How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 684

How could he not see the determination in Elodie’s eyes?

She hadn’t even tried to placate him—not even a hint of the careful, calculated words she might have used with their child. She wanted no ambiguity, no confusion; she was resolute.

He found himself wondering, just how deep did Elodie’s disgust for him go? Had all those happier years between them been nothing more than her sense of obligation? Or had they ever truly loved each other at all?

And now, at this moment—

The child was gone. How was her heart holding up?

He had his answer, more or less.

There was no way to make peace with it. And aside from Ivan’s divorce, he couldn’t find any other reason to blame. Not even self-deception could soften the blow.

Elodie herself wasn’t sure what expression she should wear, whether about this accident or about what Jarrod thought of her. She felt drained, body and soul, too tired to even speak.

Jarrod stood up, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “When you’ve recovered, and when your work at the research center is finished... when that time comes, I’ll cooperate with whatever you want.”

With those words, he turned and left the hospital room.

Right now, he simply couldn’t face her.

This was his thirtieth year, and never once had he imagined he’d ever feel a pain like this, a pain that carved straight through his chest. Grief, anger, a sense of unraveling—he felt it all. But what right did he really have to demand answers from her?

After all, it wasn’t a crime not to love him.

Elodie didn’t call him back. As for explanations—what could she even say?

Jarrod had already made up his mind about what had happened. And besides, what could she possibly explain? They were in a hospital, after all. Was she supposed to claim the doctors had plotted against her? She had no proof, nothing to lean on.

She rested a trembling hand on her abdomen. People always said there was a bond between mother and child—and now she felt, with an aching clarity, that the only being who shared her blood had slipped away.

How could anyone expect her not to feel sorrow?

She wasn’t a machine. People feel things—there are a thousand shades of grief.

Even knowing that, even if the accident hadn’t happened, there was never any guarantee she could have kept the child. Still... it was her child.

Elodie closed her eyes. Her nerves buzzed with pain, a sharp, relentless noise that refused to let her rest.

She didn’t even notice the tears running down her cheeks, soaking silently into her pillow.