How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Andrea hadn't even had time to notify the rest of the Silverstein family.

By the time Elodie was wheeled out of surgery, it was nearly midnight. Her arm had been reattached and was now encased in a stiff cast.

Ivan's face had been drawn and pale the entire time. He'd stayed right by her side, escorting her all the way to her hospital room. If he hadn't managed to subdue Malcom after his outburst, none of this would have happened tonight.

He sat beside Elodie's bed, gripping her hand tightly, his eyes bloodshot with worry as he watched her face, still drained of color.

The anesthesia wore off quickly. As Elodie slowly came to, she felt someone holding her hand and, in her half-awake haze, instinctively wondered-was it Jarrod?

Her eyes fluttered open.

She found herself looking straight into Ivan's face, relief flooding his features as he leaned in. "You're awake! Does it still hurt? Let me call the nurse to see if you need more painkillers?"

As her mind cleared, Elodie glanced down at her hand trapped in his and gently pulled it free. "No need."

A deep ache throbbed in her head. She didn't even have the energy for polite pretense.

Ivan saw the distance in her eyes, and the hope on his face faded. "You're worried about Jarrod, aren't you?"

Elodie met his gaze, her voice quiet but firm. "Shouldn't I be?"

flinched as if struck, his expression briefly twisting with hurt and

just got out of surgery. He's

the ICU made Elodie's heart seize painfully in her

she pushed herself upright,

leaned forward to stop her. "He's not going to die! There's

of warmth. "Do you have a reason to stop me? Ivan, you know exactly why

face growing rigid and cold

already pieced it together from Malcom's scattered words. Someone had deliberately provoked him, escalating

about whatever turmoil was eating at Ivan. With effort, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, staggering slightly as she

far, and she soon ran into Andrea, who

the glass, she saw him-Jarrod lying unconscious in bed. He hadn't woken yet. An oxygen mask covered his

never seen Jarrod like

her throat closing, unable to breathe. She pressed her good hand to the glass, taking a

doctors

furrowed. “Mr. Silverstein has a deep knife wound on his back, lost a lot of blood. And when you fell,

too. It's going

before... he wakes up."

injury on