I've Tried Going Back to Life After Dying - Chapter 42

Atrey was an unexpectedly heavy husband to love. Hildegard bore that weight with all her strength. There were nights when it became a battle of physical endurance, but she persevered through sheer willpower.

She spent countless hours with Atrey and received many things from him.

The ring larger than a quail’s egg had now become Hildegard’s trademark, and above all, Atrey had made her a mother.

Whether Austin was the Austin from her previous life no longer mattered.

In both lives, Hildegard had cherished and raised Austin as her one and only child.

She had wanted Clifford to feel this sweet warmth too.

Soft, warm, yet solid and heavy a snug embrace so perfect it left no gaps against her body. That was the preciousness of an infant.

“Mother, if you cry so much, your eyes will swell shut,” Austin said, his voice laced with concern as he watched Hildegard weep uncontrollably.

“Let me cry, Austin. I couldn’t cry as much as I wanted to before.”

“Before?”

“Ah, never mind. It’s nothing.”

Besides, Helen was sobbing just as loudly beside her. Her wails grew so intense that Austin, unable to ignore it, whispered,

“Aunt Helen, you’re crying too much.”

As dirt was shoveled onto Atrey’s coffin, Hildegard could no longer hold back and sobbed, “Atrey—”

Prompted by her, Helen wailed just as loudly, “Brother-in-law—” turning the surroundings into a clamor of grief.

“Grandma, your eyes will melt away!”

Little Christine tugged at Hildegard’s dress.

Christine was Austin’s youngest son, his mother being Allen’s daughter. Besides Christine, Austin had an elder son and daughter, both attending noble academies.

Just as in his previous life, Austin had married Clifford’s niece. The only difference was that last time, she had married into a marquis’s family, whereas this time, she had married into an earl’s.

Christine bore a striking resemblance to Clifford. But instead of inheriting the marquis family’s pale platinum hair, he was born with the same chestnut brown as Hildegard and Austin.

It was as if the mischievous Clifford had been reborn wearing a chestnut wig.

Hildegard placed her hand over the small one clutching her dress.

“Thank you for worrying about me. Will you let me cry just a little longer? Until I can no longer see Grandfather’s coffin.”

Christine nodded, then, as if struck by a thought, turned toward the coffin and shouted,

“Grandpaaa—goodbyeee!”

Instantly, Helen’s sobs grew louder, prompting Austin to chide, “Aunt, please quiet down.”

Good grief. What a noisy funeral it had been.

After the burial, the condolences, and the rounds of official visits with Austin and the steward, by the time they returned to the earl’s estate, the western sky had begun to blush faintly red.

Too drained to eat, Hildegard shared brandy with Austin. Though they still had much to say, they agreed to retire for the night.

Instead of returning to her own room, Hildegard went straight to the master bedroom. Had the bed she once shared with Atrey always felt this vast?

Her body felt as heavy as mud. Had she drunk too much brandy for her age?

Fatigue and intoxication crashed over her, and Hildegard flopped onto the bed still in her mourning dress.

“If I died like this, it’d save them the trouble of changing me into burial clothes,” she muttered, staring at the dark ceiling.

Hildegard had nearly forgotten her past life. So she didn’t remember whispering the same thing the night of Clifford’s funeral.

Yet, on the night of her husband’s burial, she found herself reminiscing about Clifford—the Clifford from her previous life.

Kneeling on the floor, clutching his chest, Clifford had looked up at her, forced a pained smile as if to say, “Don’t worry,” and then collapsed forward, unconscious.

Why was she remembering this now? Perhaps because Atrey had passed peacefully in his sleep.

She felt as though she had lived two lives at a breakneck pace. A life where she had loved two husbands with all her heart.

She had bid farewell to Lauren and her parents. Clifford’s funeral had been long ago.

With her beloved husband, just a short while ago, they had exchanged words alone, unhurried.

“I’ll follow soon, so wait for me,” Hildegard had said. Atrey, laughing through tears, had replied, “I’ll be waiting.”

If the god who granted her rebirth asked for her thoughts on these two lives, what would she say?

There was no grand meaning. She simply felt drained, as if she had done enough.

So, on a whim, she spoke.

“God, will You listen? I tried my best—truly. And today is the result. I have no regrets left. Austin has a beloved wife and children, and through my efforts, the house is stable. So I have nothing to regret. Both my former husband and this one were wonderful men. So, God…”

Gazing up at the dim ceiling, Hildegard whispered,

“No more rebirths, please.”

The moment she closed her eyes, sleep took her.

Hildegard’s memories ended there.

As her consciousness faded, she wondered where she would awaken next—then decided it didn’t matter either way.

The end.