The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 536

A week later.

It was already nine o'clock at night when Garrison Foster returned home.

He kicked off his dress shoes in the entryway, loosened his tie with his right hand, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt before finally feeling like he could catch his breath.

The approval process for Vitas-1 had reached its final stretch—the FDA's formality review, pricing records, and The National Drug Formulary submission. Each step felt like the grueling final miles of a marathon; he had to finish, but the run itself was torturous.

He had practically lived between the lab and the conference room for the past few days. His fractured left arm was still in recovery, and though the sling was off, he couldn't lift anything heavy. Even when his hand cramped from signing endless stacks of documents, he simply had to switch to his right hand and keep going.

The living room was dark.

He grabbed a bottle of ice water from the fridge, twisted off the cap, and took a long gulp. The frigid liquid rushed down his throat and into his stomach, making him wince slightly at the chill.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights blurred into a sea of muted glows against the heavy night sky. He stood there, massaging the dull ache between his brows, reminding himself that there was one final round with The Expert Hearing Committee tomorrow. He needed to review the supplementary materials tonight.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out—Cassandra Jenson.

Cassandra usually wouldn't call him at this hour. The flight team had no night missions, so she should be curled up on her couch watching reality TV right now.

He swiped to answer, his voice thick with lingering exhaustion. "What's up?"

"Turn on the TV." Cassandra's tone lacked its usual playful edge; it was strung as tight as a snapped violin string.

"What happened?"

"Don't ask, just turn it on."