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.

this was how everyone saw

expected to smile through the pain, to accept everything without complaint, to bend over backwards

might be the one

pressed her lips together in silence, then changed the subject. "Has he been

Cara hesitated. "Not much..."

Elodie said, as if she'd expected

Jarrod

warm, welcoming escape. Why would he bother

strictly off-limits. The other, open and airy,

she'd kept up with the world, never letting herself fall

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

the books she wanted

even that little bit of

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

to help her carry the box downstairs—and only then

pristine layer had already blanketed the

glanced at her phone.

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

She tried again. Nothing.

the car was

checked the time.

Just walking out to the main road would take half an hour, and cabs never came in here. With

weighing down her

she was too exhausted

to stay the