The warm May sunlight filtered through the birch tree shadows, scattering in fragments across the path. The forest’s fragrance was lighter than summer but richer than winter. The air, with a softness and sweetness no season could imitate, gently enveloped those who walked within it.

Ian led Laura along a quaint side path branching off the wide new road.

Soon, the color exhibition he had mentioned unfolded. Red primroses, purple violets, yellow buttercups, and pink azaleas. And wildflowers, unnamed, clinging to their stems, revealing their faces to the world.

The wildflowers bloomed haphazardly, yet they displayed subtle hues that even the renowned plants in botanical catalogs couldn’t capture.

Bees buzzed diligently among the flowers, carrying pollen from one to another, transforming Whitefield into a floral paradise—charming gardeners of the forest.

As Laura walked the path, her mood lifted. A peaceful, warm feeling spread through her chest. She twirled her parasol on her shoulder.

Since their marriage, Laura’s favorite moments were undoubtedly these walks with her husband. The couple strolled through Whitefield’s forest at least three times a week, sometimes holding hands, sometimes arm in arm.

At times they talked, at others they walked in silence. Either way, it was joyful, and they felt connected.

Passing a crystal-clear spring and a low hill laden with wild strawberries, they reached a grove of rubber trees. They decided to rest. Laura spread a handkerchief on a stump and sat, while Ian leaned against a large rubber tree beside it.

He rummaged through his pockets, as if searching for something. Laura noticed he was looking for his cigar case. His subconscious seemed not yet reconciled with quitting.

Laura smiled softly.

“Ian, is there a mouse in your pocket?”

Ian, who had been watching a family of squirrels trembling in a hollow of the opposite rubber tree, finally looked down at his hands.

He gave a wry smile and pulled his hands from his pockets.

“Quitting smoking—think you can do it?”

“I said I would, so I will. It’ll be tough, though.”

Laura felt for him. She patted his arm with encouragement.

A brief silence fell. A fragrant spring breeze passed between them with a soft rustle. It was a fresh forest breeze, yet gentle, like cotton wool, without a hint of sharpness.

“It feels just like two years ago,” Ian said.

Laura looked up at him. He was smiling faintly.

“When we were just friends, sitting side by side in the forest during a spring picnic, feeling the breeze.”

Laura remembered. After a stone-skipping bet between Mr. Fairfax and Miss Hyde, the two had slipped away to wander the nearby woods. They’d sat on a small rock, gazing at a beautiful lake beyond the trees, talking.

What did we talk about then?

As if reading her thoughts, Ian spoke.

“That was the first time you rejected me.”

“Oh…”

Yes, that day Ian had proposed. Indirectly, but in language clear enough that no London lady could mistake his intent.

Laura had leapt up and fled the woods the moment she heard it. She’d felt she had to reject him.

“I didn’t know then,” she said, “that I’d end up as Laura Dalton, sitting with you in the breeze like this.”

“I didn’t know either—that it wouldn’t be the last time I’d be rejected.”

“Were you upset?”

“I wanted to die.”

Laura was startled.

“That upset?”

“No, embarrassed.”

“Silly. What’s to be embarrassed about?”

“That’s just how men are. Getting rejected by a woman makes you want to crawl into a hole.”

Laura gave a wry smile.

“I hurt you, didn’t I? Twice.”

“It’s fine. I healed when you proposed to me.”

Ian bent down and kissed the crown of her head.

Talking about those days, Laura found it surreal to be his wife now. Back then, marrying him had seemed as impossible as converting to Buddhism. Yet, within a year, she’d gone to him and proposed herself. And now, she was anxiously hoping to bear his child.

Nothing in this world is certain. No matter how firm your convictions, they shift with circumstances, experiences, and the person in front of you.

“Laura.”

Lost in thought, Laura looked up at Ian again. He was gazing at the branches canopying the forest like a ceiling.

“Do you regret marrying me?”

Laura’s eyes widened.

“You gave up your most cherished beliefs to be my wife. I wonder if I’m worth it.”

“Why ask that?”

“A mid-marriage check-in.”

To Laura, his question felt unnecessary. The answer was obvious.

No. I don’t regret it at all.

Through her marriage to Ian, Laura had experienced perfect happiness. The kind she’d vaguely imagined existed but had never known. Her life, once marked by constant lack, was now filled with comfort, warmth, joy, and excitement.

In the past, Laura had always dreamed of a different life. Now, she hoped the future would stay just like the present. This life, with the family they’d built, was the best she could imagine.

“What about you? Do you regret it? Have I been a good wife this past year?”

He fell silent. The only sound was the rustling of branches rubbing against each other.

Laura poked at the ground with the tip of her folded parasol. Her heart grew a little anxious.

She knew Ian loved her dearly. A husband who thought only of her happiness, who gave everything and still wished he could give more. There was no finer husband.

Yet, sometimes, she felt uneasy. What if this happiness vanished? What if she made a mistake and broke what they had?

Too much happiness could be a poison. Having rarely known it before, the happier she was, the more anxious she became. She wanted to clutch this happiness tightly, to stake it to the ground so it would stay in her life forever.

“Laura.”

“…”

“Look at me.”

Laura kept tormenting the innocent Whitefield soil with her parasol. Somehow, she couldn’t muster the courage to meet his eyes.

Her gaze, fixed on the ground, caught sight of her husband’s polished shoes. Dark brown leather, neatly laced as always.

His large hand slid under her face, gently cupping her chin. Her head was slowly lifted.

Ian was smiling.

“Worried you won’t get a good score from me?”

His voice sounded almost amused. She pouted and lowered her eyes.

“Look at me.”

At his whispering tone, Laura’s gray eyes were drawn to his face like iron filings to a magnet.

“You can be confident with me. I’m not just saying this—I’m truly your slave. In the Bible, wise slaves sometimes manipulate their masters to gain freedom. I’m a foolish slave. Without my master, I’m nothing, and serving you is my life’s only meaning. I don’t want to be freed.”

“…”

“I won’t answer your question. It’s absurd for a master to ask a slave how they’re regarded. So, I’ll ask again. Laura, do you regret marrying me?”

His expression was confident, his voice calm. But the hand holding her chin trembled slightly.

He was afraid too.

She gently took his hand from her chin and peeled off his leather glove. A strong, warm hand was revealed.

She kissed his palm and pressed it to her cheek. The warmth of his touch spread through her chest, like hot water poured into her heart.

“I gave up a lot to be the woman who could kiss your hand. None of it was precious. They were all things I didn’t need to reach heaven.”

Laura confessed softly.

“This year as your wife has been like a day in paradise.”

He took her shoulders and lifted her from the stump. They stood facing each other.

Ian’s lips curved beautifully.

“Well, look at that. Laura’s completely fallen for her husband. I thought our love was equal, but it seems you love me more.”

Laura pursed her lips and muttered.

“Don’t tease me.”

“That expression just makes me want to tease you more.”

His eyes curved into crescents. A smile as beautiful as a flower. Could there be another man with such a lovely smile? Laura felt a tickle in her stomach and tried to look away. He cupped her cheeks, making her face him.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Here…?”

“Yes.”

Laura shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Someone might see.”

“No one’s coming.”

“But…”

“It’s the start of the busy farming season. Anyone able-bodied is in the fields or orchards.”

She shook her head again. Just earlier, they’d nearly been caught in a compromising moment in the carriage. She couldn’t do something foolish again.

“Really, no?”

“No.”

He whined playfully.

“I think I’m going to die.”

“The only people who die from not getting a kiss are characters in Andersen’s fairy tales. Poor princesses and princes cursed by wicked witches.”

“I’m cursed too.”

“Who cursed you?”

“Oliver. Turns out he’s a witch disguised as a pastor. His wife and kids are household items. Mrs. Starr is a vase, and Harry’s a broom.”

Laura laughed out loud.

“Making such irreverent jokes about a pastor’s family? That’s blasphemy, darling.”

“It’s true. While you were with Mrs. Starr looking at the nursery, I followed Oliver to his study. Suddenly, he started chanting a spell. Harry turned into a broom, and Oliver swung it, shouting, ‘If you don’t get a kiss of true love, you’ll become a sparrow and peck at grains until you die!’”