The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 300

The following evening, Garrison emerged from the lab. He swapped his sterile white coat for a dark gray cashmere overcoat and splashed cold water on his face.

He caught his reflection in the mirror. His cheekbones appeared sharper, his gaze was heavy with exhaustion, and a few stray silver threads glinted at his temples.

Not that he cared. At thirty-six, his days as a spirited, carefree youth were long gone.

Running a hand through his hair, he grabbed his car keys and walked out.

The Foster Estate remained exactly as he remembered. The red brick walls, the ornate wrought-iron gates, and the bare branches of the ancient locust tree stretching into the winter night. Strings of newly hung red lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, casting scarlet reflections across the snow-dusted ground. The porch lights glowed with a warm, golden hue, offering the illusion that someone inside was actually waiting for him.

The doorbell chimed.

He rang the doorbell.

The moment the door opened, a wave of central heating and the rich aroma of a home-cooked meal washed over him.

"Garrison is home!"

Rosemary's voice drifted from the living room, followed by the frantic slap of slippers against the hardwood floor. Wearing an apron and still holding a spatula, she jogged out of the kitchen. A wide, eager smile broke across her face the second she saw Garrison in the foyer. "Come in, come in! It's freezing out there. Look at you, you've lost weight again. Have you been skipping meals?"

Garrison shrugged off his coat, hung it on the rack, and slipped into the warm slippers she offered before stepping into the living room.

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