Chapter 355

Jace remained silent. Tanya, already sobbing, tried again, her voice trembling. "Jace, I can't do this without you. I don't even know what to do anymore…"

Still, nothing. Tanya panicked, fearing he'd hung up. "Jace? Are you there?"

She glanced at her phone, confirming the call was still connected. "Jace?"

Finally, his cold, sharp voice cut through. "Who told you to go to my house? Did you forget what I said?"

Tanya's hand shook as she held the phone. "I didn't have a choice. I'm just trying to protect the baby. You said nothing could happen to it."

I stifled a laugh. Just days ago, she was ready to abandon the baby at Desmond's parents' home. Now, she was suddenly in full-blown protective-mother mode? Please.

"Tanya, this is the last time," Jace warned, his voice icy.

"Jace, wait—"

But the call ended with a cold, empty dial tone. Tanya stood there, clutching the phone. "Jace… Jace…"

"Yeah, he hung up. Give me my phone back." I snatched it from her.

She staggered, looking like a ghost, drained and empty. I didn't linger for her breakdown; I had my own problems. Without another word, I drove away.

As I drove, my head swirled with her words and the weight of Desmond's death. By the time I reached the parking lot, I barely remembered the journey. I'd been so lost in thought lately; everything felt like a blur. No accidents yet, but I was pushing my luck.

'Get it together,' I told myself.

At the counter, I handed over the documents. The clerk glanced at them, stamped them, and began typing.

"Wait," I called out.

"What is it?" The clerk asked, confused.

I glanced at the screen displaying my parents' information, then took a picture with my phone. "Just want to keep it as a memento."

The clerk shrugged and finished the process. I stared at the photo, my emotions churning. They say someone truly dies only when forgotten, when every trace is erased.

As long as I live, I won't forget my parents. But everything connected to them was disappearing. The deregistration certificate in my hand, the house soon to be demolished—it was like they were being erased piece by piece.

"It's done. Here are the documents," the clerk said, handing them over.

I took the papers and returned to my car. Instead of starting the engine, I sat for a while, staring at the final page of their registration information.

Finally, I took a picture and posted it on my social media with the caption: [I don't have you anymore.]

I wasn't sure why people posted things online, but for me, it was a marker. So one day, when I look back, I'll remember.

Just as I pulled into the demolition office, my phone rang. It was Hayden. I ignored it—I had too much to do.

Then Lena called. Twice.

I sighed, guessing she'd seen my post. I answered. Before she could speak, I said, "I'm fine. Just signing the papers. I'll call you later."

"Papers? Tanya's at the clinic for an abortion. You gonna stop her this time or what?" Lena asked.