Find the One Who Abandoned Me - Chapter 39

The only answer to her confession was the dull sound of footsteps fading away.

The steady strike of hard shoes against the floor was so achingly familiar that Calliope couldn’t bring herself to chase after him and she collapsed in place, sobbing uncontrollably.

As she sank deep into the painful memories, a sound broke through.

Footsteps.

Calliope’s head snapped up. Susan, who had been standing nearby, looked at her with concern,
thinking the lady must be feeling nervous about meeting her second prospective fiancé.

But as a dark figure approached from across the greenhouse,
Calliope’s expression changed completely.

“My lady?” Susan called out in a whisper, confused by the sudden shift.

But Calliope’s entire being was focused solely on him — step by step, drawing closer.

Just like the first time she saw him.
Of course, it was the same. It had to be.

Inside the gray-toned greenhouse, shrouded by rain, Calliope’s face bloomed like a sunlit flower.

In her crimson eyes, uncontainable affection overflowed — a love she could neither hide nor suppress,
even though this was the man who had abandoned her.

Because he was— “The second son of the Esteban family—” began the servant leading him in, but he faltered mid-sentence.

The servant had not expected this.

Calliope’s bright, blooming smile, her pale cheeks flushed with life, her shining crimson eyes fixed on her would-be fiancé with unmistakable affection.

It was overwhelming — and completely unforeseen.

The servant stammered before recovering enough to finish the introduction:

“Ah, this is Young Master Isaac Esteban.”

Calliope struggled to suppress her feelings.

For a moment, she covered her mouth with her hand and bowed her head,
calming herself before finally looking up again.

Across from her, those pale, ghostly eyes the ones so often called dead and unsettling — were quietly gazing at her.

Calliope smiled gently, like any other noble lady, and gestured politely.

“I’m Calliope Anastas. Would you care to sit?”

Thus, they met again — as if for the first time.

Isaac silently obeyed, taking the seat across from her.
He was a full hand taller than other boys his age. With his black hair, black clothes, and pale eyes,
he seemed otherworldly — a sharp contrast to his surroundings.

If one looked closely, they could distinguish his whites from his irises.
But often, even a simple glance at him would make young children burst into tears.

“It was raining heavily today. Was the journey difficult?”
Calliope asked kindly.

Isaac shook his head slightly — a habit born from living in a household where he had long been discouraged from speaking.

But among nobles, this kind of silence could easily be seen as rudeness.
The attendant beside Isaac quickly tried to step in:

“The young master is just a bit—”

“Quiet.”

Calliope’s voice sliced through sharply.

The warmth on her face vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, cutting tone that allowed no interruption.

She knew all too well why Isaac had grown so silent.
Even the servants of his own house treated him as if he didn’t exist — like a ghost haunting the Esteban estate.

Speaking had become unnecessary for him.

He was the Esteban family’s ghost.

“I hope the tea suits your taste. I chose it carefully.”

Isaac lifted his gaze — and for the first time, looked directly at her.

Their eyes met.
Calliope smiled warmly. Startled, Isaac quickly dropped his gaze again.

There was a hesitance in him, like a child encountering something unfamiliar.

And then, almost imperceptibly, he blinked twice — a quiet, wordless “yes.”

Calliope understood immediately. She smiled even more brightly.

“I’m glad.”

Isaac bit his lower lip lightly, uncomfortable.

Calliope, meanwhile, leisurely sipped her tea, while Susan stood silently behind her.

Isaac’s attendant fidgeted anxiously nearby, sensing how tense Isaac had become.

Isaac hated this — being seated across from someone who looked at him not with fear,
but with something warmer, something unfamiliar.

Someone who saw him.

And worse — someone who understood him.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Calliope asked gently.

Isaac, gathering courage, lifted his head and met her eyes again — seeing her vivid, burning crimson gaze.

Where others would flinch at his ghostly stare, she met him openly, without hesitation.

And seeing him properly, Calliope couldn’t stop herself from smiling wider.

“Your eyes,” she said softly, “are the same color as my hair.”

It was the sound of heavy footsteps moving away that answered her words.
The hard soles striking the floor were so heartbreakingly familiar that Calliope couldn’t move to stop him.
She crumbled, overwhelmed, and wept.

She was still drowning in painful memories when she heard footsteps approaching.

Calliope lifted her head abruptly.
Susan, standing nearby, looked at her with worried eyes —
thinking her lady must be upset about meeting her second prospective fiancé.

But the closer the dark figure drew, the more Calliope’s expression changed.

“My lady?” Susan whispered, concerned.

But Calliope was no longer paying attention.

Each step he took toward her felt as weighty and familiar as the first time she had seen him.
Of course it did.
How could it not?

In the rain-tinted, gray-lit greenhouse, Calliope’s face bloomed like a flower catching the sun.
Her crimson eyes brimmed with an overflowing love she could no longer hold back.

Because he was— The servant escorting him began to introduce him: “The second son of House Esteban—” but faltered, startled into silence.

Calliope’s pale cheeks, flushed with light, her brilliant eyes, and her wide smile — they all betrayed emotions that shouldn’t have been there for someone she had only just met.

The servant, caught off guard by the unexpected scene, stammered:

“Ah… Young Master Isaac Esteban.”

Calliope pressed a hand to her lips, bowing her head to collect herself, before lifting her face again, a polite smile on her lips.

Across from her, Isaac sat stiffly, his white eyes quietly watching her.
Others might call them unsettling — like a dead man’s gaze — but Calliope met them warmly.

“I’m Calliope Anastas,” she said.
“Would you like to sit down?”

And so, the two met again — as if for the first time.

Isaac sat across from her, as she invited.

Taller than boys his age by nearly a head, dressed in black with pale skin and even paler eyes — he was striking, otherworldly.

Although, if one looked closely, the whites and irises of his eyes could be distinguished,
many young children would burst into tears simply from meeting his gaze.

“It was raining heavily today.
I hope your journey wasn’t too difficult,” Calliope said kindly.

Isaac shook his head —
a habit formed from a lifetime of being discouraged from speaking in his own home.

His servant, sensing the danger of such silence among nobles, tried to intervene: “The young master is simply—”

“Quiet,” Calliope cut him off coldly.

The warmth vanished from her face for a moment — replaced by an icy sharpness that left no room for interruptions.

She understood better than anyone why Isaac behaved this way.
Even the servants of House Esteban treated him as though he didn’t exist — like a ghost haunting their halls.

He had long been silenced.
He had long been erased.

“I hope the tea suits your taste. I put some thought into choosing it,” she offered softly.

Isaac, who had kept his head lowered, finally looked up at her.
Their eyes met.
Calliope smiled — warm, easy, accepting.
Isaac, startled, quickly dropped his gaze again.

There was a hesitance in him, like a child seeing kindness for the first time.

He blinked twice — a silent “yes.”

Calliope understood immediately and smiled wider.

“I’m glad.”

Isaac bit his lower lip, still uncomfortable.

Calliope sipped her tea calmly.
Susan waited quietly at her side, while Isaac’s servant shifted restlessly.

Isaac hated how exposed he felt.
The young woman across from him looked at him without fear.
Even worse, she seemed to see him.

And then her voice, warm and gentle, asked: “Are you feeling uncomfortable?”

Isaac, gathering courage, lifted his gaze again — meeting her vivid, crimson eyes.

Not repulsed. Not frightened.

Meeting him head-on, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Calliope smiled brightly, the sight of him making her chest ache.

“Your eyes,” she said softly, “are the same color as my hair.”

Isaac stared at her like someone hearing a foreign language for the first time.

“I really like them,” she added.

And for the first time in a very long while, he did something he almost never did: he spoke.

“…Doesn’t it… look hideous?” he asked hoarsely.

His voice was low, rough — far too deep for a boy of fifteen, as if it scratched its way out of him.

Hearing it, Calliope’s heart jolted painfully.
Just like back then.

Long ago, when he had first spoken to her in that same broken voice.

Isaac. My Isaac.

The ghost locked away in the Esteban household — the boy she had loved.

Tears pricked her eyes. Calliope stood up abruptly.

If she cried now, she would ruin everything.

“P-please excuse me for a moment,” she said, hurrying away.

Susan rushed to follow her, while Isaac’s servant clicked his tongue knowingly.

Isaac remained sitting calmly, used to this.

“In the end, it’s always the same,” the servant muttered. “No noble lady can look at those eyes without fear.”

He recalled how the Lady Anastas had smiled brilliantly at first — perhaps because she had been well-trained — but in the end, it made no difference.

Those ghostly white eyes always drove them away.

Isaac quietly stared down at the pale table, matching the color of his eyes.

Calliope hid behind a tree farther from the table, looking up at the sky through its branches.
She couldn’t rub her eyes because of her makeup, so all she could do was let the tears fall silently.

The rain tapping against the greenhouse roof masked her quiet sobs.

Then she heard soft footsteps approaching.

“Could you please tell the young master to wait just a little longer? And that I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, assuming it was Susan.

But no reply came.

Just as she was about to call Susan’s name— A low voice, rough and hesitant, answered her instead.

“…You must be afraid of me,” Isaac said quietly.

“But… I’ll do my best. I know this engagement is not what you wanted.”

His words, stiff and unnatural like a doll made of wax, still trembled with sincerity.

“…I’ll wait here,” he said, “until you’re ready.”

Calliope’s heart shattered anew.

Even though he had abandoned her once — even though she had promised herself to move on — he was still so achingly kind.

He was still the one who had taught her what trust meant.

“I’m not crying because of you,” she said, her voice trembling.
“I’m not crying because I’m afraid.”

“…I see,” Isaac answered softly.

He didn’t press.
He didn’t deny it.
He simply accepted it, as he accepted everything.

“I saw someone in you,” Calliope said.

Isaac listened intently, his body tense with unspoken emotion.

Someone whose memory burned red and warm like a fallen spark on snow — someone he had never known he could be.

“Someone I treasured deeply. Someone who once cared for me very much.”

“…I see,” Isaac said again.

“But it’s all in the past now,” Calliope whispered.

At that moment, Isaac heard faint footsteps again.

He looked down instinctively, only to see a pair of white shoes.

Looking up, he was captured by her crimson gaze — bright, warm, unstoppable.

For a moment, he tried to lower his gaze — but her pale hands gently cupped his cheeks.

“Look,” Calliope said, her voice soft and firm.

Isaac had never seen anyone smile at him like that. Never.

This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t rational. They had only just met.

And yet— “I can look you in the eyes,” Calliope said.

Her smile held no fear, no disgust — only pure, open warmth.

It shouldn’t have been possible.

But it was.

And even if the sun dried him to nothing, like a fish dragged from the deep sea, he had no power — and no will — to resist.

“…Yes,” Isaac murmured quietly.

He closed his eyes inside the shelter of her hands — and Calliope’s heart overflowed with joy.

He hadn’t changed at all.

Long ago, at their real first meeting, she had been the one who fled — frightened by the coldness of his marble-like face, and the idea of marrying a stranger.

Back then, she had wiped away her tears in secret.

Back then, she had heard his voice— “I know I cannot break this engagement,” he had said.
“But if nothing else… I will stand by your side.”

Now, standing in the present, Calliope looked into those same white eyes  and said the same words she had once been too afraid to speak.

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