I've Tried Going Back to Life After Dying - Chapter 15

“What a blunder.”

Hildegard found herself cursing her own carelessness, thoughtlessness, and absentmindedness.

Whether it was her subconscious at work or simply because she wanted to lock those memories away forever, she couldn’t say.

When she spotted the figure approaching from down the hallway, Hildegard nearly stopped in her tracks.

In this life, she was to have no connection with him.

Not just in this life—she had resolved that even in the next, they would walk separate paths.

She had sworn it to herself. No—perhaps precisely because she had sworn it, she had already closed that chapter in her mind. She had convinced herself the ties between them were severed.

Even from a distance, she recognized him instantly by his pale platinum hair. Golden hair and blue eyes were common enough, but that ambiguous shade—neither quite platinum nor gold—was rare. It was a hallmark of the marquis’s household.

His blue eyes were fixed straight ahead.

Here, they were strangers. He had no reason to pay any mind to Hildegard walking before him.

She could have turned back, yet she found herself unable to stop moving forward.

My lord.

Clifford was walking toward her.

Ah, yes—this was how you looked in our student days.

Compared to Hildegard, who had long since crossed the threshold into middle age, Clifford had remained beautiful to the very end.

It wasn’t because he had taken a younger mistress (Helen) after his wife. No, it must have been his way of living, his very mindset, that preserved him.

Hildegard had always been prone to immersing herself in things, and once absorbed, she had a habit of neglecting her own well-being.

Even when they took in Austin, she hadn’t left him solely to the nanny. Perhaps because she had been at the side of the sickly Lauren, she had felt no hesitation or reservation in raising little Austin with her own hands.

The marquis’s household had been lenient with Hildegard in that regard. She suspected it was partly out of pity for a wife who could bear no children and had lost her husband’s love.

In any case, her husband had neither stopped her nor resented her for it. He had simply loved Helen.

It would have been better if he had cleanly divorced me. Yet despite thinking so, for some reason, Hildegard had still wanted to remain by Clifford’s side.

But that was all in the past.

Now, she would live this life with dignity.

The thought cleared her mind, and she lifted her slightly bowed head to look ahead.

Clifford was nearly upon her. He studied in the “Territory Management” department, separate from her own. The classes were divided into General Studies, Ladies’ Studies, Knightly Studies, and Territory Management.

Hildegard and Clifford had been at opposite ends of the academy.

In her past life, that had frustrated her.

She had hurried down the long hallways, eager to see Clifford. It was such a distant memory now—one she might have forgotten entirely, though her appearance remained unchanged from those days.

The natural thing would be to pass him by without pause. So Hildegard kept her pace steady and walked past Clifford without slowing.

As they crossed paths, a faint waft of scented oil reached her—the same fragrance her husband had worn just days before.

In the end, nothing happened as they passed each other. It felt like a confirmation that, in this life, their paths had truly diverged.

At that thought, Hildegard felt both relief and an inexplicable, suffocating urge to cry.

And so, against her better judgment, she glanced back.

She wanted to sear the image of her former husband’s retreating figure into her mind—a man she would never be tied to again.

That was why she was so utterly flustered when she saw Clifford had also turned and stopped, staring back at her.

She had faced countless battles worthy of the name “Shura.” As the marquise, she had often stood at the forefront of conflict.

Yet her heart had only truly wavered twice: once when she learned her husband had given his love to another, and again when she was cornered by the inescapable truth that she could never bear him a child.

For all her loud soliloquies, when truly distressed, she found herself utterly speechless.

So even now, completely rattled by this encounter, Hildegard could do nothing but press her lips together, turn forward as if nothing had happened, and force her trembling legs to keep moving.

We only made eye contact.

That was all. Yet it hurt more than she could bear.

Even seeing the coffin lowered into the earth hadn’t shaken her this much.

Because she had known—her husband’s soul was no longer in that lifeless body.

The true farewell had been the sight of him crouched, clutching his chest in his final moments.

She had been walking steadily toward her classroom, but when she reached the stairs, her legs refused to climb.

“What happened?”

A strong hand pulled her back from behind.

When she turned and looked up, she met a pair of amber eyes.

“Why are you crying?”

“Atrey…”

Atrey, who had always told her to lower her voice or stop chattering, was now asking why she was crying.

“It’s nothing. I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“Just… something sad that happened not long ago. But I’m fine now. Don’t worry.”

Atrey frowned, the crease between his brows deepening. If this had been Lauren, she would have reached out to smooth it with her fingers.

“Whenever you say ‘don’t worry,’ that’s when I worry the most.”

With that, Atrey pulled a handkerchief from his uniform pocket and handed it to her.

She had her own, but Hildegard accepted it gratefully.

A familiar scent drifted from the handkerchief.