The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 463

The screen displayed an edited video clip—The Viral Stream Clip from The Riverdale New Year Gala.

The resolution wasn't perfect, but the stage lighting was exceptional. The black velvet dress caught a warm sheen under the spotlight, and the girl stood at the microphone stand, her head bowed slightly, as she sang the opening lines.

Comments flooded the screen in an endless wave. People were typing, *That sounds incredible,* others asking, *Who is she?*, and fans furiously sending virtual gifts.

Jackson's finger pointed at the girl's face on the screen, shaking violently.

He looked up at Garrison, his eyes rimmed with red, his voice strung tight with a trembling desperation that had been suppressed for far too long.

"Garrison, is Sloane still alive? Tell me—is she alive?"

A loud ringing exploded in Garrison's ears.

He stared at the paused frame on the phone. Sloane had her head tilted slightly, the stage lights catching the contours of her face, while comments continued to scroll along the edge.

Instinctively, he flipped the phone over, slamming it face-down onto the desk, as if that simple motion could erase the image from existence.

"Jackson, you're mistaken."

"I'm not mistaken!"

Jackson's voice was hoarse and unyielding. Every word seemed to be ripped forcefully from his throat. "Sloane is my own flesh and blood. The way she walks, her expressions, the way she tilts her head when she sings—I recognize all of it. That is Sloane. That's my Sloane!"

Garrison squeezed his eyes shut. He knew the secret was out. The Viral Stream Clip was everywhere online. Even if Jackson hadn't shown up today, someone else would have noticed eventually.

He stood up, ushering Jackson into his inner office. Closing the door behind them, he poured a glass of water and set it on the table. He took the seat opposite Jackson, resting his clasped hands on his knees. His voice dropped to an icy whisper.

"What exactly do you want?"

"She doesn't remember any of it. Yes, she woke up—after sleeping in a lab in Antarctica for years—but her memories stopped a decade ago, back in her junior year of college. She doesn't even remember me, or her son. She certainly won't remember the things you did to her later!"

Jackson froze.

His mouth fell slightly open, his gray hair looking stark and glaring under the fluorescent lights. After a long silence, he nodded slowly, as if a brutal truth had finally settled in his chest. "I see..."

The office fell dead silent.

The wall clock ticked methodically. Outside the window, the wail of an ambulance siren approached and faded into the distance.

Jackson stared down at his calloused, age-spotted hands for a very long time. When he finally looked up, his cloudy eyes were swimming with tears, but a pathetic, begging smile clung to his lips.

"Then I still want to see her. It doesn't matter if she doesn't remember me. It doesn't matter if she hates me. I just want to look at her—even from a distance. Garrison, I'm begging you. Let me see her. It's my only dying wish."