The days blur together 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 15th century 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—things I want—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 be everything?

That this one thing has been taken away from us doesn’t mean there’s no longer an us. 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?