Chapter 3

That answer shocked everyone.

Jonathan's face drained of color, his hand froze in mid-air before slowly balling into a fist. But by the time he pulled his hand back into his pocket, he had already recovered, his face a mask of indifference.

He probably didn't care. If a toy was gone, so be it.

He, the noble Jonathan, had always been above it all.

Jonathan said, "Alright, if that's what you want, I'll respect your decision."

I left the room, a hollow shell of myself.

*****

Back home, I began preparing for what might come next.

By evening, Jonathan showed up with his friends to move my things.

"This villa was bought for you in the first place. It's yours now," he said.

I didn't look up, just muttered a quiet "mm."

He stood frozen for a moment, watching me, but when I didn't respond, he stormed upstairs, banging around so loudly that the whole room shook.

I acted like I didn't hear a thing.

I kept scribbling on paper, trying to write down whatever memories I had left. I was scared that my mind might start slipping away, so I wanted to make sure I documented everything I could still remember.

Olivia had taken care of this house for so many years. She was getting older, and her rheumatoid arthritis was getting worse, so I decided to leave most of my savings to her. I hoped it would make her golden years a little easier.

The lady next door, the one who ran her own business, always needed designer clothes and bags to keep up appearances, so people wouldn't look down on her.

She'd borrowed money from me several times before, always with a gift in hand and a red face. I knew it wasn't easy for her. Back when Jonathan and I were living under the bridge and starting our own business, I was just like her.

Over the years, Jonathan had bought me tons of designer clothes and bags, most of which I never even used. I decided to leave all of them to her.

As for the jewelry, I planned to donate it to a few charities. Jonathan probably wouldn't care.

But the one thing that really bothered me was Rocky. Rocky was a stray dog Jonathan and I had taken in when we were living under the bridge.

His fur was always wild and messy, sticking out in every direction, making him look like a complete ragamuffin.

It had a bad temper, too, and a big bump on its head. If I'm gone, what will happen to it? Who could put up with its bad attitude and scruffy appearance?

Rocky and Jonathan were actually really close, and I thought about leaving Rocky with him.

But Diana was all about those fancy purebred show dogs. Even when I was still around, she never hid her dislike for Rocky. If he got near her, she'd just kick him away, even with me watching.

If I left, and Diana said the word, Jonathan would probably throw Rocky out without a second thought.

Rocky was getting old. How many days could he last out there on his own?

Rocky was curled up at my feet, and I reached down to pet his messy fur.

"Maybe you should just come with me. At least then you won't have to suffer anymore..." I whispered.

For a second, I thought I understood what those mothers in the news felt, the ones who took their children with them when they end their lives.

I quickly shoved that horrifying thought aside and decided to check with some dog friends, see if anyone could take Rocky in.

In the end, I signed a donor agreement for my body.

After everything, I left nothing behind.

"Margaret!"

I snapped my head up, locking eyes with Jonathan, who was glaring at me in fury.

He'd finished packing. Two suitcases sat by his side. I had no clue how long he'd been standing there.

As soon as our eyes met, he held back a heavy breath, and spat out, "I'm leaving!"

Outside, cars were already honking, impatiently urging him to hurry up.

But he just stood there, staring at me, his eyes full of a rage I couldn't name, and he wouldn't budge.

I just nodded, not showing a hint of emotion.

His anger only grew stronger, but I stayed completely unmoved.

Jonathan stormed out in a huff.

"Drive! What are you waiting for?!" he snapped.

Even from way over here, I could practically smell the gunpowder.

He was that furious. Not that it mattered to me.

"System, how do I leave this world?" I asked.

"System, where do I go? Will I just disappear into nothingness?"

"System, will my kid leave with me?"

"System..." I called out again.

The System didn't answer me.

Once the countdown began, the System wouldn't respond to me anymore, no matter how many times I tried to reach it.

The next day, I learned firsthand what it truly meant to be erased.

"Sweetheart, this is Mommy's favorite perfume. Make sure you remember it," I whispered.

I sprayed my favorite perfume on myself, but I couldn't smell anything.

I kept spraying, and finally got a whiff of the familiar scent, while Olivia was coughing and waving her hand, overwhelmed by the smell.

That's when I realized. My sense of smell was starting to fade.

So this was what erasure feels like.

I couldn't help but laugh at myself.

By the third day since the System started wiping me out, my sense of smell was barely there anymore.

That day, the rain was coming down in sheets.

The heavy rain jolted me out of my dream.

I just wanted to smell that fresh, earthy scent the rain brings. But I could barely catch anything.