A Flower That Shouldn’t Exist

A wise man once said,

"We have two lives, and the second one begins when we realize we only have one."

But what if I never wanted this second life?

I should be dead. My first life had already ended, and yet, here I am—given another chance I never asked for. I never wished for this, never pleaded for salvation. If anything, I was tired of living the first time.

Who sent me here? And for what purpose?

I have no answers.

This world is different from the one I left behind. The people here have unwavering faith in God. If you dare to question Him, to speak against Him, the Church will brand you a heretic. And the only mercy they offer is death.

But does God even exist? If He does, why am I here?

For the past year, I've searched for a reason—some clue as to why I was reborn in this world. But all I've found are more unanswered questions, lingering doubts, and a nagging feeling that something about this world isn't right.

And yet, today feels strangely peaceful.

"Chirp–chirp."

The sound of birds singing, the scent of fresh flowers in bloom, the crisp, clean air filling my lungs—it's a stark contrast to my old life in Korea. Back then, these simple pleasures were rare.

I usually wasn't allowed outside, but today was an exception.

As I walked through the garden, my eyes landed on a single rose, unlike any I had ever seen before.

It was black.

A rose of such deep, unnatural darkness that it almost seemed unreal. A color that didn't belong in nature, yet here it was—standing alone, different from the rest.

Beautiful.

And yet, there was something sad about it.

"Do you like this flower?"

The voice startled me. I had been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed someone approaching—how embarrassing.

"Yes, Mom," I replied without turning. "It's beautiful. Different from the others. It has its own charm."

My mother's presence was always cold, distant, yet I longed for her warmth.

"I see," she says, her tone composed. "It is certainly unique. However, this one is an imitation. The real flower is exceedingly rare. You would not find such a thing in an ordinary garden."

A fake.

I had thought about planting one of these so I could see it every day, but now that I knew the truth, the idea seemed meaningless.

"Why is this flower rare? Is it your favorite, Mom?"

I wasn't just asking about the flower. I wanted to know more about her—this woman who had given birth to me but had never once held me with love.

"Yes, it's one of my favorites," she admitted. "It's said that the scent of this flower has healing properties. But its other qualities remain unknown. And—" She hesitated. "It only exists in fairy tales. No one has ever found a real one."

A flower that might not even exist.

"Then why do you like it so much?"

I wanted to understand her. To see beyond the cold, calculating woman she pretended to be.

She looked at the black rose for a moment before answering.

"Because its meaning represents my nature—cruel, cunning, and calculative."

A sharp pain spread through my chest.

She was telling me, once again, that she didn't love me. That her heart held no affection for me.

But so what?

Even if my mother didn't love me, I still loved her.

"That doesn't matter," I said, smiling as brightly as I could. "I still love you, Mom."

A warmthless silence settled between us.

She sighed. "I told you before—stop calling me 'Mom.'"

Her words stung, but I was used to it.

"Call me 'Mother.'You are the son of nobility. You must conduct yourself with proper decorum. Refine your speech. Mind your etiquette."

I know that etiquette is important for nobles but it's such a pain.

"Mom, I'll do it next time."

"You always say that," she says, shaking her head slightly. "Perhaps I should inform Carla of this matter."

Poor Carla. She always suffered because of me.

Trying to change the subject, I looked at her hopefully.

"Have you eaten yet, Mom? If not, can we eat together?"

I usually ate alone or with Carla. Eating with my mother was a rare opportunity—one I didn't want to miss.

"I already had lunch before coming here," she replied.

I gave her my best pitiful look, hoping she'd change her mind.

She sighed again. "Okay, stop with that face. Let's eat."

A wide grin spread across my face.

"Thank you, Mom! Hehe—"

Maybe she didn't love me. Maybe she never would.

But for me currently Mom is the only reason for living in this world.

And that was enough.