Don't Hate Me
“I’m sorry.”
When those words left Ania’s lips, for a moment I wondered if I had simply imagined them.
Afraid I might have misheard, I spun around to face her.
The sight of Ania’s eyes shining with unshed tears told me I had not misheard at all.
Even so, a question slipped from my mouth.
“Just now… what did you say?”
“I said I’m sorry.”
Those small lips moved and formed the words.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
The Ania Brontë I knew was not someone who would ever say such a thing.
Her world had always revolved around her alone. Everyone loved her; if she threw a tantrum she was forgiven; if she simply held out long enough, she could wring an apology from anyone.
And yet Ania had clearly spoken those words.
“I’ll apologize.”
It was a rather clumsy apology. Not even an admission of fault—just a one-sided declaration that she was sorry and would therefore apologize.
To anyone who did not know her, it might have sounded arrogant. To me, who knew her, it was nothing of the sort.
That was why, even after Ania had apologized, the words still did not ring as a pure apology.
“What, exactly, are you sorry for?”
I asked again.
What on earth was she apologizing for?
Was she sorry for sulking because I had forgotten our promise? No—Ania Brontë would never consider that something worth apologizing over. If she had, she would never have grown angry simply because I had not kissed her, or because I had refused to believe her when she was being stubborn.
So her apology had to spring from something else. Something she truly felt sorry about toward me.
Was she sorry for saying she wanted to marry me when she did not love me? Or was she finally about to tell me she wanted a divorce?
I waited for an answer, but Ania said nothing. She only hung her head and let the tears fall, one by one. Her shoulders trembled lightly.
“What… just what are you sorry for?”
I pressed again. Still there was no reply.
We stood for a long while with our eyes locked. Even as the tiny snowflakes drifting from the sky began to settle on our shoulders and hair, Ania did not open her mouth.
If whatever she felt toward me was so heavy she could not bring herself to speak it… then it could only be one thing.
She had wanted Edward Radner, but since she could not have him, she would let him go. Our marriage ends here.
Yet why did she keep her lips sealed, unable to say it? Had some private affection taken root over these past six months?
Even if Ania Brontë was a villainess who drove men to their deaths, she was not a wicked person—only a little twisted. So if affection had grown during the time we spent together, if the words of farewell felt too heavy, if some small, sorry feeling had taken hold… none of that would be strange.
So… if it is too hard for you to say, I will say it for you.
“There is no need to apologize.”
I will carry that heavy burden of words in your place.
“If that is what my wife wishes…”
If it can be the last gift I give you.
“Do as you please.”
“......”
Ania’s head snapped up. Her eyes went round, as though she had never imagined I would answer that way.
But this relationship was always going to end like this. Your beauty will kill me, and before long I will come to hate you. So let us end it here. I promised to protect you. I cannot keep you bound by my own selfish desire.
“.... Young lady!”
While we were still silently gazing into each other’s eyes, a voice rang out. Looking down the hill, I saw someone racing urgently upward, calling Ania’s name. A young man in black butler’s livery—most likely someone from the Brontë household. He came to a halt before us, wiping bead-like sweat from his brow after running so hard through the cold.
“Young lady! The speech is about to begin! You must hurry!”
“So it seems.”
I lightly brushed the snow from Ania’s shoulders.
“Go on quickly. People will be waiting.”
“... But.”
I looked at her and offered a small smile. At the very least, I wanted to send her off with a smile.
“Farewell, Ania Brontë.”
“Come, young lady, this way!”
Ania was led by him toward the village. I watched her eyes as she looked back at me. I still could not read the emotion held within them.
I stared blankly after her receding figure for a long time, then lifted my gaze to the sky.
Snowflakes fell. The wind rose. The snowstorm grew fierce—as if announcing our end, cold and merciless.
“...... I pray for the eternal glory and prosperity of the Brontë Territory.”
With Ania’s final words, cheers erupted throughout the village. On the faces of the townsfolk were mixed the relief and pride of having safely completed another year, and the joy and anticipation of welcoming the new one.
Amid that noisy warmth, Ania swept her gaze across their faces before quietly stepping down from the platform.
“Young lady. You were magnificent.”
“A perfect speech.”
The waiting maids and butlers offered their praise, yet Ania did not spare them so much as a glance as she walked away.
“Young lady?”
When the maids asked in confusion, Ania answered,
“I’m going back to the mansion.”
“We shall escort you, young lady.”
“No need. I can go alone.”
Given the commotion that had already taken place that very day, the maids fretted, but once Ania had decided on something there was no turning her back. She was the sort of person who, once she set her mind to a thing, would see it through no matter what.
And so Ania slowly left the village and began climbing the hill that led to the mansion. Walking up that slope lined with bare, leafless trees, she recalled Edward’s words.
— There is no need to apologize.
— If that is what my wife wishes…
— Do as you please.
— Farewell, Ania Brontë.
What on earth did that mean…?
She had only wanted to convey her regret, yet perhaps her heart had not reached him properly. Had he misunderstood her words?
Ania chewed anxiously at her nails. But no matter how she turned it over, there was nothing to misunderstand. She had avoided him out of childish resentment that Edward had forgotten their childhood promise. She had sulked even after promising she would not. She had begged him every day to kiss her hand, yet had not asked. Those were the only things for which Ania could possibly feel sorry toward Edward.
No matter how hard she thought, she could not grasp what intention had lain behind Edward’s words. Only then did she reproach herself for never asking him. If only she had simply asked what he meant… Afraid that Edward might not forgive her, she had pretended to be led away by the butler’s hand and fled. Afraid he would come to hate her, she had been unable to answer.
I haven’t changed at all.
She had resolved to be brave, yet nothing had changed. The Ania who, as a child, could only sit and cry when she was no longer allowed to see Edward. The Ania who, upon meeting her mother, could not even ask if she might write a letter. The Ania who could never bring herself to harshly reject the courtship of countless men. She was still that same immature, childish self.
Even so, Ania—Edward Radner. That one man she absolutely did not want to lose. To him alone she wanted to convey her heart. That she had come to love him, so please do not hate her.
But love is not eternal. Just as walls and kingdoms that seemed everlasting eventually crumble, love too ends someday. Ania was not so pure a child as to believe empty promises of loving forever.
With every step she climbed, Ania’s heart surged. She did not want to lose that man. The feeling overflowed until it dripped down. That feeling became tears. Her vision began to blur until even walking grew difficult.
“Ah…”
As she walked endlessly upward, a stone stub caught the tip of Ania’s shoe. Her body pitched forward. Yet she could not even think of planting her feet again. Even if she fell on the snowy path and scraped her elbows and knees, it would never hurt as much as being hated by Edward.
The moment she let the strength leave her body, something solid caught her. Feeling herself lifted into the air, Ania rubbed her eyes and looked ahead. As the tears were wiped away, she finally saw the face of the one who had caught her.
“Are you all right?”
Edward. My Edward.
“What are you doing here…”
“I was waiting.”
Edward’s hands were cold—like ice. His ears and cheeks were flushed red. How long had he been standing there?
Seeing that face, Ania could no longer hide the feelings bursting from her heart. It was not courage.
“Edward….”
It was a true heart.
“Please don’t hate me.”
A true heart is something that, no matter how hard you try to hide it, cannot be hidden.
“You said you would do as I wish… so….”
Even if you try to hide it, it only bursts out like a sneeze.
“Don’t leave my side…”
With tears welling once more, Ania’s voice trembled.