I've Tried Going Back to Life After Dying - Chapter 39

“Welcome home, Atrey.”

As Hildegard approached the carriage door to greet him, Atrey leaped down the steps in one bound and rushed toward her with such force that they nearly collided.

“I’m home, Rudy.”

No sooner had he spoken than Atrey wrapped his arms around Hildegard’s waist and planted a ravenous kiss on her lips.

“Ah, pardon me. Coming through.”

Their father deftly sidestepped the amorous couple as if accustomed to such scenes.

Hildegard tapped her husband’s back to stop his passionate display before their family and staff.

“Pwah! No surprise kisses! I thought I’d die.”

“If you died, I’d follow right after.”

Ignoring her husband’s dramatic declaration, Hildegard quickly smoothed his travel-mussed hair with her fingers.

“Where’s Austin?”

“Taking his nap.”

Though he’d stopped kissing her, Atrey kept one arm around her waist as they walked toward the entrance hall, half-dragging a stumbling Hildegard along.

Hildegard and Atrey had married shortly after graduating from the academy. Once known as “Lady Quail,” Hildegard now bore the nickname “Madame Quail.” Though she was technically the head of household, the title was more casual than formal.

The memories of her previous life had faded but never disappeared.

Everything around her had changed.

Lauren was healthier than in her past life, and most importantly, he was no longer the heir.

Christopher, no longer her husband in this life, occupied some strange middle ground between friend and something else entirely. Lauren now dreamed of attending the Imperial University after hearing Vincent’s tales of imperial scholarship and culture, particularly the astronomy lessons that kindled new hopes in the sickly young man.

In her past memories, Lauren had struggled through academy life, his excellent grades serving as proof of existence for a life being slowly consumed by illness. Though still frail, freed from the burden of succession, he now walked a different path.

Christopher, studying medicine, occasionally sent remedies and medicinal teas from the empire. For reasons unclear, he showed particular concern for Lauren, whom he barely knew.

But no one’s life had changed more than Hildegard’s own.

Hildegard had borne a child.

The very idea would have been unthinkable before.

In her past life, she’d consulted renowned physicians and visited hot springs famed for healing women’s ailments. She’d meticulously controlled her diet and lifestyle, desperate to place Christopher’s child in his arms and free him from the torment of succession issues. Yet she’d died childless.

Now, the capricious stork had visited soon after she married Atrey.

So Hildegard had decided: if the child was a girl, she’d be Helen. If a boy…

“Papa!”

In the entrance hall, Austin had woken from his nap. Excited by his father’s return after several days away, he’d come downstairs.

Atrey scooped up the boy. When Hildegard reminded him to change his dusty clothes, Atrey simply laughed, kissed Austin’s cheek, then set him down.

Austin was the image of his mother – chestnut hair and sea-green eyes that mirrored the count’s family colors, the same hues that had belonged to her beloved stepson in another life.

That previous Austin had also shared Hildegard’s bloodline.

Christopher must have wanted her to experience true motherhood, she realized.

And to that Austin, the previous Atrey had tried to leave his earldom.

Though separated from his birth family, that Austin had been dearly loved by many, especially by Christopher’s niece and fiancée, with whom he’d shared a deep bond.

Her Austin would soon turn three.

Meanwhile, Christopher’s family now headed by his younger brother had recently welcomed a baby girl.

When they’d taken in that other Austin, he’d been four. Sometimes the memory of that child’s face superimposed itself over her not quite three-year-old son, overwhelming Hildegard with sudden tears.

Four years had passed since marrying Atrey.

Christopher would soon graduate university, but rumors suggested he’d remain in the empire to further his medical studies. Hildegard remembered him as an ironic, unflappable man who nonetheless approached learning with rare humility.

God had granted them this second chance.

What price had been paid?

Perhaps their previous lives  all that effort, sorrow, and regret had been the cost.

The thought made Hildegard feel her first life’s struggles had finally been rewarded.

Now in bed, stifling yet blissful in Atrey’s embrace, Hildegard slowly turned to face her husband.

He seemed surprised to find her awake, her blue eyes visible even in the dim light.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Are you cold?”

Hildegard had always suffered poor circulation – a trait that persisted even after rebirth. But since marrying Atrey, his warmth had banished the chill from her nights.

“Not cold at all. Not with you here.”

She felt Atrey’s breath catch.

“Hold me tighter.”

Before finishing the request, she pressed her cheek against his chest.

“Lub-dub, I hear it.”

“Don’t listen – it’s embarrassing.”

“Your heartbeat? I’d be lost if it stopped.”

She’d lost her first husband to heart disease. Death comes for all, but she couldn’t bear another parting like that so sudden, with only empty words left behind.

As Atrey’s steady lub-dub filled her ears, Hildegard reflected on the life she’d regained after death.

When drowsiness finally came, she resigned herself to being squeezed like a stuffed toy by her overexcited husband – a small price for such happiness.