The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 469

"Couldn't sleep?" Garrison sat down beside her, turning to look at her. "Is it... because of Jackson?"

Sloane didn't answer, only giving a silent nod.

She looked down at her fingers resting on her knees, silent for a long time. The night breeze rustled through the bare branches of the oak tree, flipping a few dead leaves on the ground.

"I thought I only felt... hatred for him. I remember every single thing from my childhood so clearly. I thought I could hate him for the rest of my life, that I wouldn't shed a single tear even if he died."

Her voice began to tremble, as if something inside her chest was slowly being torn apart. "But when I... when I saw how he looks now, so dangerously thin, with needles in his bruised hands, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I hate him, but I still feel... so heartbroken."

Her body began to shake slightly. It wasn't from the cold, but an uncontrollable tremor welling up from deep within.

She tried to wipe her tears away with the back of her hand, but they fell faster, dropping heavily onto the collar of his black coat and blooming into dark spots.

"Dr. Foster, do you think... I'm a coward? Am I weak?" She bit her lip, her voice cracking. "After everything he did to me, I actually feel bad for him."

Garrison felt a sharp, suffocating squeeze in his chest.

He watched her sitting in the moonlight, wrapped in his coat, her shoulders shaking as she cried and blamed herself. She had never had anyone to protect her growing up, and she was so used to keeping her guard up against those who hurt her.

But her heart had never truly hardened. After suffering so much, she still felt sorrow seeing a father with needles in his hands.

He reached out and gently, restraining himself, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

His pace was steady and gentle, like coaxing a child who had just woken from a nightmare.

Sloane's warm tears soaked through his shirt collar, sliding down the back of his neck, drop by drop.

It felt like they were searing straight into his soul.

Garrison didn't pull away or wipe them off. He just kept rubbing her back. He didn't tighten his grip, only pulling the coat closer and drawing her a little nearer, leaning his head down to whisper softly against her ear.

"It's too cold out here. When you're done crying, I'll take you home."