How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Elodie drifted somewhere between sleep and waking.

She felt dampness on the back of her hand, and the pain in her abdomen had faded to a dull ache. She recognized these sensations-someone must have given her a painkiller.

Turning her head, she met Jarrod's gaze. His eyes were rimmed red, betraying sleepless worry.

When he saw her awake, he opened his mouth to speak, but his voice caught, dry and hoarse. He swallowed hard before finally managing, "Are you feeling any better? Does it still hurt?"

Elodie shook her head, her eyes falling to where Jarrod's hand clasped hers. The moisture on her skin was clearly from his tears.

"I'm all right," she said, her voice carrying the familiar phrase she'd repeated so often it had become second nature.

The words made Jarrod tense, shoulders stiffening. He couldn't let himself dwell on how Elodie had survived those endless nights of pain on her own. She'd always been the strong one-even her grandmother and uncle had no idea. Elodie had never been the kind to complain.

time, Jarrod didn't let go. Instead, his grip tightened, as if he was afraid she

This wasn't the Jarrod

alone... was it hard?" Jarrod gently brushed the tears from her

thought for a moment. "At first, it was. But after a while, you just... get used to it. You accept things the

made things messier-kept those who cared for her up at night, frantic with worry. She'd rather wait until the final treatment, spare them longer periods of heartache, and save herself the energy required to manage their emotions.

was an adult-her problems were her own to carry. There was no

needed

"Yes, I did. But at the time, you were with someone else. Was I supposed to hope that you'd pity

running out, to keep him by her

she thought he cared, he'd find a way to shatter her hopes he never shared anything with her never let her in. She was

she could do was preserve a little dignity

of how

to protect herself were nothing but natural. He was the reason she'd built walls around