Garden of May - Chapter 142
Green eyes. A straight, elegant nose. The red hair passed down through her maternal line, and those refined, graceful features.
From head to toe, they were perfect little reflections of her.
That was where the guilt began.
Surely, this was God’s punishment—for the twisted desire that had wished, even just a little, for the children to resemble Raymond, the older brother, rather than Wyatt.
“Whether you were drunk or mistook your partner under the influence of medicine, there was a witness who saw you go out into the garden with Wyatt.”
“But, Father… I swear to God, if I had been in my right mind, I would never have done such a thing… You know me…”
“…Louise, you foolish girl.”
“It’s true… It was never something I wanted. Not even once… I never desired him…”
“They say you appeared perfectly composed on the outside. That means we cannot accuse the Count of Somerset of tarnishing your honor. And with the man himself having fled, we can hardly demand that his brother take responsibility.”
“Father, please…”
“No matter how devastated you feel, the world will never see you as a woman who was forced.”
“Blair.”
A life no one understood. And within it, that grotesque love she could never abandon. If that was how the world saw her, then at some point… she had begun to believe it herself.
“Your real father is… in truth…”
In this child’s eyes, she saw an unavoidable affection directed toward her. The love of a son for his fragile mother.
He had been the child who clung to her sleeve in tears when she leaned over the terrace, ready to throw her life away.
That burning, inescapable, unbearably fervent love and the warped result of it. Countless days and nights where she secretly overlapped that man onto this face.
When she finally resolved to bury the horror, the regret, the self-loathing, and the blame—and chose to love them anyway.
She had sworn it that these children would be raised as heirs of the Winchester family. That they would never again be entangled with that family, in any way.
For that, Louise could be more cowardly and more cruel than anyone. Even if it meant cutting into her own child’s heart with a blade… Even if it left a wound that would never heal.
Her trembling lashes slowly lowered, like a sigh.
A single tear fell, landing upon her detestable lips.
“You were born from coercion.”
* * *
The bedroom door creaked open slowly in the dim light of dusk.
On the bed, beneath a tangled blanket, a small figure was curled up. The faint rustling and soft sobs suggested she had been crying for quite some time.
Blair approached quietly and sat carefully at the edge of the bed.
“…Rosalyn.”
Puffy, reddened eyes peeked out from beneath the blanket.
Unlike her usual self—always trying to act like a poised young lady now that she’d grown—she looked as though she had returned to being five or six years old.
For a moment, Blair simply stared at his sister, forgetting everything else.
Yes… back to those better days.
“Did Mother… tell you too?”
Sniffling, Rosalyn accepted the handkerchief he offered. Her eyes filled with tears again almost immediately.
Blair leaned his weight onto one hand against the bed and gently brushed her disheveled hair back.
“Some of it.”
“Only now… I finally understand… Mother…”
Her thin throat trembled as another wave of sorrowful sobs broke free.
“Don’t cry.”
He tried to soothe her out of habit, but he felt the same guilt. With every breath, it was as though an original sin tightened around his throat.
Like Rosalyn said… only now did everything make sense. The day their mother suddenly broke into tears while staring blankly at them. Her growing dependence on alcohol, year after year. Even their father, who was sometimes gentle, sometimes frighteningly harsh toward her.
“At first… I just felt sorry for her.”
“……”
“So I talked to her… Remember, when we were little… we saw that photograph by chance? The graduation photo—Mother and Vanessa’s mother together…”
“……”
“I thought… I wanted to be like that with her, too… just like that…”
“……”
“But now… I don’t know how to look at her… or how to treat her anymore… so I just keep…”
Her stammering words, like a clumsy excuse, suddenly trailed off. Her gaze drifted blankly into the air. A faint, self-mocking bitterness slipped from her lips.
“She must be suffering…”
“Rosalyn.”
“It’s horrible… thinking about those moments… when I ate and slept in that house…”
“Breathe. Slowly.”
“I really thought… it would be fine if you two got married… Even if Father and Mother opposed it… I thought you could just run away…”
Blair dragged a dry hand over his face. He wished that he could cry like Rosalyn. Instead, he felt like a broken doll. Something essential inside him had stopped working.
No sadness. No anger. No irritation. Just exhaustion. And… He swallowed a hollow laugh.
If she were merely an ordinary cousin, he would have found a way. Even if society frowned upon it, in some countries it wasn’t even illegal.
But this was about the deepest wound of their mother. About a fragile self that had been left bloodied and alone, hiding the truth that she had been a victim of a crime.
“Blair, I…”
Rosalyn bit down on her lip until it turned red, and her voice broke.
“I don’t think… I can face Vanessa anymore. Even though I know… it’s not her fault…”
- Protected: Garden of May Chapter 152 - Jun 16, 2026
- Protected: Garden of May Chapter 151 - Jun 16, 2026
- Protected: Garden of May Chapter 150 - Jun 16, 2026
