[Nikolai]
I found myself at an isolated corner of the estate, not far from the infirmary. A simple cross stood above my mother’s grave as I approached the weathered stone with her name carved across it in letters that time had begun to smooth away.
Long ago, when I was still small enough to sit on her lap, my mother had asked to be buried next to the infirmary and her little garden. The memory itself was so old I could barely grasp it anymore. And when I did manage to catch hold of those faded images, I couldn’t even recall her face clearly. Just impressions—warmth, the scent of lavender, hands that were always gentle.
My father never buried her in the family crypt.
Apparently, a woman who wasn’t his lawfully wedded wife didn’t deserve that honour. No matter how many times people asked
