The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 72

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 72
Matthew tucked his art supplies into his bag and glanced around the workshop.
Everyone was absorbed in their own tasks, indifferent to whether he stayed or left.
Moving as quietly as he could, he descended the stairs at a pace that made his bag of supplies rattle.
For once, he’d finished early.
Montage work meant taking assignments home if he didn’t meet his quota, but on days when his hands moved this quickly, he could leave before the usual time—and he savored that luxury.
When he’d first found this job, he’d imagined finishing early would give him longer to spend with Amy.
That hope had been short-lived once he saw the actual workload.
‘I should pick up some candy on the way home.’
Even a crude lump of melted sugar smashed onto a stick counted as candy, technically.
Fortunately, Amy didn’t mind—she loved it, in fact.
It wasn’t as if she got it often.
He was counting the coins in his pocket when he ran into the Guild Master.
Matthew bowed respectfully, and the Guild Master gave a slight nod.
“Off already, then?”
“Yes. I finished today’s work quickly, so—”
“That’s the spirit. Who’d stop you for getting the job done and heading out? That’s what I always say—put your mind to it and you’ll be done in no time. Say, I didn’t realize you were so conscientious. You used to dawdle so much, but you’re really getting the hang of things.”
“Ha ha ha…”
“Don’t be shy now. You mentioned having a daughter, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
Matthew’s forced smile began to fade.
This idle small talk was eating up precious time.
“Four years old.”
“That’s right. You’ve got your hands full, my friend. Raising a little one alone at that age—it’s no easy task. Haven’t you got any women around? You’ll need a woman to help with the child, won’t you?”
“Ha… ha…”
Matthew’s face had gone hollow, and it took several more moments before he could finally escape the Guild Master.
“Busybody,” he muttered.
In the old days, a man like that wouldn’t have dared say a word to him.
Matthew shook his head, scattering the thought.
‘But I left that behind, and that’s why Amy came to us.’
There was nothing to regret in that.
He was happy because he had Amy.
After buying cheap candy from a junk vendor, Matthew stepped into his cramped single room.
In the darkness of the windowless room, a cry of delight burst forth.
“Daddy!”
“Oh, there’s my Amy. Did you have a good day?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“What did you do?”
“Watched the window and… drawed water pictures…”
For a four-year-old, Amy’s speech was still a bit unrefined, and she answered in her halting way about what she’d done.
There wasn’t much a young child could do alone in such a small room.
Looking out the window at the outside world or drawing was about all there was.
Since he couldn’t afford expensive paper and pencils, she’d fill the table with water and trace shapes with her fingers in it—that was the extent of her “drawing.”
“Weren’t you lonely without Daddy?”
“No. It was fun.”
His daughter lied each time, concerned about hurting his feelings, and his heart broke because of it.
At an age when the world should spark curiosity and new experiences should pile up, she spent her whole day cooped up inside, sleeping or watching the street through that window. It was unbearable.
Matthew scooped Amy into his arms.
She was so small.
The smallness of her, fitting perfectly in his embrace, and the realization that he lacked the strength to protect her—it was agony.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“About Mommy.”
“…Yes?”
“Is the hospital where Mommy is far away? Can’t we go see her?”
His throat tightened at his daughter’s innocent question.
His wife, Janet, had always been frail, and she hadn’t lived even a year after Amy was born.
He’d never found the courage to tell the child the truth.
But his excuse—that her mother was in the hospital receiving treatment and couldn’t see her—seemed to be wearing thin.
“Dad, are you crying?”
It would be a lie to pretend that shouldering both earning and childcare didn’t feel crushing.
But if sacrificing his own body meant Amy could grow up healthy and loved, what wouldn’t he do?
He scrimped on food and clothes and sleep, throwing every ounce of effort into survival, yet his single pair of hands never felt like enough.
Because Matthew had known comfort as a child, Amy’s poverty seemed all the more tragic to him.
‘If only I’d done better.’
Each time his resolve wavered, he thought of the family home that had cast him out.
They’d already rejected him once when Amy was an infant, but if they saw his living, breathing granddaughter now, perhaps their hearts might soften.
He could show them Amy, prostrate himself in apology, and perhaps even agree to remarry for the sake of business.
But truly, there seemed no other path forward for Amy.
As Matthew pulled his daughter close and wept, Amy, who had been watching his face, changed the subject.
“Let’s not go to Mom’s house. Amy is hungry.”
The guilt nearly killed him.
“Hmm? Amy is hungry? What’s that? Candy?”
That was when it happened.
Someone rapped sharply on the door.
It seemed to be the building’s owner, come for the overdue rent.
Matthew wiped his tears and opened the door, ready to plead for more time.
“Mr. Matthew Clark?”
“I—ma’am, I promise I’ll have it for you next month, I swear. Yes?”
The person seeking Matthew was a broad-shouldered man whose sheer bulk seemed to fill the narrow inn corridor.
“W-who are you?”
“Mr. Matthew Clark. Is that correct?”
Matthew nodded uncertainly.
“There’s somewhere you need to go.”
Matthew’s face drained of color.
From the man’s impressive build, he appeared to be some sort of constable.
“I—I think you have the wrong person. I haven’t broken any laws. The rent will be paid next month, and besides—”
“I’m bringing a message from my lady.”
“What?”
“‘I am interested in your paintings, Mr. Clark. If you are willing, I would like to share tea and discuss your work. I would like to invite you and your daughter.'”
At the mention of his daughter, Matthew’s guard rose sharply.
“I laid down my brush long ago. I think you’ve found the wrong man.”
“My lady possesses Lover’s Whisper. She said you would understand if I said that.”
His eyes widened.
Lover’s Whisper was nearly the last work Matthew had created during his years as a painter.
He had painted it when his wife Janet announced their separation for the sake of his future, so the brushwork was harsh and the colors dark—it had never garnered much praise.
In truth, Matthew Clark had never been a widely known painter.
Though the second son of Marquess Clark, he had wanted to prove himself on merit alone, and he had laid down his brush the moment he met his wife, just as his career was beginning to blossom.
So few people knew that one of the Marquess’s children was a painter.
As for Lover’s Whisper, he had pawned it to an antique dealer for mere pittance when cast out by his family, and he’d long ago resigned himself to never seeing it again—or hoping at best it hadn’t been burned for kindling.
‘Someone saw my painting and sought me out because of it?’
Along with shock, his heart began to race.
Could someone truly have recognized the value of his work?
Ever since life had become difficult, he’d imagined this moment countless times.
The hope that a patron might one day discover the true worth of his art.
He had abandoned that dream long ago from sheer exhaustion, so it seemed unreal that it was now happening.
Matthew swallowed hard and hesitated before asking.
“Who…who exactly is this lady?”
At that, the rough-featured man smiled for the first time.
“You’ll find out if you come and meet her.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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