SMLYSI 03

Chapter 3

I Became The Ex-Wife Of A Regretful Male Lead

“It seems… Madam might be unwell somewhere. It shouldn’t be anything serious, though.”

Rumors began sprouting up around the same time Serphina’s planted seed started to sprout.

“Mari, the Sandra Pul I grew has sprouted? Wow, I’m really so proud. Guess I’ve got a talent for herb cultivation.”

Uncharacteristically excited, Serphina gazed at the tiny sprout peeking out from the patch she’d cultivated herself.

Complaining that noblewomen’s dresses were uncomfortable, she’d borrowed an old dress from someone and wore a straw hat she’d taken from Markops, stopping every passerby to proudly show off her new sprout.

Upon hearing the news, the servants intentionally walked past the garden just to hear Madam boast about it.

And Mari was among them.

Though she’d come of her own accord, Mari let out an awkward chuckle, still unaccustomed to the scene before her.

After rolling her eyes repeatedly, Mari finally mustered the courage to speak to Serphina.

“Where is Sandra Pul good for?”

“It’s great for headaches. Especially when your temples feel numb—eat some, and it works like a charm.”

The explanation was surprisingly detailed.

Now that she thought about it, Madam did seem to read a lot of books about herbs.

“But, Madam… why did you decide to grow herbs?”

“It was my childhood dream.”

“…You suddenly decided to fulfill your childhood dream? Oh no.”

Mari startled at her own words.

What was the point of always telling Sienna to watch her tongue?

When she herself couldn’t manage hers.

Fortunately, Serphina didn’t seem to mind at all.

“We only live once. I want to spend the rest of my life without regrets, and to do that, I want to fulfill at least some of my childhood dreams.”

Hearing Serphina’s offhand reply while gazing at the sprout, Sienna’s expression hardened.

Living life without regrets, since we only live once?

Something about that phrasing felt oddly unsettling.

Was it because it reminded her of her late grandmother’s dying words right before the coffin lid closed?

Or perhaps it was due to the unsettling rumors that had briefly circulated through the mansion after Madam’s sudden change in behavior.

Rumors like… maybe Madam had suffered a head injury?

“Cough, hack.”

Just then, Serphina let out a dry cough.

“Are you all right, Madam?”

“Yeah. I must’ve breathed in too much outside air. I was so excited I stayed out here all day…”

“Good heavens, please go inside right away. You’re already so frail as it is.”

“…Huh? Frail?”

“Of course. Just the other day, you were confined to your bed. If you suddenly push yourself like this, you’ll fall ill.”

“Well, actually, it’s been a month since I got out of bed.”

But Mari, who was supporting Serphina, didn’t hear a word of it.

All she could think was that Madam looked far too delicate—so fragile she might break if touched too hard.

After half-forcing Serphina to change clothes and lie back in bed, Mari finally left the room and, now alone, let out a deep sigh.

And that was the problem.

“What’s with the sigh?”

More precisely, the problem was Jina overhearing it and asking exactly that.

“Well… Madam seems too frail. She’s saying odd things too… I’m worried she might be unwell.”

No.

The real problem was giving that answer.

“You’re worried Madam might be unwell?”

Jina was a kind girl, but she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

Mari had momentarily forgotten that fact.

Once something reached that girl’s ears, within an hour the entire household staff would know.

Moreover, the rumor gradually twisted as it spread.

You’re worried Madam might be unwell?

You’re worried because Madam seems unwell?

You’re worried because Madam is unwell?

Madam is unwell?

By the time the rumor made a full circle and returned to Mari’s ears,

“It seems… Madam might be unwell somewhere. It shouldn’t be anything serious, though.”

“Good heavens! Is she really sick somewhere? Oh my!”

Faced with this now-established fact of illness, Mari couldn’t help but worry genuinely—completely unaware that this absurd rumor had originated from her own concern.

[This is the timeline separator]

It had already been nearly four days since I was forcibly confined to bed.

Tears welling in my eyes, I stared longingly out the window at my tiny, precious herb garden.

I want to go out.

I want to go out so badly.

I’d only planned to lie down for a reasonable day before sneaking out, but somehow, with each passing day, more people kept holding me back.

When I’d been holed up under the covers, they couldn’t drag me out—yet now that I’d stepped outside, they couldn’t stuff me back in fast enough.

“No, seriously—I’m not actually sick.”

“Still, Madam, please rest a bit longer. You look pale.”

“My complexion has always been poor. Must be genetic. So please, let me out.”

“Madam… please.”

Yeah. Now I actually feel a bit unwell.

My blood pressure’s rising—I might drop dead any second.

To prove my healthiness, I flopped onto the bed face-down.

Then I started flailing my limbs and throwing a full-blown tantrum.

“Our sprouts are crying! They’re crying because they miss their mama! Our sprouts have separation anxiety!”

“They’d probably want to see a healthy mama too.”

“Actually, it’s me who has separation anxiety! I’m super anxious right now! Please, let me out!”

Just then,

a polite knock came at the door.

After rolling around and shouting for quite a while, I sat up, panting heavily.

“Come in.”

Before the word even fully left my mouth, the door opened, revealing—

“Madam. Are you all right? I heard you were unwell. Oh dear, my goodness.”

Barhan, his face utterly pale.

Shoot. Darn it.

I finally managed to leave my room two days later.

That was only after the physician Barhan brought made me: open my mouth, close my eyes, open them again, raise my hands, lower my hands, wave white flag, wave blue flag—repeating this routine four or five times,

and then declared,

“Though your constitution is inherently weak, there’s nothing immediately concerning.”

thus proving my health.

Nice, Doctor.

“But since you are indeed frail, it’s best to limit outdoor activity. Please don’t stay outside for more than one hour a day—the spring in the north is rather chilly.”

Not nice, Doctor.

Thus, my legally permitted gardening time became one hour per day.

After spending entire days loitering by the garden, being allowed to loiter for only one hour felt like torture.

So, I started another hobby to prepare for my future plans.

Baking.

“You’re going to bake cookies yourself, Madam?”

“Yeah. Is that not allowed?”

“It’s not that it’s forbidden—it’s just, I worry you might get hurt.”

“It’s fine. Aside from my already emotionally shattered heart, there’s nothing else to worry about. I bake really good cookies.”

“Now I understand how Markops must feel.”

Muttering this, Ena—the head chef—nevertheless gave up a corner of the kitchen for me.

The first cookie I made was one infused with herbs.

I would’ve preferred using the herbs I grew myself, but sadly, my babies were still too young.

So I had no choice but to grind up a few dried medicinal herbs stored by the ducal household and mix them in.

“You really can bake cookies?”

Ena marveled at the surprisingly decent-looking finished cookies.

“Didn’t I tell you I’m good?”

Goodness. Have I been living under a rock?

Proudly puffing out my chest, I broke one cooled cookie neatly in half.

A crisp “snap”—the sweet sound of success—rang pleasantly in my ears.

“Here, try some.”

“…You’re giving this to me?”

“Yeah. I made plenty to share with everyone.”

Ena looked at me with the same expression as a parent seeing their child succeed at an errand for the first time.

“Everyone will be delighted.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Well then, thank you—I’ll enjoy it.”

With a moved expression, Ena popped half the cookie into her mouth.

Is it tasty?

It must be, right?

It has to be!

But Ena’s jaw, which had been chewing steadily, slowly began to slow down.

…What kind of face is that?

Finally, her chewing stopped altogether, and she wore an utterly unreadable expression.

“You don’t… dislike it, do you?”

That’s strange.

I used to bake great cookies.

Seeing my shoulders slump in disappointment, Ena shook her head vigorously.

“No, no! It’s delicious! Truly delicious—and very, very… healthy-feeling!”

“Right? Exactly! Isn’t it? I told you I bake well!”

Beaming, I popped the rest of my cookie into my mouth.

“Wait a sec.”

“Mmm. Actually, it is really tasty?”

“…Yes. Right. Exactly. Ha ha. Ha.”

What? Why’s she laughing so weirdly?

When I offered her another cookie, Ena shook her head,

saying she’d feel guilty keeping it all to herself and wanted to share it with others instead.

Truly, she embodied the kindness expected of the Richter household’s head chef.

I busily packed the cookies, with Ena helping even more enthusiastically than I was.

“Here, have a cookie. I made it myself.”

Holding the neatly wrapped cookies, I wandered all over the mansion, handing them to everyone I met.

Recipients smiled brightly, thanking me loudly—then fell utterly silent after eating.

Wow.

They must be so delicious it leaves them speechless.

Feeling immensely proud, I resolved to focus on cookie-baking for a while.

I heard news of my husband’s return while making cookies with ground Hocan tree root.

“…Baking cookies again?”

“Yep. Ground Hocan root—good for stomach health. Once they’re done, I’ll share them with everyone.”

Mari smiled faintly at my words.

“I wonder if we could just break the oven…”

“Huh? What was that?”

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything.”

That’s weird. I could’ve sworn she muttered something.

Eh, whatever.

“By the way, the Duke is returning soon?”

“Yes. A messenger bird arrived from the northern forest. He should arrive by the end of this week at the latest.”

This week.

The male lead had left home about ten days before I started reminiscing about my childhood.

Which meant he’d be returning home in roughly a month…

Wow. This’ll be awkward.

And now my conscience was pricking me too.

I remembered how every time I saw the male lead, I’d hide in shock like he was some sort of monster.

Goodness. He must’ve felt really awful.

From now on, I’ll treat him like one of my sprouts.

Since the female lead will handle the cherishing and loving part, I’ll just focus on becoming a good friend.

But to do that, I really want to fix that first impression—which was utterly ruined long, long ago…

Just then, my gaze landed on the cookie dough.“`