Lost Me, Gained Regret (Jane and Bryant Ferguson) novel Chapter 648

I had promised him, if I ever got pregnant, I would definitely keep the baby.

"I'm okay, I'll protect this baby, won't let anything happen to her again. Plus, I just had a dream, the baby in my belly, it's a girl, a very cute girl."

Seeing me smile, Gregory mirrored the gesture.

But I knew, neither of us was happy.

There wasn't a way to be, only to try and ease our minds.

Especially me.

"Could you help me clean up? I feel awful."

Gregory nodded, standing up to heat some water.

Dr. Andrews and Dailey left the room.

Christine approached, eyes red, "I'm sorry, Jane."

I took her hand, "Why apologize to me? It's not your fault, you were only trying to protect me."

...

After Gregory helped me clean up, I felt sleepy again.

Soon, I drifted off.

Once I had regained some energy, it was time to eat.

Gregory handed me a fork, his gaze not leaving my face.

I pushed some food towards him, "You need to eat too. My health is important, but so is yours."

Gregory pressed his lips together, a silent acknowledgment.

At nine in the evening, the boat docked, and under Gregory's arrangements, we headed straight for the hospital.

Standing in front of the morgue, my steps faltered.

On the boat, I was anxious, almost wishing to fly back.

But facing the moment, I hesitated.

I thought, if I don't see my grandmother's body, does it mean she's not really gone?

Yet, I was painfully aware of the impossibility.

Gregory placed a hand on my shoulder, leaning in to whisper, "Let's come back tomorrow, you need to rest for a night."

But for some reason, I couldn't shed a tear.

I traced my grandmother's brows and tidied her hair, telling Gregory, "I want to organize a proper funeral for her."

Gregory instructed Lucius to make arrangements, but Lucius was too overwhelmed and had to step away.

Dailey took over the task.

Christine hesitated but followed him.

Gregory and I were preparing to take my grandmother to the crematorium when someone called out at the door.

"Jane, you're back?"

It was my mom.

The image I had of her, beautiful, elegant, and always smiling, like a living painting.

Every moment with her was art.

But today.

Her complexion was pale, wearing hospital clothes that fit well enough, and as she reached out to me, I saw the scars on her forearm.