Page 54 of Every Chance After

A chuckle emerges, thinking of my infamous list-taking at Sunny’s. I have a notebook for it—a repurposed Trapper Keeper filled with every concept, idea, display creation, and, yes, many lists, I’ve had since starting. I call it Marnie’s Market Manual, and it’s become a running joke at work. I’m rarely seen without it. Right now, it’s safely locked in my desk at work.

Giving my boss and future mother-in-law a to-do list seems like a bad move, so I do what I always do. Tell her I’m fine, but ask, gently, for her to bring my notebook next time she visits.

“If I’m couch-ridden, I might as well get some work done,” I tell her.

She claps her hands, beaming with pride that Sunny’s is on my mind, and promises to bring it.

Only she doesn’t.

Not at her next visit, days later.

Or at her final one.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Marnie

The days blurtogether in a mix of sleep, pain, and boredom. Cora calls and texts, but doesn’t show up until the following Sunday, three days before Ashe’s return, with more gifts I don’t need—face masks and bath bombs this time. She doesn’t stay long but says something that lingers and haunts me like a ruthless ghost. I expect that was her intention.

“He wants to marry you, Marnie. But if you love him, should you let him?”

I spend the days before Ashe’s return yo-yo-ing between the unfairness of her remark and the truth in it.

It’s a dreary Wednesday, a week and a half after the accident.

Ashe should be here any minute.

Yesterday, I was excited about his return. I decided to forget Cora and her not-so-subtle push to let Ashe go. I am the same person I was before the accident, the same woman he fell in love with, who loves him and wants to spend my life with him.

So what if we can’t have biological children? That was never guaranteed, anyway. We didn’t start dating and fall in love based on breeding expectations. We just liked each other. Loved each other. Wanted to be together. That still holds true.

This isn’t the Dark Ages when having babies decided a woman’s life success. Nor is it an age when suitable matches are made based on marginalized nonsense like wealth, class, ethnicity, or what someone brings to the marriage.

This is Seagrove, North Carolina, 2025. Not 15thcentury England.

Besides that, my aspirations have never been child-centered. Why should they be? If I had a Marnie Manual with all my best ideas for my life—thingsIwant—it’d be filled with career milestones and what would set me apart as a store manager, Sunny’s Expansion Coordinator, and perhaps even Cora’s job, someday. It’d be a scrapbook of travel destinations—I want to see real castles, go on a murder mystery cruise, and visit every national park. That notebook would feature all the adorable cats I could rescue, organizations I’d love to support and give time to, owning a beautiful house with a catio, investments I’d make, and properties I’d buy. Children are wonderful, but do they have to beeverything?

That thisone thinghas been taken away from us doesn’t mean there’s no longer anus. It shouldn’t, anyway.

I am still Marnie Strange. Independent, smart, and strong. Good person. Friend to all. Queen of Customer Service and Unique Product Displays. Ashe’s fiancée, his love. His best friend, lover, playmate, and teammate. I’m still worthy.

Aren’t I?

My thoughts go back and forth mercilessly as I slowly tidy the place. Though my mobility has improved over the last week, the soreness still keeps me at a tiresome pace. Whenever I push my limits, my body revolts with sharp pains and lingering aches. It’s a test of patience, surely. But I keep thinking of Grady’s advice.It takes as long as it takes.

Regardless, my excitement to see Ashe builds, battling back my nerves. I’ve missed him. The fun of him. The way he always makes me laugh. How he rolls his eyes over his mom’s antics. We’ll laugh over Cora’s words—one day.

Seeing him will put everything back in its proper place.

Only it’s not him who shows up. It’s Cora, just like that morning at the hospital. She pushes inside my place, mentioning something about the dreadful weather. I don’t bother with pleasantries.

“Where’s Ashe?”

“He’s not coming, Marnie.” Her tone is soft but direct. She bypasses me and drags an upright chair from the kitchen table into the living room—her usual seat. “Best sit down. I don’t want you to hurt yourself when you’ve been doing so well.”

The anxious knot in my stomach spreads throughout my entire body. I wobble to the couch, easing Sunkist aside for space. I sit as uprightly as possible, bracing myself for what I know is coming—what I should’ve seen coming. It doesn’t matter what I want with Ashe. It’s no wonder he left. He knew he wasn’t coming home to me.

Voices circle through my mind, crystallizing my fears.

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