GBHDF 07

Chapter – 07

Madam Heyworth, Freya, slowly lifted her heavy eyelids.

The first thing that entered her view was the familiar ceiling.

‘Did I… lose consciousness again?’

Overcome with despair, Freya squeezed her eyes shut.

Once again, it felt as though a heavy lump of lead had been placed over her heart, pressing down on her chest with an unbearable weight.

It was a familiar sensation that never disappeared for even a moment while Freya was awake.

Yet from time to time, that dull ache would change its shape, stabbing sharply into her heart or tightening around it.

And when it became particularly severe, it would even cause her to lose consciousness like this.

‘It’s getting worse with each passing day.’

How much time had passed?

Freya unconsciously moved her eyes around, searching for the clock.

‘The child was supposed to come today… Of all times, why did I have to collapse now?’

Freya thought of the small girl with wheat-colored hair.

Rowena Whitfield.

The child from the orphanage whom Freya had unusually invited to her estate today.

There was a simple reason why Freya, who had grown to dislike meeting people, had called this cheeky little girl back.

‘W-when you say goodbye in front of the carriage… c-could you let me give you a kiss on the cheek?’

The moment she heard those words, Freya had felt a sudden pang of regret.

‘I reacted far too strongly to the word “request.”’

When she thought about it, the child was only ten years old, far too young to understand the world.

Even if a child that young were to make a request, how serious could it possibly be?

She could have simply overlooked the child’s rudeness, but only belatedly did Freya realize that she had been far too sensitive.

Above all, when she saw the child kiss her cheek before leaving, memories from more than a decade ago came flooding back.

‘Mommy, kiss! Hehe.’

Her daughter, Rose.

The child who seemed as though she might run through the door at any moment, calling, ‘Mommy!’

At the thought of that name, the throbbing sensation once again pressed down on Freya’s heart.

In truth, Freya knew.

This was a sickness of the heart.

But how could something like this be treated?

Especially a sickness born from losing a daughter who was more precious to her than all the gold in the world.

Even now, whenever she closed her eyes, her daughter’s face appeared vividly before her.

If she opened the bedroom door and stepped outside, she could almost imagine Rose saying that the sunlight was lovely and that they should go outside, then searching for her hat.

She could almost hear the voice of the daughter who had once complained that the word ‘Mother’ sounded too stiff.

Because Rose had been a long-awaited child, Freya’s love for her had been extraordinary.

And that was precisely why she could never show it.

She was the only adult remaining in House Heyworth.

Its pillar.

That was why Freya had taken off her mourning clothes as soon as the funeral ended.

She had not even allowed herself to shed tears easily.

Because if the person who should have been grieving the most could cast off the shadow of death, then perhaps everyone else could do the same.

Only then could House Heyworth regain its vitality and carry on as though nothing had happened.

‘I must not collapse.’

She had to be even stronger because her son-in-law, Seymour, was in a precarious position.

There was nothing left that gave her a reason to live.

House Heyworth alone was the reason she could not die, and the only thing she still had to protect.

‘Henry is going to scold me. What excuse should I make this time…?’

Tap.

At that moment, something caught against Freya’s fingertips as she tried to sit up in bed.

It was far too light and rough to be a blanket.

Freya slowly raised herself and looked at what she had touched.

“…Flowers?”

Rose-shaped flowers folded from napkins were scattered across the bed.

And there weren’t just one or two.

There were so many napkin flowers piled on the blanket that several tumbled down when she lifted it slightly.

The bed had practically been transformed into a flower garden.

Freya was so shocked by the absurd sight that even her normally composed voice trembled.

“W-what in the world is all this…?”

“Oh, you’re awake?”

At that moment, tiny footsteps pattered from the doorway.

Freya turned her head toward the door.

There stood a tiny girl, grinning happily as she hugged a large bundle of napkin flowers in her arms.

It was the girl Freya had invited today.

Rowena.

But that did not mean Freya could immediately accept the situation.

“Rowena. Did you do this?”

“Yes!”

When Rowena answered so cheerfully, bewilderment spread across Freya’s face.

“Who gave you permission to do something like this? Who told you that you could use all of these?”

“The old doctor said that when you’re sick, it’s good to look at pretty things. He said that when you visit someone who’s sick, you’re supposed to bring flowers.”

“…What?”

The answer was rather unexpected.

One might have expected Rowena to shrink back after being scolded so fiercely, but instead, she came trotting over with a smile.

She placed another handful of napkin flowers on the bed, then rested her chin on both hands atop the bed frame.

“I thought about going outside and picking real flowers, but then the flowers would get hurt. I didn’t think you’d want that either, Madam.”

At the child’s clear and earnest words, Freya’s anger softened somewhat.

But she had no intention of simply letting the matter go.

After clearing her throat once, Freya spoke sternly again.

“Ahem. Even so, who told you that you could use napkins however you pleased?”

“The head chef!”

“…The head chef?”

“Yes! He taught me how to fold roses and butterflies out of napkins, and I got his permission. I’m the best at origami at the orphanage.”

Napkins were merely consumable supplies that piled up in the kitchen.

It wasn’t as though the supply would be seriously depleted just because a child folded a few, so apparently the head chef had decided to be generous.

Rowena neatly arranged all the flowers she had scattered around, lining them up beautifully.

Then she went beside them and rested her chin in both hands, using her arms like a flower vase.

The child cupped her chubby cheeks between her hands and smiled brightly.

“It’s a flower garden for you, Madam!”

The tips of the child’s fingers were slightly red.

She had clearly put considerable effort into folding all those flowers one by one.

Faced with such pure kindness, Freya felt something inside her chest growing painfully tight.

‘Mommy, look at this! It’s a bouquet!’

‘Rose. Why didn’t you ask the gardener for some flowers? Why go through the trouble of folding them yourself…?’

‘But then the flowers would get hurt. I know because I’m a flower too! I’m Mommy’s prettiest rose.’

Her young daughter, who used to laugh happily with her chin resting in both hands.

Even on the day Rose died as an adult, Freya had still seen her as that little girl.

And now, her child would never grow any older.

So Freya had resolved never to bring that sadness back to the surface again.

Even if the grief festered inside her and became a poison that slowly ate away at her.

‘But…’

As she looked at this child, she could feel something stirring inside her heart, as though new flesh were growing over an old wound.

Perhaps that was why she had called the girl back.

Freya reached out her hand toward the child.

Even Freya herself did not know what meaning lay behind the gesture.

Yet the child looked puzzled for a moment before taking her hand.

What was it about that tiny warmth?

Somehow, it comforted her.

‘I never thought I would feel something like this at my age.’

It wasn’t a bad feeling.

With a somewhat lighter heart, Freya spoke.

“Your name is Rowena, correct?”

“Yes, Madam!”

At the girl’s spirited reply, a smile unconsciously appeared at the corners of Freya’s lips.

“Would you do me a favor?”

Freya’s request was simple.

She merely wanted Rowena to accompany her to a certain room.

The room Rowena entered after holding Freya’s hand and opening the door was nothing particularly special.

It was an ordinary room belonging to a young noblewoman, the sort of room one could find in any aristocratic household.

Yet the opening of that door meant a great deal to House Heyworth.

“You mean Madam really opened Miss Rose’s room?”

“I’m telling you, she did! Apparently, she asked the child from the orphanage to open the door.”

“My goodness. She hasn’t opened it even once since Miss Rose passed away! Even when the butler told her to, she was adamant…”

Although no one had used the room for more than a year, it was spotless, as though its owner might return at any moment.

That was thanks to Butler Henry’s orders that it always be kept clean, whether or not Madam ever opened the door.

Leaving the murmuring servants behind, Freya stood alone in the empty room for quite some time.

“…That’s enough now. Stop sorting through her things.”

With those words, she left Rose’s room.

Yet she did not look entirely lonely.

Because beside Freya, who was turning her back on the room, stood a little girl holding the old woman’s hand.

It was a sign that spring was beginning to arrive in the bleak House Heyworth.

Unaware that there were people watching that scene with tears in their eyes.

Rowena descended the staircase with tiny, hurried steps.

And there, she encountered an entirely unexpected sight.

‘W-wha…?’

What on earth was going on?!