Jarrod nced down at the displeased old woman beside him and immediately guessed the source of her frustration-it was the recent scandal involving Elodie. Of course, he thought, it was nothing more than concern for Elodie''s well-being, the kind only a grandmother could have. But as always, she couldn''t help dredging up the past.


    He softened his voice, taking on a detached, almost clinical tone. "Grandmother, not everything is ck and white. If you think about it, what happened back then wasn''t really Elodie''s choice. She''s always been the kind of person who puts others before herself, sacrificing her own needs. What she needs now is the space to consider her own desires, to think clearly about what she truly wants- and what decisions she wants to make."


    Back then, Elodie had beenpletely alone, with no one to turn to. It was as if she were a product on disy, forced to stand there, exposed and vulnerable, silently praying for an oue that would satisfy everyone but herself.


    The Harcourts had ced all their hopes and expectations on her, cornering her until she had nowhere left to turn, no one to rely on.


    His grandmother fell silent, clearly unsettled by his words, as if searching for their deeper meaning.


    Jarrod merely arched an eyebrow and let out a short, humorlessugh, offering no further exnation. "Excuse me, I''m going to change clothes."


    Elodie had meant to sit quietly in the living room for a while, but Cara approached her with a gentle smile. "Ma''am, Mrs. Harcourt says she''d like to have dinner on the rooftop terrace tonight. Would you like to go up early and get some fresh air?"


    Elodie nodded. She''d always loved the way the terrace was arranged. When she and Jarrod were first married, she would wait for him toe home from work, sometimes stretching out on the terrace with a book, only to drift off to sleep. More than once, Jarrod would find her there and carry her back inside. On rare warm nights, he''d simply join her on the futon, waiting for her to wake.


    The memory caught her off guard. Even now, it left her feeling strangely mncholy.


    She didn''t rush ahead on her own, but instead followed Cara slowly up the stairs. As they passed one of the bedrooms, Cara suddenly stopped, as if remembering something important. She turned with an apologetic look. "Ma''am, I was tidying up earlier and identally knocked something off in here. I hope you don''t mind."


    Elodie looked at her in confusion.


    Cara had already pushed open the door.


    Elodie wasn''t prepared for what she saw: a room unmistakably set up for a child. It was spacious, absent of any obvious "boy" or "girl" themes, but there was a white crib, softe cream carpeting covering the entire floor, and every sharp corner had been carefully padded.


    There wasn''t much else yet-no toys, no decorations, just the bare beginnings of


    a nursery.


    Cara stepped inside, picking up a small musical mobile from the edge of the crib. "I knocked this off while dusting and couldn''t get it back on. Last time, I saw Mr. Silverstein assembling it, but I don''t know how."


    She looked genuinely sorry.


    That''s when Elodie realized: Jarrod had put the crib together himself.


    She hadn''t meant to intrude on his privacy-this was clearly part of his past with Sylvie.


    "It''s fine. Just leave it there and let him know," she said lightly, already turning to leave.


    She nearly collided with someone in the doorway.


    She stopped just in time and looked up.


    Jarrod had arrived without a sound. He looked around the room for a long moment before his gaze settled on her, chin lifting slightly. "Doe''s Mrs. Silverstein have any feedback about the décor?" ''


    He spoke as if they were a couple calmly discussing nursery arrangements for their child, as if none of this had anything to do with Sylvie or the past.


    Elodie couldn''t even be bothered to y along.


    "Does Mr. Silverstein have children? There''s no need to n that far ahead," she replied coolly, refusing to take the bait. His previous ns had nothing to do with her.


    The words were true, and she knew they stung. But sometimes, the truth isn''t meant to be pleasant.