How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Elodie was right-he had no intention of letting the Harcourt family off easy. In fact, if things were going to burn, he didn't mind stoking the flames himself.

Elodie ended up coming to the townhouse after all.

As soon as she stepped inside, Cara hurried toward her, relief and worry written all over her face. Clearly, she'd been holding it in for some time. "Mrs. Silverstein, could you go check on Mr. Silverstein? He doesn't want me to say anything to you, but honestly, he's not been himself lately. Even when I stay overnight, I'll sometimes get up in the middle of the night and still find him in the study, wide awake. No one can keep going like that. Yesterday, he came home and went straight to bed sick. He's taken some medicine, but today he's no better."

She shook her head, still mystified by his stubbornness. "He won't let me call you. I suggested you come to keep him company, and he refused. Said he'd be fine in

a bit. But wouldn't it do him more good to have you here?"

"I'll go up and see him," Elodie said quietly. She already had a feeling why Jarrod had fallen ill.

He'd been running himself ragged for weeks-taking on every worry, big and small, shouldering all the responsibilities, and then her illness on top of it all. She'd noticed before that he hadn't really rested.

Cara brightened. "Wait just a second, ma'am. I made some soup. Could you take

it up for him? He needs something warm if he's going to get better."

up the staircase and

bowl and walked with

nursery,

The door was open.

but notice the changes

toys in the crib, and

few tiny outfits, freshly unpacked-soft pinks and delicate patterns, the unmistakable style for a little girl. The room

Elodie's heart clenched.

like this-being able to pick out things for their child, to prepare for a future

Now...

get all this?" she asked, her

Silverstein asked me to keep the room clean everyday. Looks

who'd seen Jarrod up close in these private moments-how gentle and careful he'd been, unwrapping and washing each tiny

that Mr. Silverstein could have such a tender

thought, was

wanted a son or a daughter, but judging by all these little things, he'd been quietly preparing