How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 30

Jarrod set down his fork, barely touching his dinner, and stood up abruptly. "I have something to take care of. You all go ahead and eat."

Without another glance at Elodie, he strode upstairs, his long legs carrying him away in seconds.

Elodie had caught that inscrutable look Jarrod had given her just before he left. She couldn't figure out what it meant, but it left a restless ache in her chest. When did he plan to tell his grandmother the truth?

Across the table, Octavia pouted. "Well, if my brother's not eating, I'm not hungry either." She hopped up, already thinking about her video games, and disappeared to her room.

Elodie stayed at the table, eating quietly and maintaining her composure. What others thought of her was their business, not hers. There was no point tormenting herself over it.

She finished her meal in silence.

When she stood to clear her plate, Jarrod's grandmother caught her hand and sighed, her expression weary but gentle. "Sweetheart, you know how Jarrod is—he's always been that way. I know you've been treated unfairly, but you can trust me, I'm always on your side. I won't let him break your heart, I promise."

Elodie felt a pang of guilt seeing the old woman's worried face. The grandmother had always been kind to her, always hoping they'd work things out and even trying to help Elodie warm Jarrod's cold heart.

But it was pointless now.

He'd given himself—body and soul—to another woman. Elodie was done pretending everything was fine. She couldn't force herself to swallow that bitter pill anymore.

And with her illness hanging over her like a ticking time bomb, she had no desire to become a burden to anyone.

"Grandma, I actually came back today because there's something important I need to tell you." Elodie took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I'll ask Jarrod to come downstairs so we can talk together."

She couldn't bear to meet the old woman's kind eyes any longer and hurried upstairs, her heart pounding as she headed for the bedroom she and Jarrod once shared.

She paused at the door, composed herself, and knocked politely.

They needed to have an honest conversation about their divorce.

No response.

She knocked again. Still nothing.

Hesitating, she finally pushed the door open. "Jarrod?"

She stepped inside and caught sight of him by the window, his back to her. On his phone's screen, Sylvie's smiling face beamed back at him—the two of them deep in conversation, lost in the flush of a new romance.