Chapter 1

I Have Occupied the Body of a Stepmother

There is a famous fairy tale about a kindhearted young woman whose father entered his second marriage. Through this marriage, they became a family of five, and the young woman found herself with a stepmother and two stepsisters.

One day, her father passed away, and poor Cinderella had to endure the abuse of her wicked stepfamily.

“Cinderella was an orphan when she lost her parents young, was abused by her stepmother and stepsisters’ sharp tongues.”

Where I used to live, everyone knew the rhyme. I muttered it to myself as I sprawled across the sofa. The massive, ramshackle mansion was empty and silent, save for the quiet brush of someone sweeping.

If there is a god in this world, I wanted to tell him, “Fudge, oh fudge. You’re too cruel.”

I was familiar with literature, dramas, and even historical tales in which someone transmigrated into another person’s body. In those stories, however, the transmigrator entered the body of the main character, or their rival, older sister, or younger sibling, or...

I need a break. I gasped for breath.

I interrupted my enumerating—which I was using to convey the absurdity of my situation—to catch my breath. If this world had a god, I was sure that they had no sense of conscience.

I wasn’t even asking to be younger.

Other transmigrators were placed in the body of an extra in the main character’s periphery! But why?! Why me?!

“Hold on. Calm down.”

Phew. I was getting excited, and it was heating me up. None of the clothes in this world could breathe as it was.

Luckily, they didn’t wear corsets, but it was still uncomfortable. I climbed to my feet and tugged my dress out from under me.

I grumbled again. “This is seriously going too far.”

I had screamed and raved for the past several days. Now I was too tired to even be angry.

There were so many examples of transmigration stories. Why did this have to happen to me? Gods might not exist, but I flipped them off anyway.

You know the person that’s always the main character’s enemy? The one who can’t be saved? The stepmother. That was me.

“Fudge...”

I was at my wit’s end. All I could do was sigh. I threw back my head and screamed up at the sky.

“Ugh! Fudge!”

Did you know you can’t swear in fairy tales? Fudge, fudge, fudge.

Cinderella’s house was really big. Oh, wait. Right. It was my house. I was Cinderella’s stepmother. Cinderella’s father, my husband, was dead.

Fred Vans had been a rich man. Two years ago, in search of trade, he went to sea. He never came back.

I woke inside this body the day after receiving the letter that informed me Fred’s corpse had been found.

The owner of this body, Mildred, was thirty-seven. She had been married twice. She had certainly not loved Fred, but she had married him because he was rich and handsome.

It was difficult for a single woman to raise two daughters and manage her assets alone.

Fred had left two years ago, taking half of Mildred’s fortune with him. He had wanted to start a business but died instead. Fudge.

It had been a week since that letter arrived.

For a week, I had been in denial that this wasn’t a dream. I was angry that this had happened to me. I jumped up and down, blew up at people I didn’t even know, and swore everywhere I went.

Of course, the swearing all came out as “fudge” or “fiddlesticks,” or some other ridiculous word. Fudge this.

In the end, I had no choice but to accept it.

I was a thirty-seven-year-old stepmother with two dead husbands. My name was Mildred Vans.

It wasn’t fair at all.

I had been twenty-seven. I’d had an ordinary full-time job. It wasn’t the best life had to offer, but I’d had air conditioning, washing machines, and microwaves.

If I can’t have air conditioning or a washing machine, couldn’t I at least be seventeen again?!

Thirty-seven was just mean! A decade of my life, gone! What are you going to do about that?!

Ugh, I was getting worked up again. I clenched my fists and held back. Om...

I was already here. There was nothing I could do about that. The easiest thing to do would be give in... Sike! I was still mad. That I had entered this body at all had to mean that this world had a god, or at least some bastard with abilities to put me here.

If I ever meet that you-know-what, I swear I’m going to show him my triple-slaying punch.

I slammed my fist into the dough. My hand plunged into the pillow of water, flour, and yeast.

I felt a bit better. Who would have known the hobby from my previous world would come in handy here?

Mildred had been the daughter of a count. Murphy was her maiden name. The Murphy countship was an old noble family, but they were not particularly wealthy.

Fortunately, Mildred was quite beautiful. It was my body now, but to be honest, Mildred was so gorgeous that it made me giddy whenever I looked in the mirror.

My hair was raven black and my eyes were green. My face reminded me of old photos of Hollywood beauties I used to see on the internet.

“Ah, the internet.”

I squeezed the dough and sighed. I want to go on the internet. I could almost hear my phone vibrating and a message appearing on the screen.

This was an improvement. My symptoms had been much worse a week ago. A few times, while sleeping, I had imagined the vibration of my phone and pawed around the bed in search of it.

My phone. Ugh, I just want to touch it. Flat and thin, fitting right in the palm of my hand. Ohhh, my phone. Do you know how much I love you?

Whenever I pressed the home button with my thumb, the screen would flash on. Imagining the notifications on each icon made me ecstatic.

But of course, this world had neither phones nor the internet. It didn’t even have landlines! In my world, landlines were already a relic!

People in my old world said babies didn’t even know what a phone receiver was anymore. Apparently, when they pretended to call someone, they didn’t put their hand by their ear, but extended their hand like they were holding a mirror.

But here?

I had a feeling that if I asked someone if they knew how to communicate with someone far away in real time, they would ask me if I was a witch. Goodness.

“Mother.”

Someone entered the kitchen calling for their mother. I kneaded the dough, wishing desperately that a phone was in my hands instead.

“Mother.”

Whoever her mother is, please answer her. I punched the dough.

“Mother.”

The girl who had entered the kitchen came right up to me. I yelled, startled, with the dough in both hands.

“What? What did you say?”

“Mother, I have finished cleaning.”

The girl had curly brown hair. The mother she had called for was me. Ah, I keep forgetting.

I looked at Iris and sighed. Iris Vans, née Rivera. When I married Vans seven years ago, she had become Iris Vans.

“Oh, right. Good. What about Lily?”

Lily was Mildred’s second daughter. Iris was nineteen. Lily was eighteen.

Wasn’t that something? Mildred was only thirty-seven, but her daughters were eighteen and nineteen. In this world, women could get married by age seventeen.

For men, it was nineteen.

That was how Mildred was thirty-seven. As soon as she debuted into society at seventeen, beautiful Mildred received countless marriage proposals. Her father chose a wealthy man, Rivera, from among them.

Mildred thanked her father for that, I think. At least, that was what I saw when I perused her memories. The Murphys were an old family, but not a wealthy one, so she welcomed the idea of marrying the rich Baron Rivera.

However, the greatest flaw of that kindhearted and wealthy man had been that he was ugly.

“She is organizing the cleaning closet.”

Iris began to pour water into a large kettle. I glanced at brown-haired, brown-eyed Iris and returned to punching the dough.

Mildred’s only mistake was meeting the wrong men. Her first husband, Baron Rivera, was kindhearted and wealthy, but he was ugly. Why was that a problem, you ask?

Her daughters took after their father.

Iris and Lily could not be called beauties by any stretch of the imagination. In Mildred’s eyes, they were pretty enough, perhaps.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t Mildred. They weren’t pretty at all in my eyes.

Things would have been much better for Mildred if her second husband, Vans, had been as wealthy as she’d thought he was before she married him.

No, even better—things would have been ideal for Mildred if he had not left to start a business with half of Mildred’s assets and disappeared. Mildred would never have become a bad stepmother.

Now alone, Mildred had to manage this large decrepit mansion and three daughters of marriageable age. God must hate me, right?

“Mother!”

Iris left her water to boil as Lily entered. Lily looked like Iris, but with Mildred’s eyes. She folded her sleeves as she looked at me.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Good timing.” I actually did need a helping hand. I pointed at the cupboard with my chin. “Could you get a bowl from there? And a cheesecloth.”

I needed to let the dough rest. A nice smell began to waft out of the oven. Lily took out a dish and soaked the cheesecloth with water.

“That smells delicious.”

“It should be ready soon.”

I dropped the dough in the bowl, laid the damp cheesecloth over it, and placed it in the warmest spot in the kitchen. I put oven mitts on and cracked the oven door open.

Lily came to my side to peer over my shoulder. The bread was nice and toasted brown on top. I hoped it had all risen enough and hadn’t burned anywhere. Lily watched as I rotated the bread with a skewer.

“I didn’t know you knew how to make bread, Mother.”

Of course she didn’t. The real Mildred had never made bread, or even fried an egg. I pulled the bread toward the door so that it wouldn’t burn.

“I’ll teach you soon. It’s useful to know.”

I’d had no idea that knowing how to make bread would come in handy either. The same went for ironing, washing dishes, and doing laundry. It was all useful knowledge now.

Surprisingly, Mildred hadn’t known how to do any of that.

I guess after perusing Mildred’s memories, I shouldn’t have been so shocked. Though she had not been rich, she had been the daughter of a count, and a wealthy baroness through marriage. Food appeared at the right time to her taste, and maids did the dishes, laundry, and ironing.

All Mildred had had to do was manage the maids, the house, and the things in it. I was suddenly jealous of her life.

Someone else cooks the food and does all the cleaning. Wasn’t that the dream of the women in my old world too?