I crumble a little more, imagining leaving this earth with a stranger holding my hand. The pastel card I left unopened on my kitchen table haunts me now. I knew it was from her—her curvy handwriting gave it away. She never does anything without drama. Should I have opened it? Somehow, I imagined that tearing open that envelope would set off her Marnie-spidey senses, and she’d show up in one of her classic states (she called them her upsies and downsies) and ruin everything. Now, the day’s ruined anyway, and I wish she were here, freaking out and making a fuss.

Sometimes, it feels good to be fussed over.

Grady barks at the paramedic to do something—I don’t understand what. She shakes her head and rattles off numbers as they watch the monitor beside me. Best not to know. His fear tells me everything, anyway.

His sad eyes fall back to me, and his voice cracks when he says, “Marina, I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

I’ve never seen someone more distressed or vulnerable, not with me. His dirty face looks shadowed with guilt. Was it his fault?

In the same breath, I know it doesn’t matter. Unlucky. Cursed. Alone. Life changes as easily as the wind blows, and no one can stop it.

“No apologies. I mean it. Life must what life must.”

He manages a pained chuckle, and a tear falls down his scruffy cheek.

My grip tightens on his. “No matter what. It’s okay. Thanks for holding my hand.”

“Anytime.” He chokes up, almost surprised by it, like he’s unaccustomed to feeling. We’re probably both in shock—I know I am. He’s not the hand-holding type, and, until now, I’ve never been one to need it.

But today, everything’s different.

Bad feelings swirl again. “I feel woozy.”

“That’s normal. It’s the pain meds,” he says.

“We’re five minutes out,” the paramedic says. “They’re prepping for surgery.”

“Surgery?” I gasp. “I’ve never had surgery before.”

“It’ll be quick and painless. When you wake up, you’ll be patched up, and Ashe and your family will be there. Can I call anyone for you?”

I shake my head. “Just Ashe. There’s no one else.”

In my agony, worries swarm me. I don’t know what to expect from Ashe. Will he be angry over our failed wedding? Cora will be. Will he be disappointed in me? Upset? Or will he step up like the gallant knight I know he can be?

Or at least, I think he can be. It’s difficult to say; we’ve never had hard times before. The most upset I’ve ever seen him was when the local newspaper, The Seagrove Groove, misspelled his name in our engagement announcement. Ash instead of Ashe. A misspelled name ranks pretty low on life’s list of inevitable challenges.