Chapter 7

Dear Diary. Oh my gosh! An unbelievable thing happened. That person replied. Could potato bread be that good?

It wasn’t just a reply. wick

There were also frozen gifts. It’s a bit vague whether it’s actually mine or not, but it’s only the two of us living in this house, right?

If he didn’t buy it for himself, it would be mine. Yes, diary. My husband seemed to know that I was living here. What is the excitement? I am writing this diary with the ink and pen I received as a gift. At this point, I hope I can be proud of my cooking. Ah! After all, it’s exciting, so I’m going to go out and chop some firewood today. I’ll go Your exciting friend, Melissa Rostein.

Melissa looked at the turquoise ink with delight, and dried her diary in the sun. It’s not black ink, it’s cyan. In addition, because it contains pearls, the shimmer looks different depending on the angle. Melissa carefully closed the lid of the inkwell and stood up and rolled up the sleeves of her dress. Today is a perfect spring day. It’s the season when you don’t really need firewood, but why not cut it down a bit?

You could even make a thick stew by igniting the overflowing firewood! “Uh-huh.” Melissa hummed for nothing and pushed the front door open vigorously. It goes without saying, but today, my husband is not at home. that

The woman, enjoying her freedom, went out to the back yard and picked up the iron ax she had seen beforehand. Anyone who sees it would say that he was from aristocrats and wondered how on earth he knew how to do such a thing. Cooking, chopping wood, and even sweeping and mopping the house. It was because Melissa was a girl from a poor family with an aristocratic name alone. It was also because he became an orphan who would not put bread in her mouth unless she did something for herself . When I was young, there was one old maid who seemed to be able to make a living, but she died along with her parents in a carriage accident. Melissa was the only survivor there, and her uncle, who had the title of Baron Rostain, gave her a minimum of dignity. He didn’t even gave me any money.

I decided to forget the fact itself and lived like a commoner. That was until her uncle, who came to her as soon as she turned 20 and became an adult, suddenly arranged for her to marry a count who was more than 50 years older than her. “Damn it.” puck. “Uncle bastard.” puck!

“Do you think I’ll be back?” Puff!!! With each sentence she uttered, Melissa lit her firewood with emotion. Looking at the tree splitting coolly, she felt relieved