The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 56

By the time she rushed downstairs, the black garbage bags holding her mother's clothes had already been tossed into the neighborhood dumpsters. Ten years old and shivering in the chill of a late autumn night, she stubbornly dug through that massive, putrid-smelling trash bin. In the end, all she managed to salvage was an off-white cardigan her mother wore often, now heavily stained with filth.

The little girl had sat on the freezing concrete, clutching that filthy sweater to her chest. Just then, a dirt-streaked white cat silently approached her, rubbing its bony little body gently against her ankle.

From that day on, she always kept a pouch of cat treats in her backpack.

"Let's head up to my office."

Simon's gentle voice pulled Sloane back to reality. She nodded and fell into step beside him.

The air conditioning in the consultation room was blasting, the white curtains shutting out the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Simon sat at his computer and pulled up her medical records. "Have you thought about the treatment plan? You can't put this off any longer."

He looked at her, his eyes full of deep concern and worry.

Sitting in the chair opposite him, Sloane met his gaze without flinching. Her tone was completely serene. "Dr. Yates, I got in touch with Garrison Foster's team. After evaluating my case, they agreed to let me join the clinical trial for Project Vitas."

"Really?!"

Simon's eyes lit up. He leaned forward unconsciously, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "That's incredible! Dr. Foster is a leading authority in oncology. His research even won the Nobel Prize in Medicine this year. I've been following Project Vitas closely—its prospects are phenomenal. This is an absolutely amazing opportunity."

"Alright. Give me a moment." He navigated through the files, pulled up her entire history, and hit print.

The printer whirred to life, spitting out pages one by one.

From the perfect, healthy physical she had in February 2021, to the routine checkups of the following years, all the way to the sharp decline in recent months—pages riddled with alarming arrows and bolded warnings.

Sloane took the stack of papers, still warm from the machine, a complex storm of emotions churning in her chest.

She stood up and offered Dr. Yates a polite bow. "Thank you so much, Dr. Yates."