81. Will you come back?
Erna stared into space, feeling lost. No matter how much she thought about it, there was no place left to focus her gaze.
“Don’t worry too much.”
"Heh heh," Dr. Erickson, the attending doctor, offered words of comfort, his face beaming with a friendly smile. He must have been embarrassed, given the circumstances, but he was trying hard not to show it. Mrs. Fitz, standing beside the attending doctor, was no different. Lisa, who had been slowly retreating, had already left the bedroom, seemingly out of sight. Erna was relieved that at least one less person was left to witness this.
"It's a coincidence, but I'm very relieved that there's nothing seriously wrong with Your Highness. Isn't that right, Mrs. Fitz?"
“Of course. That’s a given.”
When he gave her a look, Mrs. Fitz, as if she had been waiting for him, answered. Sensing the two men's efforts to comfort her, Erna smiled, albeit awkwardly.
On the day she summoned her doctor, who suspected she might be pregnant, her period, which had been weeks late, began. Erna didn't realize it until after Dr. Erickson had already entered the room.
Feeling an ominous premonition, she paused the examination, went to the bathroom, and was confronted with a shameful reality she didn't want to believe. She felt like vanishing into thin air, but Erna had to endure the humiliation of explaining the situation to herself and begging for understanding.
“You’ve only been married for six months, and you’re both very young, so there’s absolutely no need to be impatient.”
The attending doctor offered some gentle advice, looking at Erna, who had barely raised her head. Erna replied softly, "Yes," and clutched the quilt. Lying in bed as a patient, not a patient, she felt so ridiculous and pathetic that she almost wanted to cry.
"However, I'm very concerned about the recurring and increasingly severe stomach cramps, Your Highness. I'll prescribe you stronger medication than before, but even with the best medicine, if you're sensitive, this condition won't easily improve, so please rest assured."
Mr. Erickson's tone became even more forceful. Erna nodded, again answering in a thin voice, "Yes."
Even though it was clear she wasn't pregnant, Dr. Erickson insisted on continuing the examination. He insisted that if the vomiting was severe enough to be mistaken for morning sickness, then it was time to examine the patient. Erna was forced to face her doctor again, this time in this state. He was undoubtedly a great doctor, but today, his overly upright demeanor was simply resentful.
As the attending doctor, who had given her a few more precautions, packed her medical bag, Erna finally breathed a sigh of relief. It was then that the door burst open without a knock. It was Bjorn, her husband, who had sworn she would never see him again.
He strode across the room with broad strides and stood beside Erna's bed. From the moment he opened the door, Bjorn's gaze had been fixed solely on Erna. Erna faced him helplessly. In his cold expression and gaze, there was no trace of the childish husband with whom she had been engaged in a war of nerves.
“Are you pregnant, Erna?”
He looked at her blankly and asked quietly.
Erna blinked blankly, her breath suffocating. With each slow shutting and opening of her eyes, her consciousness seemed to flicker in and out. If only she could just lose consciousness. She tried to recall the moment she'd fainted after receiving the proposal, but even that didn't work, deepening her despair.
Only after enough time had passed for Erna's pale face to turn red again did Bjorn turn his gaze to the attending doctor and Mrs. Fitz standing by the bed.
“Please explain.”
Bjorn looked directly at the two embarrassed people and gave an order.
"That is..."
As Mr. Erickson, clearing his throat, began to speak, Erna raised both hands and covered her face.
Ah, I hate this husband. I really hate him.
Erna lay as if dead, staring at the ceiling. Her face was pale, her clothes white, her hands neatly folded beneath her chest. She looked as if she could rest in peace in a coffin.
Bjorn leaned back in his chair, admiring his wife. The shadows of her long, crossed legs swayed in the dim evening light. She stubbornly ignored him, pretending nothing was wrong, but she couldn't hide the anxious look in her eyes and the twitching of her fingers.
“Why on earth aren’t you going back and are staying there?”
Erna, who had been squeezing her eyes shut and opening them repeatedly, broke the silence with a question of resentment. Her gaze was sharp, as if she had finally found a way to live. It was a far better sight than her drooping, groaning state.
“You should be embarrassed.”
Bjorn, who had been staring intently at Erna, lifted one corner of his mouth and smiled. "Oh my goodness," Erna muttered in a trembling voice and quickly sat up. Her hair was disheveled, and her pajamas were rumpled. It probably wouldn't look all that pretty, but she had no desire to look pretty to a man like this, so it was fine.
"You're really going too far! Yes. Are you feeling better now, seeing me like this?"
“No. Well, not yet.”
Bjorn tilted his head, arms crossed loosely.
“Be a little more embarrassed.”
“What did you say?”
"Blushing and flustered. Kicking your feet. You're good at that."
“No! Ha, I’m not embarrassed at all!”
Erna held her head upright, as if steeling herself. Strength also found its way into the hands that held the blanket.
"It's not my fault. It was Mrs. Fitz who suggested calling Mr. Erickson, and it was Lisa who spread the false rumors..."
“Oh. Are you going to blame others?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
When she shouted in anger, Bjorn burst into laughter. He seemed to find the commotion amusing, regardless of his wife's feelings about being humiliated.
Erna, who had been glaring at her husband with tears welling in her eyes, found herself chuckling along. Her stomach ached, her lower abdomen throbbed, and the thought of what to do about it still left her with a sense of utter despair. But suddenly, everything felt better. Perhaps it was because of the man before her, Bjorn.
'Yes.'
That was all Bjorn could say after hearing the full story from his doctor and Mrs. Fitz. Erna was the one who was taken aback by their seemingly casual attitude.
'Thank you for your effort.'
Bjorn concluded the situation with that brief greeting. It was a simple and clear resolution, like a pair of scissors cutting through a tangled mess.
When Bjorn stopped laughing, silence returned. But it wasn't as awkward as before; it was a gentle silence, like the clear, ink-colored darkness that had seeped into the room.
He turned on the lamp on the side table, returned to his chair, and sat down to face Erna.
“Lie down, Erna.”
“It’s okay. I’m not a patient.”
“It does hurt.”
The smile on Bjorn's face was as warm as the light illuminating the bed.
“I’m not pregnant, though.”
Although the teasing words were not like that.
Erna rubbed her flushed cheeks and lay back down on the bed, pulling the covers up. Her eyes, which had been staring at the ceiling, soon turned to Bjorn. She found it annoying that he didn't seem surprised at their eye contact, but she didn't look away.
It's really strange.
He was an uncomfortable man who made her tremble and feel nervous whenever they were together, but for some reason, whenever she was in trouble, she would think of him. It had happened a while ago, too. Bjorn was the one who had caused Erna the most embarrassment and frustration, but she was glad he was there. It put her mind at ease.
“I’m sorry for causing a fuss.”
Erna whispered in a much more relaxed voice.
That man and she are a couple.
The moment she encountered Bjorn entering the room, Erna realized.
They're married, and someday they'll have a child, and they'll be parents together, raising that child. So, holding his hand meant so much.
As she recalled the countless emotions and thoughts of that moment, she no longer wanted to continue this pointless argument.
“It’s not your fault.”
A faint smile played on Bjorn's lips. It seemed light at first, but it was clearly different from the smile he wore habitually.
“When you heard false rumors, how did you feel?”
"What?"
“I just wonder what’s on your mind.”
"Mind..."
Bjorn's eyes narrowed as he became lost in thought.
From the moment he heard the news of her pregnancy from the servant to the moment he opened the door to this room, his memories remained blank, as if deliberately erased. Instead, memories of that day four years ago took their place. The pungent smell of grass wafts from the hot wind blowing in from the garden. The knot in the tie that tightened his neck. The shadows of objects twisted strangely. And yet, the smile of the father with his first child, seemingly perfect.
Before opening Erna's door, Bjorn stood there for a moment, clutching the doorknob. Knowing full well that nothing could ever be the same, his annoyance at being haunted by the memory of that day flowed out in a cold, self-mockery.
Only after clearing away all the confusion did Bjorn finally open the door. The moment he realized the commotion was caused by his dull wife, Mrs. Fitz, who was displaying unusually anxious old age, and the foul-mouthed and squeamish maid, the feeling of emptiness was even greater.
But it wasn't anything particularly offensive. Everything he heard from Mrs. Fitz and the attending doctor was so absurd it was almost laughable, and Erna, blushing all the way to her ears, was adorable.
It was just that. A fuss on a beautiful spring afternoon.
However, Bjorn suddenly realized that there was definitely one minor change.
Congratulations, you're about to become a father.
The greeting he recalled no longer evoked the sweltering summer days. Only Erna, weeping in embarrassment, the languid sunlight, and his own laughter seeping into the landscape lingered like a gentle spring breeze. And one day, when he heard those congratulatory words again, he would become a father. The father of the child born to this woman before him.
Child...
Bjorn lowered his eyes and faced Erna. Erna, her face tense, clutched her pillowcase and stared at him with bated breath.
When he was Crown Prince, he considered it part of his assigned duties. But now that he'd stepped down, it was none of his business. Now that he was married again, he'd considered the possibility of having children as a secondary factor, but that was it.
Actually, he still doesn't know. Except that it made him wonder a little bit what this woman and her child were like.
"Well."
Bjorn conveyed his disorganized thoughts with a short laugh.
“Rest, Erna.”
Bjorn, standing up, leaned down and kissed his wife's cheek. He no longer had any childish arrogance left, thinking he could continue the fight with this young woman.
“...Are you going to go?”
Erna, feeling anxious, impulsively reached out and grabbed Bjorn, who was trying to turn away. He half-turned around, looking down at her.
“My bed is expensive.”
“That’s true.”
"However?"
“But still... you’re rich.”
Erna's hand, gripping his long, smooth fingers, felt strong. Bjorn, who had been staring down at her hand, sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Are you coming back?”
Erna looked at Bjorn with expectant eyes. His gaze felt warm, like the light from the lamp illuminating the bed.
“If you let me touch your chest.”
Bjorn smiled, whispering sweetly.
I guess it was a mistake.
Erna, having reached a firm conclusion, let go of Bjorn's hand as if throwing it away.
The soft darkness was filled with the sound of slapping hands and giggling laughter.
Erna stared into space, feeling lost. No matter how much she thought about it, there was no place left to focus her gaze.
“Don’t worry too much.”
"Heh heh," Dr. Erickson, the attending doctor, offered words of comfort, his face beaming with a friendly smile. He must have been embarrassed, given the circumstances, but he was trying hard not to show it. Mrs. Fitz, standing beside the attending doctor, was no different. Lisa, who had been slowly retreating, had already left the bedroom, seemingly out of sight. Erna was relieved that at least one less person was left to witness this.
"It's a coincidence, but I'm very relieved that there's nothing seriously wrong with Your Highness. Isn't that right, Mrs. Fitz?"
“Of course. That’s a given.”
When he gave her a look, Mrs. Fitz, as if she had been waiting for him, answered. Sensing the two men's efforts to comfort her, Erna smiled, albeit awkwardly.
On the day she summoned her doctor, who suspected she might be pregnant, her period, which had been weeks late, began. Erna didn't realize it until after Dr. Erickson had already entered the room.
Feeling an ominous premonition, she paused the examination, went to the bathroom, and was confronted with a shameful reality she didn't want to believe. She felt like vanishing into thin air, but Erna had to endure the humiliation of explaining the situation to herself and begging for understanding.
“You’ve only been married for six months, and you’re both very young, so there’s absolutely no need to be impatient.”
The attending doctor offered some gentle advice, looking at Erna, who had barely raised her head. Erna replied softly, "Yes," and clutched the quilt. Lying in bed as a patient, not a patient, she felt so ridiculous and pathetic that she almost wanted to cry.
"However, I'm very concerned about the recurring and increasingly severe stomach cramps, Your Highness. I'll prescribe you stronger medication than before, but even with the best medicine, if you're sensitive, this condition won't easily improve, so please rest assured."
Mr. Erickson's tone became even more forceful. Erna nodded, again answering in a thin voice, "Yes."
Even though it was clear she wasn't pregnant, Dr. Erickson insisted on continuing the examination. He insisted that if the vomiting was severe enough to be mistaken for morning sickness, then it was time to examine the patient. Erna was forced to face her doctor again, this time in this state. He was undoubtedly a great doctor, but today, his overly upright demeanor was simply resentful.
As the attending doctor, who had given her a few more precautions, packed her medical bag, Erna finally breathed a sigh of relief. It was then that the door burst open without a knock. It was Bjorn, her husband, who had sworn she would never see him again.
He strode across the room with broad strides and stood beside Erna's bed. From the moment he opened the door, Bjorn's gaze had been fixed solely on Erna. Erna faced him helplessly. In his cold expression and gaze, there was no trace of the childish husband with whom she had been engaged in a war of nerves.
“Are you pregnant, Erna?”
He looked at her blankly and asked quietly.
Erna blinked blankly, her breath suffocating. With each slow shutting and opening of her eyes, her consciousness seemed to flicker in and out. If only she could just lose consciousness. She tried to recall the moment she'd fainted after receiving the proposal, but even that didn't work, deepening her despair.
Only after enough time had passed for Erna's pale face to turn red again did Bjorn turn his gaze to the attending doctor and Mrs. Fitz standing by the bed.
“Please explain.”
Bjorn looked directly at the two embarrassed people and gave an order.
"That is..."
As Mr. Erickson, clearing his throat, began to speak, Erna raised both hands and covered her face.
Ah, I hate this husband. I really hate him.
***
Erna lay as if dead, staring at the ceiling. Her face was pale, her clothes white, her hands neatly folded beneath her chest. She looked as if she could rest in peace in a coffin.
Bjorn leaned back in his chair, admiring his wife. The shadows of her long, crossed legs swayed in the dim evening light. She stubbornly ignored him, pretending nothing was wrong, but she couldn't hide the anxious look in her eyes and the twitching of her fingers.
“Why on earth aren’t you going back and are staying there?”
Erna, who had been squeezing her eyes shut and opening them repeatedly, broke the silence with a question of resentment. Her gaze was sharp, as if she had finally found a way to live. It was a far better sight than her drooping, groaning state.
“You should be embarrassed.”
Bjorn, who had been staring intently at Erna, lifted one corner of his mouth and smiled. "Oh my goodness," Erna muttered in a trembling voice and quickly sat up. Her hair was disheveled, and her pajamas were rumpled. It probably wouldn't look all that pretty, but she had no desire to look pretty to a man like this, so it was fine.
"You're really going too far! Yes. Are you feeling better now, seeing me like this?"
“No. Well, not yet.”
Bjorn tilted his head, arms crossed loosely.
“Be a little more embarrassed.”
“What did you say?”
"Blushing and flustered. Kicking your feet. You're good at that."
“No! Ha, I’m not embarrassed at all!”
Erna held her head upright, as if steeling herself. Strength also found its way into the hands that held the blanket.
"It's not my fault. It was Mrs. Fitz who suggested calling Mr. Erickson, and it was Lisa who spread the false rumors..."
“Oh. Are you going to blame others?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
When she shouted in anger, Bjorn burst into laughter. He seemed to find the commotion amusing, regardless of his wife's feelings about being humiliated.
Erna, who had been glaring at her husband with tears welling in her eyes, found herself chuckling along. Her stomach ached, her lower abdomen throbbed, and the thought of what to do about it still left her with a sense of utter despair. But suddenly, everything felt better. Perhaps it was because of the man before her, Bjorn.
'Yes.'
That was all Bjorn could say after hearing the full story from his doctor and Mrs. Fitz. Erna was the one who was taken aback by their seemingly casual attitude.
'Thank you for your effort.'
Bjorn concluded the situation with that brief greeting. It was a simple and clear resolution, like a pair of scissors cutting through a tangled mess.
When Bjorn stopped laughing, silence returned. But it wasn't as awkward as before; it was a gentle silence, like the clear, ink-colored darkness that had seeped into the room.
He turned on the lamp on the side table, returned to his chair, and sat down to face Erna.
“Lie down, Erna.”
“It’s okay. I’m not a patient.”
“It does hurt.”
The smile on Bjorn's face was as warm as the light illuminating the bed.
“I’m not pregnant, though.”
Although the teasing words were not like that.
Erna rubbed her flushed cheeks and lay back down on the bed, pulling the covers up. Her eyes, which had been staring at the ceiling, soon turned to Bjorn. She found it annoying that he didn't seem surprised at their eye contact, but she didn't look away.
It's really strange.
He was an uncomfortable man who made her tremble and feel nervous whenever they were together, but for some reason, whenever she was in trouble, she would think of him. It had happened a while ago, too. Bjorn was the one who had caused Erna the most embarrassment and frustration, but she was glad he was there. It put her mind at ease.
“I’m sorry for causing a fuss.”
Erna whispered in a much more relaxed voice.
That man and she are a couple.
The moment she encountered Bjorn entering the room, Erna realized.
They're married, and someday they'll have a child, and they'll be parents together, raising that child. So, holding his hand meant so much.
As she recalled the countless emotions and thoughts of that moment, she no longer wanted to continue this pointless argument.
“It’s not your fault.”
A faint smile played on Bjorn's lips. It seemed light at first, but it was clearly different from the smile he wore habitually.
“When you heard false rumors, how did you feel?”
"What?"
“I just wonder what’s on your mind.”
"Mind..."
Bjorn's eyes narrowed as he became lost in thought.
From the moment he heard the news of her pregnancy from the servant to the moment he opened the door to this room, his memories remained blank, as if deliberately erased. Instead, memories of that day four years ago took their place. The pungent smell of grass wafts from the hot wind blowing in from the garden. The knot in the tie that tightened his neck. The shadows of objects twisted strangely. And yet, the smile of the father with his first child, seemingly perfect.
Before opening Erna's door, Bjorn stood there for a moment, clutching the doorknob. Knowing full well that nothing could ever be the same, his annoyance at being haunted by the memory of that day flowed out in a cold, self-mockery.
Only after clearing away all the confusion did Bjorn finally open the door. The moment he realized the commotion was caused by his dull wife, Mrs. Fitz, who was displaying unusually anxious old age, and the foul-mouthed and squeamish maid, the feeling of emptiness was even greater.
But it wasn't anything particularly offensive. Everything he heard from Mrs. Fitz and the attending doctor was so absurd it was almost laughable, and Erna, blushing all the way to her ears, was adorable.
It was just that. A fuss on a beautiful spring afternoon.
However, Bjorn suddenly realized that there was definitely one minor change.
Congratulations, you're about to become a father.
The greeting he recalled no longer evoked the sweltering summer days. Only Erna, weeping in embarrassment, the languid sunlight, and his own laughter seeping into the landscape lingered like a gentle spring breeze. And one day, when he heard those congratulatory words again, he would become a father. The father of the child born to this woman before him.
Child...
Bjorn lowered his eyes and faced Erna. Erna, her face tense, clutched her pillowcase and stared at him with bated breath.
When he was Crown Prince, he considered it part of his assigned duties. But now that he'd stepped down, it was none of his business. Now that he was married again, he'd considered the possibility of having children as a secondary factor, but that was it.
Actually, he still doesn't know. Except that it made him wonder a little bit what this woman and her child were like.
"Well."
Bjorn conveyed his disorganized thoughts with a short laugh.
“Rest, Erna.”
Bjorn, standing up, leaned down and kissed his wife's cheek. He no longer had any childish arrogance left, thinking he could continue the fight with this young woman.
“...Are you going to go?”
Erna, feeling anxious, impulsively reached out and grabbed Bjorn, who was trying to turn away. He half-turned around, looking down at her.
“My bed is expensive.”
“That’s true.”
"However?"
“But still... you’re rich.”
Erna's hand, gripping his long, smooth fingers, felt strong. Bjorn, who had been staring down at her hand, sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Are you coming back?”
Erna looked at Bjorn with expectant eyes. His gaze felt warm, like the light from the lamp illuminating the bed.
“If you let me touch your chest.”
Bjorn smiled, whispering sweetly.
I guess it was a mistake.
Erna, having reached a firm conclusion, let go of Bjorn's hand as if throwing it away.
The soft darkness was filled with the sound of slapping hands and giggling laughter.
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