Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 15: Love

Time passed, and my family didn’t return.

It seemed they planned to stay out overnight.

That meant I was alone.

I’d forgotten how wonderful solitude could feel.

Ever since I ended up in this place, I’d been stuck living with my family every day, and now, a peculiar sense of liberation washed over me.

Yet, as time stretched on, an odd unease began creeping in, knowing they’d eventually return.

Still, the silence was blissful.

As I ate dinner, the only sounds were the faint clinking of my utensils. 

Even as I chewed and swallowed, no sound escaped me—years of “training” had ensured that.

If I made noise while eating, I’d be beaten.

For now, I wandered freely through the once-stifling living room and hallways.

“Heh.”

When I opened the door to let the cool night air hit my face, I noticed the familiar white cat perched on the fence. It peered inside with its head tilted.

When our eyes met, it let out a strange “keng” noise instead of a typical meow and padded into the house.

I extended a finger, and it pressed its nose against it before wandering curiously around the living room.

The servants sighed at the sight but refrained from chasing it away, knowing I was watching.

I wouldn’t name it.

“Cat” was name enough.

How could that white cat, roaming dirty streets and filthy corners, remain so pristine?

I didn’t know. I was simply envious.

“Miss, it’s getting late. You should sleep. If you don’t rest at night, you’ll…”

“Be quiet, Rin.”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

This moment was too precious to let go.

I wasn’t being nagged to visit Ernst or talk to him.

I wasn’t being pestered by Ellie, red-faced, to deliver her love letters.

I wasn’t listening to Daniel’s false concern as he relayed Mother’s orders disguised as “worry.”

How could the world be so beautiful when no one was around?

Of course, once they returned, this warm living room would revert to a place of suffocating unease.

The firm yet comfortable chair I now enjoyed would become a cage once more.

Part of me wished their carriage would overturn on the way back.

Or perhaps they’d fall ill and stay elsewhere.

I glanced at the antique furniture around me, a faint nostalgia stirring.

I used to love furniture like this. I’d filled my tiny home with it back in the day.

Surrounded by such pieces, I’d sip a decent cup of coffee and listen to classical music from a Bluetooth speaker—a month’s salary, but worth it.

Compared to the waltzes played at the balls here, my music felt almost absurdly perfect.

I hadn’t been rich, but I’d been successful.

I owned a modest house, was debt-free, and even struck gold with some stocks.

I’d had close friends and acquaintances—more than I could count.

Or maybe I’d just thought so. It didn’t seem to matter now.

This wretched child, locked in a dark closet, had once prayed fervently to the heavens.

Take me away, anyone but me, I begged.

I didn’t want to live. I was fine with being replaced.

But that wasn’t true.

I did want to live.

Mother simply didn’t need me. I thought someone else could fill my place better.

I didn’t realize it back then. Truly, I didn’t.

I thought it was because I was useless, clumsy, or inarticulate.

But in truth, Mother hated me. She hated giving birth to me.

Everyone in the family was blonde with blue eyes—beautiful, elegant, intelligent.

Yet Mother’s efforts over a year of carrying a child produced nothing more than a pale, cursed-looking creature with white hair and red eyes.

Of course, she despised me.

Why did she hate me?

All she did was give birth to me.

I didn’t choose this.

If I could’ve chosen, I’d have been born a commoner, a slave even, if it meant having loving parents.

Now, this illness—this “terminal disease.”

I didn’t want to believe it.

Was I not even allowed the remnants of my former self?

It felt cowardly, admitting defeat. But perhaps that’s what I was—a coward.

Parents are supposed to love their children.

It’s supposed to be natural, isn’t it?

Even in orphanages, teachers love their wards.

Why couldn’t my noble-born mother, with all her education, do the same?

Everywhere, no matter the species or station, parents love their children.

Why couldn’t I be loved?

I wanted to hear it.

To be embraced, to be told, I love you, with sincerity.

What is love, really?

If watching that stray cat wander around the house makes me want to feed it and protect it, is that love?

No, it feels like something else entirely.

“Be quiet.”

“I haven’t said anything!” Rin, sitting beside me, exclaimed.

She was only sixteen.

She’d learn in time that talking back earned a slap.

I glanced down at my hands, gripping a worn notebook and a stub of pencil, now shorter than my pinky finger.

The pages were filled with overlapping lines of illegible scrawls. I idly scratched through them with the pencil.

“It was just the cat,” I muttered.

The cat prowled the room, letting out more of those strange keng sounds.

Not even a dog—why does a cat sound like that?

“…Shall I chase it out?” Rin asked.

“No, leave it. Do we have any snacks for it?”

“There’s some leftover herring bread.”

“Soak it in water and toss it to it. It’ll enjoy it.”

The servant nodded, removing the herring from the water-soaked bread before tossing it to the cat.

Watching the cat eat the soggy bread was mildly nauseating, but I couldn’t look away.

After sniffing the wet herring, the cat picked it up in its mouth and darted off somewhere.

I stared at the spot where the cat had been for a long time before finally standing up.

Heading to my room, I lay on the bed and closed my eyes.

Today had been a happy day, yet sleep wouldn’t come.

I tried to sleep in for once, even skipping breakfast.

Lately, I’d been having random bouts of drowsiness, so I thought resting in advance might help.

But today, it wasn’t my family who woke me—it was the servant.

There was a knock at the door. Expecting family, I opened it cautiously, but it was Rin.

“Miss, I brought you breakfast!”

For a moment, the thought crossed my mind: What if she spreads illness to me? I took the tray from her hands and gently pushed her away.

“Rin, don’t ever do something I didn’t ask for again. It puts me in a very bad mood.”

“…But I just brought you breakfast.”

“You don’t need to think for yourself.

Just nod and follow instructions when I give them.”

“…Yes.”

She didn’t seem to understand, but my headache was getting worse, so I didn’t press the issue.

Who’s supposed to be the servant here?

A noblewoman accommodating her servant? I’d never heard of such a thing.

With that thought, I turned to look at the breakfast she’d brought.

On the plate was a piece of bread with a smiley face drawn in sauce.

I let out a dry laugh, utterly baffled, and sat down to eat it with the vegetables on the side.

It wasn’t particularly tasty.

A bit of tomato sauce and a few vegetables on bread couldn’t possibly be good.

After finishing the meal, I placed the dishes on the table in the living room. 

Then, I went back to my room and swallowed one of my pills.

By tomorrow, I’d need to visit the hospital to get more medicine. My supply was running low.

As I prayed to the heavens, hoping today would stay peaceful—that no one would return—I heard the front door open.

Voices followed. Excited chatter and lively footsteps filled the house.

What should I call the feeling that gripped me?

Fear.

Yes, I was afraid.

Sitting at my desk, I felt the fear settle in my chest. Unable to endure it, I moved to my bed, pulled the blanket over myself, and started trembling.

I stayed that way until someone knocked on my door.

Even then, I didn’t respond.

Couldn’t respond.

My body was frozen.

Parents are supposed to love their children, aren’t they?

Who said that?

And even if someone did, was there anyone out there who would love me?

Before I could question love itself, I had to ask: Am I even someone deserving of it?

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