Got it. I'll start Chapter 1 now—long,
The first thing she felt… was pain.
Not the dull, distant kind that fades after waking from a bad dream—but sharp, tearing pain, as if her body had been dragged across stones and left to rot.
Her eyelids trembled.
A foul smell filled her nose.
Rotten wood. Damp earth. And… blood.
Her eyes snapped open.
A broken ceiling greeted her—crooked wooden beams barely holding together a roof that looked like it would collapse with a single breath. Cold wind slipped through the cracks, brushing against her skin like icy fingers.
She tried to move.
A mistake.
Pain exploded through her ribs.
"—ugh…"
A hoarse sound escaped her throat. Even her voice didn't sound like her own.
Where… am I?
Her thoughts were slow, heavy, like wading through mud. The last thing she remembered was… crossing the street. A blinding light. A horn—
Then nothing.
Her breathing quickened.
No hospital. No machines. No clean sheets.
Instead—
A hut.
No… calling it a hut was generous.
It was a ruin.
Her fingers twitched against the rough surface beneath her. Dirt. She was lying on dirt.
A sudden chill crawled up her spine.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
She forced herself to sit up.
Her vision swam violently, black spots dancing before her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through it. Slowly—painfully—she lifted her body.
And froze.
Not far from her, huddled in the darkest corner of the hut… were children.
Three of them.
Two boys and a girl.
Thin. Dirty. Eyes wide with fear.
They were staring at her.
No—they were staring at her like she was a monster.
The smallest one—a girl who couldn't be older than four—let out a tiny whimper and buried her face into the older boy's torn shirt.
"M-Mother…"
The word hit her like a thunderclap.
Mother?
Her mind blanked.
The older boy—maybe ten years old—tightened his hold on the girl, his small body trembling but still trying to shield her. His eyes, dark and sharp, were filled with something no child should ever feel toward their parent.
Fear.
Hatred.
And something even worse.
Resignation.
"Don't… don't come closer," he said, his voice shaking but determined.
Her heart skipped.
Come closer?
She hadn't even moved.
Her gaze dropped to her hands.
They were rough. Calloused. Scratched. Dried blood clung beneath her nails.
This… wasn't her body.
A wave of dizziness crashed over her.
Memories—fragmented, chaotic—flooded her mind like a broken dam.
Not hers.
Someone else's.
A woman.
Cruel. Bitter. Violent.
A mother who beat her children when she was angry. Who starved them when there wasn't enough food—but somehow always ate first. Who cursed them, blamed them, treated them like burdens instead of family.
Her breath caught.
No…
No way.
She staggered to her feet, ignoring the protest of her body. The children flinched instantly, shrinking further into the corner as if expecting a blow.
That reaction alone told her everything.
Her chest tightened painfully.
"I…" Her voice came out rough, unfamiliar. "I'm not—"
She stopped.
What was she supposed to say?
"I'm not your mother"? That would only make things worse.
Because she was.
Or rather—
She was in her body.
A transmigration.
The word surfaced naturally in her mind, absurd yet undeniable.
She had died… and woken up in another woman's body.
A terrible one.
Silence filled the hut.
The wind howled softly outside, slipping through the cracks like a ghostly whisper.
The children didn't move.
Didn't speak.
They just watched her.
Waiting.
For what?
For her to explode? To hit them again? To scream?
Her throat felt tight.
She had never had children before. Never even thought about it seriously. Her life in the modern world had been busy, independent… lonely, if she was being honest.
And now—
Three children.
Three terrified, fragile children…
Who feared her more than anything else in the world.
Something twisted painfully in her chest.
"I…" she tried again, softer this time. "I won't hurt you."
The words sounded weak, even to her own ears.
The older boy's expression didn't change.
If anything, his eyes grew colder.
"You always say that," he whispered.
Her breath hitched.
"You say it… and then you get angry again."
Each word was like a blade, slicing into her chest.
She had no defense.
Because it wasn't wrong.
The original owner had done exactly that.
Promises.
Broken again and again.
Trust… destroyed beyond repair.
The smallest girl peeked out again, her eyes red and swollen.
"…hungry…" she mumbled weakly.
The word was barely audible.
But it echoed loudly in the silent hut.
Hungry.
Of course they were.
Her stomach twisted—not from hunger, but from guilt.
Fragments of memory surfaced again.
No food left.
Days since they had eaten properly.
The original owner had spent what little they had on herself… and then lashed out when the children cried.
Her fingers clenched tightly.
Disgust surged through her.
Not at the children.
At the woman whose body she now occupied.
At herself—by association.
"I'll find something," she said suddenly.
The children stiffened.
The older boy narrowed his eyes.
"…why?"
The question caught her off guard.
Why?
Because they were hungry.
Because they were her children now.
Because—
She paused.
Because she refused to live like that woman.
"I said I won't hurt you," she replied quietly. "And I won't let you starve either."
The boy didn't respond.
But he didn't argue either.
That… was something.
She turned toward the door.
It was barely hanging on its hinges, creaking as she pushed it open.
Cold air hit her face instantly.
Outside—
A village.
Primitive. Rough. Surrounded by dense forest.
People moved about in the distance, carrying tools, baskets… weapons.
Some glanced in her direction.
And immediately looked away.
Or worse—
They frowned.
Muttered.
Disdain was written clearly on their faces.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
So that's how bad her reputation is.
Good.
At least now she knew the situation clearly.
She stepped forward.
Her body still ached, but she ignored it.
Behind her, inside the hut, three pairs of eyes followed her every move.
Not with hope.
Not with trust.
But with fear… and doubt.
She clenched her fists.
Fine.
If trust couldn't be given—
She would earn it.
Little by little.
Step by step.
Even if it took everything she had.
Her gaze hardened.
"In this life…" she murmured under her breath, "I'll do things differently."
The wind carried her words away.
But the resolve remained.
Unshaken.
Unbreakable.
And somewhere behind her—
Very quietly—
A small, fragile voice whispered.
"…Mother…"