Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 346: ’Mother’s Love’

Trigger Warning: This Chapter contains depictions of suicide.Please prioritize your well-being—feel free to skip this Chapter if the content may be distressing or triggering for you.

It was supposed to be a joyous occasion.

Heinz had turned thirteen just a week ago. His father had finally acknowledged him—not as a boy, not as a nuisance, but as a prince. The crown prince. The rightful heir. Today marked the beginning of his official training to become king.

And before anything else, he had to see his mother.

’I’m sure she’ll be happy. This is all she ever wanted for me.’ Heinz thought, his heart swelling with pride as he sprinted down the corridor, the polished floors echoing beneath his feet.

"Y-Your Highness, you mustn’t run!" a servant cried out in distress as he passed, but Heinz just waved them off with a grin.

"Have to go see Mother!" he called out, not bothering to slow down. Her room wasn’t far—just beside his own—but he had just come back from a long breakfast with his tutors and couldn’t wait another second.

Normally, his mornings began with her. They always had breakfast together. She’d ruffle his hair, pour his tea, and whisper little jokes about the court ladies’ awful dresses. But recently... she’d shut herself away.

It made Heinz uneasy. The way she stayed locked in her room, the way the servants whispered with pity in their eyes. Delilah, her most trusted maid, always told him to be patient. "Her majesty is simply... not well. Certain circumstances have worn her spirit down."

’Certain circumstances...’

He knew what that meant.

’It’s them. Hendrix and Monica.’

The pest of a half-brother and the woman who dared to smile at his father as though she were queen.

Heinz’s stomach soured at the thought. ’He’s always following me, trying to be near me, like he belongs here. But once I’m king, I’ll make sure they leave. Then Mother can finally be at peace.’

All he had to do was become king. Then everything would be right.

He slowed to a stop, skidding a little on the glossy floor in front of her door. ’Oh, I’m here.’

He took a deep breath and began dusting off his clothes, making sure no crumbs clung to his shirt from breakfast. He patted his chest, fixed his collar, and ran a hand through his tousled dark hair. He wanted to look perfect. Presentable. He wanted her to be proud.

Then he knocked, gently.

"Mother?" he called softly, hand already turning the door handle.

It creaked open.

His smile faded the moment he stepped inside.

The room was a disaster.

Broken porcelain littered the floor—shattered vases, overturned chairs, torn curtains, crumpled letters, ripped duvets. The faint scent of wilted lilies clung to the air like a ghost.

Of course.

’She must’ve had another episode this morning.’ Heinz thought grimly, stepping carefully over the debris. ’Looks like it was worse than usual.’

Delilah must not have come in yet, and the other maids hadn’t dared. This was the aftermath—the storm still lingering in the silence.

Time for damage control.

"Mother, I’m here," he said gently, trying to sound cheerful, stepping further inside.

Then he saw her.

She wasn’t on the bed like usual. She was perched on the window sill, fragile as glass, her arms hugging her knees, her silk nightgown draping over her like a shroud. Her shoulders trembled.

She was crying.

That was new.

"It’s not fair," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Hein froze.

"What’s not fair, Mother?" he asked quietly, though he already knew. There was only one reason that could bring Anastasia to this state.

"Not fair..." she repeated, her palm pressing lightly against the window glass. freeweɓnøvel~com

Hein stepped closer to see what she was staring at—and then his blood ran cold.

The garden.

From their high vantage point, they could see the entire royal courtyard. And there, under the blooming trees and flowers, sat Henry—his father—with Hendrix and Monica.

They were having breakfast. Laughing.

Hendrix sat on their father’s lap, giggling like a fool, crumbs on his cheek. Henry was smiling, truly smiling—something he had never offered Heinz even once.

Beside them, Monica beamed as if the scene were ripped from a dream. Like she belonged there. Like they belonged there.

Heinz’s chest tightened.

’Why... Why does he smile for them? Why not me? Why not us?’

But this was nothing new. He had long grown used to it. His mother needed him more than his father ever had. And in the end, Heinz was the legitimate son.

The crown prince.

’No one can take that from me. Not Hendrix. Not Monica. Not even Father.’

"Mother, come," he said, stepping toward her slowly. "Let’s get you to bed. You shouldn’t watch them. It’s not—"

"Heinz," she interrupted suddenly, her voice sharp and thin like cracked glass. "Do you love me?"

He paused mid-step, surprised. "Of course, Mother."

"I love you too, my son." She smiled—weak and broken. "You are my pride and joy. The only thing in this world that matters to me."

Heinz swallowed. Her voice was trembling despite the sweetness, laced with something... off.

"Will you do anything for me, my son?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"Yes, Mother," he answered without hesitation, though something cold settled in his gut. "Do you... need something?"

Anastasia turned fully now, and the breath caught in his throat.

Her eyes.

Lifeless.

Not angry. Not sad. Not even desperate.

Just... empty.

As if the soul behind them had already left, and only a body remained. A puppet with fading strings.

There was a moment of heavy, suffocating silence.

The kind of silence that made the air feel colder than it should, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Heinz stood frozen, uncertain why—why, out of nowhere, he felt compelled to glance toward the far corner of his mother’s disheveled room. His body moved before his mind could catch up, and when his eyes landed on that shadowy space, something inside him twisted violently.

A sickening chill crawled up his spine.

"M-Mother... what is that?" he whispered, voice cracking as he pointed a trembling finger.

It was new. That much he knew. There had never been anything like that in her room before.

From the ceiling, two ropes hung side by side. Their ends were tied into loops—nooses—and below each one was a chair. Different sizes. One taller. One smaller. One meant for an adult. One meant for a child.

’No... no, no, no, that can’t be—she wouldn’t—she couldn’t...’

Heinz’s heart started pounding against his ribcage like it was trying to break free. His vision blurred slightly, and his legs felt as if they might give out from under him. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing.

And then—a hand touched his face.

Heinz flinched.

His mother was suddenly right beside him, her fingers cold against his cheek. But what truly made him shiver was the expression she wore. A wide, unsettling smile curved her lips—too wide, too still. Her eyes sparkled in a way that was not joy, but madness.

"Heinz, darling," she cooed softly, lovingly—too lovingly. "You said you loved your mother."

Heinz’s voice caught in his throat.

"You said you’d do anything for me... right?"

He couldn’t answer. His mouth felt sealed shut. But she didn’t wait.

With unexpected strength, Anastasia stood and grasped his small hand in hers, guiding him—dragging him—to that cursed corner of the room, toward those chairs... toward those ropes.

’No, please...’

"I finally figured it out," she whispered, her tone lilting like a lullaby, almost gleeful. "I finally know how to make your father come back to us. He’ll regret it all when he sees. You’ll help me, won’t you, Heinz? My precious, perfect boy?"

"Mother... you’re... scaring me." The words spilled out of Heinz’s mouth before he could stop them, barely louder than a whisper.

It was the first time in his life he had ever said that to her.

He had hoped it would snap her out of it—that she’d blink, breathe, maybe laugh softly and return to herself. But instead, her grip on his wrist tightened, her nails digging into his skin.

"Did you lie to me then?" she snapped. "Are you going to be just like your father? After everything I’ve done, after the pain I endured, this is how you repay your mother’s love?!"

"N-No, mother... no, I-I didn’t mean to—" Heinz stammered, but his voice wavered and broke under the weight of her fury. He looked into her face—her broken, lifeless face—and felt his throat tighten.

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe.

So he bowed his head.

"W-What should I do, Mother?"

Her face lit up. That awful smile returned, but this time it trembled with joy. "I knew you loved me," she whispered, voice thick with tears and twisted devotion. "I knew I could rely on you, my son."

She released his wrist and walked to one of the chairs.

Heinz watched her climb up with the grace of a woman who believed she was walking toward salvation. She placed the noose around her neck with care, like it was part of a beautiful necklace. Heinz’s eyes burned.

’She’s really going to do it... and she wants me to...’

"Come on, Heinz. You go to the other side."

He didn’t want to.

But he moved anyway.

His feet felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, and yet they carried him forward. He climbed onto the smaller chair, ignoring the way his hands trembled so violently he could barely grasp the rope. He faced his mother.

The noose felt cold and rough against his neck.

"M-Mother, I’m scared," he sobbed, finally allowing the tears to fall.

But this time, Anastasia didn’t scream. She didn’t glare.

She smiled.

The kind of smile he hadn’t seen in years.

Tender. Soft. Loving.

"I’m right here with you," she said gently. "Just think of this as when we jumped in the lake together. Remember that?"

’The lake...’

Yes. Heinz remembered. He had been six. They had gone for a walk near the lake, and despite the protests of all the servants, Anastasia had stripped down and jumped in with him. It was one of the few moments he remembered being truly happy.

He had almost drowned.

But she had laughed and held him tightly.

’This... this isn’t like that... this isn’t...’

"O-Okay, Mother," he choked out, tears sliding down his cheeks.

She reached out and held his hands in hers. Hers were still cold, but her grip was firm.

"On the count of three, we jump. Together. Okay?"

Heinz gave the smallest nod, still trying to convince himself that maybe, somehow, this was just a dream.

"One..."

Heinz watched as his mother counted. Heinz knew it. He knew what they were doing would lead to death.

"Two..."

But Heinz couldn’t say anything despite not wanting to die. He loved his mother, and he knew this was what she wanted. Heinz doesn’t know how he’ll survive the palace if she had done this herself.

So, maybe this was for the best.

"Three..."

"I love you, mommy." Heinz said, tears pooling from his eyes and then...

The mother jumped.

And because of his mother’s love—because of desperation—the son jumped too.

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