How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

She turned around calmly.

Watts was standing just a few steps behind, his expression unreadable.

He watched her, thoughtful, as if weighing something only he understood.

"How am I supposed to sleep when there's still no word from Jarrod?" she replied, sidestepping his question with the safest answer she could muster.

Watts slipped one hand into his pocket, a faint, elusive smile tugging at the corners of his eyes. "I thought maybe you just didn't trust me. Maybe you were planning to run away."

His words sent a chill crawling up Elodie's spine for no reason she could name.

She met his gaze head-on. “It's the middle of the night. I'm in a foreign country. Where exactly would I go?"

Watts shrugged. "Fair point. Things are a little chaotic around here right now."

Quietly, Elodie slipped her phone back into her coat pocket, then started walking slowly toward the house. "How are my colleagues doing? Are they alright?"

"They're fine. I'm planning to arrange for them to head home tomorrow," Watts replied breezily, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

But Elodie's guard was up-more than ever before.

young man, open and sincere. But after everything that had happened, she realized how dangerous

with a calm, unhurried stride, giving nothing

her

before, but now, just

at him.

raised an eyebrow and replied, "Depends on work, really. But, to be honest, things aren't looking stable around here. How about

darkened. "Mr. Aldridge, you do realize my husband's still missing?

way she said "my husband" made Watts'

before, but now, hearing it from her lips, it

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eye level. For once, his face was free of that usual sharpness or bravado; he looked young, even

him. Your safety comes first. Besides, everyone back home is worried about you. Wouldn't it be better to go back for

he spoke, something flickered in his eyes—something he himself didn't fully grasp. He reached out, as if

was different. Other women held no appeal for him; he

close. All these years, aside from Patricia Aldridge, no one had

made him want to get closer, to cross that invisible

a step

touch,

the faint smile at the

seemed to see straight through her—her dislike, her