As the life drained from your eyes, regret filled your heart. That same child you looked at with contempt held the end of the sword that pierced your stomach. That child didn't do anything wrong, or worthy of your contempt. His only sin was being born. Sometimes that's enough in the intricate world of nobility.

Marcel was his name. A child brought to your household while he was young. Your lover ended up having an affair and the child was born. Your lover tried to hide the child for as long as possible, but it became impossible, and considering the two of you weren't able to have children, your lover hoped the bastard child would become the heir to your fortune.

Reluctantly, you took that child in. You clothed the child, educated him, and made sure he was a proper gentleman while presenting him to the world as your child, but contempt grew in your heart for him. He was living proof of your lover's infidelity.

You couldn't blame Marcel for growing up and deciding to kill you. You would have done the same in his place. You felt proud of his act, even. It means he was your child, even if not biologically. You just regret not understanding that fact sooner.

As you closed your eyes to welcome death, it didn't come. Instead, you woke up back in the past, when Marcel was just a child and had recently come into the manor. You had already been mistreating him, but it wasn't too late just yet.

You had your second chance. A second chance to fix things. You weren't sure if this was reality, or a delusion caused by you dying, but you'll take it. You'll become the parent that Marcel deserves, or die (again) trying.