The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 522

Sloane gently pushed open the door to the ICU.

The monitor beeped in a steady rhythm, the ventilator rising and falling in sync. The early morning light slipped through the blinds, casting pale golden stripes across the floor.

The air smelled strongly of antiseptic, mixed with the faint, metallic scent of Garrison's blood.

Garrison was already awake, half-propped up against the raised head of the bed.

His face was still bruised and swollen, but his amber eyes were open, quiet, and clouded with an exhausted weakness.

The moment he saw Sloane walk in, those eyes brightened instantly.

"Garrison..." she whispered softly. "Don't move."

She sat in the chair by his bed. Seeing him looking so fragile sent a dense, prickling ache straight to her heart.

Yet, she refused to let her sadness show. Instead, she offered him a faint, reassuring smile.

"The doctor said you can't drink water yet, but I can help you... moisten your lips."

Moving with extreme care, she picked up a cotton swab from the tray, dipped it in warm water, and gently dabbed it against his dry, cracked lips.

Once. Twice.

Her movements were incredibly slow and tender, as if she were polishing a priceless, recovered artifact...

Tears slipped silently from her eyes, tracing down her cheeks and soaking into the edge of her mask, turning the pale blue fabric a dark, damp shade.

"I'm fine. Why are you crying?"

Garrison's voice was hoarse and weak, but laced with profound affection. "If you keep crying... you'll look like a little stray cat."

His gaze drifted lower, landing on her bandaged wrist. His brows knit together.

"I didn't dare."

Garrison cut her off.

He looked at her, his bloodshot eyes heavy with exhaustion, carrying a surging tide of emotion that he had buried deep within his bones just to maintain his sanity.

"I didn't dare... gamble with your life. Even if there was only a one percent chance that he would actually hurt you... I wouldn't have been able to live with myself..."

Sloane felt as if a pair of invisible hands had seized her heart and squeezed hard.

She looked at his pale, bloodless face. Even now, looking at her, his lips still held a tender curve.

She stared into those amber eyes misty with emotion, and then down at the faint outline of the bandages wrapping his ribs beneath his hospital gown...

She wanted to say something, but a massive lump in her throat choked the words away.