BL REBIRTH: You Were Mine (MPREG)

chapter 6

Please ignore all mistakes..

UNEDITED

Chapter Six

PAST

Standing before the building, I hesitated, overwhelmed by a mix of anticipation and embarrassment. Eight months pregnant, I found solace in the doctor's advice to walk, though the task had grown more cumbersome with each passing day. It was early spring, the year was unimportant, lost in the haze of my current state. The recent rain had left the earth damp, releasing a scent of renewal that contrasted sharply with my mood.

Clutching a bouquet tightly against my chest with one hand while the other rested on my swollen belly, I felt a gentle kick. "Settle down, baby," I murmured, attempting to soothe both the child within and my frayed nerves.

The area was serene, surrounded by majestic trees and adorned with structures that stood solemnly. The mood was somber; scattered groups of people dressed in black congregated around urns that displayed their deceased loved ones, their quiet sobs punctuating the still air.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I pushed past the swirling guilt and stepped into the main structure. This hall was reserved for those whose families could not afford private ancestral tombs, or who had been abandoned in death as in life. It was quieter inside, the air heavy with a poignant silence.

I paced slowly along the rows of urns, each set behind glass and bearing a photograph of the deceased. The faces smiled, frowned, or stared indifferently back at me from beyond. I stopped at the fifth row, my heart catching as I faced the smiling portrait of my mother. Her eyes curved joyously in the photo, a stark reminder of her ever-present contentment and grace—a stark contrast to the turmoil I carried.

Standing there, I felt undeserving, a blemish on her legacy. She had never voiced disappointment, yet the weight of my choices pressed heavily upon me. It was too late for so many things.

Tears welled up rapidly, blurring the glass before me as a sob caught in my throat, stubborn and choking. My mother's voice echoed in my mind, always sweet and encouraging. "Jae ah," she would coo, trying to lift my spirits. In her displeasure, she fell silent, her pouts mirroring the childish sulks she wore when unhappy.

She was my mother, my only relative, and my entire universe. Yet, it took losing her to truly understand the breadth and depth of what she meant to me. Her smile had been my joy, a beacon of warmth in my life. But I squandered that brightness, chasing after fantasies—building castles in the sky and attempting to cultivate flowers in the water.

"Eomma," I finally managed to whisper, my voice breaking into a sob. I had failed her, failed to be the son she deserved.

I knew little of my mother's family. Whenever I asked about her origins, she would divert to stories of the elderly couple I knew as my grandparents. They had adopted her, and she spoke of them with enduring love, even long after they passed away peacefully in their sleep when I was just five. Out of respect and affection, I continued to honor them as my grandparents throughout my life.

As I grew older, my self-esteem suffered, particularly when I received a scholarship to attend a prestigious school populated by the affluent. Feeling out of place among my wealthier peers, I began to pressure her for brand-name items, hoping to blend in. She never uttered a word of complaint against my demands. Instead, she would offer a gentle smile and say, "Jae ah, Eomma never disappoints." True to her word, she would surprise me the next day with the very items I had asked for.

As the rich kids at school discovered I was there on scholarship and came from a humble town, they found new ways to torment me. When my mother noticed bruises, she would hug me tightly and suggest changing schools, aware that we couldn't afford to confront the school authorities about the bullying. Instead of appreciating her concern, I would lash out in anger, unfairly blaming her for my miseries.