The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 349

"Hello."

"Garrison," Quinn's voice trickled through the speaker, soft and hesitant, as if she were poking a snail that might retreat into its shell at any given second.

"Rosemary made some food this morning—garlic butter shrimp, lobster bisque, and your favorite BBQ baby back ribs. She was up before dawn slow-cooking them. It took her hours. You should... come home and eat."

Garrison leaned his back against the hallway wall, closing his eyes.

He knew exactly what Rosemary was trying to do. This was an olive branch.

The last time they were on the rooftop garden, she had stood outside the railing, screaming threats about jumping off the edge. He had simply leaned against a pillar, smoked a cigarette, told her to "jump," and walked away without a backward glance.

He hadn't stepped foot in the Foster estate since. He hadn't answered her calls or replied to a single text.

Rosemary's lifelong arsenal of manipulation tactics had been utterly obliterated that night by three simple words: "Don't even try." Now, she was pivoting to a new strategy—using BBQ ribs, lobster bisque, and the most primal, clumsy maternal gestures to drag her son back into her orbit.

"I'm not coming back," he stated flatly.

Quinn fell silent for a few seconds, seemingly digesting the entirely expected rejection before pivoting to her backup plan.

"Then I can bring it to the hospital for you. It's on my way anyway. I'll drop it off so you can eat it while it's hot."

Garrison peeled himself off the wall, a barely perceptible tension creeping into his voice. "Don't come here."

The line went dead silent.

Quinn had lived under the same roof as him for over two decades; she was intimately familiar with every microscopic shift in his tone. "What's wrong? Did something happen at the hospital?" she pressed immediately.

That afternoon, Quinn drove up to the gates of Archie's international school.

She was wearing a simple, muted knit cardigan, her hair pinned back behind her ears, holding a large insulated bag in one hand. It contained the BBQ ribs Rosemary had slaved over since dawn, along with a box of strawberry mousse she had picked up from a bakery herself.

She only waited at the gates for a few minutes before Archie strolled out, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

The young boy was dressed in a sharp navy-blue uniform blazer, his tie perfectly knotted. With one strap hanging casually off his shoulder and his free hand shoved into his pocket, he already carried himself with the quiet confidence of an adult.

"Quinn."

He walked over to her. Spotting the insulated bag, he didn't look overly thrilled, but he didn't show any resistance either. He simply took it politely and offered a smooth, "Thank you."