The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 146

Garrison braced his hands against the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning stark white as his predatory gaze locked onto the monitor, as if sheer willpower could burn a hole straight through the screen.

Simon watched him, letting the silence stretch for a few agonizing seconds before finally speaking up.

"Professor Foster, Ms. Taylor... is my patient, and my friend. And... she didn't seem to have any family. She came to every single appointment entirely alone..."

He paused, taking a breath before continuing.

"She told me she contacted your team. I was genuinely overjoyed for her because I firmly believed your clinical trial was the only thing capable of saving her life."

He looked directly at Garrison, his eyes full of confusion and barely concealed accusation.

"Did she... actually receive treatment at your facility?"

Garrison said nothing.

He felt the blood freeze in his veins. The entire world felt like a fading, black-and-white movie, utterly devoid of color or warmth.

"Professor Foster?" Simon's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. "Are you alright?"

"Print out every single one of these reports for me."

"B-But... patient records are strictly confidential. I can't just print them out for—"

"I said, print. Them. Out."

Garrison's expression was terrifyingly severe, his tone leaving absolutely zero room for negotiation.

Seeing the pale, devastatingly grim look on the prestigious doctor's face, Simon finally sighed and hit the print button.

"Ms. Taylor printed a copy of these reports right before she left. I don't suppose... you ever saw them? Or maybe..." A dark suspicion began to take root in Simon's mind. "She never actually went to you for treatment, did she?"

Garrison offered no reply.

He simply stood there, numbly watching the printer spit out sheet after sheet of paper. He gathered the stack, gripped it tightly in his hand, and turned on his heel to leave.

Simon's voice called out from behind. "Professor Foster! Where are you going?"

Garrison didn't break his stride.

He didn't look back, marching straight toward the faint light at the end of the corridor.

*

Garrison had no memory of how he made it back to his car.

All he knew was that he was sitting in the driver's seat with the door shut, the world outside suddenly muted. The afternoon sun shone brightly on the bustling street; pedestrians strolled by, people waited at the bus stop, a mother pushed a stroller, and a young couple laughed while holding hands.

But none of that peaceful normalcy belonged to him anymore.

Glioblastoma Multiforme, Stage IV. Five-year survival rate, less than 5%. Median survival time, 12 to 15 months.

And it was currently June. Five entire months had passed since the initial diagnosis.

He closed his eyes, his brain racing at a million miles an hour. The core mechanism of Project Vitas utilized The White Microbe to extract specific proteins that weaponized the body's own immune system to hunt and destroy cancer cells. Pre-clinical data showed an efficacy rate of over 60% for Glioblastomas. If they started treatment immediately, combined with surgical excision and radiation, there was a very real chance—

He snapped his eyes open, glaring at the data as he kept reading.

Tumor size: 1.1 by 0.9 inches. Location: encroaching on the brainstem but not yet invasive. Ki-67 proliferation index: 30%. MGMT promoter methylation: Negative.

Piece by piece, the raw data formed a complete clinical picture in his mind.

Her condition was critical, but it wasn't a total death sentence yet.

The tumor was still within operable parameters. It hadn't metastasized aggressively throughout the brain. If they started treatment immediately. If she could fly back right this second. If The Vitas Strain could be successfully revived in time—

She could be saved.

That realization struck like a bolt of lightning, cleaving through the suffocating darkness in his mind.

She could be saved!

With trembling hands, he yanked out his phone and pulled up her contact—the exact number he had stared at countless times over the past few weeks but had never possessed the courage to dial.