The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 47

Put this behind us...

Sloane slowly raised her head to look at Garrison. In the instant those words left his mouth, the final, faint spark of hope she had held onto for her husband permanently died in her eyes.

All that remained was a barren expanse of ash.

She realized the bitter truth: Garrison had never known about her paralyzing fear of trucks, nor did he know she had witnessed her own mother's violent death. He knew absolutely nothing about her... and he had never cared enough to ask.

How could she have ever expected him to stand by her, the perpetual 'outsider,' in a moment like this?

It was truly pathetic. Even at the bitter end of her life, she had still harbored a tiny fraction of hope for the husband who clearly despised her.

Instantly, the pounding in her head intensified, feeling as if a thousand needles were simultaneously piercing her skull. Sloane's vision darkened in waves, the ringing in her ears turning into a high-pitched screech.

Yet, she felt no pain in her chest anymore—only a profound, absolute numbness.

"Heh."

Sloane let out a sudden, incredibly quiet laugh. The sound was so brief and eerie that it made everyone in the room freeze.

She then lifted her chin, her gaze drifting methodically over Rosemary's furious face, the relatives' sneering and apathetic glares, Quinn's perfectly teary eyes, Garrison's deep frown, and finally, Archie's red, tear-stained cheeks.

"I'm sorry."

Sloane gave a slight, mechanical bow in Quinn's direction, her voice entirely devoid of emotion.

"It was me who pushed you. I'm sorry you got hurt. My apologies."

With that, she straightened up, refusing to look at a single person in the room ever again.

She turned on her heel, her footsteps slightly unsteady but undeniably resolute, and pushed open the front doors, walking out into the night.

*

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