How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

Elodie's voice was steady, almost eerily so. Even when it came to losing

something as fundamental to a woman as the right to have children, she seemed unbothered, as if nothing could shake her anymore.

She'd done what she could; the rest was out of her hands.

How long she had left was anyone's guess. Whether she could ever have children again no longer mattered.

The specialist seemed to understand where Elodie was coming from and spoke in a gentle tone. "So, when do you want to begin chemotherapy? I'd really advise not waiting more than three months."

Elodie's fingers curled tighter around the fabric of her coat. "Alright. I'll get my affairs in order as quickly as I can."

In the end, Elodie and the doctor agreed on a conservative treatment plan, at least for the time being.

She would start with radiation therapy.

They prescribed an imported medication-something potent to hold the cancer at bay for as long as possible.

Prescription in hand, Elodie didn't head straight to the pharmacy. Instead, she turned down a different corridor, toward the hospice wing.

No matter how composed she tried to be, when she found herself staring down death, she felt small-like a child, lost and helpless, longing for shelter.

All at once, she wanted to see her uncle.

Emile's room was on the twelfth floor. When she arrived, it was empty.

She asked at the nurse's station and learned her uncle was down for chemotherapy.

Elodie made her way to the oncology ward.

She'd just mentioned she was looking for her uncle to a nurse's aide when, from one of the rooms, a muffled cry of pain cut through the heavy air. It rose-ragged and raw until it was almost unbearable.

Her uncle, who had always been so dignified, so unflappable, was suddenly vulnerable, brought low by pain.

Elodie felt a chill seep into her bones.

She turned and left, almost running.

She didn't stop until she saw a nurse wheeling Emile back to his room.

He looked gaunt, his face ashen, and the chemo had hit him hard; he was hunched over, retching up bile.

Elodie didn't go in.

Instead, she sat out in the hallway for a long time, wondering if this was what would become of her, too, once her own treatment began.

Numb with despair, she eventually rose and walked away.

She took her prescription to the pharmacy.

But as she passed through the main lobby, a familiar voice caught her ear.

"Sylvie, how did you even catch a cold all of a sudden? You have no idea how worried I am!"

Elodie turned her head.

Over on a bench, Octavia was fussing over Sylvie, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead, eyes growing red with concern.

Sylvie gave a small laugh. "It's just a little cold, Octavia. Don't worry so much."

"You're my sister-in-law! If you're sick, I feel terrible too. Didn't my brother stay up all night taking care of you?" Octavia teased, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Sylvie blinked, then offered a shy, silent smile-her answer clear even without words.

Nearby, Jarrod was studying a slip of paper-maybe a prescription-while keeping close to Sylvie, his presence attentive and reassuring. The three of them looked, for all the world, like a real family.

Elodie glanced down at the heavy bag of cancer medication in her hand.

In that moment, she wasn't sure what she felt at all.

"Sylvie, look how well I treat you! I brought you some soup and a few simple dishes-just what you need when you're sick. Try some." Octavia opened a thermos with a flourish, obviously proud of her offering.

"If you like it, I can make more for you next time," she added, her smile bright.noveldrama

Elodie couldn't help but notice the thermos.

She recognized it immediately—it was the one she'd used to bring lunch to Jarrod's grandmother earlier that day.

Surprised, she watched the scene unfold, unable to fathom how something meant for the old woman had ended up in Sylvie's hands.

Instinctively, her eyes sought out Jarrod.

He showed no reaction as Octavia ladled out soup for Sylvie and arranged the sides—dishes Elodie had made countless times over the past three years. He had to recognize her cooking.

Yet his strikingly handsome face betrayed nothing. Not even a flicker of surprise. Elodie clenched her fingers around the prescription bag as another blast of winter wind snuck in through the revolving door, chilling her to the core.

She turned and walked away.

Just as she looked away, Jarrod seemed to sense something. He glanced over- catching sight of a familiar figure retreating down the hallway.

By the time Elodie reached the parking lot, she was spent.

She leaned against her car for a moment, trying to steady herself.

Just as she was about to open the door, a warm hand closed around her wrist,

and a man's cool, low voice sounded behind her.

"Elodie, is this your test report?"