The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 580

The bedroom door swung open.

The afternoon sun poured in through the glass balcony doors, pooling into warm, golden patches across the hardwood floor.

The air carried a faint, crisp scent of pine, mixed with the distinct, dry warmth of sun-baked fabric. The arrangement in the room was completely identical to how it was six years ago. The king-sized bed was made up with plain gray sheets, the corners perfectly tucked. Even the beige lampshade on the nightstand hadn't shifted an inch.

On the vanity table sat the wooden comb she used to use, next to a half-empty bottle of hand cream with a faded label.

The wardrobe was slightly ajar. Inside hung a few of the old clothes she hadn't taken with her, ironed perfectly crisp and looking brand new, as if waiting for their owner to put them on at any moment.

Garrison led her over and sat her down on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped slightly under her weight. She reflexively braced her hand against it, and the moment her palm brushed against that familiar fabric, an indescribable ache welled up in her chest.

He stood up and walked over to the desk. He booted up the desktop computer and rested his hand over the mouse, pausing for several seconds as if bracing himself.

Then, he clicked on a password-protected folder. The sharp clatter of the keyboard echoed loudly in the quiet room. The password was extremely long, taking him several moments to type out.

With one final strike of the Enter key, a video file popped up on the screen.

Sloane was thoroughly confused. She tilted her head, looking at his profile. "What is this?"

Garrison walked back to her and sat down again.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he took a deep breath, reached out, and took Sloane's hand, enveloping it in his cool palm.

"Sloane, this is... a secret I've kept buried at the bottom of my heart for five whole years."