The last chapter is written slowly. At the same time, the workload, the one who helps me put butter on my bread, which also helps me buy this bread, increases, new responsibilities arise, negotiations drag on (but in a constructive way) with a bank, my grandmother, almost a hundred years old, feels tired, is in the hospital.
I accomplished what I imposed on myself two months ago, which was to reread and recompose the entire novel... before moving on to the last chapter. The end has long been thought and rethought. I still had to go around the garden again to keep in mind all the unifying elements.