My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 293

Neglected 293 Summary

Soren returns to Jexburgh exhausted and hollow, only to find his wife Fiona lying peacefully in a cedar coffin, dressed in white burial robes. Despite the sorrow surrounding her death, Soren feels numb and unable to cry, overwhelmed by the cruel reality of losing the woman who had once teased and challenged him. Memories of her vibrant bridal appearance contrast sharply with her pale, lifeless form, emphasizing the brevity and sadness of her life.

The funeral is attended by many who mourn Fiona’s kindness and generosity, including servants and officials who remember her warmth. Among the pallbearers is Mr. Luthor, Soren’s advisor, who had received Fiona’s help in the past. Penelope, Fiona’s mother, expresses deep grief and frustration, blaming Soren for Fiona’s suffering and questioning his feelings for his late wife. Tensions rise as accusations fly about another woman named Hillary, but Soren denies any wrongdoing.

Meryl, Fiona’s mother, breaks down in despair, lamenting the loss of both her children and accusing Soren and his family of causing Fiona’s death. Soren tries to comfort her, finally showing signs of emotional pain as he embraces her. Despite the outward calm, the grief and blame weigh heavily on everyone involved. After the burial, Meryl’s haunting smile and sharp words leave Soren speechless, hinting at deeper torment to come.

As Soren sorts through Fiona’s belongings, he discovers a collection of wooden carvings of himself that she had made during their brief time together. These delicate figures symbolize the fragile and fleeting nature of their love, now reduced to silent memories in a world that has lost its color and warmth.

Continue Regular Chapter Reading Below

Chapter 293: A World Drained of Color

So this was the harsh reality: everything Soren had relentlessly pursued suddenly seemed insignificant compared to the woman who had once teased him about his weight, scolded him for his dullness, and even shoved him out of her chambers in frustration.

When he finally returned to Jexburgh, weary and hollow, she lay bound in white, resting peacefully inside a cedar coffin. To the casual eye, she appeared no different than a woman caught in a gentle afternoon slumber.

Soren’s mind drifted back to the day she had first stepped through the grand doorway—her scarlet bridal robes glowing like the dawn sun. And now, in this final, heartbreaking moment, she was dressed in the stark, bleached garments of death. The vibrant crimson of her cheeks had faded to a pale chalky hue, as if the very estate had drained her life away.

Three brief years—a lifetime compressed into a single, sorrowful sigh for the daughter of the Niven family.

He had married her, vowing that his name would be her shield against the world.

He stood silently beside the bier, time losing all meaning—minutes or hours, he could not tell. No tears came to his eyes, only a numbness that refused to accept the cruel truth before him.

Yet the courtyard overflowed with mourners. Officials from afar, humble servants from the estate, all gathered with faces etched in sorrow and gratitude. Each had once felt the warmth of Fiona’s kindness, and now they had come to honor her final passage.

A voice pierced the quiet weeping. “Lord Soren, Lady Fiona has passed. My deepest condolences.”

The words struck Soren’s chest like a tolling bell, stirring emotions he had long suppressed.

Never before had such anguish enveloped him so completely. Standing before her lifeless form—so fragile beneath layers of white silk—was a pain far sharper than when he first heard the news. His knees threatened to give way, and the hands hidden within his sleeves trembled uncontrollably.

Meryl’s wailing rent the air, a sound so raw it seemed to tear the very sky apart. Even the hardened Zonfrillo retainers, stalwart in battle, wiped away tears they had never shown before.

The funeral director raised a trembling list. “It is time to carry the coffin,” he announced. “The Niven family is short of men. Besides several young lords of the Zonfrillo family and the Niven heir, we ask Mr. Luthor, Lord Soren’s advisor, to assist. Lady Fiona once helped him, so it is fitting he bear the coffin today.”

Soren heard the roll call, but his mind drifted elsewhere, memories swirling like cold smoke. Many in his service had experienced her generosity firsthand, and in quiet moments, they spoke of Fiona as the kindest soul they had ever known.

Penelope rose, her voice steady despite the heavy grief, and bowed respectfully to the tall man standing beside Soren. “Mr. Xavier, we must trouble you once more today.”

Xavier inclined his head. “Before I served Lord Soren, Lady Fiona sent her maid to pay for my mother’s medical care. She has been a benefactor to the Luthor family. Being among her pallbearers is the least I can do.”

“Yes,” Penelope whispered, dabbing at her swollen eyes. “Our Fiona was truly remarkable. She was simply unfortunate to marry into our family. Soren is not a good husband. Had I known, I would have urged them to separate rather than let Fiona suffer more. I share the blame.”

“My condolences, Your Highness,”

Soren remained motionless, yet a hazy thought crept into his mind: Perhaps Fiona might have found greater happiness with Zephyr instead.

Penelope’s composure shattered suddenly. “Soren, do you still have a heart? Fiona is dead, yet you stand there like ice. You’ve even brought another woman into our home…”

“It is not as you think, Mother,” he replied, his voice flat and calm. “There is no other woman.”

“Then why is Hillary here?” Penelope demanded sharply.

That realization began as he sifted through Fiona’s remaining belongings.

Inside a cedar chest lay what seemed like an entire army of carved wooden figures—miniatures of himself, each one capturing the fine curve of his jaw with startling accuracy. Even the unfinished pieces bore the weight of his restless shoulders.

He recalled her first winter journey to Broadmoor, six months before their wedding. On the night before she left, her eyes sparkled like frost as she laughed softly, saying, “When I miss you, I’ll carve a wooden figure of you.”

Now, those carvings were all that remained of a love that had been too brief, too fragile—a silent testament to a world drained of color.

Conclusion

The chapter closes on a somber note, capturing the profound grief that envelops Soren and those who loved Fiona. Her death has stripped the world of its vibrancy, leaving behind only memories and silent tokens of a love that was as delicate as it was deep. The raw emotions of loss, regret, and the unspoken pain between the characters resonate through the mourners’ sorrow, revealing the complex layers of their relationships and the weight of unfulfilled promises.

In these quiet moments of farewell, the chapter gently reminds us of the fragility of life and the enduring impact of kindness, even when overshadowed by hardship. Fiona’s spirit lingers in the hearts of those she touched, while Soren’s internal struggle hints at a long road of reckoning ahead. The delicate wooden figures stand as a poignant symbol of love preserved in memory, a bittersweet echo of a world that once held color but now rests in muted silence.

What to Expect in Next Chapter?

The next chapter promises to delve deeper into the raw aftermath of Fiona’s passing, exploring the emotional fractures that ripple through the Zonfrillo and Niven families. Soren’s numbness will be challenged as he confronts the weight of grief and guilt, not just for the loss itself, but for the ways in which his failures may have shaped Fiona’s tragic fate. The uneasy interactions with Penelope and Meryl hint at simmering tensions and unspoken regrets that could threaten to unravel the fragile bonds holding them together.

Meanwhile, the discovery of Fiona’s carved wooden figures introduces a haunting symbol of their fractured love—each miniature a silent echo of moments lost and emotions left unspoken. As Soren sifts through these remnants, he may find himself forced to reckon with memories and truths he had long avoided. The next chapter will likely explore how these small keepsakes stir a complex mix of sorrow, nostalgia, and perhaps the first flickers of redemption or reconciliation amid the shadows of loss.