The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 334

Inside the office, the fluorescent lights cast an even, clinical glow.

Vivienne Hayes stood in front of the lightbox, sliding two brain CT scans onto the clips: the one on the left was taken five years ago at the downtown hospital, the film already slightly yellowed; the one on the right was taken today, the imaging razor-sharp, detailing every structural nuance of the brain.

Garrison Foster sat at the computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Rows of data scrolled rapidly across the screen before he projected a 3D reconstructed comparison of the two scans onto the main monitor.

The two images overlapped. The position, size, and shape of the tumor aligned perfectly, like a coordinate forgotten by time, quietly nestled deep within her left temporal lobe.

"The tumor hasn't spread. It's exactly the same size as it was five years ago," Garrison said.

His fingers stilled on the mouse, his brow furrowing slightly. "The margins are even clearer. The vitrification state during cryopreservation completely halted the tumor cells' metabolic activity—her body slept in liquid nitrogen for five years, and the tumor slept with it. But..." He turned around to face Vivienne. "Why did this happen? Why is her memory stuck... ten years ago?"

Vivienne took off her glasses thoughtfully, slowly wiping the lenses with a microfiber cloth.

"It might have something to do with the cryopreservation. During the vitrification and thawing process, different regions of the brain respond to the rewarming rate at varying speeds. The hippocampus and prefrontal cortex are the most sensitive to temperature fluctuations. If there was a temporary functional suppression of the synaptic connections in that area during the rewarming..."

She slipped her glasses back on, staring at the two CT scans on the lightbox, a trace of bewilderment in her voice.

"But what I don't understand is... why ten years ago?"

"No. To her, she lost exactly five years of memory. If it was random neuronal damage caused by the cryopreservation, she should have lost random fragments of memory, not an entire, cleanly severed block of time. Five years of lived memories—not a day more, not a day less."

Inside the quiet room, Sloane was sitting up in bed, turned slightly away from the door, facing the window.

She didn't seem to notice him come in—her entire focus was captured by something outside. Maybe it was the towering sycamore tree, maybe it was a bird resting on the ledge, or maybe it was just the sunlight itself.

She was wearing an oversized, blue-and-white striped hospital gown, the collar slipping loosely over her collarbone.

Her hair spilled softly over her shoulders, jet black, the ends catching a faint, almost chestnut gleam in the morning light.

Her complexion was radiant, her profile identical to the woman he remembered from five years ago. Her jawline was soft and elegant, punctuated by a tiny mole on her earlobe. Her neck was slender, and the small patch of skin below her collarbone looked practically translucent in the sun, revealing the faint blue veins pulsing quietly beneath the surface.