CWMBR 143

Chapter 143

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Sponsored by Curufin. Thank you ❤️ (9/10)

***

Though spoken matter-of-factly, her words carried no hint of levity. That's why Ain wanted to stop her.

Yet at the same time, he wanted to keep listening.

Because among all the conversations they'd shared through their trials, today—this moment with Bridget—felt the most at ease.

"It's just that our approaches were so different, and so... ...it led us to drift apart even further."

Bridget paused, taking a deep breath.

"I'll think of it that way."

Ain sensed this was an inescapable end. Bridget looked too relieved to cling to her, and he didn't dare disturb her peace.

Bridget stared at Ain, who had opened his lips but ultimately said nothing, lowering her gaze. She looked down at the promotional poster she had placed on the desk.

"I have a question. Actually, this is why I asked for you."

Bridget, who had been looking at the familiar phrases she had carefully written out letter by letter with her own hand, lowered her gaze slightly.

"Those letters. What are they?"

It was a handwriting she had never seen before.

Beneath the neat, handwritten text Bridget had written herself, there was a trace of someone else's scribbles in the margin, written in very poor cursive. They looked like a combination of unrelated letters, and to put it bluntly, they felt like a child practicing writing. Ain’s gaze shifted to the desk. From where he stood, he couldn't see the letters, but he knew what she was asking.

"Names."

When was it? There was a time he'd visited Glynford on impulse. Back when Bridget was at the Breford estate. It was during that period when he hadn't consciously paid her any attention. Just one night. An unintended step, much like that night he'd spent with her.

It was during that period when he misunderstood her, resented her, yet kept telling himself that since the child was his blood, he must ultimately accept their union. He had inspected the state of the mansion. Then, seeing the promotional flyer he'd kept, he impulsively sat down on a chair. Following Bridget's handwriting with his eyes, he scribbled a few letters. They were all a mess.

"I need to prepare in advance to transfer a few properties by the day of birth."

Bridget let out a hollow laugh at that typically him answer.

"Guess you gave up halfway."

"I'm no good at naming things."

He hadn't sat down to name anything in the first place. From the moment he'd first seen it, Bridget's handwriting had captured his attention, and it still held his gaze now. He'd just been staring at it when it happened. That short night, for the first time in his life, he'd immersed himself in those letters for a while, not thinking about work or efficiency. In the end, nothing felt right, so he gave up.

"So I gave up. Later... I figured I could just name it however you wanted."

Still, he vaguely recalled thinking it would be better to leave this sort of thing to Bridget. Drunk on the dawn's sentiment, he'd reached that conclusion. The next day, looking down at the scribbled paper rationally, he simply left it on the nightstand and walked out.

The paper must have remained there. He had never permitted anyone to touch the bedroom.

"Hard to believe, but I never intended to never see you again. It's all in the past now, too late to say anything."

"I believe you."

Bridget's calm reply made Ain’s eyes widen in surprise. Running her fingertips over the words on the paper, she said in a flat voice.

"I told you, I'd accept that you loved me."

Bridget let out a long sigh.

"We were just differently shaped pieces. Impossible to fit together."

Trying to force them together only made their jagged edges prick and clash, impossible to interlock. Bridget finally looked at her ex-husband, who had prepared to welcome the child in his own way, with a sense of peace.

"Thank you for coming. Everything I wanted to know is clear now. I'll be going."

Ain's gaze wavered terribly. Yet he couldn't bring himself to stop Bridget as she passed him. Just as she seemed set to walk right past him and leave, Bridget suddenly stopped at the door. Turning back to him, she spoke in a light, casual tone.

"And your naming skills are truly awful. Good thing you gave up."

Had the completed name been written there, he would have been more than a little shaken. But in the end, that paper too, this mansion too, was all unfinished.

Bridget couldn't help but look back.

***

Ain, who had bolted out of the office the moment he received word that Bridget wanted to see him, returned. Declan didn't particularly see Bridget's summons as a hopeful sign, so he didn't find it strange that Ain's expression remained frozen upon his return.

Looks like he got caught doing something wrong and got an earful.

Declan, having guessed as much, looked at Ain with pity. Ain, seemingly unaware of his gaze, returned to his spot and sank into deep thought.

Unable to endure the excruciatingly silent office air any longer, Declan was about to make his escape when Ain suddenly spoke.

"When does that ship set sail?"

Fergus and Declan's eyes turned to Ain simultaneously.

"If you mean that ship...?"

"That ship."

The one that had left everyone, even the legendary Ain Wise, sweating bullets when news cut off, but which had finally returned triumphant after pioneering a new sea route. Riding the wave of that massive success, it had swiftly set its next departure date, this time drawing in enormous investment funds and carrying everyone's expectations.

And………….

"Are you referring to that ship you mentioned, the one that, intoxicated by its fortuitous success, now intends to throw its entire fortune into the sea without proper preparation?"

Ain had clearly rejected their request for further investment with such scathing criticism. At Fergus's cautious question, Ain nodded. Fergus, who had been observing Ain intently, narrowed his brows.

"………………Weren't you planning to step away this time?"

"I changed my mind."

Ain said indifferently.

"I need to get on that ship."

"Honestly, after recovering that much of the investment, huh?"

Declan, who had been about to interject that since he'd brought in so much money, he could at least expect some goodwill, faltered.

Did he just hear something strange?

Before Declan could voice his question, Ain gave him an order in an indifferent tone.

"You stay here."

"Of course I'll stay here, you madman. I'm the precious son of our house."

Declan narrowed his eyes, his retort reflexive.

"Wait, did I hear you right? You're saying you'll board that ship yourself?"

"Yeah."

Declan's jaw dropped. The ship Ain was talking about was one that sailed to and from the distant New Continent. A vessel destined for a long voyage, drifting for days and nights across the ever-changing, vast ocean. Even if it arrived safely at the New World, that land lay beyond the reach of the Wise family's influence—an unknown territory where any danger could lurk.

Fergus, who had been shifting his uneasy gaze between Ain and Declan, interjected in a quiet voice.

"What about me?"

Instead of answering, Ain fixed his gaze steadily on Fergus. His constant companion during business travels.

"Haahhh……………"

A dark shadow settled over Fergus's face. He mumbled incomprehensible words while splashing water on his face, then collapsed onto the desk. But Ain did not retract his words.

His blue eyes, fixed on the view outside the window, revealed nothing of his thoughts. They merely gazed endlessly at the helplessly peaceful scenery of Glynford.

***

Bridget, her hands resting on her knees, spoke calmly.

"I'll properly finish the rest of the story. But there's a condition."

"Of course there is."

Mrs. Callaway slammed her hand on the armrest and lifted her chin. Bridget slowly began speaking to Mrs. Callaway, who sat with an expression that said she knew it would come to this.

"When the Glynford Grand Theater reopens..."

"You want sponsorship?"

Well, getting the Grand Theater sponsored was certainly more profitable than receiving personal sponsorship. Yet, as payment for writing the rest of the draft, it was a rather excessive demand. Just as Mrs. Callaway’s gaze was about to turn cold, Bridget shook her head and said.

“No. Just come and watch plays at the Glynford Grand Theater from time to time.”

Her unexpected request made Mrs. Callaway's eyes widen.

"Huh."

At first glance, it might seem trivial, but upon closer inspection, it wasn't. The benefit Bridget could gain from Mrs. Callaway attending plays at the Glynford Grand Theater could be immeasurable, depending on the circumstances. It was a benefit that a few pennies' worth of sponsorship could never buy.

"I suppose you could call her clever."

Mrs. Callaway murmured to herself, letting out a hollow laugh.

To watch plays. Often.

"Fine."

Bridget smiled faintly.

And the next day, she dusted off her typewriter, gathering dust for so long, and sat down.

This was the story of a young girl's first, tender love. The story of a boy and a girl. A warm tale that didn't need to be unhappy or pitiful, one everyone could comfortably watch.

***

Months later, the ship carrying Ain Wise set sail for the New Continent, carrying everyone's hopes.

At the same time, the Glynford Grand Theater reopened in a new form. The first play staged after the reopening was written by the theater’s owner, Bridget Pennington.

It was a fairy-tale love story, and also a coming-of-age tale. One where anyone could be the protagonist.