The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 577

"Don't cry. When you cry, it makes me hurt worse."

Sloane looked up, fighting fiercely to hold back the rest of her tears.

She sniffled, forcing the brightest, hardest smile she could muster, then grabbed his right hand—the one without the IV line. "Come on, get back to the hospital with me right now!"

Garrison smiled inwardly and offered no resistance.

He let her pull him along, walking back over the trampled lawn, past the ginkgo tree that was just sprouting fresh buds, and past the students who turned to look at them in small, curious groups.

Sunlight poured through the gaps in the clouds, catching on their intertwined fingers, illuminating the forced but earnest smile on Sloane's tear-streaked face, and settling quietly on Garrison's pale, peaceful features.

The spring breeze blew in from the south, carrying the damp scent of thawing earth and the fresh fragrance of early-blooming jasmine, gently tossing their hair.

The last thin sheet of ice on the lake behind the academic building was silently shattering into thousands of tiny, glittering fragments, slowly drifting across the water's surface with the wind.

*

A week later, Garrison was finally cleared for discharge.

He didn't notify anyone. He simply handled the paperwork himself, grabbed a small duffel bag, and slowly walked out the main entrance of the inpatient building.

His stomach was still aching faintly. He freed one hand and casually pressed it against his upper abdomen as he made his way outside.

The main doors were right ahead of him, the bright spring sun glaring down against the concrete steps.

Then, he saw two cars pull up—one on the left, one on the right.

The door of the left car swung open, and Sloane stepped out alongside Cassandra. Sloane was wearing a fitted blue dress today, her makeup light but flawless. Cassandra waved at him excitedly:

"Boss, over here!"

At the exact same moment, the door of the right car opened, and Rosemary and Vincent stepped out.