I've Tried Going Back to Life After Dying - Chapter 10

“And so, Lauren. The excellence of the teachers is simply…”

No sooner had she returned to the manor than Hildegard headed straight for Lauren’s room.

The strength in her legs as she bounded up the stairs. Admiring her own youthful body that knew no shortness of breath, she effortlessly cleared the last few steps two at a time.

The maidservant following behind couldn’t keep up, and Hildegard could hear her panting from behind, but she didn’t slow her pace.

“It’s been so long since I’ve felt this excited to see someone. How long has it been?”

Her uniform skirt fluttered carelessly, revealing her slender legs as she called out loudly from several meters away from Lauren’s room.

“Lauren!”

Lauren, Lauren, Lau…ren…

Her voice echoed down the hallway.

“Lauren! I’m back! Have you been well?”

It was Hildegard who was full of energy.

“Sister, welcome home.”

Despite having complained about the trouble and saying she didn’t need to go; Lauren greeted her sister with a smile as she returned in high spirits.

“Lauren. How are you feeling?”

“Seeing your face has given me strength.”

“My, in that case I’ll stick by your side starting tomorrow.”

Approaching Lauren where she lay, Hildegard knelt and took her hand.

Her complexion didn’t look too bad, but she’d probably been bedridden all day.

Lauren had been frail since childhood. No one knew the cause. The slightest thing would give her a fever, and once it came, it wouldn’t break for days. More often than not, she’d end up bedridden for several days.

Even now, fifteen years later, Hildegard couldn’t forget the day of Lauren’s funeral. It had been raining that day, and she’d been so listless she couldn’t even hold an umbrella, drenched in tears.

She couldn’t remember now whether it had been her husband or Atrey who had held the umbrella for her that day.

Hildegard, who hadn’t been able to cry at her husband’s funeral, couldn’t get out of bed the day after Lauren’s.

Though she looked energetic, her face was pale—was she not feeling well? Yet Lauren smiled happily at the sight of Hildegard.

“Today, I learned…”

Hildegard had been talking about the day’s lessons when she suddenly remembered the dining hall.

“The menu today was pork sauté.”

“Really? Was it good, Sister?”

“It was delicious. For the first three bites.”

“The first…?”

“Yes. From the fourth bite, it sat heavy in my stomach, so I gave it to Atrey.”

“I see.”

“Even the glazed side dish was too rich.”

“Hey, Sister.”

Their conversation had been lively until then, but Lauren’s voice suddenly lowered.

“You didn’t feed him from your fork, did you?”

“!”

“You didn’t, right?”

“…O-of course not.”

That day, Hildegard told one of the few lies of her life.

How strange. For a moment, Lauren’s gaze seemed to sharpen.

An awkward tension hung between them for just an instant.

But it must have been her imagination, because Lauren soon smiled sweetly at her again.

“Lauren…”

Just saying her name warmed Hildegard’s heart. This child was alive. That alone made life feel vibrant.

She would live out whatever time Lauren had left with her. If she could make one more wish to God, she would ask to be Lauren’s sister again in her next life.

“Lauren, you must be tired. I’ll come back later.”

With that, Hildegard kissed Lauren’s forehead. A faint scent of soap mixed with sweat lingered on her skin.

“Mother.”

Leaving Lauren’s room and descending the stairs, she found her mother in the evening garden, admiring the flowers.

“It’s been taken care of.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

Her mother informed her of the outcome as casually as if discussing the weather.

That morning, Hildegard had told her mother about a recently hired servant she’d seen removing flowers from arrangements in the manor.

Whoever had vouched for her, trying to infiltrate the Count’s household was reckless.

She’d appeared to be a young girl, but was likely nearing thirty.

Blessed with a childlike face, she’d played the part of a teenager to slip into noble households and steal trifles.

They were never valuable enough to be noticed.

If caught, she could claim she was removing wilted flowers.

But while that might work elsewhere, it wouldn’t fly in the Radmond Count’s household.

The servant who’d cleverly secured employment here hadn’t known:

In this house, the Countess personally tended all floral arrangements. Carrying a water pail to change the water and, of course, removing dead flowers was her mother’s duty.

“With so many rare flowers Mother cultivates, perhaps she thought to collect seeds from the dead blooms. Or maybe she boldly planned to sell them as cut flowers in the back alleys.”

“She cried about the hardship of supporting her elderly mother.”

“And in her apron pocket?”

“Seeds of early-blooming flowers.”

The servant who’d fooled everyone into believing she was a teenager turned out to be a habitual offender over thirty, taken away by the guards the butler summoned.

At her mother’s request who found the whole affair distasteful her father ensured the punishment wouldn’t be severe. Though just a flower in a noble’s garden, had she targeted the wrong house, she might have become a star in the sky by tomorrow.

Even if death sent her back, her father and mother remained as kind as ever.