The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 468

Garrison realized she was gone at two-thirty in the morning.

He hadn't been woken by a noise. It was an inexplicable instinct, a sudden tightening in his chest that snapped him awake with the urge to check on her.

He threw on his coat and walked to the study. The door was ajar. Looking inside, he saw the empty bed, the covers thrown aside. The IV stand stood lonely by the headboard, the needle pulled out, with the medication still slowly dripping into a small puddle on the wooden floor.

His heart instantly turned cold.

He rushed into the room. She wasn't on the bed, not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen, and a pair of slippers was missing from the entryway.

He pulled out his phone and dialed her number. The ringtone chimed from the study. Her phone was on the nightstand, the screen lit up with the words "Dr. Foster Calling." The sharp ringing grew increasingly frantic, making him panic even more.

It was so late. She hadn't taken her phone, hadn't changed clothes, and had just thrown a puffer jacket over her pajamas before leaving?!

Where... where could she have gone?

For a fleeting second, Garrison wanted to beat himself up. Jackson's situation must have triggered her. Could something have happened to her?!

He grabbed his car keys and sprinted out, only to turn back at the elevator. If she was just walking nearby, driving would make it harder to spot her.

He threw his overcoat over his shoulders and took the stairs two at a time, his dress shoes echoing sharply against the concrete steps.

Garrison searched the ground floor. The convenience store was closed, its lights illuminating an empty stretch of pavement. The security guard in the booth was dozing off and claimed he hadn't seen anyone leave.

He ran to the complex gates and doubled back, cutting through the playground and circling the fountain. His heart pounded like a frenzied drum, every beat deafening in his ears.

Sloane was only wearing thin cotton pajamas. The night air had chilled the skin below her collarbone, and her fingers were red from the cold. Yet, she seemed entirely numb to the temperature, simply staring up at the moon.

The coat still held his body heat. When it settled on her shoulders, she shivered slightly and finally snapped out of her daze.

"Running out in the middle of the night wearing so little, just to look at the moon?"

His voice was low, devoid of blame, laced only with a carefully suppressed heartache.

Sloane looked down at the coat on her shoulders, then up at the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. He had probably scoured the entire complex looking for her.

Her eyelashes fluttered, her voice a little hoarse. "I'm sorry for making you worry. I... I just couldn't sleep, so I came out to sit for a bit."