The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 157

"Garrison!"

Seeing him completely unmoved, Rosemary gritted her teeth, took another step forward, and let her voice drop into a sharper, more vicious register:

"Did you forget how her father died? Arthur gave up his own life to save yours! You are breathing right now because of him! You owe Quinn for the rest of your life!"

Garrison's fingers curled into tight fists.

He stared at his mother, at those eyes flushed red with desperate agitation. Her words were like venomous thorns that had been buried in his chest for over a decade.

He took a slow, deep breath.

"Enough."

Rosemary froze.

Garrison's voice was completely deadpan, as eerily calm as stagnant water.

"Mom, you've used that excuse to hold me hostage for years. You just want me to wallow in guilt forever so you can keep me trapped under your thumb."

"You—"

"Guilt doesn't fix anything," Garrison cut her off. "It only makes me hesitate when it matters most. It makes me afraid to make a decision, afraid to speak the truth, and terrified to face what I actually want."

He paused, his voice softening just a fraction.

"I realized something the day Archie was kidnapped. While I was cowering in a corner, paralyzed by guilt and fear and all that unnecessary baggage, Sloane was already charging in to save him! If it hadn't been for her, Archie would be dead! Mom, I absolutely refuse to let myself drown in that pointless abyss ever again."

"I will never forget Arthur, but right now, I have someone of my own that I need to protect."

Rosemary opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat.

Just then—

"Crash!"

She turned and walked away slowly. The blush-pink fabric fluttered at the end of the hall before disappearing around the corner.

Rosemary shot Garrison a furious glare before hurrying after her.

Garrison stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the shattered glass and the puddle of tea for a long time.

...

By ten o'clock that night, the Foster Estate was as silent as an abandoned tomb.

Garrison lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, painting the hardwood floor in a layer of silver frost.

Suddenly, a frantic knock battered his door.

"Garrison!" Rosemary's voice rang out in panic. "Quinn is sick, you need to come quickly!"