Please Forget Me - Chapter 291

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Going to the seminary instead of the military academy.

Did you think I became a priest because I believed in God? I believed there was no God. Later, I came to think there might be one. But even if there was, I was convinced He wasn’t on my side.

This may sound sudden, but it wasn’t revenge without context.

“If you’re going to keep living with your mouth shut like that, I’ll send you to a monastery. You’ll spend your entire life in silence, never even laying eyes on a woman.”

My father often threatened to turn me into a monk if I didn’t speak.

“Why don’t we send Killian to the seminary? Wouldn’t it be good to have a priest in the family?”

The elders of the family sincerely suggested the priesthood, saying my quiet temperament suited a life of faith. Every time, my parents vehemently refused.

A priest. To my father, the least manly kind of man imaginable.

If his son became the very image of what he despised most, it would be a profound humiliation.

And priests live their entire lives unmarried. By becoming one, I could utterly destroy my mother’s ambitions, the same ambitions that had ruined my first love so she could marry me off to someone she approved of.

It was revenge that would shame and frustrate them until the day they were buried.

At the same time, it was a way to sever all ties. To make it impossible for my parents to interfere in my life ever again.

A priest belongs to God before family. Once I took vows, my parents could no longer exert power over me.

They couldn’t demand filial duty anymore. When my father lay dying, I pretended to be secluded in a remote monastery. I neither visited nor replied. After the funeral ended, I sent only a single, formal prayer for his soul.

And yet, I wasn’t criticized.

Relatives who used to treat ‘Killian Ackroyd’ casually now felt uneasy around ‘Father Ackroyd’. It felt liberating, like I’d finally escaped that cursed family.

And best of all, I no longer had any obligation to mingle with nobles. I no longer had to be entangled with Rupert. No, truthfully, I no longer had to be entangled with anyone from my past.

Ironically, the moment I let go of all worldly attachments, my fear vanished and my voice returned.

I’d originally intended to lock myself away in a cloistered monastery and live in silence for the rest of my life. Instead, I found myself standing in a pulpit every Sunday morning, delivering tedious sermons.

I didn’t spend all ten of those years fueled purely by revenge. I aged. I came to realize how pathetic it was to keep wounding myself in the name of vengeance over something everyone else had already forgotten.

Whatever the reason, it was the life I chose, so I tried to find meaning in it.

I served others to prove my usefulness.

I learned from those who endured hardship without giving up.

I healed a little by teaching children.

And yet, I still couldn’t find a reason to live.

I tried tirelessly to forgive those who had hurt me. But every time, I hit a wall.

I’m only human. I’m not a saint, and I’m not God. I don’t have the capacity to forgive people who never repent or apologize.

Forgiving those who refuse to acknowledge their wrongdoing felt like surrender. Like abandoning my dignity as a human being. like wagging my tail mindlessly at the very people who beat me with a club.

In the end, I failed—again and again—to find a new reason to live, and just as often failed to let go of my anger.

Each time, I wanted to discard myself.

…Yes. I mean I thought about suicide.

Not out of revenge, like right after losing you. I was simply exhausted. I was tired of trying and failing. Somewhere along the way, I began to hate myself.

No matter whom I blamed or what excuse I used, I always came to the same conclusion:
I failed to keep my first love because I wasn’t enough.

And even ten years later, my inability to overcome that pain was also my own inadequacy.

At times like that, I wanted to erase this pathetic version of myself from the world. If I disappeared, the suffering of having to endure myself would finally end too.

The only reason I never acted on it was my brother.

Even after I entered the seminary, we stayed in frequent contact and met whenever we could. I couldn’t bear to show the person who wanted my happiness more than anyone else that I had ultimately failed.