The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 270

One week later, in the capital of the United States.

The memorial service was held at Grace Chapel inside the Eastside Funeral Home.

The hall wasn't large, but it was arranged with utmost solemnity. Black velvet drapes hung from the ceiling to the floor against the front wall, their layered folds casting a quiet, somber sheen under the lights.

Because there was no body, a simple memorial altar had been set up.

A pristine white cloth covered the table, with Sloane's memorial plaque resting squarely in the center. Her name was written in gold paint on the black wood, every stroke solemn and dignified. A memorial candle sat in front of the plaque, its flame burning quietly within a glass shield...

The lighting in the hall was soft, a warm amber reminiscent of dusk. Rows of chairs were neatly arranged, and mourners gradually took their seats. No one spoke; the occasional muffled cough or sniffle was quickly swallowed by the low, haunting dirge echoing through the space.

Garrison and Archie stood in the family section on the left side of the altar.

Garrison wore a black suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark tie. He had lost a significant amount of weight, and the injuries on his face hadn't completely healed—the bruise on his cheekbone had faded from a deep purple to a sickly yellow, the split on his lip had scabbed over, and his mouth was pale. However, his amber eyes had regained their usual calm and collected focus.

Archie stood close by his side, dressed in a custom-tailored little black suit with a dark bowtie at the collar of his white shirt. The clothes fit perfectly, yet they somehow looked hollow on the five-year-old boy. His hair was carefully parted to the side, revealing a smooth, elegant forehead that was a perfect mirror image of Sloane's.

He held a large picture frame against his chest. It contained a photo of Sloane—one she had submitted for the Project Deep Ice application a few months ago. She was wearing a white button-down, looking radiant and youthful, with light makeup and a faint, gentle smile playing on her lips.

But the heavy frame was too cumbersome for a five-year-old. Archie's arms weren't long enough to wrap around it properly, so he hugged it tightly against his chest, resting his chin on the top edge as if terrified he might drop it.

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