How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 269

He glanced down at his right arm. The pain was relentless, burrowing deep through nerves and bone, radiating out to every limb, impossible to ignore and intensely aggravating.

Albin frowned in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Wasn’t it better to end things on a good note? Why not walk her out?

Jarrod finally looked up. His refined, handsome features betrayed nothing. With long strides, he headed toward the door, his voice cool and distant.

“No reason to ruin her good mood.”

Albin was caught off guard, puzzlement flickering in his eyes. In the end, he simply shook his head, letting it go.

_

At the bus stop, Elodie pulled out her old SIM card.

She slid a brand new one into her phone.

She stared at the old card for a moment.

She’d had this number for over a decade.

There was a pang of reluctance.

But she was ready to start over.

With a decisive snap, Elodie broke the old card in half and tossed it into the trash.

She checked the time—almost noon. She had a meeting with Joseph at two, and for now, she had time to rest.

She’d been running on adrenaline ever since leaving the hospital.

As she lifted her head to call a cab, a familiar black Rolls-Royce pulled out from the city hall parking lot across the street.

Elodie’s brow furrowed.

She recognized the car—it was Jarrod’s.

But then, who was driving the Maybach she’d seen earlier in the shopping district?

The answer clicked into place.

Maybe Sylvie hadn’t come to city hall with Jarrod after all. It seemed the two had come separately, each taking their own route.

But in the end, the details didn’t matter anymore.

Jarrod had barely taken two steps when his phone vibrated with a special ringtone—a call he couldn’t ignore.

He answered, his tone flat. “Who is this?”

Whatever was said on the other end made him pause ever so slightly.

He lowered his gaze, rubbing his thumb thoughtfully over the divorce certificate in his hand. “Yes, I understand. Please confirm—”

He ended the call.

Jarrod stood where he was, unmoving.

He raised the violet-red divorce certificate, studying it intently, his expression deep and impossible to read.

Until—

Sylvie emerged from the service hall, her face brightening with a sweet, gentle smile as she waved, “Jarrod, over here!”

Only then did he look up and start walking toward her.

But as he passed a trash can, he didn’t hesitate—he tore the information page from the divorce certificate and tossed it in, not so much as glancing back.