Barsk, she had never heard about it from Richt’s mouth. Isabelle hadn’t asked then, either. She judged that it wasn’t something she should interfere with despite having some interest.

Everything was for his sake, but looking back now, it was all terribly wrong, regardless of what went wrong. Couples shouldn’t be like that. She thought the reason she asked for a divorce was because of  Timogere and Diana, but it wasn’t.

Even if they weren’t the reason, there have been problems in their marriage in some way.

They needed to talk. It was impossible for two people who didn’t know each other to open their hearts without any misunderstandings and understand each other.

It was this realization that solidified her decision to go see Richt. Isabelle repeated the engraved address in her mind a few times before calling for Hertha.

“I have somewhere to go. Have a carriage waiting.”

As she rose from her seat, the last words she threw at Richt came to mind, along with his downcast face with a gloomy expression.

‘You’re not fit to be a husband or a father.’

‘And, I don’t need you.’

***

The time she spent trying to think of the right words to say didn’t help.

When Isabelle opened the door to Richt’s office and stepped inside, the first thing she saw was Richt on the floor, bleeding. Broken liquor bottles littered the ground, and among them, a piece was embedded in his neck.

Overwhelmed by shock, Isabelle screamed and sat there, stunned. Fabian, who was nearby, immediately examined Richt and called for help. She couldn’t remember what she was thinking when she followed him to the hospital. Without Fabian, she wouldn’t have been able to do anything.

While the doctor examined Richt, Isabelle struggled to gather her crumbling sanity. Fabian reassured her that it wasn’t anything serious, but his words didn’t register.

When Isabelle threatened to kill herself with a sharp piece of vase, she wondered if Richt had felt the same dreadful feeling. It was a threatening gesture and Richt seemed genuinely ready to die. If not, he wouldn’t have left a letter expressing a desire to die.

Isabelle clutched her restless heart and anxiously watched the doctor’s back. She listened intently to every word the doctor said.

Her fears were confirmed: Richt had indeed attempted suicide. The stab wound was quite deep, but fortunately, it didn’t hit any vital vessels, and his life was not in danger.

Relieved to have passed the critical moment, Isabelle sighed. The once white-flashing thoughts in her mind now felt like a returning consciousness. Her palm, damp with sweat, cooled as it gripped her not-yet-calm heart.

Before leaving the room, the doctor, who had done his job, added that the patient was in a bad shape and needed to take care of him for the time being.

Fabian expressed concern for Isabelle’s health during pregnancy and suggested taking her back to the mansion. However, Isabelle couldn’t bring herself to leave Richt alone in the hospital, so she sat in a guardian chair, and Fabian stood guard beside her.

It was four hours later when Richt opened his eyes. Isabelle, who had been sitting still, jolted from her seat. She wasn’t the only one surprised.

Using both arms to support himself on the bed, Richt, struggling, sat up, grimacing as he touched his neck with his hand. When he noticed Isabelle, he made a puzzled face, as if unable to comprehend.

“How did you…”

His voice trailed off, and Adam’s apple bobbed, startled by Isabelle’s unexpected presence. Turning his head left and right to survey the surroundings, Richt, realizing he was in a hospital, frowned. The momentarily wavering pupils quickly stabilized as he grasped the situation.

“A hospital.”

“You stabbed your neck with a broken bottle! Why would you do that? How can you think of dying just because I hate you? Is giving up your life that easy?”

“Sorry.”

Richt mumbled in a low voice.

He looked so different after a month. There was no vitality in his expression, and he had lost weight, making his cheekbones noticeably hollow. Watching him in this state made Isabelle’s ribcage ache.

“Did you really intend to die?”

Richt didn’t answer for a long time, just stared deep into her eyes. His motionless eyes stared straight ahead. His lean face made him look sharper than before.

“I missed you.”

Isabelle’s nostrils flared at the simple confession.

“I heard Fabian went to see you. It was something unnecessary.”

Richt, who had been scrutinizing Isabelle’s face, spoke again.

“Don’t bother about whatever you heard.”

While there was a time when she wished for Richt to fall apart, seeing him in such a state was never what she wanted. A suicide attempt. Richt, with his shoulders slumped and pale cheeks, looked unbelievably fragile.

“Don’t bother?”

Isabelle spat out, her voice strained.

“If it hadn’t been for Mr. Fabian, I wouldn’t have come to see you, and of course I wouldn’t have found you lying there, and then you……. Do you know how scared I was, I thought I’d never see you again!”

“…”

“How long were you planning to avoid me? Is this your way of solving things? It’s cowardly, truly! In that house filled with traces of you, I was all alone…”

Overwhelmed by emotions, her voice choked, and she couldn’t finish her sentence. Amidst the mix of hatred, resentment, and inevitable concern, Isabelle felt her throat constricting.

Richt’s eyes, which had seemed so grim a moment ago, now showed a hint of a smile. He hadn’t realized how quickly it had burned.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because it sounds like you’ve been waiting for me.”

For someone who had been avoiding it, his gaze was unexpectedly warm. His calm eyes held hers deeply.

“It’s nice to see you after a long time. And to hear you nag.”

“Are you kidding me? You almost got yourself killed!”

“I’m not kidding.”

“What’s the point of nagging?”

“It’s good.”

“…….”

“I like your nagging.”

“…….”

“I wish I could keep hearing it.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Richt looked more sincere than ever. If only he came here with a head injury, babbling nonsense, it would be better. But his gaze was sincere and undisturbed.

“You still haven’t answered my question yet. Why would you leave a perfectly good home, hurt yourself so badly, and not even come in? Why subject yourself to this torture?”

“Because you didn’t want to see me.”

“Because of me?”

An incredulous gasp escaped Isabelle’s mouth. There was no point in questioning the man who’d stabbed himself in the neck; there was no point in trying to get a straight answer out of a man who wasn’t in his right mind. For now, it was better to let him rest. Isabelle pushed herself out of the chair.

“I’m going to leave now that I know you’re awake. You need to rest. Don’t be stubborn, just lie back down.”

“Wait.”

As she turned to leave, Richt slid off the bed and pulled Isabelle into a hug. His once broad shoulders seemed more stooped, and his embrace lacked the usual strength.

Despite having the power to push him away if she wished, she couldn’t bring herself to do it against this seemingly feeble display.

Richt ducked his head and rested his forehead against Isabelle’s shoulder. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. There was an unquenchable longing in his body language.

Even in pain, the flesh pressing against her was hot. When Isabelle, feeling awkward, attempted to step back, Richt pulled her in even closer.

“Just a little longer.”

His voice, struggling to emerge, sounded pitiful.

“I want to talk to you just a little longer.”

“…….”

“It’s been a while since we’ve been able to look at each other without fighting.”

“…….”

“Huh?”

In a feverish voice, Richt asked. The man who never sought Isabelle’s opinion on anything now expressed sincerity. This situation was not fitting for them.

“If we talk more, we might end up fighting again.”

“I will not make you angry.”

Isabelle stood still and listened to Richt.

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“…….”

“I miss you, but you hate me.”

“…”

“I can’t hurt your feelings just to satisfy my own desires.”

“You’ve always been selfish.”

“Yeah. I’ve always been selfish.”

“…”

“And I regret it.”

“…”

“A lot.”

Staring deeply into Isabelle’s eyes, he spoke again.

“I know you won’t believe it, but there hasn’t been a moment when you weren’t important to me.”

“…”

“I’d like to clear up that misunderstanding. Is that asking too much?”

With no response from Isabelle, Richt moved away, creating a small distance between them.

“How are you feeling? Do you feel heavy?”

“Are you worrying about my body right now? I’m fine, it’s not like it’s hard to move, go ahead and lie down.”

“Seeing you makes me feel no pain. In fact, I feel energized. Should I give you a massage?”

“What?”

Thinking she misheard, Isabelle questioned. No matter how she thought about it, those weren’t the words that fit between them right now. It seemed improbable for them to lovingly massage each other’s bodies.

Richt’s face, on the other hand, was serious. There was not a hint of playfulness in his face as she wondered if she should call the doctor again.

“They say your legs swell a lot when you’re pregnant.”

“Never mind, I have Mia.”

“I’m much stronger.”

With impending death looming over him, he was trying to emphasize his usefulness, and it was so absurd that Isabelle burst into laughter.

“Are you going to break it?”

“No. I admit I’m an assh*le, but I’ve never hurt you, have I?”

“…….”

“It feels a bit unfair.”

Sending a deep gaze, he seemed genuinely troubled.

Trying to scold him not to play the victim, but looking at his pitiful face, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. He had always boasted a graceful facial profile, and even though it wasn’t as prominent as now.

“What do you want to eat?”

“I’m eating well, thanks to Mrs. Mason, so take care of yourself.”

“I’m glad.”

“…”

“Is there anything you need my help with……?”

There was a hint of anticipation in his tired eyes.