Elara couldn't move for a long while after her mother left the room.
The faint scent of roses lingered where Lady Vion had sat, and the warmth of her touch still clung to Elara's skin.
Her mother had cried — for her.
That had never happened before.
In her first life, Lady Vion had been a woman of grace and distance.
Her smiles were polite, her words precise, her affection… nonexistent.
Even when Elara had begged for comfort as a child, her mother's only reply had been, "You must learn to be strong."
So why now?
Why did she hold her as if her world had almost ended?
Elara touched her chest. Her heartbeat felt too strong, too alive to be a dream.
Hours later, the door creaked open again. This time, a maid entered carrying a tray of breakfast — soft bread, fruit, and warm milk.
"Miss Elara, please eat while it's hot," she said, bowing respectfully.
Elara blinked.
In her past life, the servants barely acknowledged her existence.
Now they looked at her with a strange mix of awe and tenderness.
"Did… something happen?" she asked softly.
The maid hesitated. "Everyone has been so worried since your collapse, my lady. The master has not left the estate in two days. And the young lord canceled his academy lectures to stay nearby."
Her brother? Cancel his classes?
Impossible.
Elara forced a small smile. "Thank you. You can leave it here."
When she was alone again, she stared at the food — untouched, steaming.
In her previous life, she had long grown used to cold meals.
Now, everything was different.
This world… really has turned back.
By noon, the mansion was buzzing with activity. Elara's mother had ordered the physician to examine her again, and her father was rumored to be on his way.
Elara sat quietly on the bed, her pale hands folded on her lap. Her gaze wandered to the garden outside — to the flowers that hadn't bloomed since that year.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Lord Vion — her father.
The man whose mere presence once silenced a room. His dark eyes always cold, his voice firm. He had never spoken more than a few words to her, even when she lay dying.
But now, his steps were hurried, his expression tense.
"Elara," he said softly. The way he said her name — it didn't sound like authority. It sounded like fear.
"Father…" she whispered.
He sat beside her, his gloved hand trembling slightly as he reached for her wrist. "You frightened us. Why didn't you tell anyone you were feeling unwell?"
Elara blinked. Us?
"I… didn't think it was serious," she lied. "I didn't want to trouble anyone."
His hand clenched. "You are not a trouble, Elara. You are my daughter."
Her breath caught.
For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. The words felt foreign — impossible — yet they were real.
The man who once scolded her for being 'too delicate' now looked ready to break.
"I'll call the physician again," he said, standing abruptly. "And the academy will wait. Your health comes first."
Then he left, his expression unreadable but his steps heavy, as if carrying years of guilt.
Elara stared at the closing door, her throat tightening.
In her first life, she had longed to hear those exact words.
But now that she had, all she could feel was confusion.
That night, as the lamps flickered softly, she sat by her window watching the moon rise.
Her reflection in the glass looked the same — same silver hair, same pale eyes — yet everything had changed.
The people who once ignored her now clung to her.
The warmth she had begged for now surrounded her like a suffocating embrace.
Did they truly love me all along?
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"If this is a second chance…" she whispered to the stars, "…then maybe this time, I'll try to understand."