Chapter 1- The accident and awakening

The rain had started softly that evening, tapping against the bus windows like fingertips begging to be let in. A girl named Lila sat alone near the back, knees drawn close, the familiar weight of her favourite novel resting in her lap.

It was the kind of book she reread again repeatedly, even though it hurt every time — "The Silent Garden". A story full of tragedy, betrayal, and a brutal mother whose downfall was so violent it left the readers shaking.

But she had always been soft-hearted, too soft for this world, and stories were where she hid when things felt too heavy. Which meant she spent most days hiding.

Today was no different.

Her classmates had laughed at her again behind her back. Someone had “accidentally” knocked her lunch from her hands. And her family… well, they rarely noticed her enough to hurt her directly. They just forgot she existed most of the time.

The only place she felt seen was in her books.

She traced her finger across the page, rereading the part where the mute husband, Kael, tried to shield his children from their mother’s cruelty. Even without a voice, he had always been the strongest character in the book. Loyal, dangerous when needed, and quietly observant — a man who saw everything but spoke nothing.

She admired him a little too much.

Her stop was still far away, and the gentle sway of the bus made her eyelids heavy. She leaned her head against the cool window, letting herself drift into the familiar world of the story.

The one place where people, even fictional ones, felt more real than anything outside.

But then—

A scream. A horn blaring. Metal twisting into metal.

The world snapped violently sideways.

Her book flew out of her hands.

Her body jerked as the bus spun, tires shrieking.

She felt weightless for a moment — then crushing pain.

Light—

dark—

silence.

A heartbeat.

Then nothing.

She didn’t know how long the darkness lasted. Minutes? Hours? Days?

But slowly, warmth seeped back into her limbs, and a smell reached her first — lavender. Sweet, soft, familiar yet not.

Then came the heaviness in her chest.

Her eyelids twitched.

Was she… in a hospital?

She forced her eyes open.

But this wasn’t a hospital.

She lay on a soft bed draped with sheer white curtains. Sunlight spilled across embroidered sheets. The walls were pale cream, decorated with delicate golden vines. A vanity table sat in the corner, covered in combs and perfumes she had never owned.

Her heartbeat stalled.

This wasn’t her room.

This wasn’t her house.

This wasn’t… anywhere she knew.

She pushed herself up slowly, head throbbing, and that was when she noticed the mirror across the room.

A woman stared back at her.

Older. Taller. Elegant.

Dark hair spilling over her shoulders, cold beauty carved into every line of her face.

Her stomach dropped.

This was the mother from the novel.

The cruel mother.

The villain.

The woman who destroyed her children’s lives and tormented her mute husband until the day she died.

Her name was Vivian.

Her breath froze in her throat.

“No,” she whispered — or tried to.

But the voice that came out wasn’t hers.

It was deeper, smoother, unfamiliar.

Panic surged through her.

She stumbled off the bed, grabbing the edge of the vanity to steady herself.

Her hands — even her hands weren’t her own. Long fingers, delicate rings, painted nails.

“What… what is happening?”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

She spun around just as the bedroom door opened.

A little girl stood there.

Black hair. Wide terrified eyes.

Maybe eight years old.

She flinched the moment he saw her.

Her heart cracked.

Her daughter Mira who is the middle child.

The quiet one.

She shrank back like a small animal cornered by something dangerous.

So, this was how the mother normally appeared to her.

She knelt slowly, trying not to scare her more.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I’m not… I won’t hurt you.”

But the little girl staggered backward, trembling.

Her lips parted in a whisper—

“Please don’t hit me…”

Her throat burned with horror.

Before she could speak again, the girl turned and ran down the hallway, calling for someone.

“Father! Father!”

Her blood went cold.

Father…

That meant—

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Cold eyes like winter oceans.

A presence so sharp the air seemed to tighten.

Kael.

The mute husband.

He looked exactly as the novel described him — calm but dangerous, every movement controlled, gaze unreadable.

But there was something else too.

Suspicion.

He looked at her the way a wolf might look at a stranger wearing a familiar skin.

His eyes flicked down to her hands, then back up.

He signed a single sharp gesture.

What did you do?

She swallowed hard.

She didn’t know sign language.

Not the way he used it.

She lifted her palms helplessly.

“I didn’t do anything. I swear.”

A lie — or at least it sounded like one from his perspective.

His eyes narrowed, icy and sharp enough to cut glass.

He stepped closer.

Slow. Controlled. Silent.

Her heart hammered painfully.

It felt like she was standing before a predator.

But then something changed in his expression — confusion? Wariness?

He studied her face with piercing intensity, as if he sensed something was… wrong.

And maybe he did.

Because in the original novel, the mother would have already screamed, slapped the child, or insulted him loudly.

But she was just kneeling there.

Scared.

Soft.

Different.

Kael tilted his head slightly.

She whispered, voice trembling, “I’m not who you think I am.”

His eyes sharpened instantly — dangerous now.

She lifted her hands quickly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know how to be her.”

Her voice cracked.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then—

Footsteps pattered down the hall.

The youngest child, Leo toddled in, rubbing his eyes, dragging a stuffed toy behind him.

He blinked up at her, confused but not afraid.

“Mama?” he asked softly.

She felt her heart shatter.

She nodded, tears blurring her vision.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

The child smiled sleepily and reached tiny arms toward her.

Kael tensed immediately — ready to intervene if needed.

But she gently picked the little one up, holding him carefully as if he were made of glass.

The child rested his head on her shoulder, trusting.

Completely innocent.

She bit her lip to hold the tears back.

Kael watched her.

Studying.

Analysing.

Something in his eyes flickered — not soft, but uncertain.

He knew.

He didn’t know what, but he knew something had changed.

The mother he had feared, despised, and endured for years…

she was gone.

And a stranger with a soft heart had taken her place.

The youngest child rested against her shoulder, sleepy and trusting.

Lila heart ached at the innocence that contrasted so sharply with the cruelty she knew the original mother had shown.

Footsteps echoed again — heavier this time.

The oldest child appeared, fists clenched, eyes blazing with fear and anger.

“You! You’re not my mother!” he shouted, backing away.

Her soft heart thumped painfully.

“I… I know I look like her, but I’m not her,” she said, voice trembling.

“I just… I just want to help you. Please.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

He hesitated, then spat, “You lie!”

And turned to run.

Lila froze, then gently called, “Wait! Please don’t go!”

The middle child peeked around the doorframe, timid and anxious.

“Is she… really going to hurt us?” he whispered.

She shook her head.

“No. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Later, in the dim light of the house, Lila tried to figure out what she could do.

She didn’t know how to cook like the mother, how to manage the household, or even how to speak with Kael without triggering his suspicion.

Every step she took, she felt eyes following her — cold, assessing, dangerous.

Kael stood silently across the room, arms crossed. His gaze pierced through her.

She tried to smile, but it faltered.

His eyes flicked to the youngest child in her arms, then back to her.

Finally, he signed a single, deliberate motion.

You better not hurt them.

She nodded frantically.

“I won’t. I can’t. I’m not her.”

He watched her a long moment, then finally turned and left the room without a word.

A shiver ran down her spine. That night, in the mother’s bed, staring at the ceiling.

Memories of the original mother flashed in her mind — cruel words, abuse, lies.

And she shuddered.

I must fix this.

Her soft heart burned with determination.

If she failed, the children would suffer, and she would carry the guilt forever.

As she drifted to sleep, she whispered to herself:

“I’ll make things right. Somehow. I’ll protect them… no matter what.

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