The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 371

An overwhelming wave of dread instantly suffocated her; she felt as if death's footsteps were closing in, inch by inch.

But she didn't want to die!

Just then, the door pushed open, and a young nurse in protective gear rolled a cart inside.

"Ms. Foster?" The nurse's voice was soft, carrying that gentle rasp typical of the night shift.

She walked to the bedside and parked the cart. "I'm here to change your dressing. Dr. Foster prescribed a new bottle of IV immunoglobulin for tonight. He said it would help control the infection."

Quinn didn't respond, silently extending her arm.

The young nurse leaned over to inspect the festering skin on Quinn's arm. She gasped softly before quickly composing herself. "I'll bandage this right up for you."

The nurse's movements were feather-light. When the iodine-soaked swab touched the festering skin on the back of Quinn's hand, it felt like a breeze skimming across water.

Then she picked up sterile gauze from the cart, unrolling it layer by layer over the wound...

"Ms. Foster, does it hurt? Just frown if it does, and I'll be gentler." Her pace was unhurried as she wrapped the gauze around the space between her thumb and index finger, across her palm, and tied a neat knot at the wrist.

Then, she straightened up and turned to reach for the nearly empty IV bottle on the stand.

At that exact moment, Quinn's eyes snapped open...

The nurse had just taken the empty bottle off the stand. Hearing the movement, she turned her head—her mouth slightly parted as if to say, "You're awake," but before the words could leave her lips, the heavy cast-iron base of the IV stand smashed into the back of her head.

"Thud!"

With a dull thud, the nurse swayed, then crumpled to the floor without a sound, like a puppet with its strings cut.

*

But if... if that woman refused...

Then she wouldn't hesitate to drag her down to hell with her!

Even if she somehow survived this ordeal and narrowly escaped death, every second of every day moving forward would be pure agony anyway.

Quinn picked up her pace. Her bare feet slapped against the floor tiles, making a faint, damp sound. Her bandages were wrapped tightly, but with every step, she could feel the dull, pulling ache of the stitches tearing at her flesh...

It didn't matter. This pain was nothing. Once she found Sloane and got the blood, everything would be fine.

Then, as she reached the stairwell, she froze.

Because she saw it—sitting on the windowsill... was a cat.