How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 2

Elodie felt as if a fist had closed hard around her heart, draining what little color remained from her cheeks.

The air conditioning kept the house at a perfect temperature year-round, yet at this moment, she could have sworn she was trapped inside a walk-in freezer.

She stayed silent. After several seconds, Jarrod finally looked away from her face. "Sylvie's mother is getting worse. Her only wish is to see her daughter taken care of, to feel she isn't alone. Just keep your head down and be a good Mrs. Silverstein. I won't touch you."

He made his infidelity sound almost noble.

Won't touch her?

Elodie stood there, stunned, for a long moment—then suddenly let out a laugh, struggling to keep the ache out of her voice. "If she needs someone at her side, you shouldn't be here with me. You really shouldn't."

With that, she turned and headed upstairs, shutting the door behind her without a trace of warmth.

A few minutes later, she heard an engine start downstairs. Jarrod was gone. She didn't have to guess where he'd gone—Sylvie was waiting.

Exhausted, Elodie dragged herself to the bathroom and splashed her face with icy water. The shock of it sharpened her senses, but did nothing to steady her heart.

She set up her laptop and contacted a lawyer she'd added on LinkedIn three years ago, asking for help drafting divorce papers.

"Ms. Thorne, do you have any special requirements?" the lawyer asked. "Property, car, alimony?"

Elodie paused, then answered, voice calm. "I want nothing."

She didn't want Jarrod. Why would she want anything else?

Besides, she'd read online that when you ask for nothing, the paperwork goes through quicker. That meant she wouldn't have to drag her increasingly frail body through endless negotiations.

The lawyer sent over the completed agreement in no time.

Her hand gripped the pen so tightly it was bone-white, but she signed her name, letter by letter, without hesitation or a single tear.

Then, nursing the pain in her side, she packed her clothes in a rush.

At the front door, she looked back at the home she'd tended for three years—just one last glance.

She walked out without looking back.