The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 363

For a fleeting second, he felt like he was looking at the girl from Rosemary Hayes's video—the one with the soft, youthful cheeks who had smiled so radiantly at the camera.

"Not yet," Garrison said, forcing the memory back into the recesses of his mind. "At most... you can take a walk around the hospital grounds."

"Fine..."

Sloane didn't argue. She just shifted her gaze out the window.

Studying the delicate curve of her profile, Garrison suddenly spoke again. "There's a small garden out back. It's been locked up and closed off for a while, but I had it cleaned up. You can go sit out there."

The garden had been an entirely impulsive decision.

That very afternoon, he had Assistant Dawson hire a landscaping crew to overhaul the abandoned courtyard behind the inpatient building.

They cleared away the dead branches and rotting leaves, power-washed the moss from the stone paths, and planted a row of blooming blue plumbagos along the wall. He even arranged to adopt a kitten from a nearby animal shelter.

It was a tortoiseshell cat, mottled with black and gold.

The kitten was tiny, maybe three or four months old. Its back was pitch black, but its paws and chest were splashed with yellow. The markings on its face were a chaotic blend of dark and light.

Honestly, Garrison thought the cat looked a little bizarre—almost like it was wearing a creepy little phantom mask.

But thankfully, Sloane absolutely adored it.

The moment it arrived, the kitten crawled right into Sloane's lap, made biscuits on her blanket, and curled up into a fuzzy little ball, refusing to move. Sloane immediately named it Tiger.

This afternoon, Sloane was sitting on a bench in the garden, with Tiger purring on her lap, its eyes squeezed shut in pure bliss as she scratched behind its ears.

Sunlight filtered through the sycamore leaves, casting dancing shadows over her plain white hospital gown.

Standing on the balcony of his top-floor office, Garrison looked down at the scene, holding a cup of coffee that had gone ice-cold.

He remembered the words Dr. Simon Yates had spoken to him at the funeral, so many years ago.

With every single second he had left.

Suddenly, Garrison's phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, his brows pulling into a tight frown the moment he saw the caller ID. It was Quinn.

He swiped to answer. Quinn's voice floated through the speaker, obedient and restrained. "Garrison, Archie got out of school early today. He said he wanted to see you, so I brought him over. I won't come up. Just come down for a bit."

Ever since Garrison had slapped her in his office and explicitly warned her never to step foot in the hospital again, Quinn had strictly kept her distance.

A moment later, Archie Foster's eager voice echoed through the receiver.

"Dad, hurry up and come down! I'm starving. Let's go grab something to eat!"

Garrison hesitated for a second, but finally relented. "Alright. I'm on my way."