It was raining.

I stood motionless among the small crowd gathered at the village cemetery, like a wooden doll abandoned in a storm.

In front of me stood the modest headstone marking my father’s grave.

No more tears would come.

Perhaps my mind was still too dazed to accept any of this as real.

My father was dead.

But what I couldn’t believe, what I refused to believe was that Carlos was gone too.

“Did they catch the culprit?”

“They say it was a robbery. His house was quite far from the village, after all.”

I could hear the villagers whispering behind me, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I just stared blankly at Father’s name carved into the stone.

“They say the daughter’s lost her mind.”

“Well, after seeing her father murdered with her own eyes, it’s no wonder.”

“Apparently, she’s been going around asking everyone if they’ve seen her husband, a husband who doesn’t even exist.”

“Everyone knows it was just Mr Lamont and his daughter living up there.”

“Poor thing. The shock must have been too much for her. She must have imagined a husband out of grief.”

“She probably created someone in her mind — a person to lean on — without realizing it. How pitiful…”

Their murmurs swirled around me like cold rain, seeping into my bones.

Had I really gone mad, just as they said?

Had my mind conjured up Carlos, someone who never existed, out of the trauma of losing Father?

Were all my memories of him — his voice, his warmth, his touch — nothing more than hallucinations born of shock?

A hollow laugh escaped me.

Ha…

It sounded so fragile and foreign, as if it belonged to someone else.

The corners of my mouth turned down slightly and my eyes turned dull grey.

Carlos was gone, as if he had never existed.

Yet the memories of the year and a half we had spent together were so vivid and tangible.

Even now, only days after our last night together, I could still feel his lingering presence in my body.

And yet… no one in the village remembered him.

Not a single person.

Even worse, there was not a single sign of him anywhere in the house:

No clothes, no tools, no trace of the man who had lived there for over a year.

This was enough to make me question my own memories, had I truly spent all that time with him?

Steadying my trembling knees, I forced myself to stand and tried to remain composed.

“Father… have I really gone mad?”

There was so much I wanted to ask him.

But the dead do not answer.

I swallowed the questions clogging my throat and forced down the rising despair.

** ❋❋❋ ❋❋❋**

It was around this time, two years ago, that I first met him.

My father and I lived alone in a small village called Rohara.

We weren’t natives; we had moved from town to town for as long as I could remember.

Before I was born, my father had served as a knight in the Imperial Guard.

However, he lost an arm in the line of duty and raised me by himself after retiring.

I was told that my mother had died while giving birth to me. He never spoke of her again.

We continued drifting from place to place until I turned eighteen, when we finally settled here.

Rohara was a small town, far from the capital and forgotten by most travelers.

We had lived there for about three years when I met him.

“Hello.”

He had warm brown hair and gentle green eyes that seemed to embody the tranquility of a summer forest.

I can still remember the moment he smiled at me.

“Excuse me, could I ask you for directions?”

His tone was gentle and hesitant at first, yet unfailingly kind.

I found myself staring, unable to look away from his crescent-shaped eyes, which curved softly when he smiled.

“I’m new to this village.”

Men usually looked at me in one of two ways: either with discomfort, as though my limp made them uneasy, or with pity.

But this man looked straight at me without hesitation or judgement.

It was the first time anyone had done so.

“I was hoping to meet the village head.”

Snapping out of my daze, I quickly looked away and said.

“Ah… the headman’s house is at the far end of the village…”

“Would it be rude of me to ask you to show me the way?”

I shook my head, feeling embarrassed.

“As you can see, my leg isn’t well. Walking with me might be slow and inconvenient. It would be better to ask someone else.”

I tugged awkwardly at my skirt, trying to cover the leg that made me feel self-conscious. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze, afraid that I would see that same look of pity.

Instead, though, he said something that caught me completely off guard.

“Then I’ll match my pace to yours.”

“What?”

His voice was soft, almost warm enough to melt the wall I’d built around myself.

“You can walk, can’t you? Just not easily?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

He stepped to my side, close enough that our shadows overlapped on the dirt road.

“Then that’s perfect, I was planning to take a slow walk around the village anyway.”

The corners of his eyes curved in a way that made my heart stir, it was gentle and inviting.

He introduced himself as a civil servant from a city called Eltiva, sent to survey living conditions in small, rural villages like ours.

After that day, we began greeting each other whenever we crossed paths and sharing brief but pleasant conversations that lingered far longer than they should have.

Unlike anyone else, he never pitied my limp or looked at me sympathetically.

In fact, he once said that he admired how I managed to stay cheerful despite my condition.

As we grew closer, I finally plucked up the courage to ask him a question that had been on my mind for a long time.

“Don’t you ever feel embarrassed or bothered by my bad leg?”

His answer that day left a deep impression on me.

“Hmm… You might get angry if you hear this.”

I remember how tense I was, afraid he was about to say something cruel.

But what he said next was the complete opposite of what I’d feared.

“I actually think it’s a good thing.”

“What?”

“Because it means I can carry you when your leg hurts.”

“…”

Then a warm breeze brushed past us, soft and tender like the wind that coaxes a shy flower to bloom.

The rustling of the grass, the gentle air between us, every detail of that moment was forever etched in my memory.

** ❋❋❋ ❋❋❋**

At first, I couldn’t help but doubt him.

Why would a tall, able-bodied man like him take an interest in someone like me?

It didn’t make sense.

Yet, whenever such thoughts crept in, Carlos seemed to read my mind.

Every single day, he would whisper in his calm, reassuring voice.

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You shine brighter than anyone I’ve ever known.”

When our eyes met, there was a warmth in his gaze that words could never capture.

Even Father, who had been wary of Carlos at first, gradually opened his heart after witnessing Carlos’s constant sincerity.

“Did you hide a jar of honey somewhere in my house, young man?”

Father would tease. Carlos, ever polite, would simply smile and reply.

“There’s something far sweeter here than honey, sir.”

“Ha…”

My face flushed as Carlos replied with his usual teasing laugh. Father, watching the two of us, could only sigh in mock defeat and let out a helpless chuckle.

Before I knew it, a whole season had passed and Carlos had become as important to me as my father, perhaps even more so.

The thought of a future without him filled me with dread.

He was always gentle.

Always devoted.

He loved me as if each day were his last, giving everything he had without hesitation.

Falling in love with him felt as natural as breathing.

Then one day, I overheard Father calling Carlos aside.

“If I were to leave this world first, could you promise to protect my daughter for the rest of her life?”

Father’s voice was unusually serious. Carlos looked momentarily caught off guard, then offered a faint smile.

“Leave this world first? Why would you say that, sir?”

“There are things I haven’t told you. But even so, I must ask: will you protect her? For as long as you live?”

I had stepped out to gather the dried laundry, but I froze behind the door, holding my breath.

My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

What if he said no?

After a pause, Carlos looked directly at Father and answered.

“I will.”

They were only a few plain, simple words, but they carried a quiet certainty that made Father nod silently in acceptance.

That autumn, in a small clearing on the outskirts of the village, we were married with the blessing of our neighbors.

I wore a well-worn but lovingly mended dress borrowed from a kind aunt next door, and only the villagers, Father and I were present at our wedding.

Yet on that day, I shone brighter than ever before.

Because he was there, looking at me with eyes full of love.

I will never forget the expression on Father’s face as he watched us, smiling softly as if all his worries had disappeared.

I smiled back at him, radiant and full of life, as if to say, “I’m so happy now, Father. Please don’t worry about me anymore.”

That memory still feels as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.

** ❋❋❋ ❋❋❋**

“I’m sorry, but there’s no one by that name working here.”

I froze at the clerk’s words.

I had come all the way to City Hall, where Carlos said he worked.

But nobody there had ever heard of him.