The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 51

Inside the bathroom, the water from the faucet ran continuously.

Those cold, heavy words echoed clearly in Garrison Foster's ears.

Hold hit by a truck... saw it with her own eyes... didn't speak for three months...

The blue toy truck Archie had held at the birthday party, Sloane's instantly bloodless face, and the undeniable terror and panic in her eyes—all the fractured pieces suddenly slotted together.

So that was it.

As a child, Sloane had witnessed her own mother's tragic death, yet in their five years of marriage, he had been entirely oblivious to her trauma.

Yes, he knew nothing. He hadn't even bothered to ask how her mother had passed away.

Garrison shut off the faucet and mechanically dried his hands. As he walked back into the living room, his face remained an unreadable mask, but a storm of complex emotions churned in the depths of his dark eyes.

Jackson and Willa Taylor were still forcing overly bright smiles. Tessa had emerged from the kitchen as well. She was an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old girl, stylishly dressed, and she looked at Garrison with "innocent" curiosity and admiration—like a harmless little doe.

"Hi, Garrison. I'm Tessa. Sloane's sister."

Her eyes crinkled in a smile as she politely extended a hand to him.

Garrison ignored her entirely, walking straight toward Jackson. "I need to know where Sloane's mother—her biological mother—is buried."

Jackson froze, clearly caught off guard. He hesitated. "She's... at Evergreen Memorial Park. Garrison, why are you asking..."

Garrison didn't explain. He simply nodded, offered a terse "Thank you," and turned toward the door.

She reached out, wanting to wipe the water droplets from the photo. But the moment her fingers brushed the icy porcelain—

A sharp, agonizing pain, like a steel spike being driven straight through her skull, hit her without warning.

"Ugh—"

A muffled groan escaped her lips as she curled inward, her fingers gripping the edge of the headstone so hard her knuckles turned stark white. Her vision warped and blackened. A piercing ringing erupted in her ears, drowning out the sound of the rain. A violent wave of nausea surged from her stomach. She gritted her teeth, breathless gasps tearing from her throat.

No... not here... Mom is watching...

The instinct to survive overpowered everything else. Trembling violently, Sloane used every ounce of her strength to fumble with the zipper of her small bag. Her fingers were uncoordinated and clumsy. It took several tries before she finally grasped the white pill bottle. As she twisted the cap off, a few pills spilled out, vanishing into the wet grass.

She didn't bother looking for them. She shook two out and shoved them into her mouth. With no water, the dry, chalky pills caught in her throat, filling her mouth with a bitter taste. Sloane forced herself to swallow, erupting into a violent fit of coughing that brought stinging tears to her eyes.