How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 163

As Sylvie's voice faded, the entire room turned to look at Jarrod—poised and unruffled—surprise and delight lighting up their faces.

If Jarrod truly agreed, everyone present would consider themselves fortunate to have witnessed it.

Even Elodie couldn't help but glance over, taken aback. She studied the calm lines of Jarrod's profile, and an odd sense of unfamiliarity crept in. After all these years of marriage, she realized she never knew he had these talents. Jarrod had never been honest with her about such things—never truly let her in.

Esmeralda straightened in her chair, her expression tense with doubt. "Jarrod wouldn't actually agree, would he? That'd be handing Sylvie the perfect chance to show him off—right in front of you."

Elodie pressed her lips together, watching the scene with a composed, unreadable gaze.

Sylvie turned, her smile gentle as she looked at Jarrod, extending her hand. "If we could use my name to donate more schools for the children, it would be an honor. I'd love for your name to stand beside mine, Jarrod. Will you join me?"

It sounded almost like a confession—so moving, so artfully delivered, it stirred the room. The women looked on with open envy, and a few of the younger girls exchanged excited glances, whispering and clasping hands in giddy awe.

Yet Elodie felt like a stranger, an outsider looking in on the world's grandest blessing for her husband and his beloved. Esmeralda's hand shook so much her water glass trembled. Her cheeks flushed with anger. "Sylvie's got some nerve, hasn't she?" she muttered. "She knows you're his wife and still flaunts it right in your face."

But who could blame her? Jarrod always let her get away with it.

"If Jarrod agrees… I swear, I—" Esmeralda's voice was tight, as if the very thought pressed the air from her lungs.