When I Woke Up as a Merchant's Widow

Chapter 1: A Stranger's Memories

The first thing Emma noticed was the smell.

Not the sharp scent of disinfectant from the hospital where she'd spent her last moments, but the comforting aroma of dried herbs, old wood, and freshly brewed tea.

Somewhere nearby, rain tapped gently against paper windows.

"...Madam?"

A small voice trembled.

Emma tried to open her eyes. Her head throbbed as if someone had struck her with a hammer.

"Madam... please wake up."

Another voice, even smaller, broke into quiet sobs.

She forced her eyelids apart.

The ceiling above her was made of dark wooden beams, aged but sturdy. A pale linen curtain swayed in the breeze. Nothing looked familiar.

This wasn't a hospital.

This wasn't even...

Her thoughts stopped.

Two children stood beside the bed.

The older one, a boy no older than seven, bit his lip so hard it had turned white. His clothes were neatly patched, and his tiny hands were clenched into fists as though he were trying very hard not to cry.

Beside him, a little girl of about five hid behind his sleeve. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she held a faded cloth rabbit so tightly its ears were bent.

The moment Emma looked at them, the little girl gasped.

"B-Brother..."

"Madam opened her eyes!"

The children rushed to the bedside.

Before Emma could react, the little girl wrapped her tiny arms around her waist.

"I was so scared..." she whispered between hiccups.

Emma froze.

Madam?

Who are these children?

A sudden wave of pain shot through her head.

Images flooded her mind.

A bustling marketplace.

Rows of colorful silk.

A smiling man handing her a carved wooden hairpin.

A funeral.

Stacks of unpaid debt records.

Sleepless nights.

A fever that refused to break.

Then...

Darkness.

Emma gasped, clutching her temples.

She wasn't remembering.

She was inheriting someone else's life.

The woman who had lived in this body was also named Emma.

A merchant's widow.

Twenty-four years old.

Her husband had died almost a year ago, leaving behind a struggling merchant house, two orphaned children he had taken in after a caravan accident, and debts that grew heavier with every passing season.

The fever had taken the rest.

And now...

Emma sat where another Emma had died.

The room fell silent.

The little boy watched her carefully.

"You... don't remember us, do you?"

His voice was calm.

Too calm for a child.

Emma looked into his frightened eyes.

She wanted to tell him the truth.

She wanted to say, I'm not the woman you've been waiting for.

But the words never came.