I was reincarnated as the villain’s mother, the one who dies young. In the book, his father dies in an accident, leaving his mother a vulnerable young woman, alone. The settlement money from his death was a lure for predators. A thief broke in one night, stabbed the mother to death, and stole the money and the child. This thief was a degenerate gambler, a drunk, a waste of a man. The boy’s life with him was a litany of beatings and curses. A system tasked me with saving him, with redeeming his soul. It offered me a selection of roles to play in his life. “I want to be his mother,” I said. The system responded with what felt like a digital screech of confusion. 【???】 I just smiled. “If the goal is redemption, isn’t it better to make sure the suffering never happens in the first place?” This time, he would be a happy kid. This time, he would have a mother. 1 On a day that felt no different from any other, a system calling itself “Redemption & Rehabilitation” locked onto me, insisting I had to save a villain who’d been reborn with the memories of his dark past. 【He will be volatile,】 it warned, its synthesized voice buzzing in my mind. 【He trusts no one. There will be times he will sacrifice you for his own goals, and he will inevitably misunderstand you because of other women. But if you persevere, you will win his heart and achieve a perfect ending.】 I stared at the image it projected into my mind: a young man with eyes like chips of ice and a long, jagged scar that cleaved his face in two. He looked less like a romantic hero and more like a cornered wolf. I had my doubts. 【Now, let’s select your identity,】 the system continued, its tone brightening. 【You could be the sweet girl-next-door, his childhood friend! Or perhaps the beautiful but vicious subordinate who eventually becomes his most trusted ally…】 It paused, puffing up with digital pride. 【Basically, any female role that can get close to him. We can do it all. Pretty impressive, right?】 I nodded slowly. “Okay. In that case, I’ll be his mother.” 【……..】 “Boyfriends are fleeting,” I said. “But a son is forever.” And just like that, I became Alice, the mother of Liam. He was a newborn, just days old. His father had just died in a workplace accident, leaving the original Alice a grieving, vulnerable widow. In the original story, the settlement money was a curse. It drew the attention of a local degenerate named Bucky. One night, he broke in, killed her, took the cash, and snatched the baby. Bucky was a lifelong bachelor and a drunk; he figured he’d raise the kid to take care of him in his old age. This was an era before doorbell cameras and widespread surveillance. The crime was never solved. But Bucky didn’t raise Liam; he brutalized him. The boy grew up with fists and curses, never setting foot in a school. Years later, during a drunken stupor, Bucky let the truth of his parentage slip. Liam killed him, ran away, and clawed his way into the criminal underworld, surviving on pure, unadulterated rage. I looked again at the mental image of the man he would become. That scar on his face, a permanent reminder of Bucky’s cruelty, was a roadmap of his pain. He looked like a wolf, I thought. And the world had given him nothing but reasons to bite. 2 Liam’s father had been an orphan with no living relatives. So, I took the fifty-thousand-dollar settlement check and went home. Back to the small, rural town where I’d grown up. In this day and age, it was a small fortune, enough to make you a target. I arranged for a friend to keep an eye on our small house in the city; it would be there for Liam when he was old enough for better schools. The original Alice was an orphan, too, raised by the generosity of the entire town—a little bit of this neighbor’s pot roast, a little bit of that one’s garden vegetables. It was a place where, while not everyone was a saint, the roots of community ran deep. People looked out for one another. It wasn’t like the anonymous city apartments, where you could die and not be found for days. The townsfolk were shocked when I returned with a baby in my arms. But money talks, and after a donation to the town fund, the mayor, Mr. Henderson, approved a plot of land for me to build on. I paid good wages, bought the best cuts of meat for the community barbecue I threw, and quickly had a crew of volunteers ready to raise a house. While it was being built, I stayed with the Hendersons. Technically, I was still in the delicate postpartum weeks. Mr. Henderson’s wife, a kind, bustling woman everyone called Aunt Carol, took care of me, while their daughter-in-law, Brenda, helped with Liam. Liam was already reborn. His dark, knowing eyes held no emotion, and their stillness was unnerving. But no matter how old his soul was, his body was still an infant’s. His life was a simple loop of eating and sleeping. He had an incredible sense of dignity for a baby; he never cried. Only when he was painfully hungry would he let out a few soft grunts. He also flat-out refused to breastfeed. When Aunt Carol laid him in my arms, he just turned his head away, sticking his tongue out. I was relieved, to be honest. I’d never been a mother, and the whole process felt deeply awkward. I’d bought formula and fortified cereal in the city—luxury items out here. Brenda would mix it for him, patiently feeding him with a tiny spoon. But a baby’s bladder is small. Not long after a feeding, he’d wiggle his legs and grunt. Brenda would change him, patting his little bottom with a smile. “Going to be a stoic one, aren’t you?” she’d coo at him. “So serious, even from the start.” Liam’s tiny hands would flail as if trying to cover his face. Then, two tiny, frustrated sounds escaped his lips, and he reached for me. I smiled and took him into my arms. He stared at me, his gaze intense and curious. “I’m your mom,” I whispered, my voice soft. And this time, you’re going to have a wonderful life. 3 The new house was finished quickly, and with a little help from the system to expedite furniture delivery, Liam and I moved in. His favorite activity quickly became staring at me with those unnervingly intelligent eyes. Whenever he did, I’d swoop in and smother him with kisses and raspberries on his belly, laughing at his indignant little squirms. He’d wave his tiny fists in fury, but the moment a bottle was slipped into his mouth, his anger would melt away, and he’d be fast asleep before he finished it. And just like that, Liam turned three. He was a homebody, but my cooking was becoming locally famous, which meant a steady stream of neighborhood kids showing up at our door. He never lacked for playmates, even if he usually sat among them with a grumpy little frown on his face, earning him the nickname “Little Old Man.” Today, I dressed him up. A little sun hat, bright yellow overalls with a bunch of candies tucked into the pocket, and a small water bottle slung over his shoulder. “Go on, go play with your friends.” Liam, ever the cool customer, clung to my leg and started to climb, his voice a sweet murmur. “No, Mama. Stay.” I knelt down to his level, my voice gentle. “Today is a little warrior’s adventure. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you get back. I promise.” 4 I gently nudged Liam out the door. The system, for all its melodrama, had a useful real-time viewing function. I watched as he stood on the porch for a long moment, a pained expression on his little face. Finally, with a sigh that seemed too big for his body, his little legs started moving. He was heading for the haystacks at the edge of the village, a popular spot for hide-and-seek. I’d taken him there a few times. Several adults saw him on his way and called out. “Hey there, Liam! Where are you off to?” He took two more steps, then stopped and slowly tilted his head back. “Out to play,” he finally replied. They chuckled. “Alright then, have fun! Don’t wander too far!” He hated talking to strangers. Usually, when we were out, he’d bury his face in my shoulder. But I’d told him it was polite to answer when someone spoke to you. He gave a tiny nod, his voice muffled. “Thank you. I know.” The adults ruffled his hair. He shook his head, annoyed, and scurried off, adjusting the little blue hat I’d put on him. It had a little tiger embroidered on the front. He’d once called it “childish,” with all the disdain a three-year-old could muster. But I knew he secretly loved it. I’d catch him tracing the tiger with his finger when he thought I wasn’t looking. It’s why I started embroidering little animals on all his clothes. 5 It took him a while, but he finally reached the haystacks. The moment the other kids saw him, they swarmed. “Liam! You came out to play all by yourself?” “Where’s your mom?” A little girl pointed to the tiny yellow duck on his overalls. “Your clothes are so pretty.” Her voice was full of envy. In those days, new clothes were a rarity for kids; most wore hand-me-downs from older siblings or altered adult clothes. The boys gathered around, pointing at the tiger on his hat. Liam clutched his head and wobbled. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled. “If you touch me, you don’t get any candy.” The word “candy” worked like a magic spell. “Candy! He has candy!” Instantly, they all stood at attention, perfectly still. Liam sighed again, that world-weary sigh, and pointed a chubby finger at them. “You have to sit in a row to get a treat.” They nodded eagerly and sat down. Liam reached into his pocket and started distributing the sweets. One of the kids was so happy he started licking the wrapper after he finished his piece. “Your mom is the best,” he said. “She gives you new clothes and candy. And she cooks the best food. I wish your mom was my mom.” That opened the floodgates. “Yeah, me too! I wish she was my mom!” Another kid puffed out his chest. “She wouldn’t like you, you’re lazy.” “Well, she wouldn’t like you either, you’re too naughty!” Suddenly, Liam’s face clouded over with anger. He lunged forward, trying to snatch the candy back. “She’s my mom!” he yelled, his voice trembling. “She wouldn’t like any of you! Not a single one!” The kids clamped their hands over their mouths, protecting their treasure. Liam glared at them, but it was no use. Defeated, he turned and ran. 6 He didn’t run far. He tired out and squatted by the side of the road, opening his little water bottle for a drink. After a moment’s hesitation, he unwrapped a creamy caramel and popped it in his mouth. His cheeks puffed out immediately. He looked like a little chipmunk. I couldn’t help but smile. Just then, a sparrow landed a few feet in front of him. It tilted its head, fearless. Liam watched it for a moment, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a small cracker, and crumbled it on the ground. The sparrow, with its bright, beady eyes, watched him for another long moment before hopping forward to peck at the crumbs. The system’s voice hummed in my mind. 【Who would believe this was the same ruthless villain from the original story?】 My Liam was soft and pale, even a little chubby compared to the other kids. His hands were dimpled, his face round. A little ball of dough. “Of course,” I sent back. “Beautiful flowers grow in well-tended gardens. It’s only natural.” The system did a digital equivalent of fawning. 【His affection rating for you is already at sixty percent! This is incredible! Normally, a target this difficult would take ten, even twenty years to crack!】 I felt a surge of pride. “It’s also natural for a child to love the person who cares for them every single day.” 【Show-off,】 it grumbled. I ignored it and scooped a cup of flour into a bowl, starting on a batch of butter cookies. On the system’s screen, I saw Liam approaching the large oak tree in our front yard. I quickly wiped my hands and stepped outside, holding a caramel apple I’d made earlier. I tried to limit his sugar, which made treats like this extra special. I stood on the porch in my yellow sundress. The moment he came into view, I called his name. “Liam!” He had been walking, but at the sound of my voice, his little legs started pumping. He broke into a run, a huge, wobbly grin spreading across his face, revealing a few tiny baby teeth. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile with such pure, unadulterated joy. I opened my arms, and he crashed into them. I held him tight. “Did you have a good time today?” I asked, my voice bright. He rubbed his face against my neck, nodding vigorously. “Mmhmm.” I kissed his forehead and set him down, presenting him with the caramel apple. “A reward for my brave little warrior.” Liam’s eyes went wide. He stuck out his tongue and gave the sticky coating a tentative lick, then closed his eyes in bliss. The system zipped around him in frantic, glowing circles. 【The villain has become a little foodie!】 7 After that day, something in Liam seemed to shift. He became a little more outgoing. He still preferred being at home, but when friends came knocking, he was willing to go on adventures with them. The kids, in turn, all puffed out their chests and swore to protect him—a fair trade for the steady supply of snacks I provided. Life fell into a peaceful rhythm, punctuated only by the town gossips trying to set me up with eligible bachelors or speculate on just how much money I really had. Then one day, there was a knock at the door. Given the friendly but sometimes intrusive nature of small-town life, I usually kept the main gate latched. Who could that be? I was halfway to the gate when the system’s voice screeched in my head. 【Host, don’t open it! That’s him! That’s the thief who killed the original Alice!】 My hand froze on the latch. Then, deliberately, I slid it open. “It’s fine,” I thought back. “I know how to handle myself.” 【Oh. Right. I forgot.】 A widow living alone attracts a certain kind of trouble. The peace I enjoyed was largely thanks to the fact that I had, on a few occasions, made it clear that my fists were harder than some of the local troublemakers’ heads. The word had gotten around: the woman who’d moved back was not just wealthy, she was tough. I opened the door. A man in a clean-looking, but cheap, button-down shirt stood there. He’d clearly tried to clean himself up, but he couldn’t scrub away the stale odor of cheap cigarettes and booze that clung to him. I offered a polite smile. “Can I help you?” His eyes darted around the yard, a flicker of greed in them. “Hey there,” he said, forcing a grin. “Name’s Bucky. Been working out of state for a few years, just got back. Heard we had a new face in town, thought I’d come say hi.” I kept my smile in place. “Hello. I’m Alice. And I’m not really new, I grew up here. Just moved back home. I don’t think I remember you, though. Are you from around here?” Bucky laughed, a dry, awkward sound. “Moved here later on. Basically a local now.” Just then, a small voice called out from behind me. “Mama!” 8 I turned to see Liam, awake from his nap, standing in the doorway of the house. I beckoned him over. “Liam, come here. This is a new… uncle. Bucky.” Liam trotted over, his eyes, sharp and focused, locked onto Bucky. His whole body went rigid. He pressed himself against my leg and refused to say a word. Bucky chuckled again, the sound even more strained. He dug into his pocket and pulled out two slightly crushed cookies. “Hey there, kiddo. Ever seen one of these before? Go on, take ’em.” A few years ago, a store-bought cookie would have been a real treat for a kid in this town. But now? Liam was practically sick of them. He used his to feed the sparrows. Even the other children weren’t that easily impressed anymore. Liam looked at Bucky, then at the cookies. He reached out his little hand. Bucky’s face broke into a triumphant smile. But Liam didn’t take the cookies. He smacked them out of Bucky’s hand, sending them flying into the dirt. A flash of raw fury crossed Bucky’s face before he caught himself, plastering on another fake smile. “Ha. Haha. Kid’s got no manners, huh?” My own expression hardened. I scooped Liam up into my arms. “He’s just a child, and he doesn’t like being teased by strangers. If you’ll excuse me.” I shut the door in his face. Through the system’s feed, I saw him scratch his head in frustration, muttering under his breath. “Little brat.” He took a step, glanced at the cookies on the ground as if to retrieve them, then saw my neighbor, Patty, peering over the fence. Cursing, he stomped away. A moment later, Patty was at my door, clutching the dirt-covered cookies. She slipped inside, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Alice, honey, you’ve hit the jackpot! That Bucky’s come back with a fortune, and it looks like he’s got his eyes on you!”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385882”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel