Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 68: Speaking

The months had passed, and my belly had grown.

It wasn’t surprising—nine months had gone by, after all.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of fear.

What if I died during childbirth without ever telling my child I loved them?

Having a child was such a terrifying thing.

And yet, even though they hadn’t been born yet, I didn’t dislike these feelings that some might call maternal instincts.

Not even the fear.

Sitting by the fireplace, I gently stroked my swollen belly and spoke quietly to Ernst, who was watching me.

“Ernst, can I ask you something?”

A thought had suddenly come to mind.

“If I die, please don’t blame the child for it.”

It was a common story.

A husband, deeply in love with his wife, turns his grief into resentment for the child when she dies in childbirth.

If I had killed my mother by being born, my father would have thrown me away without a second thought—whether I became a mangled corpse or a wretched soul, it wouldn’t have mattered to him.

I wanted to erase him from my mind.

Memories of music, my old world, even the longing I once felt—those were fading bit by bit.

Yet memories of that man lingered, as vivid as ever. Why couldn’t they disappear too?

In that sense, I felt my actions had been justified.

If this child were to have been raised among those who once called themselves my family, they would have been treated like trash.

“Instead of saying such unlucky things, focus on taking your medicine and not overexerting yourself,” Ernst said.

“I will, if you promise me.”

“I won’t promise. There’s no need to, because you’re going to live.

The doctor already told us—you’ll be fine, at least until the child grows up.”

“…Right. I guess I have to stay alive.”

“But why say something like that all of a sudden? Did Ariana say something to you?”

“Do you think Ariana would bring up something like this?”

Ernst scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed.

“Not likely, but she’s the only person you spend time with.”

“It just crossed my mind.

I wondered what would have happened if my mother had died giving birth to me.

My father would’ve hated me, wouldn’t he?”

It might’ve been difficult for him to abuse me more cruelly than my mother did—anything more extreme would’ve been outright murder. But it wouldn’t have been much better.

“This child must always be loved.

And we must always give them love, unconditionally. No ifs, no buts.

It has to be absolute, unquestionable, the most natural thing in the world.”

“When the baby is born, I’ll love them just as much as I love you.”

“I don’t know when you started saying such cheesy things so easily, but you’ll probably end up loving them even more than me.

That’s what children are—a kind of blessing, maybe even a miracle.”

Every time the baby moved, sometimes even kicking inside me, it hurt—but it also reminded me of the living being I was carrying.

There was a sense of fulfillment, maternal affection, and perhaps happiness in it.

Which only made my mother’s actions all the more incomprehensible.

I couldn’t understand her.

I couldn’t accept her.

I could only feel revulsion.

Why?

Why me?

Why did she do that to me?

When it’s this lovely, this joyful, this beautiful?

I closed my eyes, trying to push the thoughts away.

But instead of darkness, I saw the faces of Ellie and Fabian, just as they had looked when they died.

“It’s all your fault. You had your chances,” I whispered to myself, so softly that even Ernst couldn’t hear.

If those I saw were truly spirits, what would they think as they stared at me?

Would they be plotting revenge, pitying me, or sneering that I’d never find happiness?

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t worth my concern.

When I opened my eyes again, Ernst was reading a book.

I turned to him and, as if seeking confirmation or declaring an undeniable truth, said, “Living really is a blessing, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. Why ask something so obvious?”

“Because it’s so obvious, I wanted to hear it.”

Ernst closed the book with a soft thump and got up, moving to the chair right beside me.

“Can I put my hand on your belly?”

I nodded, and Ernst placed his hand gently on the bump.

The baby kicked where his hand rested, as if annoyed or trying to identify who it was.

For me, it was painful enough to knock the wind out of me, but Ernst just smiled brightly, marveling at the sensation.

I flicked him lightly on the forehead, but without much force, so it didn’t seem to mean anything to him.

“What should we name the baby?” Ernst asked.

It didn’t seem like this place had the tradition of giving babies nicknames before they were born. For now, the child inside me was just called “the baby.”

“If it’s a boy, Felix. If it’s a girl, Felicia.”

“I didn’t know you’d already decided. Is there a reason?”

“I’m… well, I’m not exactly lucky, am I?”

“…I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“That’s why. I want this child to have all the luck in the world.

Even if they never feel love, I want their life to be filled with fortune.”

Even if the world curses you, even if everyone mocks you as a fool, I’ll still wish you good fortune.

And while Ernst and Ariana would never turn against you, if it ever came to that, I’d still take your side.

Those were my thoughts, though I kept them to myself.

We sat quietly for a long time, warming ourselves by the fireplace.

I held the child close within me.

***

The baby’s name was decided: Felicia Altenburg.

There were some elaborate titles added in the middle, but they weren’t worth remembering. 

So when Ernst’s parents cooed those grandiose names while holding the baby, I let their words drift in one ear and out the other.

They now saw me as part of this family.

I understood why they had tried to push me out before.

It was all because of me.

But my pride wouldn’t allow me to accept their apologies, no matter how remorsefully they approached me. I could only step back when they came closer.

“…We’re sorry about before—about trying to ruin the wedding and separate you from Ernst.”

For the sake of politeness and to keep the atmosphere civil, I muttered something like “It’s fine” or “Is that so?”

The conversation eventually progressed to the main topic.

“So, we were thinking… isn’t it time for you to leave the villa and return to the main estate?”

“I’ll raise the child myself.

I’ll teach them myself, and when they’re ready, I’ll send them to school.

A school for commoners, yes—but one where smart children gather.

To be honest, your family is a bit too… unintelligent.”

“You’re still saying things like that, I see.”

Her tone shifted to that of a lecture.

Unlike before, she wasn’t emotionally lashing out; instead, she seemed determined to convince me.

I suppose she thought it was too late to undo anything now that I’d given birth.

“When one is born into noble blood, one must act accordingly.

Commoners talk about reason, logic, and freedom—those incomprehensible ideals—but they’ve never achieved anything in reality.

All they do is try to tear down what we’ve built every day.”

Whether it was her age or simply the way she was raised, her thinking was rigid.

Not quite as much as mine, though.

I, after all, had seen the answer sheet for what happens when this patchwork world unravels at the seams. That’s the only reason I could say such things.

But now wasn’t the time.

Maybe in a hundred years.

That’s why I could afford to let this slide.

“So, are those born into such privilege really as exceptional as they claim?”

“Of course, they are. Didn’t you think so while watching Ernst?”

“Then, what happened to my extraordinary family?”

I answered with a wry smile, and she didn’t respond.

“I was always forced into the ways of nobility.

To be dignified, to have impeccable manners, and to act accordingly when some insignificant wretch dared to challenge me…”

Simple. So simple.

Getting emotional might negatively affect the baby.

I wasn’t trying to raise a crazed noble hunter, after all.

I hoped for a simple life—one where my child could live peacefully, grow old, and die content.

But I also wanted their life to be surrounded by fortune.

Maybe they’d find some money on the street to buy bread, or meet a lovely lady while walking through a garden, or be born exceptionally intelligent.

Their name itself, Felicia, was a beacon of luck. I wished for them to be blessed with all the good fortune life could offer.

“And those pathetic fools forced a pathetic life upon me.

So, I simply returned the favor by giving them the aristocratic something they loved so much.

That wasn’t murder—it was a punishment.

Yes, I was doling out justice, wasn’t I?”

I took a breath and spoke firmly to the lady.

“This child will be free.

Free enough to demand freedom for themselves and others.”

When the child is old enough, I’ll make sure to tell them this.

No—I’ll tell them no matter what.

I’ll hold them close, wrap them in my arms, stroke their head, and say it, even if they don’t understand.

“I love you.”