Chapter 71

Clumsy.

Perhaps Ania didn’t even realize she found a connection with her mother from that word alone.

Ania was clumsy.

From a young age, she didn’t receive her mother’s love,

Her father was too busy to care for her

Her only brother passed away from illness when they were young.

Her only friend, who was like family, returned to his home, and they never met again.

Unable to go outside due to illness, she was demanded to maintain aristocratic manners as the daughter of a nobleman.

Of course, being born as a nobleman’s daughter, she lacked nothing.

At the luxurious dining table, she tasted delicacies that commoners couldn’t, and if she wanted something, her father always obtained it for her.

But she was always alone.

She had to dine alone

Seek entertainment alone.

Unable to go outside, her hobby naturally became gardening and admiring flowers.

With just soil, water, and light, flowers grew anywhere, robustly bearing beautiful fruits.

So she was clumsy.

What she learned first wasn’t how to converse with others but how to read their intentions and find flaws in their words.

“Remember, Ania. You’re the daughter of a nobleman. You never know when someone might tempt you into a wrong path.”

Her father always said that.

So, for Ania, conversations were nothing more than a process of finding flaws in the other person,

While hiding her flaws, never revealing her true feelings.

So, she was clumsy.

She was taught not to be honest about anything.

“Clumsy…”@@novelbin@@

Ania wanted to retort about how pathetic of an excuse it was, but the words didn’t come out of her throat like a fishbone was stuck within.

Ania lifted her head and looked at her mother.

Silently, tears streamed down her eyes.

‘Mother.’

Seeing her, whom Ania had always imagined as a strong and resilient figure, crying, Ania felt an inexplicable emotion filling her chest.

Ania didn’t know the name of that emotion.

Confusion?

Dissonance?

Sympathy?

Sadness?

It was none of those emotions.

The name of the emotion that stirred the heart of the clumsy girl who had just become an adult was melancholy.

But Ania couldn’t understand.

Because it was beyond what she could imagine.

There was nothing she could do besides looking at her mother, who was shedding tears endlessly.

“I’m sorry… I’m truly…”

“No, Mother… it’s my…”

Ania choked on her voice, which came out unintentionally.

“No. It’s nothing.”

She looked out the window again.

Her mother’s sobbing, which had been loud, gradually subsided as she took a long breath and regained her composure.

Outside the window, the usual sunny spring day passed by slowly.

It was the same scenery, but why did the emotions feel so different now compared to when she was with Edward?

Ania felt her jaw trembling and clenched her teeth.

“Ania.”

The crying seemed to have stopped, and a gentle voice spoke again.

No.

It wasn’t particularly affectionate.

Viola Brontë’s voice calling Ania was always the same.

But Ania didn’t notice it.

“Why?”

“I won’t ask you to forgive me.”

“Huh…?”

Startled by her foolish words, Ania turned to look at Viola.

“Instead, could you listen to my story for a bit?”

“…As you wish.”

Ania quickly turned her head to hide her flushed cheeks and teary eyes.

“First of all, congratulations on your marriage.”

“I got divorced.”

“Yeah, I know. But you were married once, so congratulations.”

“Are you mocking me now?”

“No.”

Viola chuckled softly.

“You’re not thinking of remarrying now, are you?”

Ania was about to ask how she knew, but she held her tongue.

She didn’t want to expose her feelings unnecessarily.

“Is that true?”

“Think whatever you want.”

Viola laughed again.

“You abandoned the family.”

“Yeah, because that man tormented me.”

“I see. Valentine did that to you?”

“He did more than just torment me. He showed no interest in me but tried to separate me from Edward…”

Ania stopped speaking and turned her head. Useless words kept slipping out.

“He’s a bad father.”

“That’s sad to hear.”

“Yeah. You’re a bad mother, too.”

As she said that while smiling, Ania felt anger rising inside her instead.

She wasn’t a bad mother.

She wished Viola would tell her that everything was just a misunderstanding.

“But even if you abandon the family name, you’re still my daughter.”

“All you did was birthing me.”

“Ania.”

Viola’s voice trembled softly.

“My clumsy but courageous daughter.”

“….”

“Looking at you reminds me of my childhood.”

“Childhood?”

“Even I was a clumsy troublemaker like Ania when I was young. Always getting into mischief.”

“Who’s a troublemaker? You don’t even know what happened.”

“I know everything.”

When Ania quickly turned around, Viola said with a soft laugh.

“Who else could be a troublemaker if not a child falling out of a window?”

At those words, Ania bit her lower lip. She couldn’t deny it.

“Your mother left home and got married after meeting your father. She left the village where she had lived all her life for a man she fell in love with in an instant.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“At that time, I didn’t know what love was or what marriage meant. I didn’t even know what it meant to have a child. I just thought it was the fruition of love.”

Clumsy.

That was Ania’s impression after hearing the story.

At the same time, she felt a connection with herself.

How many times did she clumsily attempt to get closer with Edward?

How many times had their hearts clashed?

“So, your mother thought Ania would grow up fine without a mother as a wonderful girl.”

“Does that make any sense?”

“It doesn’t make sense. Mom knows it, too. How ridiculous, really…”

“If you knew, why did you do it? It’s not like you realized it only now, right?”

“I knew it long ago.”

Ania grabbed Viola’s arm roughly.

“Then why didn’t you send a single letter? Why did you come looking for me every few years, saying you love me? Now that you’re no longer interested in the East, you’re sweet-talking me, vying for my love, and leave when you lose interest again!”

“I’m not perfect!”

Viola raised her voice.

When she, who always spoke gently, shouted, Ania unconsciously moved away.

“Even Mom… can be clumsy.”

Viola laughed. But her eyes didn’t.

In those eyes overflowed a sadness beyond description.

“Your mother became a mother for the first time… Maybe other mothers didn’t feel that way, but your mother was so clumsy. When I saw you not recognizing me after a few years, I was scared—terrified that you would start to hate me!”

“Why would I…”

Hate my mother?

Ania couldn’t say anything due to the suddenness of it all.

She had never hated her mother in her childhood.

Ania’s first memory of her mother was when she was seven years old.

A stranger came suddenly, calling her name.

Ania was afraid.

When a stranger suddenly tried to hug her, she hid behind her father.

That memory suddenly came back to her.

“No, you…”

“I know. A young child wouldn’t hate me. It’s just because I was a stranger. But I was scared. What if I didn’t get a reply to my letter? What if you didn’t recognize me when I came back again?”

Viola was now almost screaming.

“I was scared, too—so scared. So I ran away even though I knew it was wrong. I collected your pictures in my room. I went to the family secretly to see how you were living… But I couldn’t approach you.”

Ania was so shocked that she couldn’t say anything.

Her mother, who she thought had abandoned her,

Her mother, who she thought hated her.

Hearing that her mother was afraid to approach her for fear of being hated, she couldn’t even think.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she couldn’t help but let out tears that flowed down her cheeks.

But in her heart, there was a doubt that all those words might be made-up stories.

To win her heart… she was lying.

But sometimes, even desperate denial can be overpowered by emotions.

It was love.

It was such a futile task to comprehend it intellectually.

Because “love” is spoken out loud, even the most obtuse person can understand.

Ania just cried.

Before she knew it, she buried her head in Viola Brontë’s arms and cried.

Viola’s hand gently stroked Ania’s head.

It was just a fleeting touch of her hair, but Ania couldn’t contain the overflowing emotions and cried uncontrollably.

It was the warmth she had longed for so much.

It was the love she had yearned for since childhood, the love she had thought she would never obtain.

Even if it was a lie, it didn’t matter.

Even if it was a sweet lie, Ania just wanted to believe it.

Author’s Note:

It’s really difficult to say “I love you” to your mother.

Especially if you’re a son.

But sometimes, despite the embarrassment, why not try saying “I love you”?