BL REBIRTH: You Were Mine (MPREG)

Prologue

"Shut up! You! What we're discussing is true," she hissed, her words slicing through the tense air like knives. I stood there, aghast, the center of a living nightmare. My husband stared at me, confusion and hurt pooling in his eyes as the so-called evidence of my betrayal—a video and photographs—lay damningly before us.

"Brother, look at this evidence Mother gathered," another voice chimed in, acidly. "You can see for yourself how the supposed mother of your child despises him enough to harm him."

The allegations were ludicrous, yet the images and footage spoke a twisted truth. In the video, it was indeed me, my back to the camera, tenderly feeding Mi-reu, our son. Then, as if possessed by another, my hand struck his cheek—a firm, cruel slap. Though I remembered the moment well, remembered the gentleness, not the violence, the scene betrayed me.

"I am innocent. I love our child so much," I pleaded, desperate for my husband to see the truth in my eyes. But the trust was eroded; his gaze was filled with cold suspicion.

Regret stabbed at me. My past misdeeds, the dark manipulations and selfish acts I had once wielded like weapons, were coming back to haunt me. The pounding headache felt like a fitting retribution.

My name is Kim Jae-soo. I am a ger—a third sex recognized after male and female. We are male in appearance but delicately built, capable of bearing children, marked since birth by cinnabar tattoos that signify our fertility. The history of gers is steeped in myth and tragedy, dating back 800 years to Emperor Jang of the Qing dynasty and his male empress, whose love and sacrifice led to our existence.

Emperor Jang, deeply enamored by his male empress, had dismissed his concubines, an act of devotion that stirred the realm. However, as a harsh famine gripped the land, his empress fell gravely ill. The court physicians declared it a fatal sickness, and the ministers, fearful and superstitious, pleaded with the emperor. They believed the dragon gods were wrathful because of his unconventional love, insisting that only the empress's sacrifice could appease them.

For days, Emperor Jang resisted, until despair drove him to the temple, his beloved weakly cradled in his arms. Tears streaked his face as he begged the celestial beings to spare the light of his life. At the brink of death, the empress whispered, willing to be sacrificed if it would save their people and prevent their kingdom from falling into chaos. Moved by this selflessness, the dragon gods intervened, restoring the empress's vitality as a mysterious, bean-shaped seed materialized in Jang's trembling hands.

The temple head, a shadowy figure behind the emperor, uttered cryptically, "Feed it to him, and he shall recover."

With reverence, Emperor Jang bowed deeply and hastened back to the palace. There, he fed the mystical seed to his empress, who then lapsed into a deep, ominous slumber. An hour passed, filled with agonizing screams and profuse sweating from the empress, who seemed ensnared in a battle between life and death. Frantically, the emperor summoned the physician, who could find no explanation for these symptoms and could only wait helplessly by the empress's side.

As dawn broke, the physician emerged to find the emperor pacing anxiously outside the royal chamber.

"How fares the empress?" Jang inquired, his voice a mixture of hope and fear.

"He rests deeply now," the physician replied with a bow, though uncertainty clouded his eyes.

The following day brought a miraculous turn—the empress awoke, vibrant and healthy, silencing the skeptical ministers and dispelling their grim predictions. The kingdom itself seemed to breathe anew, its glory restored as if the famine had been but a dark dream.

Months later, another sudden fainting spell seized the empress. This time, the ministers secretly rejoiced, thinking the empress's demise was certain. Yet, the attending physician discovered something extraordinary: a cinnabar flower-shaped mark on the empress's wrist, pulsing with vivid red hues. Despite his awe, he dared not dwell on its beauty for long, fearing the implications of his stare.

Upon confirming the empress's condition, the physician approached Emperor Jang with hesitant steps.

"The empress is with child," he announced, still bowed low, not daring to meet the emperor's gaze.

Shock and joy overwhelmed Jang. He rushed to his beloved's side, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. In secrecy, he flooded the temple with offerings and bound the palace servants to silence, ensuring that the pregnancy remained concealed until the empress safely delivered.

From this union, blessed by the dragon gods, the gers came into existence—a new embodiment of love and divine favor.

But this, my own history, is marred by far darker tales.

Accused of abusing my own son, estranged from a husband who never trusted me, I am a figure of scandal and gossip. My actions in the past—stealing my step-sister's fiancé, trapping him with a pregnancy, alienating my mother based on lies—have woven a web of karma from which I see no escape.

As my husband's words, "We will settle these things later," echoed in the room, he left, his family's judgmental stares pinning me to the spot. I returned home, weary and defeated.

He was cradling our sleeping son when I arrived. As he noticed me, he gently placed Mi-reu in his crib before returning to confront the space between us. His eyes met mine, heavy with unspoken judgments, reflecting the tangled history of our union. With a deep, resigned sigh, he announced his abrupt travel plans, leaving the air thick with unsaid words. "I will be traveling tonight. I'll be back tomorrow night; I have things to handle."

Did he leave just like that? Indeed, as his car disappeared into the welcoming night, I felt a mix of relief and sorrow—relief that the confrontation was delayed, and sorrow from the growing chasm of his untouched affection.

Retreating to Mi-reu's room, I lifted him into my arms, seeking solace in his innocent presence. My son, not a ger but still the most cherished heir of his father's lineage, was oblivious to the familial strife. To them, I was merely a shadow marring their legacy. Clutching him close, I drifted into a troubled sleep, only to be jerked awake by his frightened voice and the acrid smell of smoke.

"Mommy, wake up!"

Smoke and flames encroached our sanctuary. My heart raced as Mi-reu began to cough violently; instincts kicked in. I drenched a blanket in water, wrapped him securely, and fled our blazing bedroom. Gripping him tightly, I dialed for help, my voice trembling as I reported our location.

"Emergency, please, my house is on fire. Help us."

The phone clattered to the ground as I navigated through the inflamed corridor. The front door was an impassable blaze of fire. Panic surged; every exit seemed to be a dead end. I held Mi-reu close, whispering empty reassurances as we cowered in the living room, surrounded by flames.

"If this is my punishment, let it not touch my son," I prayed silently, despair clouding my thoughts.

Soon, the distant wail of sirens gave way to authoritative shouts. "Help us! We are in the living room, HELP!" My voice broke as I screamed, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overpower me.

When the rescuers burst through, the relief was palpable. As they fitted an oxygen mask over Mi-reu's face, I tried to rise, only for a chandelier to crash down, trapping me beneath its weight. My son's cries tore at my heart as I pushed the firefighter away, saving him from the same fate.

"Don't move me, please... I am in too much pain," I gasped as they debated their next steps over the crackle of their radios.

"We have to leave now; there's a risk of a gas explosion," one shouted back, urgency in his voice.

Resigned to my fate, I smiled faintly, urging them to save my son. As they retreated, the cold seeped in, replacing the fierce heat. Darkness enveloped me, and as silence fell, a deep sadness washed over me.

'If only I had been a better person... If only I could have a second chance...'

With my final breath, I accepted the cruel twist of my fate, realizing too late the weight of my regrets.

A/N: Thank you for your patience. I love you guys