🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 02
My earliest childhood memory goes back to when I was eight years old.
Zelia. That was my mother’s name. She had once been a maid in a noble household.
Not even an ordinary maid—she was the lowest rank, assigned only to errands and menial labor.
The important part was that she was dismissed after only a year of service.
She was thrown out while holding a newborn baby girl, given only enough money to survive in a cheap rented room for barely a month.
The reason was simple. She had become pregnant with the eldest son of that noble family.
That naive young master had briefly dreamed of a romance across class boundaries with a maid he had taken to bed—but that fantasy ended quickly. In the end, only reality remained, and both he and the romance vanished. The ones abandoned were my mother and me.
Of course, I only knew all this because of my mother’s constant complaints.
“If it weren’t for you.”
If it weren’t for me… I always wondered what came after those words.
But she never said it out loud.
Even when I asked, she would only scold me, saying I shouldn’t concern myself with adult matters.
So I learned to accept it when she blamed me.
It was easier to listen with one ear and let it out the other. Otherwise,
I felt like it really was my fault.
Anyway, I told myself she was just suffering.
We were poor, after all. There was no father. She had to support two people alone through sewing all day.
If anything, working as a maid would have been better—it provided food, lodging, and a steady wage.
One day, I asked her:
“Mom, why don’t you just go back to being a maid?”
It was a genuine question, out of concern.
But she exploded in anger.
“A maid? Don’t ever say that word again! If I could have done it, I would have already! Everything I live through is because of you!”
Only later did I learn the truth.
Serving as a noble’s maid wasn’t something anyone could do. You needed a recommendation letter signed by a previous employer.
And no employer willingly wrote such a letter unless there was a reason—conflict, trouble, or dismissal.
Who would happily help a problematic servant find a new job?
So for a young poor woman with a child, the options were extremely limited.
Heavy labor, low pay, unstable work—there were almost no choices.
So it was natural that my mother eventually chose another path.
She began living off different lovers, moving from place to place across the continent.
After several relationships, we finally ended up in a small coastal village of the Principality of Pilen.
“Say hello, Thearina.”
“Hello.”
My mother’s new partner was a typical man of that seaside town in his thirties—bearded, rough, a fisherman.
The house looked like it would collapse at any moment. Was I supposed to live here now?
Through a slightly open door, I saw something that made me deeply uneasy.
How many people live here?
It wasn’t even fair to call it a hut—so many people were packed into a wooden shack.
The Principality of Pilen was the only country on the continent that practiced polygamy.
They said it was because so many men died at sea.
What mattered was that this was not a normal household.
I had to endure hostile gazes from everyone.
There were three wives, seven children—four daughters and three sons, including me and my mother.
My mother wasn’t even an official wife, just a lover—but that hardly made a difference.
“How much does a fisherman earn that he has seven children?”
I remembered my mother complaining before coming here. If I had listened, I would have run away.
Then one day:
“Thea. Do an errand. Go ask old Daisy at Cherry Tree House for a bag of flour.”
“Who do you think you are fooling? You already took the money for it.”
Selena, the third eldest sister, was nine years old. And she constantly ordered me around.
Actually, “constantly” might be an understatement. It was every day.
And she kept all the rewards for herself.
I had no choice but to obey.
Selena was practically the ruler of the house.
While older siblings were out working, she had once been the adored youngest—and she hated me for replacing that position.
“Fine…”
I muttered and grabbed the bucket angrily.
Then I heard a choking sound.
I turned around.
Selena was clutching her throat, coughing violently.
Her face was red and swelling rapidly.
“E-elder sister!”
I ran to her.
She gasped for help.
I poured water into a cup and rushed it to her, but she dropped it before drinking.
Crash!
My mind went completely blank.
Selena collapsed, turning pale.
Then suddenly—
A boy’s voice echoed in my mind.
“Thea, do you know? If something gets stuck in your throat…”
A boy I once shared bread with. A homeless child who survived by stealing food.
He had once told me a method to help choking victims.
“First, lift the person.”
I lifted Selena’s limp body. She wasn’t heavy, but to my eight-year-old body she was huge.
“Then place your fists under the ribs and push upward.”
I followed his instructions carefully.
“Cough!”
A piece of bread came out.
Selena collapsed, gasping for air.
But then—
“Aaaah!”
She screamed.
At that moment, the door opened.
“Selena!”
It was Leon, the second eldest brother.
He glared at me.
“What did you do to her?!”
“I… I just…”
I couldn’t speak.
He ignored me and rushed to Selena.
“Are you okay?!”
Selena screamed in pain when he touched her.
I stood frozen in fear.
Then the accusations began.
“You ungrateful girl!”
No one listened to me.
I knelt on the floor while they surrounded me.
“Her ribs are broken!”
Broken ribs? From my hands?
I wanted to shout, but I stayed silent.
Everyone was staring at me with hostility.
I tried to explain:
“She was choking, I just—”
Before I could finish, the woman stormed over.
Slap.
My cheek burned.
Selena cried loudly from the bed, wrapped in a wooden splint.
My mother looked away from me.
And something warm slowly dripped down my face.
