Chapter 27
Just then, a maid who had come to check on her was startled by the sight and rushed forward to support her.
Dizzy and nauseated, Brunhilde had no strength in her limbs. With the maid’s help, she collapsed onto the bed. Her ragged breathing gradually gave way to a heavy sleep that swallowed her whole.
And when she awoke from that black, drowning dream—
“Are you all right, Mother?”
The first thing her eyes found was the face of the son she loved more than anything.
He had not come to her room often lately, yet in just a few days he seemed to have grown thinner. Carlos looked at her with worry filling his violet eyes as he gently wiped the cold sweat from her face with a cloth soaked in warm water.
“I heard you were vomiting. They say you haven’t been eating properly for days… I’m worried your stomach is unwell. Should I call a doctor?”
“A doctor…?”
At that word, her shoulders stiffened instinctively. Without thinking, her hand moved to cover her lower abdomen beneath the blanket.
Her heart pounded so loudly it felt like it would burst through her ears. Forcing down the dryness in her throat, she managed a faint smile and shook her head.
“No… it’s nothing serious. There’s no need to call anyone.”
“They’re already waiting outside, actually. Just give me a moment—”
“—Carl.”
Startled, Brunhilde grabbed his hand before he could rise.
Carlos looked down at her, his gaze narrowing with quiet suspicion. She swallowed again, her throat dry as dust, and spoke with trembling lips.
“No doctor.”
“…Do you already know what’s wrong?”
His expression hardened, his voice tightening.
Emotions surged up to her throat like a wave. After struggling to speak, she finally forced out a faint whisper.
“I’m not… sick.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. You haven’t been eating for days, and now you’re vomiting. I heard you even felt nauseous at the sight of food—there’s no way you’re not ill—”
Carlos’s words abruptly cut off.
The silence that followed pressed down on her chest, suffocating.
Pale as a ghost, Brunhilde shook her head weakly.
“Please… just leave…”
Carlos gently gathered a strand of her black hair and pressed a kiss to it. Then, just as she asked, he quietly left the room.
“Ah…”
A broken, anguished sound crawled out of her throat.
Brunhilde collapsed forward onto the bed, sobbing uncontrollably, one hand clutching the still-flat abdomen.
* * *
From the next day on, Carlos began visiting her room every day again—under the pretense of caring for his ailing mother.
After dismissing everyone, he sat beside her motionless form and gently caressed her pale cheek. Rubbing her thinner fingers between his own, he whispered softly,
“Mother, try to eat this.”
“I have no appetite.”
“It’s stollen with dried plums and raisins. I heard you used to eat this often when you were carrying me.”
“……”
Her son was still as perceptive as ever, quick to notice even what she wished to hide. Tears welled in her eyes again. Turning her face away, Brunhilde’s tears soaked the pillow beneath her.
“You have to eat, Mother.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You should think about the child in your womb.”
At last, the truth she had been silently avoiding was spoken aloud. A sharp pain pierced her chest. Closing her eyes, Brunhilde pressed a fist against her heart.
“…Do you find the child so abhorrent that you want to get rid of it?”
“……”
“If you want, I’ll help you. So please… eat this, all right?”
Her son’s voice, offering even to help her end the pregnancy, was so earnest it shook her to the core.
Brunhilde rose slowly, weeping in silence. Carlos’s own eyes damp, held out the plate with a gentle smile.
“I don’t know if it’ll suit your taste.”
“Carl…”
“If there’s anything you want to eat, just tell me. I’ll find it, no matter what.”
His hand brushed the tears from her eyes. At that touch, more tears spilled over. With the plate resting on her lap, Brunhilde continued to cry.
After a moment’s hesitation, Carlos climbed onto the bed behind her. Sitting close, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders in quiet comfort.
“It’s all right… it’s all right, Mother.”
“What am I supposed to do, Carlos…?”
“You don’t need to worry about anything. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”
Whether you chose to keep the child or not, I would handle it all without question. So don’t cry.
His hand patted her shoulder gently, just as it always had—soft and kind. Like a child, Brunhilde nodded faintly and buried her face against his chest.
Holding her in his arms, Carlos pressed a kiss to her damp temple and took a slow breath.
“Now… start with the stollen.”
“…Yes. I will.”
“I’ll cut it for you.”
He broke the bread into small pieces and fed her himself.
Her salt-damp lips brushed lightly against his fingers before pulling away.
Tilting the cup to her lips, he helped her drink water as well—his gaze never leaving her face as she swallowed.
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