How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 122

Ivan narrowed his eyes. "Well then, I'll leave Elodie in your care, Mr. Silverstein."

Elodie frowned, uneasy. There was something strange about the way he said that.

Jarrod, on the other hand, showed no particular reaction. "Of course. It's only right."

He looked every bit the picture of composed dignity—so much so, it was impossible to tell whether he meant any of it.

Ivan hesitated, glanced at Elodie once more, then turned and left—off to meet his girlfriend.

Elodie found herself caring about this third anniversary more than she expected. It was, after all, a true farewell. She didn't need to stay up all night, but her thoughts had been restless lately, and she actually felt steadier with her mother close by. Tonight, she planned to keep vigil at the memorial.

By the time she'd finished seeing Esmeralda off, dusk had settled.

What surprised her most was that Jarrod hadn't left.

She sat quietly in front of the memorial altar, Jarrod at her side. When she looked over, he met her gaze, his voice cool and even: "I'll stay with you."

There was no warmth in his tone, but his actions spoke for themselves.

Elodie eyed him suspiciously. "I'm staying all night, you know."

"I know."

He glanced at his watch, calm as ever. "Do you want me to go?"

A faint, unreadable smile tugged at his lips as he spoke, giving their exchange a strange tension.

Elodie was caught off guard. Was he… not planning to be with Sylvie tonight? Did he feel sorry for her, seeing how grief-stricken she was? Was he trying to spare her feelings?

Her face revealed nothing; she refused to let herself be moved. She didn't understand his motives, so she simply turned away and said nothing more.

Near eight o'clock, Elodie stretched her stiff arms and legs. When she turned, she saw Jarrod still there, hunched over his iPad, brow furrowed, but steadfastly keeping her company.

She knew he didn't have to go this far—not anymore. The divorce meant he owed her nothing, and she wasn't unreasonable. Truthfully, Jarrod felt more like a guest these days.

At the very least, she could be polite.