How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 677

Elodie’s mind drifted back to the doctor’s words.

A healthy pregnancy with a high-quality embryo was an entirely different experience—factors from the father’s side, both genetic and physical, were absolutely crucial.

No wonder, she thought. Even with her illness, she hadn’t suffered any of the usual discomfort. The little one was so quiet and well-behaved inside her that, if not for a few subtle hints, she might never have realized she was pregnant at all.

Her irregular periods—just another consequence of her condition—had masked everything, leaving her blind to what was happening inside her own body until now.

Jarrod noticed her lost in thought, eyes lowered, and gently ruffled her hair. “If you’re craving anything, just tell me. I’ll come by every day and cook for you. Trust me, it’s far less awkward than having someone else fuss over you.”

He could see Elodie was truly thinking about the baby.

He didn’t believe for a second that she disliked this child.

He was certain of it.

Not wanting to disturb her appetite, Jarrod set down his apron and quietly stepped out.

Left alone, Elodie was startled from her reverie by the faintest movement in her belly—a sensation so delicate, she almost thought she’d imagined it.

But the pull was real; it snagged at some deep, maternal chord within her, setting off a flood of emotion she couldn’t contain—whether it was hormones or something else, she didn’t know.

Her face remained calm, but her eyes grew red and damp without a sound.

The only life in the world truly connected to her had come into being, and yet…it would fade away just as quietly.

She knew she couldn’t afford any rash decisions. She wouldn’t sacrifice her own life for this child. Even if she wanted the baby to enter the world, it could only happen if she herself could survive it. Otherwise, a child left motherless would only know hardship.

She’d lived that kind of pain herself.

No matter how much Jarrod loved this child, it would never be enough to fill that void.

Motherhood was a powerful thing—she could admit that. But in her position, she had no other choice.

—

The next two days passed in a blur.

Every morning, by the time Elodie opened her eyes, Jarrod was already bustling around outside.

The all-powerful, untouchable Mr. Silverstein was now hunched over the stove in her modest apartment, making breakfast, tending to every detail of her daily life.