Chapter 39: Wishing to Heal the Wounds and Live

“Haa…”

While packing his belongings, Dallas hesitated, questioning if he really needed to go to such lengths. As he was about to add one final item to his travel bag, he discovered a keepsake of his late wife.

“Afrosa.”

It was a pair of tiny shoes belonging to his daughter, who had lived for only three days. Small shoes made of pale pink fabric. Dallas softly spoke the name of his daughter.

If it had been a son, he would have named him Justian; if a daughter, Afrosa. These were the names he and his wife had thought of ever since she first learned she was pregnant.

“Afrosa…”

Thinking of his daughter, who had died before they could even meet eyes, he pressed his lips tightly together. Tears threatened to fall.

Even if he saved Lara, even if he raised her as his adopted daughter, it wouldn’t bring back his wife or his daughter. Perhaps his attempt at atonement was misguided. And yet…

He couldn’t ignore it. If he turned away from Lara, the heavy stone that had grown in his heart since losing his wife and daughter would only grow heavier.

Even though Lara wasn’t his by blood, he couldn’t forgive himself otherwise. This time, he felt that he wouldn’t be able to move forward.

So, he had no choice. Even if it was selfish, it didn’t matter. With that resolution, Dallas went to find Lara once again.

“Lara.”

“Yes?”

Her face was etched with exhaustion. She looked pale, worn out from the relentless labor of a young slave. Her thin face suggested she hadn’t eaten properly in days.

Looking at the child, Dallas suppressed the urge to carry her off immediately and began speaking carefully. Lara had stumbled out of the slave quarters, and Dallas led her to a quiet spot behind the villa, where he offered her something to eat. It was a piece of molasses candy. Lara reached for it but then shook her head.

“Why not?”

“My mouth hurts.”

“Oh no, it must be a mouth sore.”

Lara didn’t reply. She seemed to want to respond but couldn’t, as the pain from the sore prevented her from speaking. Dallas noticed the dried blood under her nose and finally broached the topic he had prepared.

“Lara, do you remember what I told you last time?”

Lara nodded. Seeing her frailty, he steeled his resolve.

“That I would ask the lord for permission.”

Lara nodded again.

“I’ve obtained it.”

She cautiously lifted her head. In the pale moonlight, Dallas gazed at the young girl’s face. Her eyes, reflecting the light, sparkled like blue aquamarines.

“They said it’s okay for you to leave with me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He agreed to recognize you as my daughter.”

Lara stared at him in disbelief. Dallas, overwhelmed by a mix of guilt and joy, pulled her into a tight embrace. Lara blinked in his arms as his soft promises whispered in her ears—that she could now wear fine clothes and eat good food.

“Then… what happens now?”

“Tonight, you’ll leave with me. We’ll go to a better town and start a new life there.”

Dallas gently lifted the feather-light Lara into his arms. She looked at him with a bright, innocent face, then bit her lip.

“But… what about my mom and dad…?”

“Child.”

“I have to leave them behind… my mom and dad…”

“My wife and daughter have also left this world,” Dallas said.

Setting Lara back down, he held her pale, fragile face in his hands. Her blue eyes so closely resembled his late wife Helena’s, it was almost uncanny.

Even though Lara was no blood relation to him, he often felt as though she might unknowingly be Helena’s kin. Oddly enough, Lara’s mother, Roza, hadn’t resembled Helena much at all.

“My wife died giving birth to our daughter. And my daughter didn’t live long after that. If she had survived… if she had grown older, she would have looked just like you.”

“…”

“That’s why I couldn’t just turn my back on you.”

“I… I…”

“I’m not asking you to forget your parents. Leaving here doesn’t mean betraying them.”

Dallas spoke warmly. Lara began to cry softly. He gently stroked her small back and whispered to her.

“I feel the same way. Even if you become my adopted daughter, I’ll never forget my wife and daughter. But with you…”

Dallas trailed off, his thoughts drifting to his late wife. The face of a woman he would never see again in this life. No matter how much he mourned or sought redemption, she was someone he could never fully atone to. Yet, Helena…

“I want to live while healing the wounds,” he finished.

---

“Will you become my daughter? Until you grow into a fine young lady. Until you meet a good partner and become a bride, I promise to love and care for you.” That night, Dallas made this vow to Lara.

He promised to be the best father he could be, to ensure that she would never regret becoming his daughter. That night, as he passed by the stone graves of her parents, he promised her happiness.

But Lara, on the other hand, couldn’t make any promises to him. She couldn’t believe in herself enough to be a good daughter or that they could truly live as father and daughter.

Still, with a resolute expression, Dallas held Lara tightly that night. Then, they left the villa where the slaves lived and fled from Heidelberg. Lara didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to the other slaves she had lived with.

Dallas had suggested that they leave behind only a note for them. Lara, knowing it wasn’t the most polite thing to do, followed his advice because waking the already sleep-deprived slaves early in the morning didn’t seem right.

Contrary to Dallas’s expectations of being chased for three or four days, the Marquis of Oppreesé did not pursue them. While they were staying at an inn in a neighboring city, word reached them that the marquis’s mistress had fled, causing an uproar throughout the estate.

It seemed the marquis was so preoccupied with that matter that he didn’t care about the disappearance of a young slave. Perhaps if he had more leisure, it might have been different. But as the search dragged on for three days without success, it was clear he had no resources to spare for this.

Dallas, stroking Lara’s hair, silently wished that the marquis’s mistress would never be found.

Their final destination was Laurent, a town in the opposite direction of Heidelberg. A quiet, almost desolate village. Dallas had once met a theology student from Laurent during his time at the seminary.

The man, with his laid-back nature and serene demeanor, never quite understood how he differed from the other students from different regions. His peaceful face and gentle smile stayed with Dallas, and every school break, Dallas would join him on trips back to Laurent.

Laurent turned out to be a livelier village than he had expected. It was tranquil yet far from lonely, and its residents, though long isolated and forming close-knit communities, were welcoming and kind.

If any place could offer peace… yes, it had to be this village.

“Lara, I hope you, too, can find peace here.”

Bringing Lara to Laurent was his way of wishing for her to be touched by the village’s serenity. Having grown up in harsh and cold conditions, Dallas wanted Lara to experience kind neighbors and cheerful friends her own age.

But first, there was something he needed to do.

“Lara,” he called.

“Yes?”

They were at the entrance to the village. After some rest at the inn, Lara’s health had visibly improved. Although it would take time for her to regain her full strength, her blue eyes sparkled with newfound vitality, like glass reflecting the sky.

“I’d like to give you a new name. Of course, if you wish, you can keep the name your parents gave you.”

In truth, Dallas was concerned about the possibility of pursuit by the marquis. Changing her name seemed like a prudent precaution. At the same time, he wanted to help her shed the painful memories of her past as a slave.

However, if changing her name felt like cutting away her connection to her parents, he was prepared to abandon the idea.

“What kind of name?” she asked.

Lara asked. Her expression didn’t show any particular displeasure. Dallas, cautious of saying something that might hurt her, gazed down at her and slowly opened his lips.

“Afrosa.”

It was the name of his deceased daughter—Afrosa Katlyn, who had lived only three days. Dallas gently held the hand of the child who was gazing up at him silently. Lara softly repeated the name “Afrosa” under her breath, then nodded.

“I like it. I’ll be Afrosa.”

---

“Your Highness.”

Marquis Heslow addressed him. Aelec, who had carried the collapsed Aphrosa to an empty room in the mansion, laid her on a bed and immediately summoned a physician. The marquis had called for the doctor and brought him to her. The elderly physician adjusted his glasses before examining Aphrosa. After checking her closed eyelids, he gave a brief diagnosis.

“Vasovagal syncope.”

“And…?”

Marquis Heslow furrowed his brow, waiting for further explanation. The doctor looked down at the pale woman, who was breathing in short, labored gasps.

“It appears to be influenced by low blood pressure associated with pregnancy.”

“Oh dear…”

The marquis clicked his tongue upon hearing this. The doctor checked her pulse once more, his expression growing serious. Alec’s cold, almost chilling gaze fell on Lara. Afrosa, her flushed forehead covered in a cold sweat, looked more fragile than ever.

“The frequent travel and social gatherings during early pregnancy may have taken a toll,” the marquis said, concern etched across his face. The doctor nodded in agreement. Alec reflected on his actions—how he had forcibly separated Afrosa from her adoptive father, Dallas, to protect her from Louvereaux. Should he have left her in Laurent, as Dallas had suggested? Yet…

“If the lady has always been delicate, it’s likely the pregnancy added considerable strain,” the doctor added briefly.

Alec couldn’t ignore the implication that his child’s conception had burdened her. Unlike in his past life, he had noticed Afrosa’s persistent anxiety upon learning she was pregnant. Perhaps that unease had weakened both her body and mind. The thought made this situation unbearable.

“She’ll recover soon, but there’s no guarantee this won’t happen again. Please take greater care of her health moving forward.”

With those parting words, the doctor began packing his bag. Alec slowly approached the bed. The doctor informed the marquis that the prescribed medication would be delivered through his assistant, to which the marquis nodded and left the room to see him off. Alec sat down beside Afrosa, his face twisted in anguish.

“Rose…”

He whispered her name as if he were crumbling. He took her pale, delicate hand in his and brought it to his lips. With the marquis no longer present, Alec could no longer hold back his emotions. Afrosa’s recent tendency to push him away, driven by her anxiety, only made this moment more painful.

“…What dream are you having?”

Alec looked down at his wife, who trembled slightly as she struggled to breathe. His heart burned with worry. Something had happened to her, but he couldn’t understand what. Yet his instincts told him one thing: when she woke, she would not be the same. Still…

“No matter how you change, you and I will remain unshakable forever.”

He bit his lip and pressed a kiss to her translucent fingernail.