How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 728

Lucinda’s face froze in shock, her usually cool and striking features unraveling into unguarded disbelief. For a long moment, she seemed at a loss for words.

Then her expression hardened, incredulity replacing confusion as she fixed Jarrod with a stare. “Do you even hear yourself? All this over a woman? Is it really worth it—”

“When Dad had other women, you certainly didn’t react like this.”

Jarrod’s words cut in, leaving no room for doubt.

Back then, he’d been caught in the crossfire of their bitter relationship more times than he could count.

He wasn’t even ten when Lucinda and his father started fighting in earnest. But both families cared deeply about appearances and reputation—their marriage was a show of unity, so in public they played the part of a loving couple, while in private their arguments were explosive and relentless.

He remembered thinking how exhausting it all was.

Neither of them cared about anyone but themselves, whittling away at each other, day after day, year after year.

Jarrod knew Lucinda had suffered her share of heartbreak in marriage. But he couldn’t accept that she would knowingly hurt Elodie, standing so firm and righteous—even though she herself had once been in such a position. Any compassion she might have had was now locked away, unreachable.

“Jarrod!” Lucinda’s voice trembled with anger, her beautiful face quivering.

Clearly, he’d struck a nerve that exposed all the rot she’d tried to hide.

He didn’t want to keep arguing. The pain of the day was already pressing down on him, suffocating. He glanced at her, his tone quiet but unyielding. “My mind’s made up. I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of my business. But even if you don’t, it won’t matter.”

Turning away, Jarrod called down to the driver to wait outside and take Lucinda home when she was ready.

He didn’t say another word to her.

“I’ve already had a few rounds of chemo,” she said quietly, her tone matter-of-fact. “I’ve been lucky; I haven’t lost my hair. Other than that, there’s not much to say. Every morning I wake up to a handful of pills, and the combination really does a number on my stomach.”

She spoke evenly, without a trace of self-pity, as if describing someone else’s life, not her own.

But every word hit Jarrod like a knife to the heart.

He sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the IV in her hand. She couldn’t quite read the expression in his eyes, but she could feel the weight of his emotion.

Suddenly, Elodie felt a little lost in the face of his reaction—she’d never expected Jarrod to care this much. “I overheard your conversation with your mother just now,” she confessed softly.

Jarrod’s gaze faltered for a moment and then settled on her.

“I’m just being honest,” Elodie continued. “No one can guarantee what will happen to me. Lately, it’s felt like I’m racing against death—I started doing things I’d always put off, chased old dreams, went back to the arena I loved and achieved what I wanted. Other than the child I never had, I don’t have any real regrets.”