“Here you go, Marnie, dear.” Ivy pushes a wheeled cart into the room and waves a stack of papers. “Aftercare instructions. I wrote the phone number for the nurse’s station on page one. Your prescriptions have been sent to Seagrove Pharmacy.” She loads flower arrangements onto the cart.

“Thanks, Ivy. Please, take the flowers for you and the other nurses. Let them brighten up your kitchen tables. All I want is Frilly Willie.”

“Only if you’re sure,” Ivy says. “These peonies are gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous until the cats nibble on them and throw up everywhere. Please, help yourself and share with the other patients, too.”

“You’re so dang sweet, Marnie,” Ivy says. “I’ll roll them around the floor and see if there are any takers. I’ll be back with a wheelchair to wheel you outta here.”

“I’ll be ready.”

She disappears again.

Marina’s eyes circle up to mine, her smile faltering. “Ivy’s dad studies carnivorous plants. Her sister, Vee, hasn’t been home to visit in over a year. She’s somewhere exotic, doing environmental research. Can you imagine? Gosh, what an adventure, huh?”

“I don’t care about any of that. Where’s Ashe?” I try again.

She takes a deep breath, firming her smile. “Jamaica. He and his best man are enjoying our honeymoon. I encouraged it. I’m doing so well and didn’t want him missing out.”

Anger rages inside me, but I try holding it back. I take a deep breath, and with my gentlest voice, I say, “He left you here, like this, in pain, in the care of his tyrannical mother so that he could have his fucking me-time?”

“I wouldn’t call her tyrannical. Don’t be hard on Ashe. He’s… he needs time.”

Her big, round eyes circumvent mine, dropping to the suitcase, the floor, the window. She doesn’t want to discuss what he needs time for, and shouldn’t have to defend him anyway. Not to me. He needs time to mourn what I’ve stolen, their chance to have children together.

Only I’m not supposed to know that.

“Time,” I repeat. “It’s generous of you to be okay with that.”

Her shoulders bounce softly. “All I’m going to do is lounge on my couch with my cats and watch British TV all day. There’s a Downton Abbey marathon waiting for me. I don’t need Ashe or Cora for that. Leaving today is easier on everyone.”

Marina is either the most foolish and naive woman I’ve ever met or the most stubbornly pragmatic, solving a problem before it becomes one. I wouldn’t want Cora’s icy brand of mothering or Ashe’s moping, either. Could she be a clone of Cora—fiercely independent and happy to keep her man in the background of her life like an accessory she wears on occasion? Not that my opinion matters.

“Fine. How can I help?” I say.