How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 683

Some things, you have to let people handle in their own way.

She wouldn’t force her way in.

Esmeralda’s words echoed in her mind.

Jarrod remained unresponsive for a long while.

Truth was, he’d been running nonstop the last two days—putting out fires, tidying up loose ends, desperate to make it back sooner. He’d barely closed his eyes.

He thought, at the very least, Elodie would wait for him before making a decision. That she’d respect the fact he was the child’s father.

He had rushed, pushed himself to the brink, and still, he was too late.

She hadn’t really planned to wait for him.

It was as if she’d never meant to give him a chance at all.

Elodie awoke from the anesthesia quicker than expected.

When she blinked groggily into the sterile light, she felt someone beside her.

Turning her head, she met Jarrod’s ashen face. He just sat there, staring at her, expressionless and tight-lipped, as if he’d been keeping vigil by her bedside for hours. She had no idea how long he’d been there, but the air between them was suffocating.

A sharp, hollow buzz rang in Elodie’s mind.

Her body felt strangely empty. That fragile thread of life she’d sensed inside her—gone.

She knew it, even before anyone told her.

The child was no longer there.

Even though she’d never intended to keep the baby, losing it so suddenly, without warning, left a bitter taste at the back of her throat. Yet she couldn’t show any sadness. She knew, better than anyone, she had no right to grieve.

And so—

She simply met his eyes.

Long seconds stretched between them, silent and unyielding.

It was as if some invisible blade was slicing through both their hearts.

At last, Jarrod swallowed thickly. He reached out to tuck the blanket around her, his voice so hoarse it barely sounded human: “Are you still in pain?”