Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 221
âWhatâs going on?â
Irene wondered if she had misunderstood something. She desperately replayed her earlier conversation with Michael in her mind.
âI definitely said something like, It wouldâve been nice if you were like this back then.â
And Michael had said he was reflecting on it.
It wasnât a joking response. She clearly remembered his voice growing heavier, and he had gripped her hand more firmly than usual.
For a fleeting moment, she had caught a glimpse of what seemed like pain on his face.
It was as if he truly remembered that incident.
âThatâs impossible.â
Irene rubbed her arms, which were now covered in goosebumps.
Perhaps he had confused it with something else?
But Michael was not the type to casually dismiss anything involving Irene, even though he was indifferent about most other matters.
Time and again, he had shocked her with how precisely he recalled things about herâdetails she herself could barely remember.
There was no way he would mistakenly claim something had happened, especially if it was about a time when he had treated her coldly.
ââŚCould Michael alsoâŚ?â
Could he, like her, have returned to the past?
Might he remember everything from before, just as she did?
The thought sent a jolt through her, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.
Why had she never considered that possibility before?
It was impossible for the dead to come back to life, yet that impossible event had happened to her.
If it could happen to her, what was stopping it from happening to someone else?
Michael could have returned to the past, carrying memories just like hersâŚ
The realization made Irene press her temples, which throbbed with sudden pain.
A flood of long-forgotten memories surged into her mind.
***
âThereâs an ice monster up ahead. Be careful with your hands.â
Irene glanced at the pair walking beside her, chatting warmly.
The sudden cold had prompted the two to bundle up, and they adjusted each otherâs scarves and coats affectionately.
Irene watched them for a long moment before coughing and adjusting her own scarf.
It wasnât a strenuous task, but her frostbitten fingers were stiff, and her movements were slow and clumsy.
âI shouldâve just used the blanket last night.â
The thick blanket she had bought, even under Michaelâs disapproving gaze, had never been used and remained tucked under her bed.
On nights like last night, when the sudden cold bit into her bones, she had considered using it.
But in the end, she hadnât.
She couldnât even explain why.
âPride?â
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, but it quickly faded as her mouth set into a grim line.
Pride was like a stubborn, overgrown weed. No matter how many times she tried to uproot it, it clung tenaciously within her.
Determined to set it aside, Irene vowed that tonight she would use the blanket, pride be damned.
Yet now, as she tightened her scarf against the cold, a draft still crept in through the loosely tied knot.
She wanted to retie it but lacked the strength or will to do so.
If she were a capable Purifier, could she have relied on someone else for help? Like the affectionate pairs around her? Could she have asked her partner for assistance, too?
She looked toward the dungeon entrance, where Michael stood.
For a moment, Irene stared at him, but when he turned to look back at her, she quickly dropped her gaze.
Since the day she bought that blanket, Irene had been afraid to approach him.
She feared that if she met his gaze againâso full of unspoken wordsâshe would collapse and cry uncontrollably.
âJust hold on a little longer.â
She had almost saved enough. Only about a month remained before this hunting season ended.
As long as nothing unusual happened, she would collect the last of her ransom and leave this place.
And thenâŚ
âIâll never have to face Michael again.â
In the past, the thought would have made her heart ache.
Now, it brought only a sigh, as if she were nearing the end of a long, tiresome ordeal.
Irene was utterly drained.
Her life had been filled with hardship, and sheâd thought that perhaps holding onto a fragment of love might bring her a sliver of happiness.
But her love seemed different from othersâ.
Why else would recalling it feel like shards of glass piercing her heart, unlike those who smiled so brightly as they walked hand in hand?
Irene blew warm breath onto her frozen fingers.
Her body had started to fever slightly since dawn, lending a fleeting warmth to her exhaled breath.
But no matter how much she tried, the warmth only lingered for a brief moment.
