Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 22: Morning Reflections

By morning, Ernst still hadn’t shown up. Perhaps he had been drinking with his friends all night.

I’d known all along.

Unlike me, Ernst had plenty of friends.

We weren’t lovers, so why would he need to stay by the side of someone who was “just a friend”?

And to make things worse, I was bored.

Yet he’d asked why I hadn’t told him to go. Why even ask that?

I felt a flicker of irritation but swallowed it down. I didn’t have the right to be annoyed at anyone.

When the ball ended, Mother found me and lavished me with praises about how I danced with Ernst.

I half-listened, offering polite responses, enduring the excruciating wait until Ellie’s carriage finally arrived.

It felt like being told my life had no meaning.

It wasn’t exactly wrong.

Her tone, implying I should just give up and seduce Ernst already, was grating.

The suggestion made my chest ache, so I crunched a pill as if it were sugar and swallowed it.

Whether I liked or disliked her didn’t matter—she was my mother. That complicated things.

After all, she was the one who bore and shaped me.

But for someone who’d never praised me for anything, hearing such sweet words over something so trivial left a bad taste.

It was disgusting.

I wanted to literally sew her mouth shut and burn it so it would never open again.

If I’d heard her say such things a few years ago, I might have clung to her, sobbing.

On the ride back to the mansion, Ellie chimed in with biting remarks about me, and Mother happily agreed with her.

But unlike last time, it didn’t feel like I was about to be tied to a chair the moment we returned.

I smiled without meaning to.

It was pathetic, really.

I’d always muttered about wanting freedom, but over time, I’d broken down and become a dog on a leash.

Even a stray mutt would gnaw through the rope if tied up like this.

Yet I, claiming I had no choice, was worse than a dog.

If I begged Ernst to love me, to save me, would he take me away from here?

Here I go again.

I can’t imagine doing anything on my own.

I always expect others to do everything for me, and that’s why I’m like this.

But what can I do?

I have no talents.

I’m unattractive, lack skills, and can’t even properly obey.

If licking Ernst’s shoes would let me escape, I’d do it.

In fact, even if it were Aria—the illustrious heroine—I’d lick her shoes without hesitation if she offered me an escape.

Though, bare feet might give me pause.

Nobles, despite their clean and polished appearance, wear shoes that trap sweat year-round except in winter. Their feet must reek.

Once we returned to the mansion, Ellie and Mother slinked off to their rooms.

I cleaned myself up in the bathroom and was about to fall asleep when someone called out to me from the direction of the armchair in the center of the house.

Turning to look, I saw my father, his face gaunt and exhausted.

“Emily, come here.”

At home, he spoke in a tone reminiscent of Mother’s, even though his voice was clearly male, making it sound unnatural.

“Yes, Father.”

“I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t been able to come home lately.”

He poured something into the glass in front of him—wine, or maybe fermented grape juice—and downed it in one go.

“When I finally came back, everyone was off at the ball. Of course, you and Ellie need to find matches, so I’m not against it, but still….”

His words were heavy with a kind of melancholy, though if Mother had been present, it would have been worse.

Her paranoia and his stress often led to sharp exchanges and frequent arguments.

“It’s hard to come home after working so hard only to be alone.”

I responded appropriately, nodding in understanding.

“So, Emily, I was thinking… would you meet one of my subordinates?”

To segue from a lament about loneliness into this request was uncomfortable, to say the least.

I didn’t know how to answer.

“…I’m not really interested in meeting anyone.”

You wouldn’t even have to leave the house. You could meet in the parlor.

If that’s still too much, you could take a short walk outside together.

He’s far too reserved to cause any trouble. He wouldn’t even dare speak out of turn.

This wasn’t just a suggestion—it was a veiled command disguised as a favor.

I could refuse.

But that would upset Father.

Unlike with Mother, I couldn’t dismiss his displeasure.

If he became upset, he might not help me when I truly needed it, like when Mother dragged me to the punishment room by my hair or when I wanted a new notebook and pen.

“Father.”

“Yes?”

“Could I get a new pen and notebook in exchange?”

My current pen, though familiar in my hand, was starting to feel dull.

It no longer had the sharp precision I preferred, instead feeling blunt and clumsy.

Not that anyone in this household would understand my preference.

“Pens and notebooks? Of course, as many as you want… No, I’ll get them for you right now. So, does this mean you’ll meet him?”

“…Yes.”

It wouldn’t be hard to dismiss him after a polite chat over coffee or tea, claiming he didn’t suit me.

“When would you like me to meet him?”

“Four days from now. The arrangements are already made; we just need to confirm the venue.”

With that, Father shuffled off to his study, likely to retrieve the pen and notebook for me.

Given my compliance, he’d probably bring me one with a leather cover this time.

My current notebook, covered in stiff paper, was inconvenient to carry around.

As expected.

Of course, I couldn’t refuse.

I’m a “good child” who doesn’t know how to say no.

Mother might be a terrible parent, but Father wasn’t a bad one.

Just… an inadequate one.

But really, how many people aren’t inadequate in some way?

I must be an inadequate daughter to him.

At the very least, my father cared enough to show love occasionally. 

He’d given me pocket money, pens, and notebooks, and when I was younger, he even hired a teacher so I could draw more often. It wasn’t as if he lacked interest; he was just consumed by work, unable to afford any leisure.

That must be it.

I sat quietly for a while, resting, until my father came to my room and left the new pen and notebook for me.

The servants seemed to have brought out a higher-quality tea to honor the master of the house’s return. It smelled far richer than the usual black tea I drank.

After some time, I went upstairs and tucked away my old notebook in a drawer with a lock that barely worked.

Then, I opened the new leather-bound notebook.

The scent of fresh, unused paper wafted up, sharp and clean.

I buried my face in it for a while, inhaling deeply, before picking up the new pen, which felt slightly too heavy for my liking.

Feeling a little better, I opened the notebook and started writing.

I wrote about dancing with Ernst, my conversation with Aria, and the disappointing encounter with my father. 

I wrote about my hatred for Mother, my disgust for my family, my curses toward the original Emily, and my self-deprecating mockery of my stupidity. 

I wrote about wishing everything would just disappear, my yearning to go back to the way things were, and my musings that maybe this was homesickness.

The first page became so messy with scribbled words that it was nearly illegible.

It felt as though I was looking at a reflection of myself, so I closed the notebook abruptly.

Receiving the new pen and notebook had made me smile briefly. Then the thought of meeting a stranger brought back my blank expression.

The memory of stepping on Ernst’s feet while we danced made me laugh, but my expression faded again when I recalled Mother’s praises.

After a light wash in the bathroom, I finally lay down to sleep.

By dinner, the entire family had gathered.

Father, Fabian, and Mother were chatting warmly.

The younger ones talked amongst themselves.

“…Ack-cough. Ugh, cough.”

At the sound of my coughing, everyone went silent, briefly glancing at me before resuming their conversations.

The metallic smell of blood in my nose grew stronger.

Determined to recover somehow, I stuffed food into my mouth, eating endlessly.

If I ate, rested, and took my medicine, I’d get better.

Not everything in life was unfortunate.

Though it was miserable, things could still improve.

Clinging to such thoughts, I finished eating.

I skipped the post-dinner conversation with Father, where fruit, cookies, and tea were served. Instead, I headed straight to my room.

I tossed and turned, trying to force sleep that wouldn’t come.

After a while, I heard someone walking toward my room.

“Father’s finally home, and you’re not even coming downstairs?”

“…I’m tired.”

Mother and Ellie must be tired too, but they’re with him because it’s been so long.

You’re always so selfish. You never do anything together with us.

Even if you prance around at balls, who’s ever going to like someone like you?

Daniel began to gleefully tear into me.

“Shut up and get lost… ugh.”

Suddenly, I felt a burning sensation in my eyes. A bitter taste filled my mouth, and something began to drip from my nose.

I touched the corners of my eyes—there was a faint trace of blood.

Perhaps it was just a burst capillary from exhaustion.

Looking into the mirror on the table, I saw that it was only a little blood trickling out.

I smiled at Daniel, whose face was frozen in shock, and spoke in a low voice without bothering to wipe the blood from my face.

“Don’t say anything. Just tell them I’m too tired to come down and then leave….”

He won’t say a word, will he?

TL Note: Rate us on NOVEL UPDATES