After I Died, My Husband Went Mad - Chapter 34
Rustle.
Long strands of hair fell, cascading down to the floor.
“Well, I should have done this a long time ago.”
Sebelia flashed a light smile as her shoulders felt notably lighter.
“Neat.”
After running her fingers through her hair once, she scanned the ground. The strands, nurtured for so long, lay scattered like unraveled threads. Sebelia couldn’t quite believe those had come from her own head.
“But you’ve cut too much,” said Denisa. “Cutting up to the shoulders is… quite a lot.”
Sebelia left Denisa absorbed in regret and picked up the broom, not wanting her to dwell on this horrific loss.
“Hair grows with time,” Sebelia said in a casual tone, sweeping her hair into the trash. “I don’t need these locks nurtured by pain when I’ve already discarded the past. So, don’t be so heartbroken, Denisa.”
She meant it. The memories from Wheddon and the time in Inverness meant nothing to her anymore.
“And actually, I tried to cut it off once before, though I never got around to it because people objected.”
Recalling that moment, Sebelia let out a bitter laugh. After settling in Inverness, she had intended to cut her hair just like now. If only it wasn’t for Dehart’s words, she would have surely done so.
[The North gets colder than you’d imagine.]
[What?]
It was an offhand remark, but Dehart looked quite serious.
[For northerners, hair is like a winter coat, and… doesn’t your neck get cold when you walk around with it tied up like that.]
With an apprehensive look in his eyes, he untied her hair himself and brushed it back.
[Right. This feels much more reassuring.]
At one point, Sebelia woke up to find a small pin tucked behind her ear. Eventually, she gave up on cutting her hair.
There was a time like that.
Sebelia shook her head, remembering a memory she no longer needed to revisit. Once upon a time, she had dreamed of rekindling her relationship with Dehart.
“But not anymore.”
The Sebelia Inverness of the past was dead. It was time for her to move on with her life. There was no reason to wear the hair that had grown out of that time like a burden.
“Ah…”
Still, Denisa couldn’t shake off the sense of regret.
Well, it’s not an easy decision to cut off hair nurtured for over twenty years in just one go.
Recalling Nelia, who cherished her hair as much as her life, Sebelia shrugged her shoulders.
“Hair grows long when left alone, so stop sighing and help me dye it.” Sebelia grabbed Denisa’s sleeve like a child. “Do you know how much I envied your hair when I was young? It looked so much prettier compared to my pale color.”
Sebelia took out a brown hair dye she bought from the pharmacy and placed it on the table.
“You have a way with words.”
“Now that I’m not a Duchess anymore, I still need to speak well to get you to pay attention,” she said.
Denisa couldn’t help but smile at Sebelia’s unruffled demeanor. A while later, the two sat by the sunny window. Sebelia entrusted her hair to Denisa and flipped through the pages of a book. There was a faint scent of an unfamiliar substance, gently tickling her nose, but it wasn’t particularly bothersome.
In fact, there was something else that was greatly bothering her.
Realizing she’d been skimming the same page repeatedly, Sebelia closed the book and asked Denisa, “My father… attended the funeral, I heard.”
A brief silence lingered between the two. Denisa hesitated before nodding. As a commoner, she couldn’t attend the funeral service. However, there were rumors she heard before departing.
“I heard he looked deeply saddened. Though… it might not have been genuine.”
“Yes. Of course, he would’ve acted like that.”
If her father genuinely felt remorse, how could he dare show his face at her funeral?
“It’s amusing. I suppose I was foolishly expecting something different,” Sebelia sighed and rubbed her cold fingertips together.
It was only natural that the Baron of Wheddon would attend her funeral.
[Your mother passed down that filthy blood to you.]
[Pitiful, expecting even a half share of Wheddon’s blood to flow in you.]
No matter how he treated her privately, Baron Wheddon was perceived as valuing the youngest daughter born of an affair.
[I don’t understand the content of your letter, accusing me of using you to steal information from the North? I knew you had a victim complex since childhood, but you’ve crossed a line.]
Although his true nature was that of a ruthless man who used his children and heartlessly abandoned them without remorse.
Still, it’s one thing to vaguely think it’s going to happen, and quite another to have it become a concrete reality.
Sebelia leaned back in her chair. She had harbored a faint hope that he might feel some guilt about her death.
But that’s impossible.
She closed her eyes, wishing she could scrape away the half of her blood she’d inherited from him.
