I was born with my memories intact.
He, too, was born at the same time and in the same country.
Does he remember? From the time when we were husband and wife?
Or has he forgotten the wife he once had, the one he never loved?
He and I in this world are the complete opposites of what we were in our previous lives.
In this life, he’s a prince of this country.
in a completely different country.
The Orwellian land I once lived in no longer exists.
The same kings, nobles, and commoners.
The peasants grow the food, the merchants sell the goods, the nobles consume the goods, and the king rules the land.
These things have not changed, but this is a completely different country, and there is no way to verify if what I think is my former life really happened or if it is just my imagination.
It’s just that I found him in a portrait sold on the street.
For some reason, I was convinced he looked exactly like the man I once loved, and for some reason, I was convinced he was that man.
But in this world, I’m not a noblewoman, I’m just a commoner’s daughter.
Although I am one of the citizens of this country ruled by them, I’m sure we will never even cross paths.
Even if I am reborn in this way, I am sure it will not be the same as in my previous life, where we were so far apart.
This time, I’m sure I can live far away from him.
If he remembers his past life, he won’t come close to me.
And if he doesn’t remember, there’s no point of contact, and he won’t be able to get close to me.
If I’m involved in his life…
What if, like last time, he dies young?
I don’t even want to think about it.
As he grows weaker, he calls his two-year-old son and newborn daughter to his bedside,
“Take care of your mother.” I remember him saying it over and over again.
He was such a kind man.
“Violet, I’m sorry, I’ll go ahead.
You take your time. There’s no need to rush.
I’ll see you again, even if I’m born again.”
And he closed his eyes.
I still didn’t understand at the time.
I didn’t know how he really felt.
So I said,
“Yes, wait for me. I’ll be a little late, but I’ll catch up.
Even if I’m born again, shall we meet again?
because I’m sure I’ll fall in love with you all over again.
You’ll have to love me again too!”
It was a happy ending.
It was the last time I believed that he loved me and that our family was a loving one.
We had only been married a few years, we were young, and I never imagined I would be in charge of my husband’s funeral.
I thought it would be a long time coming.
I saw him off with a son who had no idea what was going on and a daughter who had just been born.
At the most difficult time in my life, I learned the hardest truth.
I went to his funeral, met his former lover and his friends, his family, and was chastised, abused, blamed, and told stories about his past…
and I finally knew.
I know how much you loved your lover.
How you had promised each other a future in Gilmore, where you would take over your family’s business and build it up.
That the young woman’s selfishness had torn them apart, with or without his consent, that you had never returned home after your marriage, and that you would never see each other again.
I finally realized what a terrible thing I had done.
At the funeral, when I learned the truth, I was devastated.
All those years, I thought we were happy.
To know that I was the only one who was happy.
Even though he had done nothing wrong, I felt betrayed.
Even losing him was hard and sad.
Knowing that he was unhappy, knowing that he didn’t like me, knowing that I was the one who made him unhappy…
I was frustrated.
I was sad.
I felt like I had been denied everything I had hoped for in a happy marriage.
And I regretted it.
Why had I made him unhappy?
He, his parents, and, of course, his lover couldn’t refuse a proposal from the Marquis.
I should never have asked him for a marriage proposal.
I shouldn’t have fallen in love at first sight.
No, I shouldn’t have gone on that trip to Gilmore.
I wish I had met him then, after he had married his lover.
After months of crying, I finally remembered that I was obligated to take over the Marquis house and that my children were there for me.
I had to take his place.
And I have to raise his son, who is still small, to be a great marquis.
I finally stopped crying.
I moved his grave to Gilmore, his hometown, to make peace with myself.
At first, I buried him in a mausoleum in the nearest settlement to the Royal Capital, but I moved it a year later.
After all this time, I wanted him to be near his beloved.
When I moved him, I gave him my last goodbye.
“I’m sorry. I want you to forget our last promise.
I won’t see you anymore.
If you’re born again and you find me, will you pretend you don’t know me?
I’ll pretend I don’t know you.
If I fall in love with you…
You don’t have to be nice to me anymore.
You don’t have to pretend to love me.
Just be there for the one you really love.”
After that, I never visited his grave again in my life.
Decades later, when I died of old age, I was buried in the mausoleum of the Marquis family, far from his grave, by the hands of his children, who obeyed my will.
To be further away from him than when we parted in death.
That he would no longer be troubled by me, even in the afterlife.