The day I went into labor, the pain was unbearable, but I stopped the handmaiden from fetching my mother. “Don’t call her… Get the physician…” In my past life, my husband was at war, and my mother stayed with me during the difficult birth—missing my sister’s nameday. In her rage, my sister ran away, only to be captured, violated, and murdered. My mother retrieved her body with eerie calm, praising my newborn daughter instead. But at my daughter’s first-year feast, she poisoned us all. As I held my dying family, she hissed: "Every woman suffers childbirth. Are you special? If not for you, my Camila would be alive! You all deserve to die!" Now, reborn, I kept my mother away. This time, she’d attend my sister’s celebration. Just as relief flickered, agony tore through me—the midwife was forcing the half-born child back inside. … Wave after wave of agony crashed over me, and I couldn’t stifle my screams. The midwife wrenched my legs apart, her voice a harsh bark. “Push! Push! Haven’t you eaten? Push, I said!” But the baby wouldn’t budge. My handmaiden, Clara, knelt by the bed, gripping my hand, her voice choked with tears. “My lady… just hold on a little longer. I’ll send for your mother right now…” She started to run, but the midwife snatched her back, her forehead cracking against the bedframe. “Today is Lady Camila’s nameday! The mistress is with her. No one is to disturb them!” The midwife turned her scowl on me. “Just one more good push, my lady, and the babe will be born. Every woman goes through this. It’s a small matter. Must you trouble the mistress over nothing? Can’t you be more considerate?” The blinding pain and the midwife’s venomous tone were a brutal confirmation: I had been reborn. It was exactly the same as before. I was dying in childbirth. My husband, Lord Alistair, was far away, quelling rebellions in the borderlands. Fearing I would be lonely in our great house, he had asked my mother to stay with me. In my first life, Clara had wept hysterically, wanting to fetch my mother, only to be blocked by this very midwife, who insisted such a trivial thing as childbirth shouldn’t interrupt my mother’s time with my sister. Back then, I had pulled rank, invoking my title as the Marchioness, and forced Clara to bring my mother. But this time, I didn’t want my mother anywhere near me. Fighting through the pain, I pushed myself up. “Get… Physician Graham,” I gasped to Clara. Physician Graham was the man my husband had explicitly arranged to deliver our child before he left the capital. It was my mother who had insisted on using her own midwife, old Martha, claiming her experience was unmatched. It was a mistake I wouldn’t make twice. A flicker of panic crossed the midwife’s face. Before I could say more, she shoved me back down onto the bed, her hands pressing hard on my shoulders. She kicked Clara away as my loyal handmaiden tried to help me. “Physician Graham? What for? Every noble lady gives birth this way! What danger could there be? You’re just making a fuss!” the midwife spat. “Can’t even deliver a child, just causing trouble. What if word of this gets back to the Marquess? What if the Baron blames his wife and Lady Camila for this mess?” “Get back here! No one leaves this room today!” Clara crumpled to the floor, clutching her stomach in pain. Suddenly, two burly guards stormed in from outside and pinned her down, stopping her struggles. Only then did I realize the courtyard was filled with grim-faced men-at-arms. They hadn’t been there in my first life. With Clara subdued, the guards formed a human wall at the door. The midwife pried my legs apart again and gave the baby a violent tug. Blood instantly soaked the bedsheets. A tearing sensation, worse than anything I had ever imagined, consumed me. I screamed, but I was too weak to fight back. The midwife washed the blood from her hands with a look of revulsion. “Don’t waste your energy,” she snarled. “The mistress gave specific orders today. No matter what happens to you, she is not to be disturbed during Lady Camila’s celebration.” Her words were like a bucket of ice water poured over my head, chilling me to the bone. So, my mother had been reborn, too. This time, she knew I would be on the brink of death, yet she had chosen to abandon me without a second thought. In my first life, my mother had been with me. The midwife, though she disliked me, hadn’t dared to be so reckless. I had given birth to a healthy daughter, and we were both safe. But Camila, furious that our mother had missed her nameday, ran away and met her horrific end. My mother, consumed by guilt, buried Camila with all the honors befitting a Baron’s daughter. After the birth, she locked herself in Camila’s room for three days, refusing all food and drink. When she emerged, her face was a calm, placid mask. She would hold my daughter and tell everyone what a beauty she was, how much she looked like me. She even embroidered a pair of tiny shoes with protective sigils, saying they would keep my daughter safe and healthy. Then came the first-year ceremony. She poisoned the feast. The entire hall of guests perished. With my last breath, I tried to call for a physician for my daughter, but my mother snatched the child from my arms and smashed her against the stone floor. My husband, Alistair, tried to shield me and was cut down by her frenzied knife strikes. The poison spread through my veins, the agony stealing my voice. All I could do was watch as my husband’s bloody body collapsed on top of me. She grabbed me by the hair, dragging me before Camila’s memorial portrait, and slammed my head against the floor again and again. “If it weren’t for you, how could my Camila have died?” she shrieked. “You already stole her husband! Why couldn’t you just leave her alone? You must have been jealous! You had her killed, didn’t you!” No… I didn’t… It was Camila who had refused the marriage, forcing me to take her place and wed Alistair, the formidable Marquess of the North, a man rumored to be a ruthless killer. The metallic tang of blood filled my throat. I couldn’t speak, only shake my head desperately, tears streaming down my face. From the day I was born, my mother had sent me to be raised on a remote country estate. I was only brought back three years ago, for one purpose: to marry the man my sister feared. My mother always said, “You’re the older sister. You must give way to Camila.” Anything Camila wanted, if I had it, I gave it to her without a fight. Just days before I went into labor, I had even written to my husband, asking him to bring Camila a gown in the latest fashion when he returned. I didn’t know she would be taken by bandits. I was just so scared. I was losing so much blood, the pain was unbearable, and I was terrified I would die. Terrified I would never see the man I loved again. But no matter how hard I shook my head, my mother refused to believe me. “Camila died because of you. Now, all of you will join her in hell!” The pain consumed my consciousness, and with it, the last shred of hope I had for her love. But this was a new life, and I would not die here. The blood kept flowing, my eyelids growing heavy. Suddenly, I saw a familiar figure flash past the window. I gathered all my strength and screamed. “Physician Graham—!” My voice was ragged, but he heard it. He stopped, turning to look. The midwife scrambled across the room and slammed the window shut with a loud bang. She rushed back to me, stuffing a wet cloth into my mouth, her voice a low, vicious hiss. “Shut up! I told you to shut up!” Then she called out to the person outside. “Physician Graham, it’s just the usual noises of childbirth. Pay it no mind.” The physician hesitated for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “But if her ladyship needs anything, do not hesitate to call me.” He started to walk away. Clara, still held by the guards, screamed. “Physician Gra—” Before she could finish, the midwife slapped her across the face, hard. “You shut up too! The both of you, nothing but bad omens, always troubling the mistress!” A hand was clamped over Clara’s mouth, silencing her. Through the window, I watched Physician Graham’s figure recede into the distance. My heart sank with each step he took. Clara was dragged out of the room. I was left alone with Martha the midwife and the assistants she had brought with her. The bleeding worsened, but the pain began to dull, a terrifying numbness spreading through me. There was still no sign of the baby. My consciousness faded in and out. I was drowning in despair, unable to breathe. The midwife was ordering the assistants to change the bloody water, her curses unrelenting. “Such a nuisance! Who gives birth like you? I told you to push, are you deaf?” “Just get this baby out! I have to get back to serve Lady Camila at her celebration!” I couldn’t make a sound. Just as I thought I was going to die, a steady, authoritative voice came from outside. “What is the situation in there? Why are you all blocking the door?” My brother? A surge of hope filled me, but the midwife had gagged me and tied my wrists to the bedposts. Hearing my brother’s voice, the midwife glanced at the blood-soaked floor, her expression changing. “This late, and still no baby?” she muttered. “And all this blood… No, the young lord can’t see this. I’ll be ruined!” “That’s it! Push it back in! I have to push the baby back in!” She chanted under her breath, ordering an assistant to press on my stomach while she tried to force the baby’s head back into my womb. The pain was beyond words. I thrashed, slamming my elbows against the wooden headboard, praying my brother would hear and save me. The next moment, his cold, sharp voice cut through the air. “Are you going to move, or not?” “My sister is in labor! It’s been hours, and there’s been no word! Get out of my way! Whoever is in there, if you can’t handle this, get out and let Physician Graham in!” Since I had returned to my family’s home, my brother, Lord Tristan, was the only one who had ever shown me any kindness. The midwife suddenly stood up, hastily washing her bloody hands. She instructed the assistants holding me down, “Keep her still! Don’t let the young lord see anything! Get that baby back inside. I’ll handle him.” She left the room. The assistants she had tasked with her gruesome work knelt down, trembling, and continued their horrific efforts. Outside, I heard the midwife’s groveling voice. “My lord, it’s not that I won’t let the physician in. But he is a man. Where in the entire capital has a man ever delivered a noble lady’s child? What would become of her ladyship’s reputation?” “Childbirth is a swift affair. I understand you’re worried, my lord, but the baby will be here soon. I will ensure both mother and child are safe. You and the physician should go.” My brother’s voice was like ice. “I’ll give you one hour. If the child is not born in one hour, it will be your head.” A short while later, the door creaked open and then shut again. The midwife returned, a smug look on her face. She glanced down at me with disgust. An assistant looked at her worriedly. “Martha, what do we do? If the young lord finds out, he’ll have us all killed!” “What are you panicking for?” she snapped, kicking the girl. She turned back to me, her eyes glinting with malice, her voice a low whisper. “In that case, only the dead can keep secrets. Women die in childbirth all the time. As long as the baby is born, who cares if the mother lives or dies?” My heart plummeted into an abyss of terror. I couldn’t move my arms, so I kicked my feet against the bedframe with all my might. The midwife immediately pinned my legs down and gave the wavering assistant a sharp look. The girl was still hesitant. “But Martha… she’s the Marchioness…” “And you know she’s the Marchioness!” the midwife spat in her face. “If word of what happened today gets back to the Marquess, all of us will be executed, our families along with us! Even the Baron and his lady will be implicated!” The mention of Alistair’s ruthless reputation seemed to do the trick. The assistant’s face hardened with resolve. They converged on me. Some held my arms, while another pressed a cloth over my nose and mouth. I struggled wildly, trying to make any sound I could. My brother’s voice came from outside again. He was trying to force his way in, but the guards were blocking him. After a moment of confrontation, his voice rang out, cold and clear. “If I am not permitted to be present for my sister’s labor, then go and fetch my mother.” “What are you waiting for? Go and get her!” The midwife panicked. She let go of me and rushed outside, shouting, “No, my lord, you can’t! You can’t get the mistress!” “Today is Lady Camila’s nameday! The mistress said no one was to…” “Insolence!” My brother’s voice was a whip-crack, followed by the sharp sound of a slap. He must have struck the midwife. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? I call you Martha out of respect for your years of service to my mother, but you dare to put on airs with me?” Through a crack in the door, I saw the midwife kneeling on the ground, clutching her face, trembling. My brother ordered his attendant to fetch our mother. Physician Graham paced anxiously nearby, casting worried glances toward my room. No… don’t get her… I struggled, reaching out a hand, trying to stop him. I didn’t want my mother. I just wanted the physician. I just wanted to live. But my voice was too weak.
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