Chapter 346

“I’m calling from the demolition office. We posted the demolition notice, and there are some final procedures you need to complete. You’re the last one holding things up, so please come by as soon as possible.”

My already low mood sank further. I knew I needed to sign the demolition papers, but I’d kept putting it off. As long as I didn’t sign, it felt like the house couldn’t be torn down; as long as it wasn’t torn down, my home would still be there. But now, regardless of my delay, I had to sign. The place was being demolished. I couldn’t hold up the process, preventing others from moving into their new homes. After all, the neighborhood was old; who wouldn't want a shiny new house in a fresh development?

“Okay, I’ll come by now,” I agreed, without hesitating.

After hanging up, I sighed, got in my car, and drove to the demolition office. I signed the papers, though the property deed still listed my parents' names. I needed their death certificates and cremation documents to officially inherit it. It was procedure, but it felt cruel.

Over ten years had passed since they died, yet I’d never officially closed their accounts. In my heart, as long as our names remained together, they hadn’t truly left. But now, I had to finalize everything, to erase them from the world. The weight of that hit me—sharp, heavy, brutal. Still, I couldn’t run from it.

At the registration office, the clerk informed me I needed a death report from the accident investigation unit to close their accounts. I returned to the department that handled the accident years ago. This time, the process was smooth. But the officer asked, “It’s been years since the accident. Why are you only dealing with this now?”

My throat tightened. “Because I didn’t want to.”

He gave me a look, likely thinking I was difficult, but didn't press. He returned to his computer, typed, and then looked at me again. Sensing something was amiss, I asked, “Is there a problem? Do I need more documents?”

“No, everything’s fine,” he replied, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

The printer hummed, and a warm sheet of paper slid out. He stamped it and handed it over.

“Take a look,” he said.

My eyes fell on the bold text: “Pronounced dead at the scene.” My heart seemed to stop. I hadn’t been there, but I’d seen the case files; it felt as if I had been. Images of the crash flooded my mind. My body trembled; the air felt sucked from the room. I couldn’t breathe. I had to leave. I turned and rushed for the door. But the officer called, “Wait a second.”

I froze. My voice failed me. I waited.

“Are you… okay?” His eyes searched my face. I must have looked terrible.

I shook my head, trying to compose myself.