“…I’m sorry.”

The words fell softly onto the crown of Ayla’s round little head, and soon a faint sob echoed against Estella’s chest.

Perhaps because she felt she mustn’t cry, the eight-year-old stifled her sounds—hck, hck—as if fighting to keep them trapped inside.

Estella held her even tighter, her voice trembling as she whispered again.

“I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Not long after, a thread-thin voice rose from within her arms.

“…No, you’re not.”

Not? She almost laughed bitterly. I was going to abandon you, and you say I’m not?

Her throat ached, words refusing to come out. Just as she closed her eyes tightly, the girl spoke again.

“Then… do we…”

Ayla’s lips moved soundlessly, unable to finish. Her small breath brushed against Estella’s chest.

Gently, Estella pulled her back to look at her face.

“It’s all right. You can ask.”

“…”

Tears, or maybe sweat, or perhaps just raindrops still clinging to her skin, blurred the girl’s face. Her small lips trembled as she finally whispered.

“Then… are we staying together?”

Estella knew.

What she’d wanted to ask was, Then you’re not going to leave me?

But Ayla, far too perceptive for her age, couldn’t bring herself to say it. Estella understood that all too well.

She was afraid that asking would make her cruel stepmother feel burdened, and disappear again.

So Estella simply brushed the girl’s messy, rain-tangled hair and said softly.

“Yes. It’s only been six months, but I’m still your guardian. So yes, we’ll stay together.”

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

When they stepped out of the station hand in hand, the sky cleared as if mocking them.

The sunlight was almost blinding, brilliant against the wet cobblestones. Estella let out a quiet, breathless laugh.

She didn’t believe in God, yet in moments like this, it almost felt like He existed.

As if the rain had been heaven’s way of asking her—Are you really going to leave that child behind? Will you silence your conscience so easily?

“How amusing, truly amusing.”

At her low mutter, Ayla looked up at her. Estella glanced down at the girl’s small hand gripping hers so tightly that the knuckles had turned white.

“You don’t have to hold so tight. I won’t run away.”

But those last words, she swallowed down into her throat.

“…Okay.”

For now, Estella rented a small room in an inn within Shameron’s city center.

Perhaps it was the black mourning dress that softened the innkeeper’s heart, but he offered the room at a price lower than usual.

‘Still absurdly expensive,’ she thought grimly. Compared to the rural village of Hamolgen, where the Vansen estate stood, lodging here cost nearly three times as much. Big city prices, indeed.

After quickly drying herself with a towel, she changed clothes.

“Ayla, can you change by yourself?”

The girl nodded.

“Answer with words.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then dry off with a clean towel and change into fresh clothes.”

Once she’d said that, Estella left the girl to herself and sat at the table, pulling out a leather-bound notebook and a fountain pen from her bag.

Both were expensive, items she had owned long before her marriage.

They were hers alone. And that was precisely why she could take them with her when she left the Vansen household.

Scratch, scratch.

The tip of the fountain pen traced steady lines across the page as Estella began listing her current finances one by one.

“As expected… it’s tight.”

She glanced toward the folding screen where Ayla was changing.

‘I’ll have to find work soon.’

When the girl stepped out, her bright dress had been replaced by the same black mourning attire Estella wore.

Packing away the notebook and pen, Estella stood and approached her.

“Are you hungry?”
“Yes…”
“Let’s go get something to eat first.”

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

A pair of women dressed in black for mourning attracted a lot of attention as they walked through the city.

The young widow, who had been sold to an older nobleman and then discarded without an inheritance, was a well-known figure in Shameron, the subject of much gossip. People stared, clicking their tongues in pity.

Estella led Ayla towards a modest dessert shop under those looks, not shabby enough to be criticized, but far from elegant.

As the shop was full, Estella settled for a small outdoor table on the pavement and ordered a glass of milk and a slice of bagel for Ayla.

“Auntie, aren’t you eating?”
“No. I don’t have an appetite.”

In truth, it wasn’t that she lacked appetite, she lacked money.

“But still…”
“I’ll eat later. Don’t worry about me, just eat.”

Anyone who truly knew Estella would have been shocked.

She, of all people, turning down food? Unthinkable.

But things had grown dire enough to make even that unthinkable happen.

‘In a city this big, finding a place to rent with a child will be… nearly impossible.’

Selena—or Gelena, whatever her name was—had arranged the train ticket to Shameron, of all places.

The so-called “second capital.” And naturally, that meant everything here was expensive.

“Your milk and bagel, ma’am.”

Even that bagel, she thought bitterly, cost more than it should have.

Back where Estella had lived, a single dilan was enough to buy a loaf of bread like this.
Here, it cost two.

‘I have to save every coin.’

Across from her, Ayla dipped a small piece of bread into her milk and took a careful bite. Estella kept her gaze on the girl while her mind ran its own silent calculations.

‘She’s a smart child. I could probably leave her alone while I work.’

That meant she could find a job. The problem was—what kind of job?

‘A maid’s position… that’ll be difficult.’

Most places hired only live-in maids, and though lodging and meals were provided, the pay was pitifully low.

‘Besides, with a child, I can’t live in someone else’s house.’

She’d have to look for a day job, or something else entirely.

‘But what could that be? Would anyone hire me?’

Even that was uncertain.

‘If not as a maid, then what else can I possibly do…?’

The thought made her chest feel heavy. The world might have changed, but it was still harsh toward women.

‘My head hurts…’

To be honest, she didn’t want to think about the future anymore. She just wanted to rest. Too much had happened in too short a time.

Her thoughts wandered as she absently watched Ayla finish her bread and lift her cup with both hands to drink her milk.

“You’ve got something on your lip.”

Estella said softly.

“Ah…”

She reached toward the girl, then opened her bag to find a handkerchief.

‘I packed one earlier… ah, here it is.’

Pulling out a black handkerchief, she turned back toward the table.

But—

“Ayla?”

The girl was gone.

The seat that had been occupied just moments ago was empty.

Alarm surged through Estella as she jerked her head around to look for her.

And then—

“Papa…”

The voice came from behind her.

Ayla’s voice.

That word—one that should never have come from the child’s lips, not now, not ever.

‘Papa?’

Estella’s brows knit tightly.

Who on earth was she calling “Papa”?

She shot up from her seat and turned around in alarm.

There stood a man with a gentle smile tugging at his lips, beside him a servant in worn clothing—and between them, clutching at the man’s coat, was Ayla.

“Do you know this child, Lord Wyndham?”

Ayla glanced sideways, her eyes flickering briefly toward Estella, who stood frozen in place.

And as the girl’s gaze reached her, the man who had been addressed as “Lord Wyndham” turned his eyes toward Estella as well, followed by his servant.

For a heartbeat, Estella could only press her lips together before stepping forward.

“I’m sorry, the child—”

But the man spoke first, his voice smooth and composed.

“It’s been a while.”

The unexpected greeting made Estella blink.

He gave her a faint, polite smile before crouching down to meet Ayla’s eyes.

“Do you remember me?”

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

A short while earlier—

“Please, Lord Wyndham, just reconsider once more, I beg you.”

The servant sent from House Lenoa pleaded earnestly.

But it was useless.

Ian simply curved his lips into a calm, unshakable smile and repeated the same words as before.

“No matter how many times I think about it, my answer remains the same.”

“You can’t possibly mean to stay unmarried forever, my lord! If you must wed eventually, then surely Lady Marianne, whom you already know so well—”

“I’ve decided not to marry at all.”

“…That’s absurd, my lord.”

“It’s quite reasonable, considering I’m the one making the decision.”

His tone was unhurried, even courteous, yet unyielding. The servant’s expression crumpled into near despair.

“B-but, my lord, Lady Marianne’s hysteria has been worsening by the day!”

The lady the servant attended was none other than Lady Marianne Lenoa, the only daughter of Count Lenoa.

She had always been known for her fiery temperament, but ever since she’d fallen for Ian Wyndham, that temper had grown worse.

“Please, my lord, could you not at least accept her proposal? Isn’t it pitiful, this poor lady proposing for five years straight? Have you no compassion, Lord Wyndham?”

“I wasn’t aware marriage was a matter of charity.”

“How can you be so cruel to a lady who’s been your dearest friend since childhood?”

“She was the one who broke that friendship first, by ceasing to see me as a friend. I’m simply responding in kind.”

“That’s not the kind of responding I meant, my lord! Please, don’t twist words!”

At this point, the servant couldn’t help thinking, Does he even like women at all?

Glancing at Ian, the servant slumped his shoulders with a sigh.

“Then… at least stay for tea—”

But even that hope was cut short.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have time to sit down for tea.”

“…Remarkable, truly remarkable, Lord Wyndham.”

“I hear that quite often.”

Ian said with a polite, almost teasing smile.

“…”

The servant could only stare helplessly at that composed, courteous face—expressionless save for the faintest trace of amusement.

And then—

A small, white hand suddenly reached into the scene.

“Papa.”