How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 687

Some decisions simply can’t be stopped by a few words.

His head throbbed so badly it felt like it might split open, but sleep was out of the question. Every time Jarrod closed his eyes, all he could see was Elodie’s cold, indifferent face—her expression chiseling itself deeper and deeper into his mind, relentless as a jackhammer.

He sat in the nursery for two hours, motionless, lost.

When he finally stood up, he left the room and rummaged through a cabinet until he found a half-finished pack of cigarettes and a lighter he’d stashed away. He didn’t look at Cara—just muttered, “Can you make a few nourishing dishes? The kind Elodie likes. Give them to Hosea and have him take them to the hospital.”

Cara noticed something was wrong. “Is Mrs. Sterling ill? I could deliver the food myself, if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary. The driver can handle it.”

Jarrod’s voice was hoarse as he bit down on a cigarette and bowed his head to light it. His hand trembled ever so slightly, and it took him two or three tries before the lighter finally sparked. Without another word, he stepped out onto the balcony.

Cara had worked for the Silverstein family for more than a decade, so she’d seen her share of drama. But never had she seen Jarrod look so defeated, so weighed down by grief—his gloom was almost frightening. Still, she knew better than to pry into the affairs of her employers.

—

Elodie spent two days in the hospital.

Not once did Jarrod show up during that time. Instead, his driver appeared a few times, dropping off meals three times a day. It was as if Jarrod himself had vanished from the face of the earth.

Elodie didn’t ask after him. When she was discharged, she returned to her apartment complex without a word.

Word of what had happened to her reached Alexander Sterling soon enough. Whether it was her losing the baby—or the diagnosis—she hadn’t intended to keep it from him, especially now that she’d stopped going to VistaLink Technologies. She’d always assumed Alexander would be calmer and less impulsive than Esmeralda, but when he showed up in a rush, his eyes were red. He glared at her, torn between wanting to scold and comfort her; in the end, all he could do was grit his teeth and say, “Elodie, do you even consider us friends? What are friends for, if not to help you? Why are you insisting on carrying this burden alone?”

But Elodie was still recovering, and Alexander, worried and angry, forced himself to hold back.

He paced the living room, hands on his hips, taking deep breaths, struggling to accept the situation. At last, he blurted out, “You’re stopping all work, effective immediately. Focus on getting treatment and nothing else. Stop worrying about everything for once, will you?”

Losing the baby was a tragedy, but right now, her health was what mattered most.