I've Tried Going Back to Life After Dying - Chapter 13

Just because she had returned from death didn’t mean she had forgotten her past life, and just because she was parted by death didn’t mean she had forgotten her husband.

Hildegard could never forget Clifford.

Clifford Wall Longfall. Head of the House of Longfall.

From the very first day they met, Hildegard’s heart had been drawn to Clifford.

When marriage talks arose between them same-aged as they were, though no one knew how the match came about Hildegard didn’t mind even if it was a political union.

Rather, she considered it a blessing to have found a husband she could cherish in the aristocratic world where love alone was rarely enough.

That she didn’t cry didn’t mean she wasn’t grieving. On the day of the funeral, Hildegard learned that sometimes sorrow runs too deep for tears.

Austin kept shushing Helen, who was sobbing loudly beside her, telling her to be quiet for Hildegard’s sake but she knew perfectly well he wasn’t truly being unkind to Helen.

Or perhaps she should have wept freely with Helen at that final farewell.

Had she done so, she might never have prayed to God to return from death. Exhausted from crying, she might have fallen asleep and woken the next morning resolved to support the marquis household that had lost its master.

“Sister, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

Though his own condition was far worse, Lauren looked at the unusually quiet Hildegard with concern.

Seated across from Lauren at the breakfast table, Hildegard was dragged back to reality. The reality where she had returned from death.

As she feared, waking up hadn’t made it all just a dream. A second morning had come, and Hildegard would be attending the academy again today.

Perhaps having heard from their father, their mother wore a thoughtful expression but refrained from bothering Hildegard about it.

Only Lauren, who knew nothing, worried that Hildegard seemed out of sorts.

“I’m fine, Lauren. I was just thinking about today’s cafeteria menu.”

She ignored her father choking on his soup diagonally across from her.

“I have a feeling it’ll be meunière today. I’m in a meunière mood.”

She ignored her father coughing again.

“What kind of meunière, I wonder?”

Lauren, ever reliable, played along with the conversation. So, Hildegard responded in kind.

“Trout, definitely trout. Spring trout is absolutely delicious. Tartar sauce is a must. With tartar sauce, you can overcome even the greasiest fish.”

Had the cafeteria chef overheard, he might have rushed out to procure trout immediately.

When her heart lost its vigor, food came first anything would do. Rather than claiming she couldn’t eat, forcing down even a single bite would help her body recover its strength, and Hildegard could smile again.

That night she died because, having mourned and sent off both Clifford’s body and soul, she had been too despairing to eat anything at all.

Not a shred of energy remained, and she could find no reason to keep living.

“Hey, Lauren.”

“Hm? What is it, Sister?”

“No matter how difficult things get, make sure to eat something even just gruel is fine. Just a taste. That should give you at least a grain of wheat’s worth of energy.”

“That’s a pretty small amount of energy.”

“But gather enough of those tiny wheat grains, and you get delicious bread like this.”

“Next time we go to church; I’ll tell the priest about that. I’m sure he’ll turn it into a sermon for everyone the following week.”

That would be plagiarism, Hildegard thought, but she decided not to nitpick.

She was used to being generous.

Throughout her life, she had been called magnanimous for calmly watching her husband be taken by a younger viscount’s daughter without a hint of jealousy.

Had her husband been happy that way?

He could have quickly divorced his childless wife and married Helen, yet he never did.

He even gave her Austin.

Perhaps he had considered divorce when Lauren died.

The earl’s household needed an heir, and Hildegard had a place to return to.

But then Atrey was adopted just a step ahead, and the timing was lost in the ensuing ambiguity. Was that why he spent the next fifteen years unable to fully commit to Helen either?

Lost in thought even in the carriage today, she forgot to enjoy the rare spring scenery outside.

“Is it too late now?”

Pressing her face to the window, Hildegard hurriedly looked outside. Unfortunately, the academy gates were already in sight.

To lift her spirits, she hopped down from the carriage steps with a little “boing.” She could still do it—her body was, after all, sixteen again.

Things impossible at forty were easy now.

Just bounding down the steps filled her with euphoria.

Savoring her happiness, Hildegard headed to class.

The morning passed with her usual attentive nodding, and she set off for today’s highlight: the cafeteria.

Shortening “student cafeteria” to “cafeteria” felt quintessentially student-like. While abbreviations weren’t exclusive to students, noble wives were particular about proper diction, using full words unless slyly mocking someone in private.

What other youthful abbreviations might there be?

Pondering this on her way to the cafeteria, Hildegard was caught off guard when someone called from behind and instinctively responded with a nickname.

“What is it, Archie?”

Atrey’s ears turned bright red instantly.