How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Chapter 44

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.

was how everyone saw

the pain, to accept everything without complaint,

she might be

silence, then changed the subject. "Has

Cara hesitated. "Not much..."

get some rest," Elodie said, as

course Jarrod

warm, welcoming

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

kept up with the world, never letting

after all-so she quickly found the book she was looking

again, gathering up all the books she wanted to take with her

that little bit of exertion

diagnosis, her body had grown weaker

her carry the box downstairs—and

thin, pristine layer had already blanketed the ground

at her

her car as Cara went off to bed. But after several attempts, the engine

She tried again. Nothing.

use the

the time.

would take half an hour, and cabs never came in here. With the snow coming down, rideshares

frowned, fatigue weighing down her

too exhausted to trek out into

to

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