CWMBR 46

Chapter 46

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*Present

After Gilum left the theater with some documents, Bridget stayed behind in the empty office without Ronan.

She glanced outside after having been pressing her temples. The sun was setting, and it had suddenly become dark.

She had intended to talk to Ronan while she was here, but he hadn't come to the office yet. It seemed unlikely that he would come at all.

Perhaps he wouldn't even go home.

No one else knew where Ronan was, so Bridget had no choice but to wait. The other employees didn't seem to care that Ronan was absent, as if it were a normal occurrence. Bridget wondered what he could possibly be doing outside that kept him from showing his face.

In the past, when she saw Ronan acting this way, she just thought he was working really hard. She even felt guilty. Unlike Ronan, who was so busy working to protect the theater, she felt like she wasn't helping much.

Knock, knock.

Having been staring blankly out the window, Bridget turned her head at the sound of knocking. Hilda poked her head through the slightly open door.

"It's time for us to go home. Are you going to stay in the office?"

"Yes, I'll lock up."

Hilda nodded and left, and Bridget sat down again and stared out the window.

Bridget often left the theater last. It wasn't because she felt particularly responsible. Some days she waited because she wanted to see her father's face, and other days she lingered because she was reminiscing about her childhood. The theater had been her playground since she was a child, so even when darkness fell, it felt more like a familiar playground than a scary place.

She had no doubt that this grand theater would become such a playground for her own child one day. Just as she had grown up that way, she wanted to raise her child the same way. And when she found out that there was life growing inside her...

"Haa."

Bridget closed her eyes tightly, then opened them and sat up.

All the thoughts she had been pushing aside due to her busy schedule began to consume her consciousness once again. Perhaps if she moved her body, she could avoid feeling depressed.

But what was the point?

"The marriage vows of the two of you and the continued existence of this theater are entirely due to the generosity of Lord Wise."

If the enraged Ain were to go so far as to demand not only the annulment of the marriage but also the destruction of the theater, perhaps he might show a little more leniency since the theater was the place where his first love, Donna, belonged... But in truth, Bridget knew that Donna didn't harbor any particular sense of belonging or affection for the theater.

Bridget knew everything. She was the only one who wanted to protect the theater. Ronan, Donna, and the other staff members didn't care much about the theater's survival. Just as she was the only one who welcomed the child growing inside her, so too was the theater.

What was precious to her was precious only to her. But she knew how to love, not how to take responsibility for what she loved.

...Therefore, perhaps she would soon lose the one thing she had left.

Standing in the empty office, Bridget swept her fingertips across the desk and turned off the lamp that had been illuminating it. She locked the office door, turned off the lights in the hallway, checked each window, and drew the curtains.

Bridget struggled to take care of what she might soon lose. Even though she didn't have the strength to protect it, she couldn't just let it go. Because this building was filled with her memories.

Childhood memories, the study her parents secretly made for her, the dreams she nurtured there, and...

"You're sitting there looking very happy."

The small memories she had cherished alone.

"If my uncle is doing his job properly, shouldn't I be happy?"

"That's right."

She checked each floor slowly. As Bridget slowly passed by, the lights went out, and darkness fell on the hallway behind her.

"I thought I knew this place better than anyone else. Every scratch on the wall, every indelible graffiti left by someone in the corner."

Passing by her study, which had been locked tightly and never opened for some time, Bridget slowly descended the stairs, brushing her hand over the weathered railing.

"I guess none of that really mattered after all."

It seemed like all the remaining employees of the grand theater had already gone home. Back when the theater was thriving, there were even night shift workers, but now all that was in the past. In a month, more employees might be laid off.

“Of course, that’s only natural. Memories don’t make money.”

“Memories can make money. If they’re worth it.”

“Haha, are there memories that can make money?”

Standing alone in the quiet lobby, Bridget looked around.

“Does Mr. Emerson still wants to buy this theater?”

“Well, he hasn’t mentioned it recently.”

"Mr. Sherman is here to advise Mr. Emerson, right? If he has no immediate intention to sell, aren't you just wasting your time here?"  

"I've been wasting my time for a long time."  

The Glynford Grand Theater was no longer the space that had once given her fantastic dreams. Nor was it a space that could offer opportunities to poor artists. There were no artists who needed this place; only Bridget clung to the old, cold building, stomping her feet in vain. The more she did so, the deeper she sank into the water.

"Come to think of it, it's my fault for being stubborn. I'm sorry."

"For not selling the theater?"

"If I had sold it quickly, you wouldn't have wasted your time here."

"I know that."

Ain's soft chuckle that followed the conversation sounded as vivid as if it were happening right now.

Where did that conversation take place? Was it in the audience waiting room, or the representative's office? No, it seemed like it was in the middle of the stairs leading to the basement.

"Oh, really. Why do you always have to be so rude?"

She felt a sense of wonder at how Ain had managed to find her, crouched in a place where no one else could see her.

"So, are you planning to starve yourself to death because you're depressed?"

She was a little surprised that he knew she hadn't eaten a single meal.  

"I brought in a new chef for the mansion. I couldn't find a decent chef in Glynford." 

"If there’s someone skilled enough to satisfy Mr. Sherman's palate, shouldn't you bring in a royal chef?"

"Not really, royal chefs aren't that special."

Yes, it seems like she was on the right path to the basement. She had that trivial conversation with Ain.

"Get up."

Bridget's gaze fixed on the dark end of the corridor to her right. In the basement, there was a storage room where large stage props, unused props, and costumes were stacked. It was a place she rarely visited, so it was usually deserted. That's why Bridget felt a little more at ease and smiled as she talked to him.

No, actually, regardless of that, she had been smiling and talking to Ain for some time now. Even though she used a grumbling tone, she secretly harbored warmth in her heart.

"You need to eat something to get your energy back."

"You could just invite me to dinner. It's a talent to be able to say things like that."

Clang.

The two voices that had been echoing loudly in her mind dissipated like smoke along with the sound of metal.

Bridget, who had locked all the main entrances, went outside through the side door used by staff. She had thought it was cold inside the building, but it was definitely colder outside. The wind by the river was quite strong, making it feel even colder. It felt as though a large, cold hand was covering her cheeks.

The bone-chilling cold reminded her of a play she had seen when she was a child. It was an outdoor play she had seen in a region she had visited with her parents. She had seen her first outdoor play there when she had once thought that plays could only be seen in theaters.

The play, which was performed under the warm sunlight shining on the small town, was, oddly enough, The Snow Queen. A child was captured by the Snow Queen, and her friend set out to rescue her. The backdrop was a panel depicting a field covered in snow.

The actress playing the Snow Queen was a tall, well-built woman, and her makeup was so realistic that it seemed as if everything would freeze just by her fingertips touching it. Young Bridget was so absorbed in the play that her hands were sweaty.

Even after the play ended, she couldn't shake off the emotion. Looking at the simply decorated white stage, it seemed as if a snowstorm would break out at any moment, and the fairies that had disappeared behind the stage would reappear from somewhere.

Her parents said they were going to meet her uncle, so she suddenly had some free time. Excited, Bridget ran around the nearby green trees and bushes, searching for the fairy and the Snow Queen who might be somewhere.  

Then she came across it.  

A large mansion surrounded by sharp, black iron bars.