It Doesn’t Matter Anymore Novel by Manny Sloin _ Novel




It Doesn’t Matter Anymore Chapter 01

After being rescued from the debris flow, Allison Nosciter, Colonel Greyson Debeaux's wife, seemed like an entirely different person.
In the past, she would always have a bottle of Gatorade and a fresh towel ready when Greyson returned from his morning run. If he worked late, she left a lamp on in the living room and stayed awake until she heard his Jeep pull into the driveway.
Now, she no longer prepared anything for him or asked where he had been. Even when she saw Greyson holding Sylvia Hagger by the flower bed in the residential compound, she did not rush over to question him as she once would have. There were no tears, no accusations. She simply turned away, calm and indifferent, and walked off to buy groceries.
"Allison!"
Greyson's deep voice, threaded with uncharacteristic anxiety, sounded behind her.
She paused but did not turn around.
The heavy thud of military boots approached. Greyson strode past her and stopped directly in front of her, cutting off her path.
The usually stern and composed colonel looked faintly unsettled as he hurried to explain. "Don't get the wrong idea. Sylvia lost her balance because of low blood sugar. I just caught her so she wouldn't fall. It was nothing more than a coincidence."
Allison lifted her eyes to him.
Even in casual clothes, he stood tall and straight. His sharp features and piercing gaze made him known throughout the compound for his uncompromising toughness. She had once been obsessed with that look—so obsessed that she had lost herself in him..
But now, she only found him irritating.
She pulled her wrist from his grip, her voice as casual as if she were commenting on the weather. "There's no need to explain. Even if you were kissing her, it wouldn't matter."
Greyson froze, his brows knitting together. "What are you talking about? What do you mean it wouldn't matter if I kissed her?"
He searched Allison's face, desperate to find even a flicker of anger or a spark of jealousy.
But there was nothing.
Her eyes were as still as water.
"Are you still blaming me?" Greyson lowered his voice, his tone carrying the authority of a man used to giving orders, though it now held a flicker of guilt.
"I told you, it was urgent. Sylvia has severe depression and can't handle that kind of stress. Besides, she can't swim... Given the circumstances, I had to save her first. As my wife, you should be able to understand that."
"I'm not blaming you," Allison interrupted. "I truly don't care. Isn't this exactly what you wanted?"
She looked at him, her lips curving into a faint, cold smile. "You always tell me that Sylvia is the widow of your fallen comrade—that she's alone and helpless, and you have a responsibility to look after her. You told me not to be jealous over nothing.
"When she had an episode in the middle of the night, you took her to the hospital in our car and left me stranded in a downpour. When she took a liking to my necklace, you asked me to give it to her as a birthday gift. Now that I've stopped making a fuss, just like you wanted. Aren't you happy?"
Greyson was left speechless, his throat tightening as a sudden, inexplicable irritability flared within him.
Yes, he had once hated Allison's jealousy toward Sylvia, thinking it unreasonable. But seeing her push him away with such cold detachment now made his heart pound with sudden panic.
"Allison, can we just put this behind us? Once Sylvia's condition stabilizes, I'll make it up to you—"
Before he could finish, a black Audi pulled up to the curb—the car Greyson had arranged to take Allison to her follow-up appointment at the hospital.
Her own vehicle was still being repaired.
The window rolled down. Sylvia sat in the passenger seat, looking pale and fragile as she timidly asked, "Allison, are you going to the hospital too? Hurry and get in. It's windy out here."
Greyson opened the door for her. "Get in. We're headed the same way. I'm taking Sylvia to pick up her prescription."
Allison didn't move.
Without another word, Greyson shoved her into the back seat.
After they had been driving for a while, Sylvia suddenly gasped. "Gosh! Allison... why is there blood on your pants?"
Allison froze. Looking down, she realized the bleeding from her recent miscarriage had seeped through because she had been on her feet for too long just now.
Greyson caught sight of the stain in the rearview mirror, his face turning pale. He immediately pulled off his military jacket and tossed it toward the back seat. "Cover yourself, or you'll catch a chill."
The jacket still carried his body heat and the faint scent of tobacco. Allison didn't reach for it, letting it fall against her calves.
Just then, Sylvia clutched her chest, her breathing turning shallow and rapid. "Grey, I don't feel right... The sight of blood makes me so dizzy..."
Her face turned ashen as tears streamed down her cheeks. "It reminds me of when Carson died... I can't breathe..."
The car screeched to a halt.
Greyson reached out to steady Sylvia, then glanced back at Allison, his expression torn and troubled.
After a few seconds of heavy silence, he spoke, "Allison, Sylvia has PTSD. She can't handle the sight of blood. The hospital is only two kilometers away... Could you take a cab instead?"
In the past, Allison would have cried and demanded to know whether he remembered that she was his wife.
But now, she simply nodded, pushed the door open, and stepped out.
She moved with such cold, crisp efficiency that a sudden jolt of fear shot through Greyson.
"Wait." Greyson stopped her.
He reached into the glove compartment, pulled something out, and handed it to her.
"Your ring." It was a simple silver band. "I found it stuck between the seats."
At the sight of it, a flicker of emotion finally stirred in Allison's lifeless eyes.
She snatched it from his hand and clutched it tightly, her voice urgent. "Thank you."
Seeing the sudden shift in her expression, Greyson felt an inexplicable surge of anger.
She had been indifferent when she saw him holding Sylvia, yet she reacted so strongly over a cheap silver ring?
"Is that ring really so important?"
Allison wiped the dust from the band and smiled—the first genuine smile she had shown since returning.
"Yes. It's very important."
Because it was a token from the man who had dug her out of the debris flow and carried her ten kilometers to safety.

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