To My First Love, With Regret - 116

But it seemed Evelyn Sherwood was also absent from Santa’s ‘Nice List.’ In the end, Eve’s wish was never granted.

All day long, Ethan clung to the side of that loathsome Sherwood, refusing to budge.

He had audaciously taken a seat at the Christmas dinner, which Eve had intended to celebrate alone with Tony without inviting a soul. But the most staggering moment of all was when this unbeliever, who claimed to no longer trust in God, followed her even to the Christmas service.

For Eve, the day was imperfect because one person too many had been added; for Tony, it was incomplete because one person was missing.

—It would have been perfect if only it snowed.

Throughout the day, the child teetered between hope and disappointment, gazing up at the heavily clouded gray sky.

Had Santa finally granted a good child’s wish? As the silent night deepened, the entire world began to turn white, as if by magic.

—Wow, it’s snowing!

Tony dashed outside in an instant, running in circles around the snow-covered garden. He looked so much like a puppy seeing snow for the first time that Eve burst into a laugh—but only for a fleeting moment.

—Take this!

Along with Tony’s shout, a packed snowball came flying toward her. Of all places, it was aimed straight for Eve’s lower abdomen.

Confronted by nothing more than a snowball, Eve was seized by terror. She had no room for the lightheartedness required to laugh off a child’s prank. All that remained within her now was the raw instinct to protect the life inside her womb.

The moment Eve reflexively shielded her stomach, a dull thwack echoed, and the snowball shattered into mere powder. However, she felt no impact against her body.

It was because Ethan had stepped in within the blink of an eye, snatching the snowball with one hand and crushing it. Standing before Eve like a shield, the man gave the boy a stern warning.

—Don’t throw them at Eve.

—…Why?

Tony, who had been mid-way through loading his next projectile, opened his eyes wide in surprise. Eve’s heart sank at Ethan’s sudden protection.

Did he realize? Did he see me clutching my stomach and figure it out?

—Her Ladyship, being noble by birth, has no interest in such vulgar brawls.

At Ethan’s sarcasm, it was Tony who flared up in anger before Eve could.

—So you’re saying it’s okay for me because I’m only half-vulgar?

—You’re a soldier. Captain Anthony Sherwood, there is a civilian ahead. Cease fire.

—Yes, sir!

With just a word, he had the innocent child wrapped around his finger. He ushered the still-glaring ‘civilian’ into a nearby gazebo, where, with practiced ease, he quickly lit the brazier in the center.

—Don’t go tripping over yourself in a pathetic heap and hurting your precious body. Just sit here elegantly and act as the referee.

—The referee?

Before Eve could even finish asking, he scooped up a clump of snow from the gazebo railing and whipped it outside.

—Agh!

The snowball caught the child square in the center of his face. Eve’s eyes turned sharp.

—Targeting the face is dangerous. Ethan Fairchild, you’re disqualified for a foul.

—Aha, so the face is a foul? Then it seems the referee was the first to cheat.

She felt a sudden sense of déjà vu. The child’s face, now smeared with white snow, looked exactly like Ethan’s had when he was hit by the cake Eve once threw at him.

—Are you actually being petty enough to take revenge on a child……

Thwack!

A snowball suddenly flew in, striking the man’s ear with precision as he faced Eve, abruptly cutting off the debate.

—Ha……

Ethan let out a hollow laugh and dug the snow out of his ear. When he looked up, Tony was already a good distance away, retreating fast.

—You dare attack your superior?

The man vaulted lightly over the gazebo railing and lunged into the snowy field.

—You’d better be ready when I catch you!

The tall adult closed the gap in an instant. A scream—a mix of terror and pure delight—broke the silence of the garden as the child fled.

—Aaaaah! No! Truce! Truce!

—Truces are for cowards.

Ethan caught the boy in one motion, hoisted him into the air, and tossed him unceremoniously into a soft snowbank. Eve was horrified by his rough handling. She worried it might strain the boy’s weak heart, or that a sharp stone hidden in the snow might cause a serious injury. Just as she was about to shout for him to stop…..

—Hahahaha!

The child, who had been face-down in the snow, popped up and burst into a fit of convulsive laughter instead of tears.

—Again! Do it again!

—This is a punishment. Don’t enjoy it.

Despite his feigned annoyance at Tony’s excited pleading, Ethan didn’t hesitate to toss the boy back into the snow once more. Eve wanted to caution them immediately about the danger, but she remained in her seat, biting her lip. Interrupting now would only make her a tedious killjoy, throwing cold water on their fun.

—Kyahahaha! Do it again!

It was a dazzlingly beautiful night, filled with the child’s jubilant cheers. Within that scene, Eve felt both happy and miserable.

She felt relieved that the child could be so happy in someone else’s arms; it felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Yet, on the other hand, she found herself mourning the person she had become—the most boring person in the world.

I was once someone who knew the thrill of breaking the rules, too.

Years of being caged with clipped wings had robbed Eve of her humor, and the weight of a mother’s duty had stolen the luxury of stepping outside the lines.

But she couldn’t simply blame the title of ‘mother.’ After all, were all the mothers in the world as dull as she? Eve pondered the reason.

What was it that trapped me in this typical mold of a ‘boring mother’?

Perhaps it was because she had learned duty before affection when it came to her child.

Because swindlers and interlopers had driven a wedge between her and the boy, there had been no time to build a connection through the simple give-and-take of love.

Responsibility, however, is something that can be grown unilaterally and overgrown in solitude. It had flourished into something monstrous, eventually becoming larger than the actual relationship between Eve and the child.

Coolly speaking, that nourishment wasn’t so much maternal love as it was a stubborn, bitter spite—a resolve that said, ‘At the very least, I will not become an irresponsible human being like that man.’

When a relationship becomes a contract with a purpose, it inevitably turns rigid, leaving no room for pure joy to slip through.

While Eve remained paralyzed in the shadows, encased in her armor of duty, the irresponsible man on the brilliant snowfield was as free as if he had grown wings.

It made sense. Ethan was a stranger who could play today and leave tomorrow.

One who doesn’t have to carry the weight of upbringing is bound to be infinitely light. Because he lacks the pressure of guiding a child toward a proper future, he can so easily throw himself down to the child’s level.

While the responsibility that choked Eve turned her into a tedious person, Ethan’s irresponsibility gifted the child the ultimate ecstasy.

That contradiction made Eve feel small. But at the same time, she felt an ambivalence—a sense of gratitude that there was someone to fill her deficiencies. She wanted to deny it, but she had to admit it: Eve was exhausted, and she had been desperate for help.

—Agh! Cold! I surrender! I said I surrender!

By shifting just one duty—the duty of play—onto that man, her stifled airway miraculously cleared. But the smile that touched her lips lasted only a moment.

It was absurd that Ethan, of all people, was the one lightening her load. And then, she realized something even more staggering.

Strictly speaking, Ethan wasn’t carrying Eve’s burden for her. From the very beginning, this was a weight that should have been on his shoulders; it was rightfully ‘his portion.’ She found herself letting out a dry laugh at the fact that she had felt grateful for him simply taking what was his.

Eve suddenly wondered: If she had shared the weight of responsibility with Ethan for the past ten years, what kind of adult would she have become?

Would she still be the passionate Evelyn Sherwood she once was?

Ethan had once described Eve as a ‘woman where fire and ice coexist.’ But what about now?

In the process of freezing her emotions over and over for the sake of survival and duty, it felt as if only cold ice remained. The young soul that used to explode when suppressed had, somewhere along the way, become a weary soul, warped by the very pressure that crushed it.

Eve stared blankly at the crackling campfire and suddenly clenched her fists.

No. I can find that flame again.

The day she safely gave birth to the child in her womb and the threats stifling them vanished—on that day, she would surely rekindle that fire-like passion.

She imagined herself as a mature student, roaming a university campus. She dreamed of breaking the shell of the boring mother and the rigid guardian to set out on a reckless adventure once more.

Eve suddenly felt like laughing.

To dream a dream even more reckless than she had back then… the passionate Evelyn Sherwood had not died. She was merely crouching, waiting for her moment.

That single spark of hope lit a small fire in her frozen heart. Having finally organized her thoughts, Eve stood up. She no longer remained in the safe shadows but stepped out into the swirling white snow.

—You two, stop fooling around.

She didn’t intend to throw cold water on their passion with tedious nagging. Eve’s eyes were already sparkling with mischief.

—Shall we make a snowman now?

While waiting for the right time is a virtue, it is a foolish thing to postpone happiness to the distant future. One must grab the opportunity passing before one’s eyes and enjoy it. For now, she could lean on Ethan’s irresponsibility and drift along with his lightness.

—Why is the Princess suddenly in such high spirits?

Ethan asked, narrowing his eyes as if suspicious of this unexpected whim.

Perhaps I’ve just been enchanted by the magic of Christmas.

Regardless, Eve knew one thing for certain. She had thought Santa had forgotten the ‘bad child’ named Evelyn Sherwood, but she was wrong.

This ‘hope’—the ability to dream of a future again—was the Christmas gift Santa had given her.