BL REBIRTH: You Were Mine (MPREG)

Chapter 16

UNEDITED..

Chapter 16

PAST

The surroundings were tranquil and peaceful; the columbarium was the only place where such silence could be found.

The stillness was deafening, but I didn't seem to notice. My shoulders drooped as I gazed down at the sleeping infant in the baby carrier, trying to gather the courage to look at my mother's portrait, which smiled back at me with delight.

She was just as lovely as I recalled, but I didn't have the courage to tell her what was going on in my life. It was two months after the birth of my child, and I felt stuck in a tight spot.

Why wasn't I strong enough to stand up to my sister's torments? Even after I had my baby, she continued to torment me in such a way that it seemed she wasn't the one at fault. I felt completely alone as no one supported me. Since she grew up with the elite class, she possessed the uncanny ability to make them oppose me.

My husband adored our son; he was always willing to hold him and gaze at him with the most sincere smile I had ever seen from him. Even when our son barfed on his beautiful suit, he laughed it off and continued to hold him until he fell asleep, never complaining.

But that adoration didn't extend to me. Whenever I tried to talk to him about my struggles, he would brush them aside, dismissing my concerns as trivial or imagined. It was as if my sister's manipulations had woven a web around him too, one that I couldn't penetrate.

I shifted my gaze from my mother's portrait to my son, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. A pang of guilt hit me. How could I bring him into a world where I couldn't even protect him from the venom of my own sister? The columbarium's stillness mirrored the void inside me, the silence amplifying the chaos in my heart.

"Eomma," I whispered, my voice barely audible in the hushed air. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do."

The words hung in the air, unanswered. The only response was the echo of my own guilt and the faint, steady breathing of my sleeping child.

I was relieved that he loved our son completely because it meant that our child would not suffer at the hands of his father's family. He was already the recognized heir.

"Eomma, this is my baby. He was born two months ago." My voice shook slightly. "He looks a lot like his father, especially when they smile." My vision blurred as I gazed at her photograph.

"He only has my nose and will probably be the exact replica of his father when he grows up," I continued, my voice breaking. Tears streamed down my face, and I fought the urge to scream, stifled by the presence of my sleeping baby and the need to respect others who were visiting their loved ones.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "Eomma, I wish you were here. I feel so lost without you. I don't know how to protect him, how to protect myself." My words were barely above a whisper, swallowed by the vast silence of the columbarium.

Looking down at my son, his peaceful face was a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. "I promise I'll do everything I can to keep him safe," I vowed softly. "I'll find a way to be strong, for him."

The stillness around me seemed to offer no answers, only the quiet company of my mother's smiling portrait. As I sat there, the weight of my responsibilities pressed heavily on my shoulders, but beneath it all was a flicker of resolve. I couldn't let my son grow up feeling the same helplessness that plagued me. Somehow, I had to find the strength to protect him and to carve out a future where we could both thrive.