…Still, with his long limbs and well-fitted clothes, he definitely gave off strong “second male lead” vibes.
“I’ve read both of your treatment plans. Maybe because you’re father and daughter, your thoughts on the cause of the illness are quite similar.”
It was the first time the young lord had spoken since we entered the room. His voice echoed slightly due to the mask, but it was smooth and pleasant to hear.
“After discussing with the family doctor and a few others, we came to the conclusion—”
He glanced at the tall, skinny man standing beside him.
“—that while experimental, both methods are safe and pose no harm to the young lady. So I was unsure which plan to choose… First, this one.”
He held out the parchment in his left hand for us to see.
It was my father’s treatment plan.
‘Wow, he really wrote a lot.’
He had pulled together every foreign book he could find and summarized the core theories well.
The young lord spoke again, eyes on the paper.
“Using music to reduce anxiety and aggression… It’s quite a fresh idea. Some of the examples you gave were convincing.”
He then turned his gaze to us.
“However, it might take a long time, and the person carrying out the treatment isn’t exactly a specialist. That’s a concern.”
Then, he held up the paper in his right hand—it was mine.
“And the second.”
I nervously swallowed.
“Like the previous one, this is also filled with theories and treatment methods I’ve never seen before.”
He paused for a moment before continuing.
“While I still struggle to believe that the root of Lily’s condition is her mother’s death…”
It seemed he’d been thinking deeply after reading my plan.
“The timeline does suggest that her condition worsened after that incident. But… can this treatment really work?”
He looked straight at me.
“Improving her diet, taking walks in the sun—that’s understandable. Even pilgrims do similar things for healing.”
He clasped his hands and continued.
“But asking her what hurt, accepting her feelings, and helping her see things from another’s point of view… is that truly part of the treatment?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
I answered confidently.
The two main pillars of my plan were:
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and Interpersonal Therapy (IPT).
CBT helps patients change their negative thought patterns into more positive ones.
IPT focuses on healing the difficulties they’ve experienced in relationships.
“The human mind is strange. Two people can experience the same thing but think completely differently. Someone mentally strong may fall and laugh it off, while someone mentally vulnerable might feel overwhelmed and not get back up.”
“…”
“So simply put, it’s all about how you think about things.”
“How you think, huh…”
The young lord repeated my words as if in a trance.
“Yes. The first step of my plan is to help the young lady break that negative cycle and start thinking more positively.”
I paused, worried I was talking too much, and glanced at him.
But he nodded, encouraging me to continue.
“The second part is to comfort her for the loss of her mother, whom she was deeply attached to, and grieve with her. Sometimes, people can’t process the death of someone close. Just like how the young lady didn’t even cry—she just shut down completely.”
“…”
“She needs to fully grieve what she couldn’t back then so her emotional wounds can heal.”
Since we were speaking face-to-face, I used simpler words.
But in my written plan—almost like a thesis—I explained how this type of “talk therapy” is deeply structured and professional.
The young lord was silent again for a long while.
My mouth was dry. I nervously waited.
Then finally—
“Some might call it idealistic, but your explanation is surprisingly convincing. Your plan is well thought out.”
He looked down at the papers and continued.
“And the fact that you promised to show progress in just a week… that intrigued me. Are you really that confident? Enough to risk your life?”
I felt my father’s sharp gaze on me at those words.
But I didn’t look at him. Instead, I replied firmly.
“Yes, as long as you support the treatment as outlined in my plan.”
I clenched my fists slightly. The young lord was serious—so was I.
“Very well.”
He quietly placed my plan down on the desk.
“If you’re truly ready to risk your life, I will trust you. The young lady’s treatment will be in your hands.”
“Wait! Young lord!”
My father suddenly stepped in front of me and shouted. I knew he’d do this.
“She’s still too young to take on such a heavy burden. If… if her treatment fails, can we at least try mine before deciding on any punishment?”
“I wouldn’t mind that, but her treatment plan is her own professional judgment—one she’s willing to stake her life on.”
The young lord cut in coldly.
“I intend to honor that. Even if your plan succeeds, the result for her will remain the same.”
My father seemed at a loss for words, looking back and forth between me and the young lord.
I nodded in agreement and turned to my father.
“He’s right, Dad.”
“Ria, please think again. If something goes wrong, you’ll take all the blame—”
“It’s okay, Dad. I didn’t do this without thinking. I’m confident I can handle it. …Um, young lord?”
I looked at him with pleading eyes. He nodded and signaled to the knights.
“Escort Viscount Limone back to his estate with full respect.”
“W-wait! Young lord!”
My father protested loudly, but I turned my back, trying not to look at him.
Because if I did, my resolve might break.
I heard the butler chasing after him, trying to calm him down.
“Please be patient, Viscount. We’ll send word of the results by courier in one week.”
The sound of my father calling my name echoed through the halls but quickly faded.
Silence filled the study.
The young lord cleared his throat and spoke.
“I’ve followed the plan you outlined, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s admirable—you chose this path to protect your father.”
“It’s not just for him. It’s the only way for both of us to survive this. Besides, my mother is sick at home too.”
He gave a small nod.
“Then, shall we proceed with the formalities?”
He gestured again, and two priests stepped forward from the wall.
“We’ll begin the oath in the name of the goddess Euphrasia.”
After writing the contract together, we signed it with the priests as witnesses.
It felt strange—after getting so many patient signatures, now I was the one signing.
‘Right… I have to give this everything I’ve got.’
With renewed determination, I picked up the quill and wrote my name without hesitation:
Adelia Limone.
Not as someone reborn, but as Adelia, taking full responsibility for this life.
