When he was young, he felt helpless and sorrowful seeing his mother cry in pain, even while enduring her anger. He thought it would be acceptable to face more scolding if it meant he wouldn’t have to witness those endless tears.

But as time passed, he came to realize something.

When someone continuously suffers from both large and small wounds inflicted by another, no matter how pitiful that person becomes, you ultimately turn away.

It’s not that humans were selfish or weak; rather, untreated wounds fester and rot, leading you to ignore the other’s pain. This creates a deep-seated resentment.

Hazel was only being lenient with him for a short while, so he shouldn’t mistake her kindness for contentment.

As the day wore on, Hazel became noticeably quieter. Despite his efforts to avoid burdening her throughout the day, he couldn’t hide his growing concern.

“You seem to be lost in thought.”

“Oh… I suppose I’m just tired. I should rest.”

With both hands on the small table, she fiddled with her teacup, occasionally glancing out the window to check the time.

Was she bored spending time with him?

That could be the case. For him, the moments spent with Hazel, both in the past and now, felt fleeting, but perhaps it was different for her…

Leopold masked his impatience and feigned concern for her.

“Yeah, we did push ourselves in a short time. I’ll be going now. You should get some rest early.”

As he stood up, Hazel lightly gestured toward the bed.

“Wait a moment. Lie down here. Let me check if your wound has healed properly one more time.”

“It’s already healed. I’m fine.”

“Are you going to make me say it twice? Just do as the healer says.”

Her concerned nagging was oddly comforting.

Reluctantly, Leopold lay down on the creaky wooden bed. As her skilled hands examined his leg, a warm light seemed to radiate from her touch.

“The treatment went well. Tonight… you’ll be able to sleep soundly.”

Suddenly, his body felt heavy.

“I’ll say goodbye so you won’t be surprised.”

He attempted to get up again, feeling a sense of urgency, but his eyelids drooped, refusing to cooperate.

She was leaving now. It was happening faster than he had anticipated.

He wanted to shout for her to stay a little longer, but his mouth wouldn’t open.

A sigh-like voice followed.

“A long time ago… I experienced a severe unrequited love. It was difficult. I was consumed by it and found no happiness. So I decided never to love again.”

Her voice, filled with regret, reached his ears as he desperately fought to maintain consciousness.

“That’s such a harsh sentiment.”

After a brief silence, Hazel spoke again. Perhaps due to his steady breathing, she seemed to think he was completely asleep.

“And I’m already too exhausted… I don’t have the confidence to love you anymore.”

He heard footsteps.

The door opened, then closed softly.

The thick scent reminiscent of violet stalks gradually faded away.

He felt suffocated.

Should he follow her, confessing tearfully? Wouldn’t that only complicate things for her, just like in the past when she spoke while holding back tears?

No. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to send her away.

Not yet; it wasn’t time.

Leopold deceived himself once more, insisting he couldn’t leave her side to heal the wounds he had caused. Then he mocked himself for being so consistently selfish.

As Hazel had said, love was indeed a harsh emotion.

***

Before Leopold was born, the Lawrence family was a place filled with laughter.

His father, Macallan Lawrence, was a gentle man who fell in love at first sight with Sarah Monty at a party. He pursued her actively, and when Sarah finally accepted Macallan’s heart, everyone celebrated the birth of a happy couple.

However, there was one problem: Sarah was extremely frail. Her father, Marquis Monty, spent his life searching for skilled healers to improve his daughter’s health, but to little avail.

Macallan, who was also a healer, devotedly cared for Sarah every day. Yet, there were limits to how much he could improve her fundamentally weak body. Given her health, pregnancy was, of course, unimaginable.

Sarah often told her husband that he could bring in another woman to bear an heir, but Macallan always firmly refused. His reason was that even if it wasn’t a direct descendant, someone with Lawrence blood could inherit the title. Sarah was touched by this, but she was also tormented by guilt that plagued her from time to time.

One day, a miraculous blessing came to them. Even Macallan, who had comforted her by saying they could manage without a child, took extreme care to ensure she could give birth safely.

There were many anxious days, but mostly, each day was filled with anticipation for the child. However, as expected, the childbirth process was anything but easy.

On the day of delivery, while listening to Sarah’s terrible screams, he anxiously waited in the next room. Suddenly, the door burst open, and a maid rushed in, her face pale as she shouted.

“Your Grace, please help! The child is still inside, and the Madam is losing too much blood!”

Even amidst the urgent report, the cries of pain and fear did not cease.

The fact that they called for him despite having three of the best healers already by his wife’s side indicated that the situation was truly dire.

Macallan almost collapsed upon entering the bedroom. His small, fragile wife lay sprawled on the blood-soaked bed, looking like a corpse.

Her sweat-soaked, pale face was streaked with hair; her eyes and cheeks were sunken and dark, and her lips were torn and cracked from biting in pain… An overwhelming fear consumed him.

Macallan instinctively knew that if they forced the delivery any further, they would lose both mother and child.

“Kill the child before Sarah gets worse.”

Whether it was due to his harsh and stern shout or the words to kill the child, Sarah struggled to open her eyes at the sound.

“No, please… save the child… just save the child… please…”

She spoke pleadingly, gasping as if her breath would stop. Transparent droplets welled up in her lifeless green eyes.

“Don’t say another word.”

There was no room for hesitation. Or rather, there shouldn’t be…

Their eyes met, filled with countless unspoken words. His wife was begging, risking her life.

Macallan couldn’t ignore her request. His beloved was pleading so desperately; he had to find a way…

Moreover, he was a healer—one who wielded power at the cost of his own life force.

If he shared his life with the child, then maybe…

“I’ll save the child, so you all focus on Sarah.”

It wasn’t a bad plan, given the urgency. But no one there knew the child was anything but ordinary.

Macallan focused all his energy, placing his hand where the child was and channeling his power. However, at some point, he realized he wasn’t healing; he was being forcibly drained of his own strength. By the time he noticed, he had already poured in too much magic.

“Your Grace, the Madam is regaining her color!”

The midwives and maids exclaimed joyfully.

But Macallan didn’t hear them. His life had already come to an end.

Left alone, Sarah could never love the child.

***

The child was robust.

To be precise, he was excessively robust.

Sarah believed the child’s strength was derived from her husband’s life force.

A child born by taking her husband’s life. The face and black hair that mirrored her husband only sent chills down her spine. Naturally, she became harsh with the child.

“Why is your pronunciation so clumsy?”

The three-year-old knelt all day.

“Can’t you even read such simple words?”

The five-year-old lifted a bucket heavier than his own body over his head.

“You mustn’t express any emotion. Not even say you’re in pain. That’s what it means to be a Duke.”

The seven-year-old was struck on the palm with a rod as thick as his arm.

“Your swordsmanship is pathetic. Losing to someone only three years older? I’ve told you repeatedly, you must be stronger than anyone!”

Red marks began to appear on the ten-year-old’s calves.

No one informed the child that healers existed.

“Leopold, to inherit the dukedom, you must work hard. These are all things your father, whom you killed, accomplished.”

His mother’s gentle voice was like magic, paralyzing the child.

As his neglected calves turned from bright red to dark crimson, oozing pus, the child gradually began to change.

His head often felt like it would explode from heat, and his chest felt suffocating. Sometimes he struggled to breathe, and when his body became excessively hot, even cold water couldn’t cool him down.

No one in the mansion was aware of these changes. Only Sarah had the right to care for the child.

Anyone who dared to speak to the heir was inevitably whipped, accused of laying hands on the Duchess’s precious possession.

Meanwhile, Sarah dutifully fulfilled her role as a ‘wonderful’ mother. She ensured the child received all kinds of education to grow perfectly and never skipped the ‘acts of affection’ expected from a parent.

That day was no different.