1.
Today, I woke up with unusual ease.
The dim light leaking through the gaps in the blackout curtains felt exceptionally clear. Despite it being mid-winter, the morning air was refreshing rather than biting. My mind was sharp, my heart remarkably calm—a sensation that was as indescribable as it was mysterious.
*Today is the day I leave this house.*
Yet, why did I feel so unfazed? Perhaps it was because I had lived every passing day without ever forgetting my reality, always reflecting on my situation.
Anita rose slowly, leaning back against the headboard to stare at the side of the bed. It was cold to the touch, as it always was.
Lancelot Edenbahir.
That side of the bed was meant for her husband. Yet, in the nearly six months of our marriage, we had never once shared it. It had to be that way; we were a married couple in name only.
I brushed my hand over the empty linens. The space felt not just hollow, but chillingly cold—a sensation I had grown accustomed to. Never had I felt more relieved that Lancelot was absent than I did today. If I were forced to look at his face, my resolve might waver. Anita did not want to be selfish. If not for anyone else, then at least for his sake.
Knock, knock.
Always at the same hour.
The maids entered quietly, drew back the heavy curtains, and began to light the fireplace.
“My Lady. I’ve brewed coffee instead of chamomile today. We received some excellent beans early this morning. The aroma is quite refreshing, with that hint of acidity you like so much.”
Mrs. Mischella, the middle-aged woman who prepared her light breakfast, was a long-time retainer of the Edenbahir Duchy.
“It is especially cold today, so perhaps wearing your hair down wouldn’t be a bad idea. Do you have an outing planned, My Lady?”
“Yes. I’m thinking of going into town for a while.”
“Shall I dress you modestly, as always?”
“Please do.”
Today, however, Anita chose her own outfit.
She reached for clothes hidden deep in the back of the wardrobe: a late-autumn dress, the only piece she owned that boasted a bright pink hue. It was a bit thin for winter, but if she wrapped her coat tight, it would suffice.
Mrs. Mischella looked on with visible bewilderment.
“Did you have a dress like this?”
“It’s what I brought with me the day I first arrived.”
“No wonder it’s such a bright, soft color. I suppose you enjoyed clothes like this before your marriage. It will suit you beautifully.”
After buttoning the back, Mrs. Mischella clapped her hands with a satisfied look.
“It suits you so well, My Lady! I hope you wear refreshing dresses like this more often. These days, everyone wears what they like, regardless of the season….”
Instead of agreeing, Anita offered an awkward smile. She understood Mrs. Mischella’s excitement, but the reality was different.
Anita’s wardrobe had always been dark. She had only ever brought in clothes with subdued colors—designs that wouldn’t draw attention—so regardless of the weather, her seasonal palette was always autumn or winter. A dark wine-colored hat. A soft reed-colored coat. A calm gray dress. A neat white muffler. Simple garments she had chosen voluntarily, wanting to remain unnoticed anytime and anywhere.
But none of those truly belonged to Anita.
From head to toe, everything was her husband Lancelot’s property. The jewelry, the bags, the carousel music box she stared at every night… they were Lancelot’s silent consideration for his wife, left all alone.
He had treated her as his true wife. Thanks to that, the last six months of marriage had been abundant, lacking nothing. Lancelot had been the primary force ensuring everyone in this mansion treated her as the Duchess of Edenbahir.
*Even though it was only a marriage of necessity.*
Even though it was a union destined for divorce, Lancelot had treated her as his Duchess with all his heart. It was a life that far surpassed what she deserved.
“Oh, My Lady. His Grace the Duke said to keep your evening free.”
“…This evening?”
“Yes. It seems he has something to say to you.”
Mrs. Mischella must have taken Anita’s silence as agreement, for she left the bedroom without another word.
*I see he has already left the mansion.*
Her husband had been quite busy lately. There were many nights he didn’t return, and simply exchanging light pleasantries just before sleep was the extent of their interaction.
*Is this a relief?* she wondered. *I don’t think I could leave so easily if I had to face him.*
Anita took out a notebook she had hidden deep in the drawer. Tucked between the thin pages was a letter she had written a few days ago.
A final letter to Lancelot.
*I mustn’t waver now.*
To the current Lancelot, her existence was nothing more than a troublesome burden. He was the master of the proud Edenbahir Duchy and one of the few heirs to the throne. Their marriage had spawned countless rumors due to Anita’s low status; her presence left an indelible scar on Lancelot’s honor, and the label of ‘a man with a wife of low birth’ followed him everywhere.
The open shunning and disregard among certain noblewomen were not that difficult to bear. What was hardest was the mockery and scandal Lancelot endured because of her.
So, let me leave before it’s too late. So that Lancelot can discard his pity. So that he can be free of shame, and keep the woman he truly loves by his side.
After staring at the letter blankly, she stuffed the notebook back into the bookshelf. She placed the note neatly on the table, lingered for a long while, and finally left the room.
I have to leave it secretly. Lancelot was the kind of person who would somehow catch me and persuade me to stay.
Anita’s husband was that kind of man.
A man who seemed cold but was warm. A man who seemed sensitive but was generous. A kind man. A gentle man. A good man.
…A man I love.
As if he had heard news of her outing, the head butler standing in the hall bowed lightly.
“My Lady. I have the carriage waiting to take you to the city.”
“It’s alright. The weather is lovely, and I want to walk a little today.”
Anita caught her breath, steadying herself. *He doesn’t know what you’re thinking. Don’t be nervous. Just be casual. Act as you always do.*
“When do you expect to return?”
“Around noon. Don’t prepare lunch.”
“Yes. Have a safe trip.”
Leaving the butler, who bowed politely behind her, she stepped out of the ducal residence. Every step felt much too short, and the dirt road stretching out before her felt infinitely long.
I have to go further than this. To a place where I cannot return. To a place where I can endure the longing for Lancelot. Very far away.
At some point, her legs began to move with purpose. After running for a while, Anita suddenly stopped and looked back.
Edenbahir.
My happiest memory. This moment must be the end of it.
The more I look back, the more I realize how much I have received from Lancelot. Now, it was time for Anita to step back.
For her husband’s new beginning.