Time flies.

It didn't seem like such a long time ago, but when I looked back, too much time had already gone by.

Looking up, I brushed the image of my face in the mirror and stroked it with my hand.

When I was twenty years old, my face shone with brilliance and youth. But now, the glossy skin had already disappeared and in its place were faint wrinkles and smile lines.

A shameful old woman.

A spinster.

A poor baroness.

Those were all of their labels for me, Bella de Perrington.

In fact, I wasn't even that old. I was only 38 years old. But in the aristocratic society, where political marriages are frequent, most sexes were already married. And by the time they reached the age of 38, they would've also had two or three wailing children.

But for me, there was no one.

I didn't have a hardworking husband by my side, or children who would play around and light up our home in happiness. I was all alone.

My family is by far the lowest rank among the nobility, and there would be no dowry received if someone got married to me, which was one of the reasons why I was not married yet.

But even if you put aside my family rank and the lack of a dowry, I was still considered too old.

A 38 year old woman like me would no longer be considered beautiful or youthful. In the eyes of society, I was a failure as a woman.

There was no man who would want someone like this.

Perhaps everything could've been traced back to when my mother had looked at me blankly and with confusion as she asked, "Who are you?"

My mother looked around in confusion, "Where am I? Whose house is this?"

The shock and horror the first time I heard those questions would forever be ingrained in my memory.

The doctor examined my mother and defined the symptoms word by word.

It was called 'dementia'.

Gradually, her memories would fade. She wouldn't be able to recognize people around her and would eventually forget about everything they did as well.

At the time, my two older sisters had already married and had already left our home. Naturally, the responsibility to take care of my mother rested on me, the only unmarried sister.

And soon enough, two years had passed like that.

Even though my mother still had a healthy body, her mental state and memory had gotten worse with each progressing day.

However, while I was still taking care of my mother, an unexpected issue occurred when I learned that our family had insufficient funds.

When I was young, my father, the baron, had died, leaving my mother as the only authority in the home. She had three daughters, including me. Even though my mother was still alive and had the title of the baroness, it was uncertain what would happen to our family name since there were no successors in our household.

As my mother was still alive, she was able to maintain her title as the baroness, but it had been uncertain what would happen to the title as she didn't have a successor.

So I had no choice but to fire all the remaining employees in the house and take over all the household affairs myself to save money. The future was unknown since our family did not have a successor, so there was no need to keep servants and the home in its best condition if we would not be sure who the inheritance would go to anyways.

However, the things I could do in the house were limited because I couldn't take my eyes off my mother for too long, in fear of her hurting herself, or something worse.

Fortunately, my sisters helped me with my living expenses little by little, but in the end what they gave me was still only a little.

No one else could help me because they had their own families and welfare to take care of. They couldn't afford to help my mother and I when they also had things to tend to. So before I knew it, my mother's illness was under my management not only physically and emotionally, but also financially.

And so, twenty years passed in the same manner.

By now, I am already 38 years old.

Not long ago, when my mother was laughing and painting childish drawings on the wall, I had completely collapsed. I sat on the floor and my eyes began to fill with tears.

I had enough.

Because of all the hardships I had gone through, and all the sacrifices I had made by taking care of my mother for years, I had begun to resent her. I had wished that she would just disappear someday. The amount of nights in bed I've spent resenting my mother was innumerable.

It was so overwhelming to constantly be with her and take care of her that it got to the point that I had the urge to just die along with my mother. It was unfair that everyday I had to take care of her, while she would forget about me and never appreciate my efforts or my work.

Perhaps because of all the bad thoughts I had then, I still remember the calm face, free of worries and hardships, when she finally passed away.

All of which led up to today. The day of my mother's funeral.

I stood around and stroked the reflection of myself in the mirror with my hand.

There I saw a woman in her thirties, who, even though was wearing plain black dress, still gave off an air of maturity.

She had silver hair, pale white skin, and clear blue eyes. Her face had fine features, but they still couldn't escape the traces of time.

What I saw was a chaste-looking 30 something woman. Nothing more or less.

Yet, somehow, I still felt awkward about myself today.

In fact, I wasn't used to the quietness of the house. Years before, it had bustled with some life with all of the servants. Even when it was just my mother and I, the house still had a lively feeling. But now it's seemed so lonely and desolate.

It hurt me to be in there.

Drop-

A tear fell before I even knew it.

The moment my mother died and was no longer there like I wished, I really felt like there was nothing left for me to do. I no longer felt like I had a purpose to live.

I thought everything would be better if my mother disappeared, but it wasn't like that after all.

There was no turning back all of the years I had spent with my mother anyways. What was done was done. Nothing was really different about my life, just that I could no longer see my mother that had always stuck around me like a friend or a child.

There was truly nothing to do without her.

I let out a small sob.

"I'm sorry mom."

I'm sorry I didn't treat you better.

I'm sorry I didn't do better.

I'm sorry that you had a daughter like me.

No matter how hard it was, I should have laughed a little more instead of getting annoyed.

I should have enjoyed the lively moments with my mother instead of sitting there in dreadful anticipation of all the work I would need to do to clean up after her.

Drop, drop, drop.

More tears followed down my face.

I had always thought that by getting rid of my mother, I would be free of the heavy burden I had had for years, but at this moment I wasn't happy or relieved that the burden had disappeared. It felt weird and funny.

I felt as if I was abandoned.

***

The funeral was held in a formal manner.

Relatives dressed neatly in black gathered together, and a coffin that contained my mother's body laid peacefully in her casket as she was lowered down into her grave.

I could hear the occasional sobbing from all sides, but I couldn't cry. I just stared blankly at my mother's grave.

While I was standing there reminiscing our moments together, the funeral attendees began to leave one by one, until only my two sisters remained.

"Bella."

When I turned my head to the voice calling me, I saw the face of my sister, Medina.

Medina was my eldest sister, a plump middle aged woman with two grown sons.

"Now that the funeral is done, let's go home and finish all of the things we need to do for our mother."

My second sister, Claire, spoke up next, "Yes, we need to talk about what we are going to do next."

Unlike my sister Medina, Claire was skinny and lean. She, too, was a middle-aged woman with a grown child.

I answered with a slight nod.

***

When we arrived at the house where my mother and I had stayed, both of their husbands were already gathered there before we arrived.

I greeted them kindly with, "Hello, how have you all been?"

Medina's husband, Miles, was a viscount, while Claire's husband, Denver, was a baron.

Between the two, Miles answered first with a slight pretentious smile.

"Long time no see."

With a hard look on his face, Denver said, "For now, you should sit."

He pointed his chin at a chair nearby.

I sat down in the chair that Denver pointed at.

At this point, unless I was an idiot, I realized that they had something important to tell me. So I asked them, "Perhaps . . . Do you have something to tell me?"

Out of the four there, Medina answered my question.

"Bella, listen. We've actually already talked about this amongst ourselves, so today we will tell you what we want to say. There really is no other way to bring it up to you nicely."

A tired smile rested on my face, "What do you want to say?"

"Now that our mother is dead, we can't keep giving you money for your living expenses,"

she replied solemnly.

"Ahh. Of course."

I knew that my intuition was correct.

Since my mother had finally passed away, I couldn't keep receiving living expenses from my sisters since the reason why they were supporting me was not because of myself but out of filial piety towards my mother.

"That's alright. I understand what you mean. Now that mom is gone, there is no need for you to keep taking care of me. Even though I'm not sure what I'm going to do in the future, I'm sure that I will find a job soon."

Medina looked at me with a sliver of disdain. "We'll be selling this house too."

Medina's unexpected announcement had me in shock.

Before I could say anything, Claire, who was watching me closely, agreed with Medina with a brazen face.

"What are you all surprised about? This house isn't yours. It never was. Now that the real homeowner has died, my husband will find and sell it to a suitable relative. That way, we'll be able to get back all the living costs we've been sending her all these years."

Everyone nodded in agreement with Claire.

Finally Medina spoke with an upright tone, "That's right. It's not just this mansion. We're also selling the Baron title, as well as all the small land left in the will."

After hearing that, I was moved into a further state of shock. I couldn't say anything in response.

A terrible sense of loss swirled all over my body.

"Then. . .

What about me?"

Medina and Claire had already married and currently hold the title of Viscountess and Baroness, but I didn't even have anything.

I knew that it would be hard to maintain the Baron name of our family, but if they really sold the title of the Baron, I couldn't even be in the aristocracy anymore.

If they were to sell this mansion and the little land left, I would have no place to stay.

I tried once again, trying to hide my trembling shoulders.

"You may not need the Perrington name or title anymore, but it's not the same for me. I've been carrying it my entire lives, while you've started carrying the names and titles of your husbands. You can't do this to me."

Claire's face scrunched up in spurts of anger. "We can't help it either! Your brother-in-law gambled away all the money! We have to pay back our loans!"

She glared fiercely at her husband, Denver. In response, Denver coughed lightly and looked somewhere else to avoid her eyes.

Medina spoke belatedly with a poor look on her face as if trying to arouse sympathy.

"Bella, your situation is pitiful, but what can we do about it? We've also been having a hard time."

At that moment, my heart shattered a thousand different times at once.

Back then and now.

It was still the same.

They still acted the same.

Twenty years ago, they had passed the responsibility of our mother to me. I had spent years taking care of her while they were able to get married and have children, and have a life defined by their own actions and decisions. In comparison, my life had revolved around my mother for twenty years.

"You're not the only one who's been having a hard time," I protested, "It's hard for me, too."

Until now, Medina and Claire were having a hard time with their family life as well, so I tried to understand. No one had an easy life, I understood that.

But this was it.

I couldn't do it anymore.

There is not much left for me to do at the age of 38. If they took any of these things away from me, I wouldn't be able to survive.

But Medina looked at me coldly.

"I can't help it if you choose to refuse. Unless there's an heir, I have the right to do as I wish with the property and inheritance as the eldest child. You can say whatever you want to say, but I' adamant on selling everything."

"But-"

I tried to refuse, but Claire, who was next to me, cut off my protests quickly.

"How is it our fault that you've grown so old?" Claire questioned with contempt.

She laughed," Maybe you ended this way because you've been collecting pictures of the Duke of Acruge for years."

Miles and Denver had ridiculous expressions on their faces as they looked down on me. They were mocking me.

Theansis Kaian Acruge.

Also known as the Duke of Acruge.

I hadn't collected his pictures because I had a wild dream to be with him and live a happy life together. Instead I fancied him from far away, like many other ladies did.

Whenever I would look at his handsome and perfect face, I forgot about the hard reality of my own life for a while and would just imagine a life with someone like that.

When Claire noticed my red face and inability to say anything back, she gave me a pathetic look and continued.

"Why don't you just marry Schellman before we sell the title to someone else? He did say he wanted to be with you. He already has three grown up sons, but at your age, you shouldn't be too picky. The only thing people think that you're good for at your age is to join a convent."

"Stop." I cut her off before I would hear something disgusting again.

I didn't want to hear what Medina and Claire were going to say anymore.

"It hasn't even been a day since our mother's funeral," I reminded them with a laugh.

Mom was not here, and I am left all alone to fight my own family members.

"Do you not have to say anything nice to me first? Like 'you have done a great job taking care of your mother?' or 'I'm sorry that she died'? Couldn't you have had some sympathy for me? Or what you're about to take away from me?"

No one answered.

***

Shortly after, I kicked my family out of the mansion where my mother and I lived.

They shouted at me saying, "You're the one who's going to lose everything." But I didn't want to talk to them anymore.

It was unfair and vexing.

During my youth, my heart had ached to take care of my mother and not myself, but they consoled me by saying that it was a necessary sacrifice for my family.

But as soon as my mom died, my family couldn't even afford to console me once more. The twenty years I spent caring for my mother felt like a worthless effort.

They were the most cold hearted people I've met.

But they weren't even supposed to be cold hearted towards me. They were my family.

I drew my head up because my throat began to feel stuffy. I felt like I would cry and burst it all out.

But I didn't want to cry. I really didn't want to draw more tears on a day like this.

If I cry again, it's only going to make me feel more miserable.

I sat down in defeat and looked at the newspaper casually tossed on the table. It was from this morning, and it contained a job opening advertisement from the Kamar Academy. They were searching for a pharmacist for a medicinal drug company.

Even though my mother's dementia was incurable, I had still been studying a lot about medicine in hopes that her symptoms would improve even just a little.

Because I have never felt as useless as I have today, I had the urge to go to the job's interview.

So on the spur of the moment, I left the house in a foggy state of mind.

I wasn't even fully conscious or aware of what was going on around me, just that I had arrived at the location of the interview already. I was out of my mind.

Perhaps it was a coincidence that the security guard who had guided me there confused the drink he left for me with an unidentified experimental drug. Perhaps we were both a little out of our minds.

As soon as I realized that the drink had a unique pink color and strange taste, my mind grew sharp again. But by then it was already too late.

My head felt like it was spinning, I felt so dizzy. Then I plunged to the floor.

Clank!

As I fell, my grip on the container of the drink fell to the floor and broke.

On the floor, I turned my head towards the broken glass, and saw right behind it a large glass mirrored wall filled with laboratory vials and experimental drugs.

I couldn't believe how I was reflected on the wall.

The woman reflected in the mirror was young, and had the face that I had when I was younger.

I had no choice but to stand up and stagger closer to the mirror to pinch my face.

I . . . got younger?

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