The Male Lead Is Going Mad Searching for His Dead Wife, and I’m That Wife - Chapter 14

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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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The male lead goes mad searching for his dead wife, and that wife is me. Chapter 14
And the Head Maid understood perfectly. Lisana would never trust her again. She would keep believing the Head Maid could betray her at any moment.
A deep-rooted distrust of people had coiled itself up inside Lisana. She wouldn’t trust the Head Maid, or anyone else, ever again.
It wasn’t only the Actes people Lisana refused to trust. And yet, strangely.
Lisana didn’t seem to mind that fact in the slightest.
Why Lisana’s distrust should upset her this much, the Head Maid couldn’t say. She truly couldn’t understand it.
“…Please, rest.”
The Head Maid bowed hastily, almost as if fleeing, and turned away.
Lisana picked up the needle again and smoothed the fabric. The steady rasp of stitching drifted faintly after her back.
Once the door had closed, the Head Maid came to a halt in the middle of the corridor.
The unease that had been lingering at the edge of her mind for several days now reared its head once more.
Even after they had treated her so coldly, Lisana didn’t resent a single one of them. If anything, she had become someone who wanted nothing at all.
As if it were only natural.
“What have we… done?”
The things she had led the others to do pressed down on the Head Maid. It occurred to her that Lisana’s distrust must have sprung from her.
The Head Maid stood staring at the closed door for a long while.
The sound of stitching that had reached her ears right up until the door shut rang painfully, like a blade jabbing at her conscience.
* * *
Strange customers began showing up at Laura’s Tailor Shop around the time the cold in the North grew even sharper.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but I think this shirt was mended here.”
It was a woodcutter who pushed through the door, a man who sold firewood at the edge of the market.
What he set on the counter was a worn-out shirt. The frayed underarms and elbows had been neatly patched.
Laura pushed up her glasses and examined the shirt.
She remembered it. It was the job taken by that skilled seamstress who looked like a young lady from a noble household.
“Is there a problem?”
No matter how she looked at it, there was nothing wrong with the garment. The woodcutter carefully unfolded the shirt for her to see.
“I wore this when I climbed the mountain before dawn, and I wasn’t cold at all. I could take my coat off, it was that warm. It felt like I’d stuck a stove to my back. My wife felt my forehead and asked if I had a fever, she was that worried.”
Laura laughed it off.
“You haven’t been working too hard, have you?”
“That’s just it… no matter how I think about it, it started after the shirt was mended.”
The woodcutter tilted his head.
“So I brought in some other clothes I’d like mended too.”
That precious young lady would be pleased. Whatever her circumstances, she wanted to save money, after all.
Laura accepted the work with a glad heart.
But that afternoon, a blacksmith’s wife came in.
She said that after she’d had her husband’s work clothes mended, he claimed he stayed warm even with the forge door left open while he worked.
And the day after that, the fishmonger brought in his child’s trousers.
Ever since he’d put on the trousers with the mended knees, the boy didn’t feel the cold even after rolling around in the snow and coming back inside.
And everyone told the same story.
“Ma’am, who mended this? I’d like to entrust all of our winter clothes to her.”
Laura couldn’t answer. She didn’t know the young lady’s name.
Laura tilted her head.
‘Could it really be so?’
* * *
That night, after closing the shop, Laura turned the matter over and over in her mind.
Clothes mended with thread and needle growing warm. It was absurd.
Laura had run her tailor shop for well over twenty years. She knew that skilled stitching made clothes sturdy and brought out their shape, but she had never once heard of a garment giving off the warmth of a hearth fire.
Still, it kept nagging at her.
Laura stepped out to the back yard and chipped two chunks of ice from the water barrel, which had frozen solid. She picked two of similar size and set them side by side on the counter. She had deliberately shut off every heating device, so the inside of the shop was nearly as frigid as the outdoors. On a night like this, the ice would stay as it was until morning.
She draped the shirt the young lady had mended over one piece of ice. Over the other, she laid the shirt Laura had mended herself. Same fabric, same thread.
Laura snuffed out the lamp and climbed the stairs to the upper floor. Even as she climbed, she felt foolish. A grown woman, doing something like this.
“There’s no way this will work. Everyone’s just mistaken.”
Laura let out a small laugh.
The next morning, the moment she opened her eyes, Laura hurried down the stairs.
When she lifted the shirt she had mended, the ice beneath it was exactly as it had been the night before. Not a single edge had crumbled, and it gleamed smooth. Given how bitter the cold ran in the North, that was only to be expected.
But beneath the shirt the young lady had mended, the ice had melted away and was gone.
Water had soaked through the shirt and spread across the floor in a pool. When she lifted the shirt, a faint wisp of steam rose from the wet cloth.
Laura stared at the puddle for a long time. Outside the window, snow was still falling. Inside the shop, it was cold enough that her breath still showed.
She parted her lips and murmured under her breath.
“…Good heavens.”
With trembling hands, she unfolded the damp shirt. Her fingertips traced the mended spot. The stitches were dense and even.
To her eyes, it was nothing special, just skillful needlework.
Yet as she pressed her palm against it, her hand slowly warmed, like basking in winter sunlight.
Laura hugged the shirt to her chest and sank down onto the floor with a thud.
Who could that young lady be? What exactly does she do?
And that nameless noble who has been sending work orders only to that young lady these days, does he know about this?
Everything was full of questions.
Laura swallowed hard. This might be, no, this was definitely going to make her money!
* * *
The castle had been in an uproar nonstop these days.
According to Rita, Demon Beasts had appeared in droves, and Lucian himself had to ride out.
With war over the Demon Beast outbreaks serving as the main thread of this novel, there was nothing strange about it.
Then Lucian came to see me. He scanned the room I was staying in as if inspecting something, then let out a short sigh.
“…Are you eating well?”
“Yes. I’m eating very well.”
Lucian gave a small nod.
“I’ll be away for two days. I intend to make a tour of the territory. And if anything happens in the meantime…”
Lucian let his voice trail off. His gaze lingered on my face for quite a while.
What was he trying to say? I tilted my head.
Lowering his eyes for a moment, his lips moved without sound before he finally spoke.
“If anything happens, inform me. No, even I don’t trust myself on this.”
Lucian pressed his fingers to his temple.
“Do whatever you like. I’ll clean up after it.”
He seemed completely at a loss. I had a rough idea of what he was trying to say.
“…I won’t go hungry, and I won’t be thrown into some cold room. I won’t freeze to death, and I won’t end up wandering the streets, either.”
At that, Lucian nodded.
Lucian really is a man of true character. He had no need to agonize this much over me, yet he was worried about me. So worried that he let out a sigh so deep.
“I’m really fine, Lucian.”
At my words, Lucian’s jaw went rigid. As he stared at me with wide eyes, I saw some emotion flicker across his face.
I suppose he’s on edge, what with all the exhausting troubles piling up lately. That’s understandable. So he can let go of his worry about me.
“You don’t need to worry about me. Honestly.”
I meant every word.

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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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