The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 52

...

She didn't know how much time had passed. Maybe a few minutes, maybe longer. The nerve-shredding agony finally began to recede like a dark tide, leaving behind a dull ache and absolute exhaustion. Covered in a cold sweat, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin, Sloane agonizingly relaxed her clenched hands. Deep red crescent marks dug into her palms.

She pushed herself back up, slumping against her mother's headstone. She gasped for air, feeling as if she had just clawed her way back from drowning.

"Mom..." She reached up, tracing the engraved letters of her mother's name with freezing fingers, a faint, bitter smile touching her lips.

"Your daughter almost joined you just now... Exciting, right?"

The woman in the photograph simply looked back at her with that same gentle gaze.

"Too bad," she panted, pressing a hand to her throbbing temple, her tone laced with self-deprecation. "The Grim Reaper probably thinks I'm too annoying, or my medical chart is too much of a mess. He didn't want me, so he kicked me back."

The fine mist of rain drifted over her face, chilling her skin. Sloane tipped her head back against the stone and closed her eyes.

"Hah, Garrison's precious sidekick really underestimated me..." she murmured, as if chatting casually with her mother. "Giving your grandson the exact same toy truck from the day you... left. She really knows how to pick a gift. A flawless, precision strike."

She scoffed, a sound heavy with boundless exhaustion and mockery.

"And your son-in-law? Oh, he was busy playing the righteous judge. He made me apologize to the poor victim who shed a tear and got a tiny scratch. A unanimous round of applause. Your daughter's performance tonight truly earned her the 'Most Unreasonable Psycho' award. Well deserved."

She paused, opening her eyes to stare up at the bleak, gray sky.

"Don't worry, I won't die that easily. At least not until I find that microbe. Once they have it, humanity might actually cure cancer..."

She took a deep breath of the damp, freezing air, then pushed herself to her feet. She took one last look at the photograph.

"Be good up there, and wait for me... to send you a postcard from Antarctica. Although I'm not entirely sure they have a post office..."

"I'm heading out."

Sloane patted the headstone, exactly the way her mother used to pat her shoulder before she left the house as a little girl. Then she turned around and walked step by step into the fading, bleak twilight of the cemetery.