How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 147

And then—

Another familiar profile picture appeared below.

It was Sylvie.

Elodie's gaze flickered.

So, they actually had a private group chat, just for themselves…

Of course they did. Sylvie was always the center of attention, the one everyone gravitated toward.

All these years she'd been married to Jarrod, Elodie had never known that "plus-ones" could be included in their circle—at least, not openly.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Still, stumbling upon this now felt oddly like some embarrassing secret about her had been aired out for their amusement. She couldn't help but find a bitter humor in it.

Joseph seemed about to say something, but then he caught sight of a private message from Sylvie.

Sylvie: [You're really seeing someone? Who is it?]

Joseph pressed his lips together and didn't answer her. Instead, he dropped a message in the group chat: [Let's not start rumors.]

Elsewhere—

Dinner was over.

A few of them had gathered together afterward, including the sons of various family businesses.

The private dining room was full of laughter and clinking glasses. Maurice caught Joseph's message and snorted, "That's suspicious, isn't it? He didn't even explain."

Jarrod just took a sip of his drink, saying nothing.

Sylvie looked thoughtful. "Maybe it's not official yet. Hard to say."

She glanced down at her private chat with Joseph.

Whatever he was busy with, he'd replied to the group but ignored her one-on-one.

Maurice shook his head. "Doesn't add up. I just invited him to join us for drinks, and he said he couldn't—busy with family. But every year we get together on New Year's, don't we?"

So, was he really busy, or just avoiding them?

It was obvious, really—Elodie's little gestures of devotion just annoyed Jarrod and the others.

If true love could be won by sheer effort alone, well, that would make it far too cheap.

Men, after all, are more practical than women.

They'll always choose the prettier, more capable, more dazzling woman.

Too bad for Elodie—she'd lost from the very start.

Beauty without substance or ambition only gets you so far; all she could offer was running errands and playing house.

"Hey, Jarrod, how come she hasn't brought it over yet? I'll admit, I almost miss her soup this year," Maurice teased.

Jarrod set his glass down, answering offhandedly, "She's not coming."

—

After sending her New Year's wishes to the old lady, Elodie's phone rang.

"Sweetheart, are you with your grandma? Jarrod said you might not be coming back tonight, so I just wanted to check in. Did the two of you have a fight?"