It felt strangely moving.

This was the first emotion Martiana had experienced since stepping into the small chapel at the request of a junior priest.

True to its name, it was a modest, immaculate white space — the smallest of the Grand Temple’s many annex buildings. It was not open to the public, but reserved for temple members to gather in quiet devotion.

It had been a very long time since she had last been here.

“Was it always this small?”

Martiana glanced around, her eyes bright with nostalgia.

It had been about fifteen years since she had been a student there. The school was located within the Grand Temple, a place she and her friends had visited countless times.

“Nothing has changed at all.”

Everything was exactly as it had been: the walls, the chairs and even the statue of the deity in the chapel remained unchanged.

The only thing that had changed was Martiana herself.

“Wow…”

Firstly, she had grown taller. Over time, she had grown considerably. This change in height altered her view of the chapel.

She looked up at the statue from a different angle.

The way she offered her reverence.

“…”

Martiana fixed her gaze on the statue in front of her.

Carved from marble as white as the building itself, the figure was smaller than those in the larger halls. This was probably because this space was not intended for public worship. Yet the craftsmanship was no less intricate.

The gentle expression.

The warm smile.

And yet—

“Was it because I prayed to someone too small?”

The deity enshrined here had not granted her wish.

In truth, this was not her first visit in fifteen years. She had come more recently than that. Though, now she came to think of it, several years had already passed. It could hardly be called recent anymore.

Still, it was more recent than her seminary days.

She had been too distraught then to look around.

That was right after she lost Licorice.

***

Her prayers were desperate.

As a mother, her plea was even more so.

She had focused on them so intensely that she had not eaten for days.

“Please… this time, let us find my daughter.”

Whenever Siliar left the temple after receiving a lead, Martiana would come.

Her prayer was always the same: ‘Please let Licorice return safely to my arms. Let my husband and daughter come back unharmed. Please watch over our family. Please help me find my child. Please. Please… please…’

She prayed until her throat was raw and her hands and feet were numb with exhaustion. Even when those around her begged her to rest, she could not stop.

At that time, prayer was the only thing she could do.

She had been taught that when hardship struck, prayers to the divine would be answered.

But it had all been a lie.

“I’m sorry. Not today either.”

The deity had never granted her a single wish.

The news that her husband brought back from his searches was always bleak. Martiana had to swallow her disappointment in silence every time.

What remained most vividly in her memory was this: Whenever he delivered those words, Siliar could never raise his head.

Yes. Anyone would have been the same.

He must have been consumed by guilt. He had believed without a shadow of a doubt that he would find her quickly.

But reality had been merciless.

His heart must have felt impossibly heavy.

“It’s alright.”

Even Martiana, who had spoken those steady words of comfort, felt it, too. Despair clung to her like an unshakable weight, holding on by a thread that refused to break.

She forced herself to smile — a fragile, awkward smile intended to reassure her husband. But the harder she tried to forgive herself, the more difficult it became.

‘It’s my fault.’

The words circled endlessly in her mind.

Everything had happened because of her.

That day, when the carriage was ambushed—

If only she hadn’t let go of her daughter.

If only she had held on tighter.

If only she had endured the blows, the cold steel pressed against her skin, and the threats whispered to her.

She could have endured the bleeding. The bruises. She should have chosen death over allowing her child to be taken.

It was all because she had failed to endure that one moment.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She had ruined everything.

It was all her fault.

Because of her, their daughter had disappeared. Because of her, her husband had been consumed by grief.

Whenever she was reminded of this, she could barely breathe.

While Siliar searched for their child, the waiting itself was t*rture.

How could she possibly explain that slow, burning helplessness?

The mere fact that she could do nothing was enough to drive her mad.

One day, she clung to her husband and pleaded with him.

“Take me with you. I want to search too. I want to go and find her.”

It was the day another lead had come in.

With tears streaming down her face, Martiana begged him.

“I can help. I’ll do anything. I can dig through the ground if I have to. I can clean, I can carry things. I don’t want to just sit here and wait. Please, Siliar.”

She looked up at him and begged again and again through her tears.

But—

“No. You’ve only just collapsed. Didn’t you hear what the doctor said? You need rest.”

“But still—!”

“I’ll bring Lili back. You focus on regaining your health. Alright?”

Siliar would not allow it.

Although he was always gentle and kind, when it came to Martiana’s safety, he was unshakable.

He probably never realized how deeply that hurt her.

Nevertheless, she did not resent him. Rationally, he had been right.

If she had followed him in her weakened state, she would only have slowed him down.

She told herself that once she had recovered, things would be different. If she could prove that she was strong enough, perhaps he would finally let her stand beside him.

Clinging to that fragile hope, Martiana forced herself to eat. But her weakened stomach rejected everything. Again and again, she vomited it back up.

It was in this fragile state that she heard those words.

“Well done. What a waste of food. No wonder Siliar is sick of you. How did he ever end up marrying someone like you?”

Drisena’s voice clicked with disdain.

“That’s right. If you had taken proper care of your child from the beginning, none of this would have happened. Useless thing. I knew I was right to oppose this marriage.”

The words poured out without end.

“So what now? Have you given up on having a second child? Are you planning to cut off the family line? Can’t you see how much Siliar is suffering because of you?”

More words.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t even dare stay here. I would have left already! How shameless can you be, walking around with your head held high?”

Words.

“Now you won’t even answer me? Is your mother-in-law not worth responding to? Just what kind of upbringing did your family give you?”

Words.

Except for the few hours she managed to sleep, she was abused every day.

Blame. Reproach. Accusation.

Not a single word could be described as kind.

The relentless storm pursued Martiana without pause.

Despite her husband’s wishes for her to rest safely on the duke’s estate, she only grew thinner and more fragile.

She became afraid to step outside her room.

She was afraid to face anyone.

Even speaking became difficult.

And so her voice faded.

It was instinct — her body’s quiet attempt to survive.

Nevertheless, Drisena never once stopped talking.

“I don’t need a daughter-in-law like you. Just divorce him. Even a stray dog would be prettier than you. Or what—is it Siliar who wants the divorce?”

“……”

“He’s exhausted, you know. Says he can’t stand the sight of you. Why do you think he barely comes home? So just divorce him and be done with it!”

“……”

Martiana kept her head lowered beneath the relentless barrage of *buse.

The more she heard the same words repeated, the more her heart seemed to warp under their weight.

It all felt like her fault: Losing their child.

Her husband’s heart slowly drifting away. So, when Siliar came to see her, she turned her face away.

His tired, weathered appearance seemed like another accusation, just as her mother-in-law had always said. She could not bring herself to look at him.

Then, one day, she heard it.

“Do you really want to end this? Why? I’m suffering too. I lost our daughter too. Please—how long are you going to keep your mouth shut? Say something. Just say something!”

Martiana had stopped speaking years ago.

On that day, Siliar shouted those words — not at her, but at himself — as he walked back to his room after visiting her.

He must have been overwhelmed by his own frustration.

Perhaps he couldn’t bear to say them in front of her.

Martiana saw him from a distance.

She heard him from afar.

And then she made her decision.

‘I should be the one to leave. He is suffering because of me. I made him this way. I never wanted to see him looking like that.’

But did she know about Siliar?

This was never the ending she wanted.

She wanted to build a happy family with him.

She wanted to live an ordinary life, smiling by his side.

Why would the divine powers refuse her even that small wish?

Perhaps she had committed a terrible sin in a previous life.

On her child’s birthday—

She knew he had come to her.

She knew, and yet she remained still.

She liked the feel of his hand brushing against hers.

His arms were warm around her.

Then she heard what he said.

“……It’s hard.”

He had cried, hadn’t he?

Thinking she could not hear.

But she knew.

She knew—because she was suffering too. And yet, she could not be the one to say she would leave. Even though she believed it would be better for him.

Perhaps she was selfish.

Still, that was the moment she made her decision.

If he were the one to say it first, she would accept it without protest.

That was why she signed the divorce papers his mother brought her, without hesitation. But even after making that choice, her heart ached.

The truth was—she never wanted to part from him. She had always wished to return to the way things used to be.

And now, no matter what she did, it felt useless.

Wasn’t it?

“Siliar.”

Martiana lifted her head and called the name of the man standing behind her.

Her husband, who had been at her side for quite some time.