The Daily Life of an Ordinary Couple (5)
Damian returned home later than usual. His recent appointment by Lucas as a new member of the court council had left him swamped with matters to attend to.
As he stepped into the house, his face etched with fatigue, the head maid greeted him with an oddly flushed expression.
“Welcome back, Your Grace. You must be exhausted—why don’t you head upstairs and rest?”
“I will.”
Rubbing his stiff neck, Damian climbed the stairs. As he neared the bedroom, he softened his steps.
Lately, Aracila had been sleeping more, often dozing off early in the evening. If she was asleep now, he didn’t want to disturb her.
*Knock, knock.*
No response came from the gentle rap on the door. *She must be sleeping, then.* Damian turned the handle quietly. The bedroom was dim, the lights already off.
He stepped inside with care, expecting to find Aracila tucked into bed. But to his surprise, she was awake.
There she sat, alone on the sofa in the darkened room, her head bowed low. Sensing something amiss in the heavy atmosphere, Damian strode quickly to his wife’s side.
“Darling, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”
“…Damian.”
Her voice, low and rough, sent a chill through him. His expression grew grave. The way she said his name carried the weight of trouble.
He immediately pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair gently. Aracila leaned her face against his broad, warm chest and murmured,
“Damian, what are we going to do…?”
“It’s alright, my love. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry—just tell me everything.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
His firm reply seemed to comfort her, and Aracila lifted her head. Her full, rosy lips trembled faintly, as if with sorrow.
Damian lowered his gaze to study her face, but he froze for a moment.
*Wait… what’s that expression?*
Despite the quaver in her voice, which had sounded on the verge of tears, her face looked surprisingly composed. Her lips were pressed tight, as if holding something back, and her eyes twitched slightly, but there was no trace of tears.
Was she upset, or wasn’t she? Unable to gauge her mood, Damian hesitated. Sensing his uncertainty, Aracila grabbed his shoulders and spoke.
“I have something important to tell you.”
“Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“But first, could you check the bed?”
“Of course.”
Damian smoothed her slightly tousled hair and rose obediently, heading toward the bed. Beneath the pillow, the blanket was noticeably bunched up.
Curious, he pulled it back. There, nestled together, were three teddy bears.
One with a blue ribbon, one with a pink ribbon, and a smaller one with a red ribbon.
They looked like a little family. Puzzled, Damian picked one up. At that moment, Aracila crept up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Reflexively, he laid his hand over hers.
“I prepared these for you,” she said. “What do you think these bears mean?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure. They seem like a family of dolls, maybe…?”
“Exactly! You’re right. A papa bear, a mama bear, and a baby bear.”
Aracila smiled, pointing to the smallest bear with the red ribbon. Damian’s eyes blinked slowly, his mind racing to unravel the meaning behind her words.
She didn’t rush him, waiting patiently for him to piece it together. It didn’t take long before a soft gasp escaped his lips.
“No… you don’t mean…”
“Damian, we’re going to have a baby.”
Aracila beamed, pressing the baby bear into his arms. She was brimming with curiosity and anticipation, eager to see how he’d react.
Damian, still holding the bear, stared down at it with an unreadable expression. His silence stretched longer than she expected. Just as Aracila began to sense something off, he finally spoke.
“Is that so.”
“…That’s it? That’s your reaction?”
Aracila, who had been expecting a flood of emotion, blinked in disbelief. For a man who had just learned he was to become a father, Damian was startlingly calm—almost detached.
The warmth in his golden eyes felt lukewarm, and the smile faded from Aracila’s face as she registered it.
“I thought you’d be thrilled… I guess I misjudged.”
“No, darling, it’s not that. It’s just so sudden—I’m a bit shocked, that’s all. Please don’t misunderstand.”
“Your reaction doesn’t exactly scream ‘no misunderstanding.’ You don’t seem happy at all.”
Damian rubbed the back of his neck, turning his head away, a look of unease crossing his face. On any other day, he might have mustered a cheerful response, even if just for show. But now, at this crucial moment, he faltered.
Aracila, who had gone out of her way to buy the bears and plan this surprise, felt her expression grow colder. The air between them turned icy, the warmth slipping away.
“…I’m sorry.”
Damian bowed his head in apology. But it was far from the response she had hoped for. Wordlessly, Aracila snatched the bear back from him.
What she had imagined as the start of a cherished memory fizzled out in awkward silence.
Throughout dinner, their conversation floated aimlessly, stilted and strained. When bedtime came, they didn’t turn their backs on each other, but their goodnights were brief, perfunctory.
It was the first night since their hearts had intertwined that they felt a quiet distance between them.
* * *
From that day forward, a strange cold war began. It wasn’t an outright fight, so reconciliation felt impossible. They simply carried on, each sensing the other’s discomfort while pretending everything was fine.
Even when exchanging morning greetings before heading to work, Aracila avoided looking Damian in the eye. It was as if an invisible wall had risen between them.
The reason for this rift was painfully clear, and Damian let out a frustrated sigh.
It’s all my fault.
Yet he had no idea how to fix it. He swore it wasn’t intentional—his lukewarm reaction to Aracila’s pregnancy news hadn’t been meant to hurt her.
In that moment, his mind had simply tangled into knots, unable to produce more than a faltering response.
To Aracila, though, it must have sounded like childish excuses. But they couldn’t keep tiptoeing around each other like this forever, so Damian desperately searched for a way to resolve it.
Just then, Isaac, noticing the dark cloud over his superior’s face, spoke up first.
“Captain, is something troubling you at home? You don’t look yourself today.”
“…Isaac.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think about fathers?”
The abrupt question left Isaac puzzled, a mental question mark hovering above him. Realizing he’d spoken too impulsively, Damian, flustered himself, clarified.
“I mean… not your father specifically, but the idea of a father. What do you think it would be like to be one?”
“Hmm, well, I’m not married yet, so I can’t even imagine what being a father would feel like. But thinking of my own father… it seems like a father has to hold the family together with love to keep it harmonious and peaceful.”
In essence, Isaac believed a father’s role was paramount to a happy family. He added with a hearty laugh, “After all, don’t good children grow up under good fathers?”
“…Is that so?”
Damian’s expression grew complex as he lowered his gaze. Isaac, who had answered earnestly, studied his superior, noting that he didn’t seem relieved. If anything, his worries appeared to have deepened.
Still, Damian thanked his subordinate for the sincere response and stood up. He had an appointment with the Crown Prince that afternoon.
Even on his way to the palace, Damian’s sighs came heavy and frequent. Inevitably, Lucas noticed and asked a question similar to Isaac’s.
“Is something wrong, my friend? You look particularly grim today, and you’re sighing an awful lot.”
“…It’s nothing, Your Highness.”
“Come now, man! Aren’t we friends? Don’t hold back—tell me what’s on your mind.”
At Lucas’s generous smile, Damian hesitated before speaking.
“What do you think of fathers, Your Highness? How do you imagine it would feel to be one?”
“Hmm, well…” Lucas rubbed his chin, pondering, then shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t particularly want to be a father. Of course, as emperor, I’ll have to produce an heir eventually.”
It was a candid confession, one he could share because he considered Damian a friend.
“Why’s that?” Damian asked.
“My father was a great emperor, but not a great father.”
Even if his children faced mortal danger, the emperor would turn a blind eye unless they proved their worth. Lucas, who had spent his youth wandering foreign lands, nursing resentment, understood this. He respected his father as an emperor but felt little familial bond.
The emperor himself had survived fierce competition in his youth, so he likely saw his harshness toward his children as a reflection of his own struggles.
“Not having a father to look up to makes me doubt whether I could be a proper one myself,” Lucas continued.
“…”
“Honestly, I think I’d fail at it. I already pity the child who’d have me as a father. Even though, as emperor, I’ll have to have children eventually.”
Lucas finished his heavy words with a lighthearted laugh. Damian managed a faint smile, playing along.
Lucas’s words struck at the heart of Damian’s own fears.
The previous Duke Vandermir was a father so deplorable he made the emperor look tame—a man who had even tried to kill his own child. Growing up under him, Damian had learned nothing from his father.
Only anger, hatred, betrayal, vengeance, and contempt.
Those were the lessons etched into him. The concept of a true father felt abstract, intangible.
Could someone like me ever be a good father?
According to Lucas, it was nearly impossible. Damian couldn’t argue otherwise. As he left the palace, his face was as heavy as a sky laden with storm clouds.
He’d hoped to ease his worries, but they’d only multiplied.
His mind a tangled mess, he redirected the carriage heading home. Returning in this state would do no good—it would only make things worse than they’d been days ago.
He stopped the carriage at a nearby park, deciding to clear his head before going back.
The sunlight, edging toward summer, trailed behind Damian as he sank into his troubles. For the first time in a long while, he felt like a lost child, unsure of where to go.
