“Someone go tell Thomas!
Elena’s awake!”
Martha called downstairs.
Someone answered almost immediately.
A moment later, hurried footsteps crossed the lower floor and headed out into the yard.
Only then did Martha turn her full attention back to her daughter.
Elena sat against the headboard without saying anything.
She simply watched the woman in front of her, who had visibly relaxed the moment she saw her awake.
The memories that had flooded into her mind earlier had already given her a name.
Martha Miller.
The mother of this body.
Martha looked to be in her thirties.
She was tall but somewhat thin, dressed in a dark blue cotton dress that had faded slightly from years of washing.
The simple collar closed neatly around her neck, while the sleeves had been rolled up to her elbows.
An old cream-colored apron was tied around her waist.
The skirt reached her ankles, revealing a pair of worn brown lace-up shoes beneath it.
Her brown hair had been pulled back into a simple low bun and secured with a few plain dark pins.
She clearly had not slept much the night before.
Several loose strands had fallen around her ears, making her already tired face look even more exhausted.
There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and the whites of her eyes were streaked with red.
Yet from the moment Elena woke up, most of the worry on Martha’s face had been replaced by relief.
“Why did you throw off the blanket?”
Noticing Elena’s legs uncovered, Martha quickly stepped forward and pulled the blanket back over her.
“You had such a terrible fever last night.
It’s only just gone down.
You can’t afford to catch a chill now.”
As she spoke, she placed a hand against Elena’s forehead.
Years of housework and labor in the fields had left Martha’s hands rough.
There were thin calluses across her palms and fingertips, but her touch was gentle.
“You’re still a little warm, but much better than last night.”
Martha carefully checked the bandage around Elena’s head.
“Does your head still hurt?
Does anything else feel uncomfortable?”
Elena tried to answer, only to realize how painfully dry her throat was.
She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a hoarse sound.
Martha understood immediately.
“Thirsty?”
Elena nodded.
“Wait here.
I’ll get you some water.”
Martha walked to the small wooden table by the window and poured warm water from the earthenware jug into a cup.
She returned to the bedside.
Elena reached out to take it, but Martha had already sat down beside her.
One hand went behind Elena’s shoulder to support her while the other brought the cup to her lips.
“Slowly.
Don’t rush.”
Elena looked at the cup in front of her.
She hesitated for a moment, then lowered her head and drank.
The warm water soothed her painfully dry throat.
When the cup was empty, Martha asked, “Do you want more?”
Elena nodded.
After two cups of water, she finally felt better and leaned back against the headboard.
Seeing that she looked a little more alert, Martha finally smiled.
“Are you hungry?
There’s some bread from this morning in the kitchen.
I can warm up some soup for you too.”
Elena shook her head.
She had no appetite yet.
Martha did not insist.
She simply adjusted the blanket around her.
“You can eat later.
The doctor said you hit your head, so you need plenty of rest for the next few days.”
Elena quietly watched her.
In her previous life, she had grown up without parents.
After joining the organization, she had quickly learned to take care of everything herself.
She treated her own injuries.
When she became sick, she dealt with it alone.
That had always seemed normal to her.
Now, simply because she had suffered a high fever, someone had stayed beside her, brought her water, and carefully tucked the blanket around her.
It felt unfamiliar.
But Elena could tell that Martha’s concern was genuine.
It had nothing to do with a mission.
There was no hidden reason behind it.
Martha cared because Elena was her daughter.
Even though the real Elena Miller was already gone.
Elena lowered her eyes to the unfamiliar hands resting on the blanket.
She did not know why she had come to this world.
She did not know what the strange green light from the ancient painting had been either.
But whatever the reason, she now had another identity.
Elena Miller.
A daughter of the Miller family.
Since she had already been given another chance at life, there was little point in dwelling on questions she could not answer.
For now, she needed to understand this place and learn how to live here.
The rest could wait.
Once she made that decision, the confusion in Elena’s mind gradually settled.
Martha assumed her silence was simply because she was still weak from the fever.
She stood and crossed the room, taking a clean cloth from a wooden rack.
After dipping it into the basin and wringing out the excess water, she returned to the bed and gently wiped Elena’s face.
The cool cloth passed lightly over her skin.
When Martha reached her forehead, she carefully avoided the bandaged wound.
Elena did not stop her.
Still, watching how naturally Martha took care of her raised another question.
The original Elena was already sixteen.
Yet judging by Martha’s behavior, she was clearly used to helping her daughter with many ordinary things, even something as simple as drinking water.
This seemed to go beyond an overly protective mother.
Combined with the scattered memories she had inherited, Elena suspected the original owner’s condition had been more serious than simply being a little slow to understand things.
Exactly how serious, however, she still did not know.
While Elena was thinking, a woman’s voice suddenly came from downstairs.
“Martha!”
Martha’s hand paused.
A moment later, the voice came again.
“Martha, are you upstairs?”
“I’m here!”
Martha quickly answered.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs.
They grew louder until they stopped outside the bedroom.
The door opened.
An elderly woman of around sixty stood in the doorway.
She was not particularly tall, but her back remained straight.
Her gray-white hair had been neatly combed away from her forehead and gathered into a low bun, held in place with several dark brown hairpins.
She wore a plain, high-collared dark gray dress beneath a brown wool cardigan.
A small, slightly worn brooch was pinned at her collar, and a pair of dark brown low-heeled lace-up shoes showed beneath the hem of her skirt.
Nothing she wore was expensive, but everything was neat and carefully kept.
Age had left clear marks on her face.
Fine lines gathered around her eyes and mouth, yet her gray-brown eyes remained sharp.
The moment she entered, she looked at Martha.
“I called you twice from downstairs.”
The elderly woman frowned.
“The laundry is still soaking in the yard.
Everyone else is out harvesting, and there’s plenty that still needs to be done around the house.”
Martha immediately stood.
“Mother, I heard Elena was awake, so I came up to check on her.
I’ll go back downstairs in a moment.”
At the mention of Elena being awake, the elderly woman’s expression changed.
Her frown eased slightly as she looked past Martha toward the bed.
“You’re awake?”
Elena was watching her as well.
The face before her gradually matched the scattered images in her inherited memories.
This was Thomas’s mother.
The original Elena’s grandmother.
The elderly woman walked to the bedside and looked at the bandage around Elena’s head.
“Does your head still hurt?”
Elena gave a small nod.
Martha explained from beside them.
“It hurt quite badly when she first woke up, and her voice was hoarse too.
The doctor said she needs to rest for the next couple of days.”
The older woman listened, then studied Elena’s face carefully.
“Do you recognize me?”
Elena already knew the answer from her memories.
“Grandmother.”
The tension finally left the older woman’s expression.
“Good.
At least you still know who we are.”
Her words sounded matter-of-fact, but she continued looking at Elena for a few moments, making sure she really was awake and aware of her surroundings.
Only then did she turn back to Martha.
“There’s still some chicken broth in the kitchen.
Warm it up for her later.
She just got over a fever.
Don’t give her nothing but dry bread.”
Martha nodded.
“All right.”
The older woman looked at Elena once more.
“Stay in bed and rest.
Don’t worry about the fields.
You can think about helping again after you’ve recovered.”
Elena said nothing.
She simply watched her grandmother.
When the woman first entered with a stern expression, Elena had assumed she would be difficult to get along with.
But after listening to her for a while, Elena realized she was not nearly as cold as she appeared.
She cared about her granddaughter.
She simply showed it very differently from Martha.