How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 880

Fleming slid his phone into his pocket, his brow creasing ever so slightly at Lucy’s words. Esmeralda’s jealousy always struck him as baseless, her suspicions so relentless that he felt constantly pressed to justify himself.

“It’s nothing,” was all he said.

Lucy let the matter drop. She didn’t much care to discuss other women with Fleming in the first place.

But Fleming had no intention of lingering. He turned to leave. “You should get some rest. I’m heading to the base.”

Lucy hesitated. “Now? You’re not staying home tonight?”

Even though he found Esmeralda’s dramatics increasingly hard to stomach, Fleming knew he couldn’t justify spending the night with Lucy. Whatever comfort they might find in each other’s company, it wasn’t proper—they weren't family.

“There are things I need to take care of,” he replied quietly, choosing not to elaborate. There was no point in making Lucy uneasy; she’d always been the sensitive, anxious sort, and he didn’t want to pile on any worry.

Lucy was silent for a moment. “Honestly, I haven’t been feeling well today. I’ve had this cough going all day, feels like that old bug of mine is acting up.” She forced a smile, brushing it off. “But it’s nothing serious. Go on. I know you’re busy.”

For the first time, Fleming’s expression changed. He frowned at her, concern flickering through his features. “Let me get you some medicine. Just wait here for a bit.”

Lucy, sensing his resolve weakening, sat down and smiled faintly. “Alright. Thanks.”

Fleming stepped out and paused outside Lucy’s door, gripping his phone tightly. Should he call Esmeralda and clear things up? She’d come by earlier—surely she’d bumped into Lucy. Was Esmeralda already jumping to all the wrong conclusions again?

He glanced at the time. The closest pharmacy would be closing in half an hour. He didn’t have time to argue or explain. He shoved his phone away. There would be other chances to talk—besides, Esmeralda was usually quick to get over these things. No matter how upset she got, she always bounced back sooner or later.

The next morning, when Esmeralda woke, her head throbbed so badly it felt like it might split open. Maybe she hadn’t dressed warmly enough, or maybe this was just what she got for being careless, but she was sure she’d caught a cold. To make things worse, her period had come early, doubling the misery: stomach cramps so intense she could hardly straighten up, stuffy nose, raw throat. Good thing she was made of sterner stuff than most.

She hadn’t returned home the previous night, but had crashed in her own flat instead. After washing up, she collapsed onto her sofa, phone in hand. A handful of the Eldermere inner circle group chats were blowing up. She tapped into one, curious.

As she struggled to make sense of it, the doorbell rang. Grimacing, she wrapped an arm around her aching stomach and shuffled to answer.

Fleming stood in the doorway. His expression was glacial, his gaze hard. He cut to the chase, voice clipped: “Did you do this?”

Esmeralda stared at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?” Her mind was foggy with fatigue and pain.

“Those group chats,” Fleming pressed. “People are calling Lucy a homewrecker.”