"I always thought that since Julian was gone, it was my duty to be filial in his place. But look at how they're treating us! If this continues, I might as well split from this family!"
The words echoed through the crowd and for a moment, silence hung thick in the air.
In my previous life, I had thought about this too—about leaving, about breaking free from this suffocating family. But back then, separating from one's in-laws was no simple matter. It was seen as an act of defiance, a blatant rejection of filial piety, the very foundation of this village's values.
If I had spoken these words in my previous life, I would have been scorned, ridiculed and driven into an even worse situation.
I wasn't originally from this village. I had no childhood friends here, no relatives to stand by me. If I severed ties with the Hunter family, who would help me? If I encountered trouble, who would listen to my side of the story?
So, I had endured. For years, I swallowed their abuse, telling myself that staying was my only option. That at least by being part of this family, I had a roof over my head and a place to exist, even if that place was at the bottom.
But now, after being reincarnated, I knew the truth. They would never let me live in peace. As long as I remained, they would continue draining me dry, treating me as nothing more than an unpaid servant. And sooner or later, whether from hunger, exhaustion, or despair, I would die in this house, just like I had before.
I refused to let that happen again.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The villagers exchanged uncertain glances, some murmuring in hushed voices. No one had expected me to bring up separation.
Milana was the first to react. Her body tensed, her fingers clutching the hem of her sleeve tightly before she blurted, "No! You can't split from the family!"
Her voice was too shrill, too urgent. She had panicked.
Realizing her mistake, she quickly schooled her expression into one of sorrow and concern, softening her tone. "Erin, even though my brother is gone, we're still family. That will never change. If you insist on separating, that's unfilial!"
She lowered her gaze slightly, her lashes trembling as she spoke, as if heartbroken over my so-called betrayal.
Her words struck where they were meant to. The villagers, still bound by tradition, hesitated.
A few elders furrowed their brows, whispering among themselves. No one in the village had ever split from their in-laws before. It was an unthinkable notion, one that went against the natural order of things.
I knew separation wouldn't be easy. I hadn't expected them to support me immediately. That wasn't my goal.
The most pressing matter right now was Arya.
I took a deep breath, ignoring the growing murmurs and declared with unwavering resolve, "I want to separate! I don't need anything else—I just want the room I live in and my dowry jewelry box!"
The second those words left my lips, Hannah's entire demeanor shifted. Her face darkened, her knuckles tightening as her fingers dug into her palms. Her body stiffened like a predator sensing danger.
Milana, however, remained impassive, her brows barely twitching.
That reaction told me everything I needed to know. Hannah was aware of what was inside my dowry jewelry box. Milana wasn't.
Milana had likely never paid attention to it before, believing it insignificant. But Hannah—she had known. She had known all along.
I straightened my back despite my trembling limbs and continued, my voice calm yet cutting, "That jewelry box contains the belongings my adoptive mother left me. She entrusted it to you for safekeeping and now that I need it, please return it to me."
Hannah's glare sharpened into something vicious. If we had been alone, she would have struck me by now, just as she had so many times before. But we weren't alone now.
In my previous life, just one withering look from her would have made me shrink back. I would have cowered, apologized and tried to smooth things over. Not this time.
A familiar voice piped up from the crowd—Hannah's rival, the same woman who had questioned her earlier.
"Oh my, a dowry jewelry box?" she said, tilting her head as if recalling something. "I remember Hannah saying something like—oh right! She claimed Erin was dirt poor and that she didn't ask for a single cent in bride price from Erin's parent."
She let out a dramatic gasp, raising a hand to her mouth in mock surprise. "Looks like she did ask for something and it's quite valuable after all."
Her words were like a spark to dry kindling. The crowd immediately came alive with speculation.
"What's in the jewelry box?"
"Why does she care so much about it?"
"If Erin's family was as poor as Hannah claimed, why would they leave behind a dowry jewelry box?"
Hannah's face twisted in fury.
"You old hag! Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!" she snapped, her voice shrill.
Her rival merely scoffed, crossing her arms. "Touchy, aren't we? Makes me wonder if you've been hiding something all these years."
Hannah's patience snapped. "You—!"
And just like that, the two women were bickering fiercely, their insults flying back and forth like daggers. The villagers watched with varying expressions—some amused, some scandalized, others simply entertained by the unexpected drama.
I could have let them argue longer, letting Hannah continue to ruin her own image. But I had more important things to do.
A deep, commanding voice suddenly cut through the noise. "Enough!"
The village chief's roar was like thunder, silencing the chaos in an instant.
The crowd parted again as he stepped forward, his sharp eyes sweeping over the scene with an air of authority.
I took the chance to press forward.
"Hannah," I said, my voice firm. "Don't tell me you're refusing to return it?"
Her lips trembled, her nostrils flaring. Before she could snap back, Milana's voice rang out.
"Erin, have you lost your mind today?" she hissed, her patience finally slipping. "You married into our family, so everything of yours belongs to us!"
Her voice dripped with entitlement, her posture rigid with suppressed anger. Unlike Hannah, she wasn't trying to save face anymore. She didn't care what was in the jewelry box. All she knew was that it was mine and therefore, I wasn't allowed to have it.
I let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. She truly was spoiled to the core.
"What's mine is mine," I said coldly. "If you refuse to return it, I'll call the police and have them handle it."
Hannah wasn't afraid of the police. She had spent years manipulating and controlling every aspect of this household without consequence. But the village chief? His face paled, a flicker of unease passing through his eyes.
Calling the police was no trivial matter. It would affect the village's reputation. And for someone like the village chief, whose position and prestige were built on maintaining peace and order, this was a nightmare.
If the news spread, his chances of winning any awards—recognition that brought honor and benefits to his name—would be completely ruined.
A muscle twitched in his jaw as he took a deep breath and finally stepped forward. "Hannah," he said, his tone heavy with authority, "since it's something Erin's mother left behind, you should return it to her."
Hannah's hands clenched at her sides. Her nails, yellowed with age and work, dug deep into her palms. Her body trembled with barely contained fury, but she didn't dare to lash out—not in front of the village chief. Instead, she swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat, her eyes burning with reluctant fury as she took a step back.
"Fine!" she spat through gritted teeth. "This is all about getting Arya treated, isn't it? I'll pay for it!"
With a sharp motion, she dug into her pocket, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and flicked it at me with a scowl.
The thin piece of paper fluttered through the air. But before it could reach me, a hand shot out, intercepting it midair.
"Mom! You can't give it to her!"
