The Abandoned and Terminally Ill Lady Married a Monster - Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Even at a rare dinner with his mother, Daykin remained lost in thought.
‘I’m supposed to go tomorrow, but what should I get her for her birthday?’
A birthday present seemed like the perfect way to repay a kindness. However, he had no sense for money, nor any talent for choosing gifts. Although Daykin was the heir to the Dukedom, he had no control over his finances. A yearly allowance was allocated to him, but even that wasn’t under his direct management.
‘I could have a servant do it…’
Giving a gift was a first for Daykin. Due to his fastidious nature, even at fifteen, making a proper friend was also a first. He’d flippantly told Ailee that making friends was easy, but for Daykin, befriending someone purely as a friend, without any ulterior motives, was a novel experience. While some admired Daykin for his exceptional abilities, most feared him as a ticking time bomb, unsure when he might explode. Others were simply children of families seeking to exploit his position. In any case, he didn’t particularly enjoy the company of others and thus, had few friends.
Daykin picked at his food with hands thinner than those of his peers. This worried Duchess Minerva. Her son’s exceptional abilities already diverted nutrients away from his physical growth, using them instead to maintain his powers. Since Dale’s health had taken a sharp downturn, her son, seemingly distressed, had also begun to lose his appetite.
Minerva, watching Daykin, asked, “Have you lost your appetite?” Daykin, who had been listlessly poking at his food, paused at her question. Minerva quietly set down her own cutlery and observed her son’s hesitant silence.
‘He hasn’t said anything, but he hasn’t smiled since Dale became ill… Have I been neglecting him?’ Guilt tugged at Minerva. She reassured her son, “Your father will recover soon. He’s always been a troublesome man. He’ll laugh this off and brush it aside, so don’t worry too much and eat your dinner. Your father will be less worried when he wakes and sees you healthy.”
Daykin glanced at Minerva before returning his gaze to his knife. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He wasn’t worried about his father; he was agonizing over a girl’s gift. He felt foolish, like a thoughtless child.
Seeing his reddening face, Minerva mistook his embarrassment for a desire to cry. More accustomed to being a stoic than a nurturing mother, she bit her lip. She had indeed been neglecting him.
‘It was always Dale who comforted Daykin.’
She pictured her husband, with his deer-like, clear eyes, playing innocently with their son. The image prompted Minerva to awkwardly open her arms towards Daykin. “Cry if you need to, my son.”
Daykin was taken aback by his mother’s gesture. ‘That’s not…that’s not it, Mother.’ As Daykin hesitated, Minerva moved closer. Unnerved by his mother’s unusual behavior, he subtly shifted back. He felt as if he should feign tears, just to play along.
Thinking of his father might have brought tears to his eyes, but the sight of his mother approaching with open arms and a fierce expression—her usual stern countenance—made them retreat. Without thinking, Daykin blurted out the truth. “It’s not that. Um, Mother…I was thinking about a birthday present for a friend. Of course, I’m worried about Father, but…”
The addition about his father sounded like an excuse. ‘Idiot.’ Daykin inwardly cursed his poor communication skills. All the lessons on heir training and etiquette vanished in the face of his mother’s formidable expression.
Minerva, however, froze, stunned by Daykin’s unexpected words.
‘My son? Worrying about a friend’s birthday present? Impossible!’
Her mind filled with question marks. Her son, who always kept to himself at social gatherings, clinging to the walls? Her son, who only reluctantly engaged with other young nobles, sighing dramatically and putting on an air of forced generosity?
Well, more often than not, it was the other children who avoided him, treating him like a ticking time bomb. And those who did approach him were mostly looking to exploit his position as the Duke’s heir. Still… Overwhelmed by surprise, Minerva blurted out, “But you don’t have any friends, do you?”
“I do!” Daykin snapped, stung by his mother’s bluntness.
‘Oh?’ She had assumed he’d mentioned a friend to deflect from his concern for his father. Apparently, there really was a friend. Minerva stared at Daykin, unable to hide her astonishment. “Who is this friend?”
“…Just a girl,” Daykin mumbled, avoiding his mother’s gaze, unwilling to divulge a name. Minerva nearly choked. A girl? When? How?
‘Which young lady has a birthday recently?’
Lady Nihira? Lady Bebe? Half-excited at the prospect of teasing her son, Minerva’s mind raced. Seeing Daykin’s embarrassed blush eased her heart.
‘After years of seeing him moping, brushing off his sadness or locking himself in his room, he’s made a friend without me even knowing.’
It was reassuring to see this touch of adolescent awkwardness after so much gloom. It wasn’t good for her fifteen-year-old son to be solely preoccupied with his father’s health. That wasn’t to say she was concerned about appearances, but she genuinely worried. Children should act like children. It wasn’t right for them to suffer under the weight of adult problems. And here he was, displaying typical teenage anxieties.
