Chapter 8: Love’s True Cost

Derek had stood up for me, too.

Back then, just after we married, the staff looked down on my background and made things hard. Some were longtime housekeepers from Derek’s late mother, others his old nanny—each one senior and respected.

I planned to put up with it for a while, then deal with them later. But when Derek found out, he fired them all and sent them out to the family’s farm.

Mr. Miller was furious. He’d loved Derek’s mother and indulged her housekeepers. Aunt Lisa was just a stand-in for his late wife, and those staff were stand-ins, too.

In the end, Derek was punished—made to kneel in the family chapel for seven days and nights, reflecting on his actions. In our world, that was as close as you could get to public shaming. Everyone in the family knew, and the gossip grew wild.

I snuck to the chapel at midnight to kneel with him. The stone floor was so cold it seeped through my bones, but I stayed beside him, stubborn as ever. Derek wanted to send me away, but I squeezed in next to him and clung on.

“I’m not leaving. The trouble started because of me. Besides, we’re married—we should stick together.”

Derek’s voice was distant and cold. “It has nothing to do with you. They’d been out of line too long and needed to be dealt with.”

Every word drew a line between us. But I pursed my lips and smiled, feeling secretly happy.

After all, Derek didn’t act until they crossed me, and even then, he insisted it wasn’t for my sake. I didn’t buy it.

I knelt willingly, but soon my legs went numb. I shifted from kneeling to sitting, from sitting to lying down, finally curling up and falling asleep. The chapel air was icy, and I shivered in my thin dress.

I slept till dawn. When I woke, I found myself covered by Derek’s jacket, which smelled faintly of his cologne. But Derek wore only a thin shirt. He was still kneeling, back straight as a board, elegant and upright.

It was early winter. The chapel was cold and damp. Derek gave me his coat, caught a chill, and fell seriously ill.

I watched him feverish and red-faced, and almost hated myself for falling asleep. I cried bitterly at his bedside.

He looked at me calmly. “If one of us has to get sick, let it be me. After all, I’m your husband.”

I turned those words over and over. Somehow, I found them sweet.

My tears were still wet, but I was thinking—

Derek must have had some feelings for me, right? Otherwise, why fire his mother’s housekeepers? Why give me his coat and get sick himself?

It took me most of my life to understand—

Derek’s actions toward me were never about love, only about character. He was a good man. He just didn’t love me.