How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

By the time Elodie reached the house, it was nearly nine. Rush hour traffic had eaten up most of her evening.

Cara, the housekeeper, looked surprised to see her. "Mrs. Sinclair, you're back! Have you eaten? Shall I make you something?"

Elodie offered a polite smile. "No need. I'm not staying long-I'll be leaving soon."

Cara's face clouded with concern. "You just got home and you're leaving again? Did you... have a fight with Mr. Sinclair?"

Elodie knelt to open the shoe cabinet, searching for a pair of disposable slippers. "No," she replied simply.

And it was true.

The reality was, Jarrod had a habit of treating her as if she were invisible.

His indifference hurt more than any argument ever could.

Except for the few predictable days each month, they barely spoke at all. Fights? They never happened.

Now, they were simply getting divorced.

Cara had been the housekeeper since their wedding, and she thought she knew Elodie well-thought she was just being stubborn and prideful.

Cara couldn't help but try to coax her. "Mrs. Sinclair, there's no hurdle you can't get over. Couples argue and make up—that's marriage. Didn't you always say so yourself?"

"You love Mr. Sinclair so much, and you're lost without him. If this blows up..."

Would you really be able to back down gracefully?

In the end, you'd just swallow your pride and come crawling back. That's how it always looked.

Elodie paused, momentarily dazed.

how everyone saw

accept everything without complaint,

imagined she might be the one to let

then changed

Cara hesitated. "Not much..."

figured. You should get some rest," Elodie said, as if she'd

Jarrod wasn't coming

Sylvie now a warm, welcoming escape. Why would he

house had two: one was Jarrod's private sanctuary, strictly off-limits. The other, open and airy, was where she liked to read when she had

up with the world,

the place-she'd decorated it herself, after all-so she quickly found the book she was looking for on the

she checked the shelves again, gathering up all the books she wanted

little bit of exertion left her

since her diagnosis, her body had grown weaker than she'd

to help her carry the box downstairs—and only then did she notice the

pristine layer had already

at her

climbed into her car as Cara went off to bed. But after several

She tried again. Nothing.

the car

checked the

upscale development, far from the city. Just walking out to the main road would take half an hour, and cabs never

fatigue weighing

too

decided to stay the