How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 881

“That’s enough, Esmeralda.” Fleming’s patience was wearing thin; he couldn’t bear to watch her spiral like this.

“If you care about her so much, go back and comfort her. Why bother coming here at all? Aren’t you afraid she’ll fall apart the second you step out?” Esmeralda knew she was being petty—she was needling him on purpose. But the urge was impossible to resist.

She already felt miserable—and now he’d shown up just to make things worse.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep her emotions under control.

The tension made her stomach cramp even more painfully.

Fleming noticed right away. He remembered—he always remembered—Esmeralda’s recurring battles with the worst kind of cramps. Brow furrowed, he reached out to steady her. “Do you have any painkillers at home?”

His concern was real. Fleming didn’t go in for shallow gestures or performative compassion.

But for Esmeralda, everything felt tainted now.

She’d learned the hard way: once something got stained by what you despised, it never truly came clean again.

She moved to push his hand away.

But Fleming’s phone chimed before she could.

She caught the name on the screen.

Lucy.

Fleming answered immediately, like it was second nature—this was instinct, a well-worn habit he didn’t even realize he had.

Esmeralda caught snippets from the other side—a woman’s strained voice, something about feeling ill.

Fleming’s expression turned stony, and without thinking, he let go of Esmeralda.

As he let go, Esmeralda felt the last of her support vanish, leaving her hollow and cold.

“I need to go. About those rumors about Lucy going around—if you started them, Esmeralda, I want you to put a stop to it and set things straight.” He tossed the words at her on his way out. He paused, glancing at how pale she looked. A tight, uncomfortable ache settled in his chest. But he had to take care of Lucy. “I’ll drop by later. Wait for me.”

He hadn’t forgotten why he’d shown up today.

After all, only Esmeralda had visited his house last night.

And no one else had such a fraught history with Lucy.

He didn’t want Lucy dragged into the mess between himself and Esmeralda.

He didn’t want Esmeralda to let suspicion twist her into doing something she’d regret.

A hot flash of anger prickled behind Esmeralda’s eyes.

Because Fleming—he just assumed it was her.

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