The white, pristine coffin became soiled as it was lowered into the ground. The sound of sobbing echoed all around.

He observed everything with indifference, as if he were someone incapable of expressing emotions.

A flurry of questions filled Leopold’s mind.

Why did you make that choice?

Why did you insist on loving someone like me until the end?

In stories, unrequited love is easily abandoned, and even couples who seem destined to last forever often part without issue. Why did you have to make that choice?

I only wished for you to leave me, not to turn away from the world.

Why did you…?

But soon, he corrected his thoughts.

She didn’t choose; she was chosen.

Because he hadn’t called her name, hadn’t met her gaze, and hadn’t smiled at her. She allowed her heart to drift away, time and again, until she finally released her last breath.

Just as he had unwillingly killed his father, he had ultimately ended up killing his wife.

As soon as the funeral concluded, Leopold began sifting through the accumulated paperwork as if nothing had happened.

One day, two days, three days, four days…

He neither slept nor ate. He simply worked, like a stone rolling along.

He found tasks that didn’t need doing, wrote documents, and sent reports to the imperial family. He predicted the financial state for the next ten years and explored ways to expand trade routes.

It was all futile, but the imperial family graciously accepted the grief of a husband mourning his wife.

He didn’t even glance at the employees who suggested meals and rest.

The loyal butler, concerned about the potential for family-wide mourning, finally offered the letter envelope he had been carrying in his pocket. It was an attempt to catch his attention. He had hesitated to give it before, fearing that the head of the family he served like his own body might deteriorate further.

“Um, Duke. This is…”

He paused at the familiar handwriting that appeared before him.

“To Leopold.”

For the first time since the funeral, Leopold set down his pen. Then he slowly opened the envelope.

Several sheets of paper were neatly folded inside. He began to read the letter as if he was entranced.

“I’m sorry to leave you with such a letter. It’s not exactly good news, is it?

Will you be sad, or will you feel relieved?

Somehow, I feel like I know the answer, but I’ll think what I want. I hope you’ll allow me this much.

Since it’s the last time, I’m going to write down the things I’ve wanted to say, recalling the times when I used to send you letters. It’s the kind of story you might find useless and bothersome. Of course, you don’t have to force yourself to read it. I’m a very broad-minded person, and I won’t be able to check whether you read it or not anyway.

Leopold Lawrence. I really like your name. The way it starts, with the tongue touching the roof of the mouth, feels so soft and lovely. So I used to call your name on purpose.

I first saw you when I was 18. I was still young, and you were already a dignified duke leading a venerable family. I had visited the duke’s residence several times before, but looking back, it’s remarkable how we never crossed paths even once.

Anyway, that day was when you visited the academy to see your mentor. I was utterly surprised. You were the first handsome man I’d ever seen!

I joked with my friends that I fell in love at first sight, but I was somewhat serious. Kids at that age often give their hearts to impressive people, don’t they? In hindsight, it seems really silly…”

Should he keep reading?

The edge of the paper trembled faintly in the air. He couldn’t bring himself to read any further.

He dismissed Peter and roughly wiped away the tears that continued to fall from his eyes.

“…During my time at the duke’s residence after graduation, there were moments when I saw you from a distance. Quietly, secretly, so you probably didn’t notice. Oh, please don’t feel uneasy. I didn’t observe you like a crazed stalker!

On rainy days, I often wondered where you were going. You became my subject of curiosity.

I worried a lot, too. Peter mentioned that you rarely got sick, but that didn’t make sense to me. Being out in the rain for hours would make even the strongest beast feel unwell.

Since the only thing I excelled at was treating the sick, I wanted to examine you if I ever had the chance. But I couldn’t muster the courage, fearing it would seem strange to offer to check on a healthy person.

Am I the only one who becomes timid and small in front of someone I like? I hope not.

And actually, this is a secret, but when I had my first and last chance to talk to you before our marriage, I took medicine to calm my nerves! No matter how hard I tried to steady myself, my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest.

I didn’t even take it when I was giving my graduation speech, but I was worried I might freeze up in front of you.

In hindsight, it might have been better to stay quiet. I babbled on and on, saying things I shouldn’t have—like wanting to have three kids, for example! When I returned to my room, I was so embarrassed that I pounded my pillow in frustration.

I still remember the look in your eyes as you gazed at me, slightly dazed, while I talked excitedly. Somehow, back then, there was no hatred directed toward me. If anything, there was a hint of warmth. At least it wasn’t cold. Was I mistaken?

On our wedding day, you didn’t say more than necessary and didn’t show any expression. Naive as I was, I concluded it was because you were just as nervous as I was.

But the idea of Leopold Lawrence being nervous—if His Majesty heard that, he would have laughed heartily at the absurdity.

This letter is getting longer. Why do I have so much to say? …”

Leopold paused for a moment.

The letter continued in chronological order.

He knew well what had happened afterward—how much he had pushed and tormented Hazel. It must be filled with things that blamed him.

He had to confront it. He needed to look directly at her pain and truly feel it.

Compared to the suffering Hazel endured, what he faced wasn’t even a punishment, but he needed to do at least that much properly.

“…I really enjoyed our mealtimes together. Though they became less frequent, I couldn’t childishly insist on spending time with someone busy with important national affairs.

I’m still sorry for whining and crying for your attention. Seeing someone cry would make anyone feel bad, and it must have been a burden to you.

Honestly, your coldness hurt me a lot at first. Oh, and of course, even as I write this letter, it still stings a little.

But that’s not because of you; it’s my own issue. It’s the problem of Hazel Lawrence, who loves you too much… It’s my own problem, feeling thrilled and happy just by sharing the same last name with you.

Anyway, there were many times I wondered if you were deliberately trying to be cruel. Did you dislike me that much? Then why marry me? Did you have to listen to your mother? Thoughts like that.

However, just as you couldn’t fully understand the pain of my childhood on the streets, I realized it was natural that I couldn’t understand the history between you and your mother—especially since I heard everywhere that your mother sacrificed herself to have a child.

In any case, I tried hard to understand you. In truth, my feelings were so overwhelming that it made it difficult to even resent your coldness. I suddenly thought it might have been a good idea to develop a medicine that could control the size of one’s heart.

It was embarrassing to convey in writing, but I believed that even without affection, you would still want to create an heir for the sake of the family.

But how arrogant had I been! A gentleman like you wouldn’t even engage with a woman you didn’t have feelings for. How did I know? Peter told me, but let’s pretend he didn’t.

As you might be aware, I was quite selfish. I had accepted the marriage, pretending I couldn’t resist, simply because I had feelings for you. Marriage was a mutual promise, yet I had never even thought to ask about your feelings.

Moreover, knowing full well that you had no feelings for me, I had forced you to spend time with me. Thinking about the pain you must have endured made my heart ache once more. Please forgive your foolish wife…”

It was strange. Why were there no words of resentment or blame? Why was she trying to understand him?

Leopold couldn’t even begin to fathom the depth of her heart.

“Oh, by the way, in case you’re curious, I wanted to let you know that I’m dying from a disease that erases magical power. I couldn’t manage my abilities properly because my heart wasn’t healthy, and this too is solely my problem.

So please don’t feel guilty about not taking good care of your sick wife. I would be very sad if you thought that way. I hope you live well.

But did you notice? Yes, I’m pretending to be nice right now.

I could use sharp words like you do, but I won’t. Because I want to leave a good impression on you until the end! I want to be remembered as the kind-hearted wife. Please understand my immature heart…”

He had hoped to receive some punishment through her words, but she didn’t even allow that. Or perhaps this was the true punishment…

The paper was now trembling violently. His chest rattled with rough breaths.

“And lastly, though it’s a bit embarrassing to say, I’ve always wanted to tell you this.

Leopold Lawrence.

I love you.

I hope you find freedom now, Hazel.”

As he read the letter, Leopold’s soul, which had been scattered like fallen petals at the end of a season, was brutally crushed and vanished without a trace at those final words.

Why did you love someone like me?

Why did you…?

For him to handle,

Her love was,

Too immense.