Chapter 1: Then
Notes:
Note (Updated May 10, 2025): Chapter 1 has been revised for clarity and pacing. Nothing plot related has been altered, only some minor tweaks to tighten the language and improve flow. Thank you for reading!
Hello, and welcome to my very first story!
I’ve dabbled in writing before but never had the courage to follow through with anything until now. This story has been in the back of my mind for a few years, and I originally planned on adapting it to a different fandom, but I couldn’t make it work. However, after watching nearly every adaptation of Sense and Sensibility (from 1971 to 2008) and rereading the novel, I felt inspired to bring these beloved characters into a modern setting.
While there are many wonderful adaptations set in the Regency era, I’ve always felt there’s a lack of modern takes on this classic story. So, I decided to reimagine Marianne's journey in a contemporary world while still exploring the same themes of love, loss, and personal growth, but with new challenges and a fresh perspective. My favorite adaptation is the 2008 BBC version, as I connect more with its romantic intensity and atmospheric mood, and it will influence the physical descriptions of the characters as well as some of the scenes and dialogue.
I’ll also incorporate a few details from the 1995 film where necessary. Most notably, Colonel Brandon’s first name will be Christopher, and Eliza’s daughter will be named Beth. But feel free to imagine the characters however you wish!
The story alternates between two timelines: the past (four years ago) and the present. The chapters set in the past will focus on the development and eventual breakdown of Marianne and Christopher’s relationship. In the present, Marianne is engaged to John Willoughby, but an accident has left her with a memory gap from the past year. Her journey in the present is one of healing, as she struggles to reclaim her identity and piece together what happened between her and Christopher—and how she ended up with Willoughby.
While memory loss is a common theme in stories on this site, I hope my approach offers something fresh. The plot may remind you of the new show Doc, but I haven’t seen it and don’t plan to, so any similarities are purely coincidental!
I plan on updating with new chapters every week. I’ve completed 9 chapters so far, with an outline for about 5 more. My goal is to have around 20 chapters total, though that could change as the story unfolds. I know where this story should go and I’m determined to finish it, so I’ll do my best to avoid any extended gaps between updates.
If you made it through all of my rambling and are ready to dive in, I truly hope you enjoy the journey!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Four years ago
Christopher Brandon swirled his glass of scotch, his eyes drifting towards the entrance of the Dorset Lounge every few seconds. The soft piano music and the low murmur of conversation lent the place its usual charm, but his patience was wearing thin. He checked his watch again. Thirty minutes late. No message. No explanation. He’d made several attempts to reach her, but nothing had broken the silence.
With a frustrated sigh, he leaned back in his chair. Another well-meaning disaster. This was it. He’d promised himself this would be the last time he’d allow his business partner and good friend John Middleton’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Jennings, to play matchmaker. She was kind-hearted, no doubt, but for twelve years she’d made it her mission to find him a wife. From the moment they met at John and Mary’s wedding, she’d been on a crusade. Her first ploy came that night, pushing her youngest daughter Charlotte at the reception itself.
Normally, Christopher could deflect her efforts with a polite smile and an excuse, but this time, he’d been blindsided. Mrs. Jennings had been relentless, practically insisting that he meet her niece Anne, who was only in town for the weekend. And now, here he was, nursing a drink and waiting alone.
He tipped back the last of the amber liquid, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. He stood—too quickly—deciding it was time to cut his losses. There was little point in wasting another minute on someone who clearly had no respect for his time. As he shrugged into his jacket, ready to leave the lounge’s warmth behind, a sharp, unfamiliar voice cut through the noise.
“Christopher!”
The sound was piercing, unmistakable, and had a bite to it that made him freeze mid-motion. He turned, furrowing his brow as he scanned the crowd, trying to locate the source.
“Christopher?” The voice rang out again, closer this time. He turned, startled.
And there she was.
A whirlwind of nervous energy came rushing toward him, practically tripping over her own words.
“Hi! I’m Anne—Anne Steele. I am so sorry I’m late—oh my goodness, what a night it’s been! Have you been waiting long? Of course you have. I’m so sorry. And the traffic… unreal! I’ve never seen anything like it! And then my phone—one minute it’s fine, the next, poof, it just dies on me! I’m terrible with technology. Can you believe it?”
She was talking faster than he could process, her words tumbling out in a rush of embarrassment and excitement.
“I honestly thought I’d never make it, but here I am! Oh gosh, I’m rambling, aren’t I? I do that when I’m nervous, you know?”
She paused, taking a quick, shallow breath as her hands fluttered about straightening her top, fiddling with her bag, and brushing hair behind her ear. Her energy practically buzzed in the air around her.
“Sorry about that... So! Christopher, it’s so nice to finally meet you! Oh wow, I love your jacket. Such a smart-looking jacket for such a smart-looking, handsome beau. How are you?”
Christopher stared at Anne, his mind struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire barrage of words she’d just unleashed. It felt as if she had a script and was determined to deliver every line in record time. He opened his mouth, then closed it. After what felt like an eternity, he blinked and finally found his voice. “I’m well, thank you. It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Steele.”
His gaze sharpened with subtle scrutiny. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, attractive in a way that didn’t turn heads but wasn’t easily forgotten either. There was a studied polish to her appearance that didn’t quite land. Her makeup was just a touch too precise, with smoky eyes ringed in thick black liner and lips glossed to a high shine. Her blonde hair, likely over-bleached, fell in carefully styled waves, the kind of look that felt copied rather than effortless.
Her clothes were undeniably fashionable, but something about them felt forced, as if she were clinging a little too tightly to the latest trends.
“Miss Steele? How chivalrous,” Anne teased, her playful grin wide as they sat down, her voice light and flirtatious. “Shall I call you Mr. Brandon, then?”
Before he could reply, the server arrived to take their orders, and Christopher’s attention shifted. The brief interruption seemed to soften his demeanor, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“A second scotch for me, please,” he said, then glanced back at Anne. “And for you?”
“Cosmopolitan,” she answered with a flick of her hand, her tone still laced with a touch of mischief. As the server departed, she settled back into her seat, eyes bright with amusement.
“So, Mr. Brandon,” she began again, drawing out his title, “what’s the story behind such serious manners?”
“No, forgive me,” he responded quickly, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “Old habits die hard. My father was strict about manners and etiquette when I was growing up, and my time in the military only reinforced that need for order. It’s carried over both into my work and my personal life.” He paused, offering her a polite but distant smile. “Christopher is fine, really.”
Anne raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smile. “A man of discipline and duty,” she teased. “I suppose that makes you even more intriguing, Christopher.”
He shifted slightly in his seat, giving her his full attention, though he felt a subtle discomfort creeping in at her continued flirtation. “I’m glad you made it after all the delays. So, tell me about yourself, Anne. What do you do for a living?”
His tone was polite, genuine in its interest, but there was no trace of flirtation. He spoke more like he would to a colleague rather than a date. He wanted to make conversation, but he kept his distance, consciously avoiding anything that might encourage more flirting.
“I’m a real estate agent!” Anne exclaimed, her hands flitting through the air as if illustrating her words. “Oh, it’s just a madhouse right now! Houses are flying off the market in days. My poor buyers really struggle to win bids. They try everything, but then some developer swoops in with cash, waives inspections, and poof! It’s gone. But for my sellers?” She snapped her fingers with a grin. “Cha-ching!”
Christopher raised an eyebrow, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Sounds like quite the hustle. Must keep you busy,” he replied, keeping his tone light, but slightly distant.
“What about you?” she asked quickly, eager to shift the focus. “Well, my aunt told me about the company you run with John. It sounds so fancy and exciting, being the boss and all. We’re kind of similar in a way, you know? I don’t punch a clock either. I’ve got to keep my clients happy, or I don’t get paid! But anyway, tell me more about it!”
He gave a modest shrug. “There’s not much to tell, really. We develop software that helps small and mid-size businesses run more securely and efficiently.”
He kept it brief on purpose, learning that too much information either invited confusion or opened the door to more interest than he intended to encourage.
Anne nodded thoughtfully, though the comparison between her real estate hustle and his tech business was starting to feel a little forced. "Sounds... important," she said with a smile, clearly trying to relate. “But I can’t say I’m familiar with the software.”
Christopher nodded, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. “Yes, that’s part of the problem. For years, we’ve been overpaying our marketing agency, and despite the generous retainer, they’ve failed to increase our market saturation as much as we’d expected. We’ve spent the last several weeks reviewing their work while also meeting with other agencies, and I think we’re finally ready to drop them and sign on with someone new.”
Anne’s eyes widened slightly as she processed his words. “That sounds like a headache,” she said sympathetically, her tone still light. “I can see why you’d want to move on. At least it sounds like you’re making progress.” She gave him a polite smile, then brightened, her energy shifting. “Oh! I think it’s about to start!” she exclaimed, gesturing toward the stage. “Have you ever been to one of these? Velvet Mic nights are so much fun!”
“I can’t say I have,” Christopher replied, his smile pleasant but neutral. He’d been to this lounge a few times—mostly when Mrs. Jennings dragged him along for her matchmaking schemes—but never for this event.
“It’s great!” Anne said, clearly excited. “First off, not just anybody can perform. They still have to audition, so it’s not like we’re going to get any duds or anything. That’s what karaoke bars are for, right?” She laughed at her own joke, clearly amused.
Christopher gave a polite chuckle.
“They send in an audition video, I think,” she continued, “and then they pick the best ten or so to perform live. After that, we—the audience—get to vote for our favorite, and the winner gets to open here for a whole month!”
“It does sound interesting,” he said, genuinely curious, though still mostly going along with the conversation as the server returned with their drinks.
“Cheers!” Anne said brightly, raising her glass. They clinked glasses, and just then, the lounge lights dimmed slightly as the first performer took the stage, drawing the room’s attention.
Marianne Dashwood paced the small green room backstage, her mind racing as anxiety knotted her stomach. The other performers chatted and warmed up around her, their voices blurring into background noise. Last. How on earth had she ended up last? The order was supposed to be random, but last? By the time she took the stage, the audience would be restless, their attention dulled by everything that came before.
It was maddening.
What she wouldn’t give for some moral support. But Elinor was swamped with work, chasing down a new account. Marianne hadn’t even had the chance to tell her about the contest. Their mother and younger sister, Meg, were off touring universities, swept up in plans for a future still uncertain. And here she was on her own, about to bare her soul to a room full of strangers.
In the end, she hadn’t told anyone, not even her colleagues at school. The idea of them watching her perform made her uneasy. The other faculty members had been kind enough since she started her first full year, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t exactly belong. She was the youngest teacher on staff, and the youngest English literature teacher they’d ever hired.
Full of fresh enthusiasm, she’d been eager to share her love of classic literature with her students—and even with the staff—but most of them seemed worn out, dulled by years of teaching teenagers and managing entitled parents.
Besides, they had lives. Real ones. Spouses, kids—the kind of steady, rooted existence she was still trying to imagine for herself. She wasn’t married, nor did she have children. The closest thing to a relationship was an on-again, off-again boyfriend from her university years who never showed up when it counted. She could never seem to connect with the others in any meaningful way.
No, it was better to face this challenge alone, in front of strangers she’d likely never see again, especially if she completely bombed. She wasn’t about to let anyone who knew her see her flounder.
As the minutes ticked by, the green room emptied, the last few performers finishing their turns and drifting off to wait for the results elsewhere. Soon, she was alone, her nervous energy spiking with every passing second. She stood frozen, fighting the urge to turn and walk away and just disappear into the shadows and pretend none of this had ever happened.
Then the stage manager appeared at the door, her voice firm and final.
“It’s time.”
Marianne’s heart pounded, but she forced herself to breathe. She glanced at her reflection one last time, smoothing a few stubborn curls and adjusting the simple black evening gown that felt both elegant and somehow too much. It was too late to back out now. She squared her shoulders, wiped the nervous tremor from her hands, and stepped into the spotlight.
“Let’s hear it for Miss Katrina!” boomed Miles, the lounge's host, his voice cutting cleanly through the warm applause. “Wasn’t she lovely? And what a voice! Now, folks, it’s that time. The final performance is upon us! And, to mix things up a bit, the lovely lady has asked to do her own accompaniment! So, let’s give a big round of applause for our outstanding pianist, James!”
The audience clapped again, a murmur of curiosity rippling through the crowd. Christopher adjusted his posture, only half-listening. He had no idea who the final performer was, but something in the room had changed—a subtle hush, a sharpening of attention. He glanced toward the stage, more out of habit than interest, unaware of what was about to hit him.
“And finally, last but not least,” Miles’s voice rang out, rising above the soft murmur of the crowd, “on both vocals and her own piano accompaniment, is Miss Marianne performing ‘Without You.’”
Christopher froze. It had been years, long and aching ones, since he’d heard that song. The melody would stir the memories, but it was the lyrics that hit hardest, flooding his mind with moments he tried to keep buried.
He glanced over at Anne, absorbed in her phone, tapping away in frustration. She didn’t notice the shift in him.
For a moment, he considered getting up. Slipping out to the men’s room. Anywhere to avoid what he knew was coming. But then he looked back toward the stage and saw her.
Miss Marianne, as Miles had called her, was nothing short of breathtaking.
She looked younger than the others, much younger than most of the performers or patrons in the lounge. Her long, curly hair shimmered in a soft, natural blonde shade with subtle golden highlights catching the light. Pinned neatly on the right side, the curls spilled over her left shoulder, coming to rest just near the crook of her elbow. There was something ethereal about the way it framed her face.
Her makeup was simple but refined, enhancing her delicate features without drawing attention to itself. Bright blue eyes swept the room, pausing briefly when they met his. A shy smile tugged at her lips as she stepped fully onto the stage, and with a graceful curtsey, she took her seat at the piano.
Her gown stood in stark contrast to the more daring, figure-hugging dresses of the other performers. Elegant and understated, the top was black lace, sheer and delicate, flowing into a skirt that swayed gently with her every movement. There was something unexpectedly graceful and composed about her presence that captured his attention before he could stop it. Feeling like an intruder, he cleared his throat, forcing his gaze to wander elsewhere. The last thing he needed was to be caught staring, especially when she seemed so much younger than him.
Taking her seat at the piano, she angled herself slightly so the right side of her face—uncovered by her hairstyle and turned toward the audience—remained visible. Her fingers hovered over the keys for just a moment before she began to play the opening notes.
He sat motionless as he watched her. Her eyes drifted shut, her face angled toward the microphone, and then without hesitation, she sang. Her voice was clear and restrained at first, as if she were holding back the full force of it on purpose. Her delivery was expressive and honest, without leaning on overdone flourishes. Without warning, it enraptured him. The room fell away, and all he could do was listen.
No I can't forget this evening
Or your face as you were leaving
But I guess that's just the way
The story goes
You always smile but in your eyes
Your sorrow shows
Yes it shows
Christopher was completely transfixed by her performance, as was the rest of the audience. The murmur of conversation faded into the background, replaced by the soft harmony of the piano and her voice. It was as if the world had shrunk down to just this moment—him, the song, and her.
Her fingers glided over the piano keys with natural grace, as though the music was an extension of her. But it was her voice that truly held him. Rich, clear, and pure, it dipped seamlessly between the high and lower notes, each one flowing with remarkable ease. There was warmth in her tone, a depth that made each note an emotion she was experiencing in real time.
The entire room had fallen silent, hanging on every note. Even Anne, who had been distracted moments before, now sat still, her phone forgotten, completely captivated.
For Christopher, time seemed to stretch, as if it had paused altogether. The chatter, the clinking of glasses, even the unease he’d felt earlier had all faded away. There was only her, the song, and the memory of a time when hearing it had meant everything to him. But now, as he listened, the sorrow it once stirred seemed irrelevant. She’d transformed it, replacing the pain it now brought with hope.
He leaned forward, hopelessly entranced, the performance taking a piece of him he hadn’t willingly offered. It was dangerous, he knew. She was nothing like the women he normally met—louder, glossier, always eager to impress.
Marianne didn’t seem to be trying to impress anyone. There was something open and real about her presence. And she wasn’t the kind of woman he’d typically notice, not because she wasn’t striking, but because he’d long since stopped looking.
For now, he didn’t overthink it. He just listened. And watched.
I can't live
If living is without you
I can't give
I can't give anymore
Marianne released the final notes of the song, her fingers slowing over the keys as the last chords faded into the air. For a breathless moment, there was only silence. Then, without warning, the lounge erupted in applause.
Whistles, cheers, a few calls for an encore—the response crashed over her like a wave. She stood motionless, heart pounding. She had expected polite clapping, maybe a few kind words. But this? It was so wholehearted, it left her momentarily stunned.
Turning toward the audience, she scanned the sea of faces, still processing the moment when her eyes landed on him. About fifteen feet away, stood a tall, handsome man, clapping with a smile that was warm and full of admiration. But it wasn’t just his smile that caught her attention. There was something more, something in his eyes that drew her in. They shone with an intense longing she’d only seen in films. A sadness that cut deep, the kind that left a wound that never entirely healed.
Before she could let herself dwell on the thought, Miles was at her side, breaking through the moment. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, Marianne!” He clapped her on the back, his praise ringing in her ears. “That was a performance for the books! You’ve got the whole room in your hands! Congratulations!”
Still reeling from the applause and the unexpected connection she felt, Marianne smiled politely, grateful but overwhelmed by the attention.
“Wow, that was absolutely spectacular! Thank you, Miss Marianne!” Miles’s voice rang out as she made her way backstage, his enthusiasm unmistakable. “I daresay, I think we may not even need a vote to determine the winner. You’ve certainly stolen the show!” The audience responded with another burst of applause, louder and more insistent this time.
“But, of course, we still need to follow protocol,” he continued, his voice shifting to a slightly more formal tone. “Please take a moment to scan the cards at the center of your tables and cast your vote for your favorite performer!”
Backstage, still reeling from the overwhelming applause, Marianne was met by the other performers, who were waiting to congratulate her. They hadn’t spoken much before, but now they were all praising her. “That was incredible!” one of them said. “You completely owned the room,” added another.
She smiled and thanked them graciously, but inwardly, doubt crept in. As generous as their praise was, she couldn’t shake the thought that others had performed just as well. Maybe even better. Did I really deserve this? The applause, the attention… it all felt like too much.
As the performers mingled backstage, James played a few soft numbers on the piano, filling the space with gentle background music while the audience cast their votes. Marianne tried to collect herself, tuning in to the nervous chatter and pacing footsteps around her. A few minutes later, the performers were called back on stage to await the final results.
“Well, I’ve never seen this before,” Miles said with a tone of surprise, once the performers were called back onstage. “With a stunning ninety percent of the vote, the winner is... Miss Marianne!” He flashed a broad smile, gesturing for her to step forward. “Come on up, my dear!”
For a split second, Marianne froze. Her thoughts tumbled over one another as the applause swelled around her, loud and surreal—certainly meant for someone else. Ninety percent of the vote? How was that possible? Her legs felt unsteady, her disbelief mixing with shock. She hadn’t expected anything like this.
She forced herself to move, her feet carrying her forward on instinct. But then she saw him again. The same man from the crowd who seemed so moved by her performance. This time, he wasn’t just a face in the blur; he was watching her, openly, with that same intense gaze.
Their eyes met. The noise around them seemed to fade. His smile was quiet, sincere, his expression marked by a warmth that couldn’t completely hide the sadness beneath it. Without meaning to, Marianne smiled back—tentative, unsure, but genuine. Whatever passed between them in that moment didn’t need words. The connection was unmistakable and undeniably real.
But before she could read between the lines, Miles motioned her toward the center of the stage. Still trying to steady herself, Marianne stepped forward. The applause swelled, and warmth rose to her cheeks as she glanced at the crowd, their smiles and cheers washing over her.
“Thank you,” she managed, her voice unsteady despite her effort to stay composed. The crowd’s reaction still didn’t feel real. She had never imagined a moment like this. And yet, even as the applause grew, her thoughts kept drifting back to that man.
Why couldn’t she get him out of her mind?
Miles, oblivious to her internal whirlwind, continued on with his usual enthusiasm. “As you all know, Miss Marianne will be joining us this May as our featured artist! She’ll be performing every Thursday and Saturday for the entire month, right here at the Dorset Lounge!” The crowd cheered again, and Marianne did her best to smile through the unexpected swell of pride.
“And don’t forget, our Velvet Mic contest will be back in September. If you think you’ve got the talent to take the stage, be sure to check out the details for sending in your audition video!”
Another round of applause erupted, but before Marianne could fully take it in, Miles turned toward her, taking her hand and lifting it high in triumph. She gave a modest bow, her pulse still racing, her thoughts not yet caught up with everything happening around her.
“Thank you again for supporting such an incredible night of talent,” Miles said, his voice warm with sincerity. “Let’s hear it one more time for Miss Marianne!”
The applause continued to roll over her, and Marianne smiled, trying to stay grounded. But as the noise began to fade, her gaze, seemingly of its own accord, returned to the man. This time, she noticed he wasn’t alone. A woman sat beside him, absorbed in her phone, seemingly oblivious to the scene unfolding around her.
Of course he was here with someone.
Marianne clocked the woman beside him again, still staring at her phone, unmoved by the evening’s events. She felt a flash of irrational envy rise in her chest and immediately tried to snuff it out. He was probably married. Happily, sensibly married. Her mind wasted no time painting the picture. A quiet house somewhere, two boys and twin girls already tucked in by the nanny while their parents slipped out for a date night.
She forced a smile, reminding herself to stay present. This was her moment. It had nothing to do with some stranger in the crowd.
And yet, something tugged at her. If he truly was spoken for, what kind of man looked at a stranger like that, as if she meant something? The thought gave her pause. Maybe she’d misread it. Maybe that look was nothing. But part of her, stubborn and reckless, hoped it wasn’t.
She shook her head at herself. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
Still, she found herself searching for a wedding ring. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but suddenly, it did. She leaned ever so slightly to the side, trying to catch a better view. His hands rested on the table, relaxed, but from where she stood, she couldn’t tell.
What if he’s not married? What if he’s just waiting for the right moment to—
She quickly dismissed the thought, shame nipping at the edges of her mind.
Why did it even matter?
With a quick, graceful bow to the crowd, Marianne was led backstage, the applause still ringing in her ears. She focused on the excitement of the moment—the win, the upcoming month of performances. But in the back of her mind, that brief spark with the man in the crowd remained, despite her best attempts to extinguish it.
As she walked into the back office, she breathed a small sigh, looking at the stack of papers in front of her. The paperwork she was required to fill out for her showcase was a much-needed distraction. She focused on the details of her upcoming performance schedule. These were things she could control, things that felt real.
The rest? It could wait.
Christopher’s heart jolted when her eyes briefly met his. The moment was fleeting, but something in her gaze caught and held. And her clear and melodic voice, still echoing in his head, he’d never forget it. When she bowed and slipped offstage, there was a grace to it that struck him more than he expected. He didn’t need to think it over. He'd be back in May to see her perform again. But as he glanced at Anne, still absorbed in her phone, another certainty settled in. He wouldn’t be bringing her.
As if on cue, Anne let out an exclamation. “Got it!” she said, her eyes lighting up at her phone screen. “Oh my, look at all these texts and voicemails I’ve missed. I’ve been so out of touch tonight. Client, client, new buyer. Oh, here’s some from you!” She glanced up at him, offering a distracted smile. “Sorry I kept you waiting,” she added, already scrolling through her messages.
Christopher half-smiled, nodding politely. His mind, however, was still with the woman on stage. Marianne. For reasons that eluded him, her performance had stirred something in him that had been dormant for a long time. But he didn’t have time to figure it out now.
“Anne, I think maybe I should—” He started to speak, but his words were interrupted by the eager approach of a man.
“Anne? I thought it was you!” The man’s voice was warm, eager, and entirely unaware of Christopher’s presence.
Anne’s face lit up at the sound. “Oh, Dr. Davies! What a surprise! It’s been ages!” She jumped into conversation with him as though Christopher were invisible, recounting the evening’s events with animated excitement. Dr. Davies listened intently, laughing at all the right places, their exchange easy and familiar.
Christopher stood still for a moment, amused more than anything. Of course, she’d get swept up in a conversation with someone else. The evening was already a strange one, but this was just another twist. He wasn’t mad, there was nothing to be mad about. It wasn’t like the date had been going anywhere. Still, it was hard not to chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
Anne was lost in the conversation, and he was still standing there, lingering on the fringes of her world, as the two of them effortlessly carried on.
With a quiet sigh, Christopher excused himself, offering Anne a polite thank you for the evening. As she briefly pulled away from Dr. Davies, she flashed him a bright smile, mentioning she’d had a great time and suggesting they meet again next time she was in town. He returned the smile with a courteous nod, though he was sure no such meeting would ever come to pass.
Once outside, Christopher sank into the seat of the cab, the rhythmic hum of the city at night offering little comfort. The lights blurred past, and he found himself lost in thought, replaying the evening in his mind. It hadn’t been the most graceful exit, but he wasn’t sure how else to handle it. Anne was pleasant enough, but something about the night, about her, hadn’t clicked. Deep down, he knew it never would.
His thoughts, as they often did, drifted to a time before everything changed. Back when love had felt simple. Possible. He’d believed he could build a life with Eliza. They were young then, their plans pulling them in different directions—he toward the military, she toward university. They told themselves it was for the best.
Years passed. When he came home after his father’s death, everything felt unfamiliar. But it wasn’t until his third year of university that he saw her again.
By then she had a daughter, who, in time, became as much his own as she was Eliza’s.
They had started over, rebuilding their life together, their future. Their dreams were bigger now. Ones that included not just their love and the promise of a new beginning, but a new life growing alongside it.
Until the accident.
The grief caught him off guard again, but he breathed through it, the way he always did. It never came cleanly. Regret clung to it, thick and relentless, full of what-ifs he couldn’t outrun. He had replayed that night more times than he could count. The choices, the small moments. Her voice, telling him not to worry. That she’d be fine. And every time, the ending was the same.
The jagged edge of that memory never dulled. It haunted him. The sense that had he been there when it mattered most, despite what she asked, everything might have turned out differently. He could’ve held onto the life they were building. To her. To the family they were becoming.
But before the sadness could overwhelm him, something else—a different face, a different feeling—tugged at his thoughts.
Marianne.
Her blonde curls. Her bright blue eyes. Her voice, haunting yet warm and full of promise. Her performance, a raw beauty that seemed to bypass all the usual barriers and slip straight into his soul.
He couldn’t understand it. There was no logic to the feeling, no shared history. A voice and a pair of eyes had no business affecting him like that. But they did, and it unsettled him. Marianne had made him pause just enough to consider that maybe he had been ignoring the world around him for far too long. Maybe it was time to stop staring into the past and start walking towards something new.
Notes:
Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I’d love to hear your thoughts, predictions, or any theories about what’s to come. Your feedback means the world to me as I continue to shape the story.
The song Marianne performs, "Without You" was originally written Pete Ham and Tom Evans of the British rock group Badfinger and first released on their 1970 album No Dice. Harry Nilsson covered it in 1971, which became a huge hit, eventually reaching No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in 1972. Mariah Carey released her own highly successful rendition in 1994.
Chapter 2 will take us into the present, and the tone will be drastically different from this one. Things are about to get tense as Marianne faces a difficult truth. It’s a turning point for her, and I can’t wait to share what’s next! Prepare for some serious emotional shifts!
Chapter 2: Now
Notes:
Note (Updated May 14, 2025): Chapter 2 has been revised to heighten the tension, improve flow and pacing. No plots have been altered—only some refinements to push the emotionally raw tone that had always been my intent. Thank you, as always, for reading!
A huge thank you to everyone who read, left kudos, or commented on Chapter 1—I truly appreciate it! I know modern adaptations of Austen’s novels can be a tough sell, but I’ve worked hard to keep the heart of the original themes—love, loss, grief, and family—at the forefront of this story.
Chapter 2 here takes place a little over four years after the events of Chapter 1, and Marianne has been through a lot in that time. We’ll gradually uncover more of her journey as the story progresses. Please note, though, that this chapter has a very different tone from the first. It touches on some heavy themes, including implied infidelity, physical harm, and domestic violence. I’ve approached these topics with care and sensitivity, and I hope you’ll find them meaningful as we continue to explore Marianne’s story.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Present day
"John, how could you?" Marianne’s voice shattered through the silence, a jagged cry of disbelief. "That money was for everything! For us. For the future we were building. And now... it’s gone!"
She paced the bedroom in frantic strides, the click of her heels like a drumbeat to her fury. One hand flew to her forehead, pressing hard against the throb in her temples, but nothing could stop the heat surging through her chest.
"You told me you were just going out for a few drinks with your friends... but gambling it all away? Those women?" She stopped, eyes wide with disbelief, the pain in her voice like a whip. "I saw the videos, John! I saw them."
"Marianne, please… please, you have to believe me." Willoughby’s voice cracked, a raw tremor betraying the guilt he struggled to hide. His hands clutched the doorframe, one wrong move would spill gasoline on a fire already primed to explode. "I never meant for this to spiral out of control. I didn’t want any of this... I swear, it just got out of hand."
His words stumbled over themselves, laced with panic dressed as remorse. But Marianne didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed locked on his, watching for the slightest twitch—the crack in a lie, the shift that would betray the truth.
But all she saw was a hollow performance, slick with practiced guilt. No sign of the man who once swore he loved her. No hint of real remorse. Just a polished mask, cold and brittle, waiting to shatter under pressure.
"I just went to the clubhouse for drinks with friends and colleagues. You know how we get when everyone is together. Nothing happened with me, I swear. I know how bad it looks, but I never touched any of those women like that."
He delivered the lie with practiced anguish, so steady it almost sounded real.
"The whole thing... it was Michael’s idea—"
"Are your asshole friends going to make this right?" Marianne’s voice sliced through the air, tight with fury, each word a strike aimed at the very heart of him. "Are they going to pay back every penny they wasted?"
"Marianne, lower your voice," Willoughby’s tone shifted to one of harsh command, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "The whole damn neighborhood can hear you."
“I don’t care about them, John!” she spat, her voice rising like a storm that had been gathering for months. "I don’t care if the whole fucking world knows you let your worthless friends burn through half of my—our savings, just weeks before our wedding!"
She paced, her steps frenzied, boots hitting the floor like weapons. Each movement was a battle to hold herself together, to keep from splintering right there in front of him. Her chest clenched tight, like her heart was caught in a vice. The anger and betrayal, it was too much. But she wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not ever again.
She’d sworn she’d never let anyone make her feel this exposed again. She’d never be so dependent on someone else for her own happiness.
“Marianne, that’s enough!” Willoughby’s voice thundered through the room. Before she could move, he closed the distance between them, his hands locking onto her shoulders, shaking her. “I said lower your voice,” he snapped through clenched teeth, his grip unyielding. Marianne recoiled, her body tensing as she tried to pull away, but his fingers only dug in deeper.
Her eyes snapped to his, and something inside her locked up. Those same brown eyes—once warm, once fine, once hers—now held nothing but ice. No apology, no remorse. Just a look that made her stomach turn. He wasn’t yelling anymore, but somehow, that was worse. That silence and stillness was familiar. She’d seen how he could switch, turning cold and controlling in an instant. He wouldn’t touch her again. He never had to. His words would leave bruises no one else could see.
“Please, let me go,” Marianne said, her voice steady but strained. “You’re hurting me, John. I don’t want to make things worse.”
Willoughby's grip wavered, his fingers loosening as her words seemed to pierce through the tension. His lips twisted into a sneer, but it faltered as her words hit home. With a sharp exhale, he stepped back, rubbing his face in frustration, his shoulders slumping as if the anger had deflated from him. He sank onto the bed, burying his face in his hands.
“Do you think this is a mistake?” Marianne’s voice finally breaking the silence. “Maybe we’re moving too fast…”
His eyes snapped up to hers, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What the hell do you mean by that?" His voice cut through the silence with a jarring edge. But it was just a momentary falter, quickly smoothed over as he stood up and closed the distance between them, his demeanor shifting once again.
When his hands found her shoulders, the touch was too gentle, almost too calculated. A chill spread through her. She pulled back, her body instinctively tensing under his touch.
“Don’t say things like that,” Willoughby murmured, voice low and coaxing, but with an edge that tightened around her like a snare. “You know I love you. I always have. All I’ve ever wanted was to protect you, take care of you. But when you start talking like that... it makes me think maybe I’m the only one who really means it.”
His words didn’t land like a plea. Instead they pressed down, deliberate and heavy. His promises weren’t about love; they were about control dressed in tenderness. And still, some part of her wanted to believe him, because believing felt safer than admitting she’d made a terrible mistake.
“Do you remember when we first met?” His voice cut through her thoughts, shedding its earlier anger, but not its edge.
When she didn’t answer, he shifted closer on the mattress, knees angled toward her. His hand rose carefully to her chin, guiding her face to his. The touch was soft, but it left no room to pull away.
“Think about everything we’ve shared since then,” he said, his tone smooth, practiced. “Everything I’ve done for you. I’ve always been here. You know that.”
Marianne didn’t respond at first. Her thoughts spun, caught between the man she had fallen for—charming, attentive, disarming—and the one sitting beside her now. The man she had once believed could be her future was now a stranger. The easy warmth she’d once trusted had curdled into something cold, his tenderness into possession.
“Answer me,” he said, his grip still gentle, but the pressure began to build, slow and deliberate. “Do you remember?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He didn’t wait for more. “I was jogging in the park, and I saw you sitting alone on that bench. What were you doing there?”
“Crying,” she murmured, her eyes slipping away from his.
“And why were you crying, darling?” His voice turned coaxing, almost sweet—but there was something just beneath it, something sharp enough to make her skin crawl.
Marianne flinched. She hated when he called her that because it had never sounded real. It was too polished, like a line he’d practiced.
She swallowed hard. “I was upset,” she said, the words fighting to escape.
“Be more specific, Marianne.” His command sliced through her resolve like a knife.
“I was upset because… because my heart had been broken.” she confessed in a low whisper.
The words slipped out before she could stop them, and the silence that followed was unbearable. Her voice hadn’t trembled from fear—it came from something deeper. Grief she thought she’d buried.
She blinked hard, willing back the tears as the ache she’d spent months trying to silence crept in. It hadn’t dulled. It hadn’t disappeared. It had only lain dormant beneath the surface, and now it was clawing its way back up. She had never realized how hard it would be to let the past go.
The first few weeks had been the hardest. Marianne remembered the hollow ache gnawing at her, the way she curled up on her bed and sobbed until she was too exhausted to think straight. Her thoughts spun in circles, questions looping over and over like static she couldn’t turn off. Why couldn’t Christopher commit? Why did Eliza’s death still have such a hold on him? Why couldn’t he move forward with her? What had she done wrong? Why wasn’t she enough?
It wasn’t just sadness; it was defeat. A gnawing sense of being unwanted, left behind, and still haunted by what might have been. She stopped eating regularly. Forgot to care for herself. She showed up to teach, but everything else—performing, friends, the things that used to bring her joy—felt impossible. Not because she didn’t care, but because none of it seemed to matter. Her family begged her to try, to do something, anything. But Marianne shut them out. As if, by ignoring the grief, she could make it disappear.
It had been Elinor’s ultimatum that finally dragged her out of it. It made Marianne feel as if she were about to lose the last person who still truly cared. It somehow managed to pull her back from the edge. Slowly, reluctantly, she had begun to crawl her way back to something like normal.
But the tears still came when she thought of him. Whether it was his voice when he was sweet with her, the warmth of his hand at the small of her back, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. Even the horrible, cutting things they said to each other as everything unraveled. The ache would return no matter what. Searing. Suffocating. Cruel.
With time, she’d learned to control it. The less she let herself think of him, the less she cried. She built walls around her heart—tall, deliberate ones—and for a while, they held. But every now and then, something slipped through. A sound, a scent, a fleeting thought. And in those moments, it all came rushing back. The months she could never get back, and the woman she’d been, unraveling beneath it all.
It was on a bright, sunny spring day in early April that she saw him—the kind of day that should have held promise. She hadn’t meant to be on that street, hadn’t even realized she’d gotten off the bus a stop too soon. But there Christopher was, stepping out of the coffee shop where they’d had their first date.
As soon as their eyes met, he said her name.
For a split second, her heart jolted, a rush of longing hitting her before she could stop it. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by the sickening drop in her stomach, the instinct to flee. Not again.
Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She turned and bolted, the sound of his voice behind her only pushing her faster. She couldn’t let him reach her, not after everything she’d fought to rebuild, not after all the months spent scraping herself back together.
Her breath came in short, panicked bursts as she stumbled into the nearest park, legs shaking beneath her. She dropped onto the first bench she saw and buried her face in her hands, her sobs breaking loose—raw, unsteady, unstoppable. The fear that he might have followed clawed at her ribs, but she couldn’t look. She didn’t have it in her. She was spent. She just needed a minute. Just enough time to pull herself back together before the world demanded anything more.
It was then that John Willoughby appeared. His presence cut through the panic like a breath of fresh air. Dark hair tousled by the wind, eyes warm with concern, and a smile so easy it felt like second nature, like kindness had always come naturally to him. Without hesitation, he sat beside her, his calm words and playful charm coaxing her into conversation. And for the first time in weeks, something inside her began to loosen.
Her gaze drifted over him without meaning to. He looked close to her age, maybe a couple of years older. Average height, but still a few inches taller than her, with an athletic build that showed in the way his fitted T-shirt and shorts clung to his frame, his skin slick with sweat that caught the light, as if the heat only made him seem more alive. His hair, a deep brown that verged on black, curled loosely at the ends, giving him an easy, confident air. His wide eyes, the same rich brown, held the warmth of his smile—a broad, boyish grin that softened the sharp lines of his face, playful and unguarded.
Minutes slipped by, and to her surprise, she felt an ease she hadn’t known in what seemed like forever. She told him everything. The sudden encounter with her ex. The emotions she’d tried so hard to bury. And somehow, it didn’t feel like a confession. It felt like a conversation with someone who understood. Understood her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed, or wanted, until that very moment.
But then, reality hit. She glanced at the time, regret tugging at her chest—she only had a few minutes left to get to her classroom.
When he asked for her number, she gave it without hesitation. The connection between them was too strong to ignore. He smiled, promised to reach out in a couple of days, then walked away, leaving her standing there, heart racing with a thrill she wasn’t prepared to understand.
True to his word, his message came two days later. A simple, direct one asking if she wanted to meet for lunch. She replied right away, not even pausing to second-guess. It felt natural. Right. Even if she didn’t fully understand why.
And just like that, everything began to shift.
In the months that followed, they slipped into a rhythm of romance—elegant dinners, spontaneous bouquets, glittering jewelry, and weekend escapes to a seaside town not far from the city. He spared no expense, showering her with attention, making her feel like the center of his world.
At first, Marianne was overwhelmed. How could she not be? The whirlwind swept her off her feet. There was no time to pause, no space to question anything. The luxury, the affection, the constant surprises were all intoxicating. She lost herself in it, in the joy of his company, in the rush of a love that seemed to wash away everything she’d feared. In the warmth of his arms, the ache from before faded, if only for a while.
But even as she surrendered to the whirlwind, a quiet voice inside her began to stir. This was moving too fast. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to stop or bring herself to pause and ask whether she was truly ready for everything he was offering.
So she kept moving forward, caught in the current, deeper and deeper into a relationship that seemed to skip all the steps she thought love required. Everything she’d once dreamed of was suddenly right there in front of her—given freely, eagerly—and she couldn’t bring herself to question it. Not when it felt so easy. Not when it looked so much like the future she thought she’d lost.
When he proposed just three months after that chance meeting in the park, Marianne didn’t hesitate. She said yes, her heart full of joy and of a hope she hadn’t realized she’d been clinging to. A belief that, finally, she was being offered the second chance she had longed for, the love, the marriage, the family, the future she had always dreamed of.
Her mother and younger sister, Margaret, were taken aback at first by how quickly everything was moving. They couldn’t hide their surprise, but they didn’t hold back their congratulations or their support. The excitement was contagious, and for a moment, Marianne let herself believe her dreams were finally coming true.
Elinor, however, wasn’t so quick to join in the celebration. Though she offered her congratulations, her smile carried a trace of hesitation and unease behind her words. Later, in the privacy of their home, she voiced her concerns gently, as though testing the waters.
“I don’t know, Marianne,” she said, careful. “There’s something about him I don’t trust.”
His name, Willoughby , stood out in the silence between them. Elinor knew it, of course. In her line of work, how could she not? And yet, part of her wanted to believe it was a coincidence, that she was reading too much into it. Still, the doubt gnawed at her, and her concerns hanging in the air, unsettling and unresolved—something Marianne wasn’t equipped to grasp.
She brushed off Elinor’s worries each time they surfaced, waving them away as nothing more than protective instinct. She didn’t want to see shadows where there was sunlight, and didn't want her happiness questioned. But as the days passed, the distance between them deepened.
Elinor’s mistrust and her reluctance to celebrate fully, began to wear at the bond they’d always relied on. She tried to hide it, tried to be happy for her sister, but it was harder than she’d expected.
Harder still when she noticed the changes in Marianne—not just the way she seemed to shrink into herself at times, but the sharpness that crept into her voice when it didn’t belong. She would make a biting remark about how a stranger was dressed, or toss off a casual insult with a kind of dismissiveness that Elinor had never seen in her before. It wasn’t like her. Marianne had always felt things deeply, but she had never been cruel.
Willoughby had a hold on her. Elinor could see it, even if Marianne couldn’t.
The breaking point came one evening, during a heated argument about the engagement. In a rush of frustration, Elinor, unable to hold her tongue any longer, blurted, “You’ve changed so much. You were never like this when you were with Christopher.”
The words struck deeper than she intended, and before she could regret them or take them back, Marianne exploded. Her face flushed with fury, her voice biting with a betrayal that burst forth unintentionally.
“Well, Christopher doesn’t want me anymore, Elinor,” she snapped, her words raw and bitter. “And Willoughby does! If you can’t be happy for me and can’t accept him as my future husband, then I don’t want you in my life anymore!”
She was crying by the time she finished, tears spilling over even as her anger burned through them.
Since that night, the bond between them had frayed, stretched thin by an invisible tension neither knew how to ease. Elinor was still invited to the wedding, and she would attend, but Willoughby’s presence had already begun to cast its shadow—widening the distance between them with each passing day.
Elinor’s concerns, though difficult to voice, were rooted in something real. Since the night of the engagement, Willoughby had begun to change. At first, it was gradual, almost imperceptible, but as the weeks wore on, the grand dinners and thoughtful gifts became less frequent.
Marianne didn’t think much of it at first. She convinced herself that he was busy with his new role in the family business, a responsibility she knew he’d embraced willingly, or so he said.
Meanwhile, she was swept up in the whirlwind of wedding preparations, consumed by her own excitement. She hardly noticed the subtle decline in Willoughby’s affection or the growing hours he spent away from home. But deep down, no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise, something felt different.
As Willoughby’s affection waned, small emotional jabs began to surface. At first, they were easy to dismiss—an offhand comment about her outfit, a remark about how he preferred her hair straightened, calling her natural curls “messy.” Then came the pointed criticism about her inability to resist a sweet pastry. But over time, these remarks grew sharper, transforming into insults that made her question her worth.
Desperate to hold on to his love, Marianne began to change. She told herself it was for him—adjusting her style, altering her appearance, even restricting her diet—all to stay attractive in his eyes, to remain worthy of his attention. The thought of pushing him further away, of revealing any part of herself that might not be enough for him, was unbearable.
He was always quick to apologize when his harsh words or outbursts left her visibly shaken. His excuses flowed easily, crafted to dissolve her doubts and calm her fears. And for a while, she believed them, learning to bury her discomfort and lock it away.
But now, just weeks before their wedding, she couldn’t ignore what she had seen.
Willoughby had told her that his friends and colleagues insisted on a “guy’s night out”—an impromptu bachelor party, of sorts. After weeks of wedding preparations, he said he needed the break, and Marianne, always eager to support him, had agreed he deserved it.
But the morning after, she woke up to an empty bed, his side untouched, and dozens of notifications on her phone detailing the chaotic, and unsettling, festivities of the night before. Something in her stomach twisted as she scrolled through them.
The videos were undeniable. Willoughby and his friends, carefree and reckless, danced in crowded clubs, surrounded by women and dancers who pressed up against them with a claim they clearly relished. Their hands roamed as freely as the music played, and the women, clinging to him possessively, didn’t seem to mind. Willoughby’s body language only invited it, encouraging their attention.
The footage then shifted to a hotel, the scenes growing even more brazen. They invaded the pool, their soaked clothes discarded on the side, as laughter and splashing filled the air. It wasn’t until the camera captured a moment she couldn’t unsee—Willoughby, guided by a woman who leaned toward the lens, her finger pressed against her lips in a quiet “Shhh” before they disappeared behind a door to a hotel room—that she couldn’t stomach watching any longer. That was the breaking point. Or so she thought.
The emails came next, arriving in a steady stream. Dozens of them, each more damning than the last, outlined large, questionable transactions from the joint account she had reluctantly agreed to open for their wedding. Money, meant for their future, was slipping away in ways she couldn’t begin to understand. Each transfer was more cryptic and unsettling than the one before. Lies and betrayal buried beneath every missing dollar.
She couldn’t take it anymore. The gravity of it all crashed down on her, and with trembling hands, she tossed her phone onto the bed, the screen still lit up with images she couldn’t erase. Tears, locked away for so long, broke free, spilling over her cheeks in a hot rush. She couldn’t stay here, not like this.
In a frantic blur, she sprang from the bed, her hands trembling as she tore through the drawers, gathering clothes and essentials. With a sharp breath, she slid off her engagement ring—the cold metal feeling heavier than it ever had before—and placed it on the nightstand. Every movement was a desperate attempt to break free from the lies and anchor herself to something real.
She grabbed her phone, dialing Elinor despite knowing it was a long shot. They hadn’t spoken much since the engagement, and it was Sunday—Elinor was probably at brunch with Edward and his family.
The call went straight to voicemail, and frustration clawed at her chest. She was about to dial her mother when the cold reality hit. She was out of town for the weekend, off with Meg for some early parent events before the new academic year. She sank down onto the bed, exhaustion settling into her bones, her mind racing. What now?
Her fingers hovered over the screen, trembling. Before she realized it, her thumb was scrolling, moving on its own.
Christopher.
His name glowed back at her—obvious and unmistakable. She stared at it for a long moment, her heart pounding while doubt gnawed at her insides. Could she really do this? Reach out after everything, after all the distance, the months of silence?
But the question barely finished forming before she knew the answer. She remembered his final text, the one that followed her own bitter one:
I’ll leave you alone now. But remember, if you ever need me, I’ll always be here for you.
Of course he would help her, even after everything. Even though she had cut him off, and it had been so long... she knew deep down he was the only one she could trust.
Before she could make up her mind, the sound of the front door creaking open shattered the silence, sending her heart into overdrive.
“And who did that?” Willoughby’s voice sliced through the air, snapping her back to the present. “Who broke your heart, Marianne?”
She knew where this was going. She knew she had to break free, to finally speak the truth. The videos, the emails, the way he had chipped away at her until she barely recognized herself—all of it surged forward like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t the man he claimed to be and she wasn’t going to play along anymore.
She stood tall, her voice unwavering, more sure than she thought she’d ever be. “You did,” she said, the words biting as they left her mouth.
Willoughby’s face twisted in fury. “What did you say?” His voice was low, dangerous.
“You heard me,” she shot back, her eyes locking with his, unflinching. “You broke my heart, just now. With all your lies, manipulation, the way you made me doubt my worth. I can see it all now. And I’m done.”
His face darkened, his anger flaring. “What? Marianne, don’t be so dramatic. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, her voice firm, steady with resolve. Without hesitation, she crossed the room, every step deliberate, and grabbed the overnight bag she had hastily packed.
“I’m going to Elinor’s,” she added, the half-lie slipping from her lips as easily as breathing. She would, eventually. But first she needed to see if Christopher meant the last words he’d said to her. After months of silence, she wasn’t sure what she’d find on the other end of that call… but she had to try.
Her hand trembled as she stepped into the doorway, but she didn’t stop. The surge of determination slicing through her fear felt foreign, but it was enough to keep her moving forward. She just needed to hear his voice—to know if anything remained between them, even if all he could offer was to listen. The thought of his presence, of someone who had once truly seen her, felt like the only stable thing in a world about to crash down on her.
She had barely taken a step toward the stairs when a vice-like grip on her shoulders whipped her around. “John, let me go!” Her voice shot up, desperate, echoing the same frantic tone as before.
“You’re not fucking leaving, Marianne!” he snarled, his voice raw with fury. With a violent jerk, he yanked at the bag in her hands, trying to wrestle it from her. His strength overwhelmed her, but the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins gave her a brief moment of power.
But she wasn’t paying attention to where she was standing.
“John, enough! Let go! It’s over!” she screamed, her heart hammering in her chest.
Willoughby's eyes burned with something dark as he glanced down at her feet, and his lips twisted into a sneer. “Is it?” he spat, his voice a thinly veiled threat.
As they struggled for the bag, Marianne’s foot slipped, the tension suddenly released, sending her off balance. She barely registered the shift before her body tipped backward, her mind still caught in the fight—then nothing but the sharp sting of the first step as she tumbled down, the world fading into darkness.
Notes:
This chapter was a tough one to write, given the weight of the subject matter, but I’m really eager to hear your thoughts. How do you feel about the alternating timeline? We won't see what happens to Marianne in this timeline until Chapter 4. I once read a book that used this format, and no matter where the story was in time, I couldn’t wait to turn the page and see what happened next!
Next up, we’ll travel back to the past—just a few days after Marianne's memorable performance. She’ll cross paths with Christopher again, and things are about to get even more interesting. 😊
Chapter 3: Then
Notes:
Welcome to Chapter 3! We’re picking up in the past, about a week after the events of Chapter 1. I’ve worked to stay true to the characters’ personalities, but in this chapter, I’ve made John Dashwood a bit more sympathetic and willing to help his half-sisters than in the original text. That said, Fanny’s influence on him still lingers as the story progresses.
I've given the late Mrs. Henry Dashwood a little backstory and named her Catherine for my story. I've also used the name Mary for the current Mrs. Henry Dashwood as that's the name given to her in the 2008 series.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
"Marianne, I’m here!" Elinor’s voice rang up from the bottom of the stairs, tinged with impatience. "The car will be here in twenty minutes. Are you ready yet?"
"Almost!" Marianne called back, though even she didn’t believe it. She rummaged through the mess in her closet, tossing aside dresses she couldn’t bring herself to wear. Nothing ever looked right. Nothing ever felt right. With a huff, she flung another dress to the floor just as the door creaked open.
"Marianne!" Elinor’s voice sharpened. "You’re still in your robe! You’re nowhere near ready."
Marianne spun around, her expression a mix of disbelief and irritation. "Ellie, why do you keep dragging me to these things?" she snapped, throwing up her hands. "I have nothing to do with the business or those boring, dull people! Someone always drinks too much and gets inappropriate. It’s insufferable!"
Elinor stepped into the room, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her face. “Do you really feel that way? Are they so unbearable you'd rather stay home?”
Marianne sighed, her shoulders slumping. “No, not really,” she admitted. “It’s just… that one time last year. Remember Mr. Miller? He tried to get me to go home with him right in front of his wife! That ruined the whole night.”
“I know. And John spoke to him and promised it wouldn’t happen again.” Elinor's voice was calm, reassuring. “I get it, Marianne. These nights can be exhausting. But you handle yourself with such grace. The clients genuinely respond to you. John does appreciate your time and always makes sure you’re compensated fairly.”
“They just don’t care about anything I say,” Marianne countered. “They just want someone pretty to laugh at their inappropriate jokes.” She paused, sighing heavily. “I’ve heard what they say when they think I’m not listening. And sure, John pays me, but that’s the least he can do. All he cares about is keeping up appearances. It’s the same with you. He’s kept you stuck in that graphic design role for years. You deserve more. Art Director, at least. Maybe even Creative Director someday. And the pay that comes with it.”
Elinor’s expression softened, though her voice stayed measured. “It’s a little too soon for all that. Besides, you know how it is. He has to be careful about optics. The board wouldn’t tolerate even a hint of nepotism.”
Marianne scoffed. “The board? You mean Fanny and her crew. Nepotism’s fine as long as it benefits her.”
Elinor sighed, tension still visible in her shoulders. “We’re going to be late. For my sake just try to look like you belong,” she said, her voice soft but edged with urgency. “We need to go.”
Marianne let out a long breath and turned back to the closet. Her fingers landed on a midnight blue crepe jumpsuit with sheer, flowing sleeves. It was something she’d bought on a whim but never worn. She held it up with a tentative frown. “How about this?”
Elinor’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Perfect,” she said, grinning. “Though honestly, at this point, a burlap sack would do. Now hurry up! I’ll be downstairs.” She turned and disappeared into the hallway, her footsteps retreating down the stairs, leaving Marianne standing there, half-smiling, unsure whether to laugh or roll her eyes.
Elinor and Marianne settled into the sleek black town car their half-brother, John Dashwood—President and CEO of Dashwood Creative Group—had sent to pick them up. The company had been founded almost forty years ago by their father, Henry, and his first wife, Catherine, when John was just a baby.
Catherine had always dreamed of building her own marketing agency that reflected her passion and drive. Henry, less ambitious but deeply supportive, brought his own spark of creativity to the mix. Together, they laid the foundation for what would become Dashwood Creative Group. Now, decades later, the agency carried their combined spirit, with a reputation for thoughtful, tailored work that didn’t just chase trends but created them.
As the company grew, Henry shifted into client relations, forming a strong partnership with his wife. They started small but gained momentum quickly. They landed their first major account within three years, thanks in large part to Catherine’s family, who secured loans to support the venture. From there, the business took off, with John growing up alongside it.
In those early years, Catherine poured herself into both the company and raising their son. But gradually, something felt wrong. At first, she chalked up her exhaustion and weight loss to overwork, convinced she just needed a break. Then one afternoon, when she collapsed at the office, there was no denying the truth.
The late-stage liver cancer diagnosis hit hard and fast. The doctors were clear that treatments might slow it down, but a cure was out of reach. Henry, ever the optimist, tried to mask his fear, but Catherine knew the truth. Her time was running out.
Once she accepted her fate, Catherine moved quickly. She met with lawyers, drawing up a will to pass the company to their son if and when he was ready to take it on. The thought of outsiders claiming the business, or it being broken up if Henry remarried and had more children, was unbearable to her.
At first, Henry was furious with her final wishes. But Catherine reminded him gently yet firmly that their success and the empire they’d built were thanks to her family’s support. The realization struck him deeply. With his wife’s illness looming over them, he reluctantly agreed to her plan.
After Catherine’s death, Henry allowed himself some space to grieve, but the demands of the business and his promise to her left little room for mourning. Raising John, who was just nine when his mother passed, added to the burden. The boy’s boundless energy needed an outlet, and Henry found himself struggling to keep up. The local park became their sanctuary, a place where John could climb jungle gyms and burn off the endless energy that seemed to follow him.
It was on one such outing, a little over a year after Catherine’s death, that Henry’s attention slipped. He didn’t see John fall from the monkey bars, but someone else did. A young woman, jogging through the park, rushed over and crouched beside the crying child, her hands gentle as she checked him for injuries and looked around for a parent. Henry’s heart sank at the sound of John’s cries as he hurried over, breathless with worry.
He was immediately struck by the woman’s calm, capable presence as she comforted his son. After making sure John was unhurt, Henry thanked her again and again. She introduced herself as Mary Barton, a pediatric nurse with plenty of experience. Grateful, and a little flustered, Henry insisted on taking her to dinner as a thank you. She was surprised and charmed by the gesture, and agreed to his offer.
What began as simple gratitude soon grew into something deeper. Henry and Mary became inseparable, their love blossoming with an intensity neither had expected. They married soon after with Mary becoming pregnant with Elinor. Marianne and Margaret followed, bringing even more joy into their lives. For Henry, it was a second chance at love and a fresh start after heartbreak.
Shortly after Margaret was born, John left for university, eager to immerse himself in the world of business and marketing. Just as his late mother had hoped, he was determined to understand every facet of the family business, through both hands-on experience and formal education. In five years, he completed his undergraduate and master’s degrees, quickly earning a place at his father’s side.
At thirty-one, after eight years working alongside Henry, John stepped into the role of CEO at his father’s urging. Henry, ready to focus more on family life, felt confident John was prepared. But the transition proved more difficult than either of them expected. A few longtime clients left in the wake of Henry’s retirement, uneasy about the change in leadership. John was left scrambling to secure new investors, knowing he could no longer rely on his mother’s family for support.
The Ferrars family, always on the lookout for promising ventures, saw this as the perfect investment opportunity. Their daughter, Fanny, took a keen interest in John, and after a year of courtship, they married. Fanny’s sharp business instincts, combined with her family’s wealth and influence, helped steady the firm during a rocky time. Before long, she earned a seat on the board, securing not only her place in John’s life, but in the company’s future.
When the girls were old enough, John promised them internships at the firm. Fanny wasn’t thrilled, disapproving how easily he handed them opportunities they hadn’t earned. But John felt some responsibility toward his sisters, believing they deserved a part in the business their father helped build. Still, aware of Fanny’s reservations, he made a point of treating them like any other employee.
Elinor, with her natural eye for design, thrived during her internship. When John offered her a permanent role, it was on merit alone, as her work spoke for itself. Marianne, meanwhile, focused on copyediting. Though she had a knack for it, she found little joy in combing through marketing materials. Her true passions were literature, poetry, and music—especially singing and the piano. Grateful for the opportunity, she ultimately chose another path, studying literature and becoming a teacher in hopes of passing her love of the classics on to her students.
Margaret shared Marianne’s love of books, but her interests leaned more toward writing than academic study. She also had a restless curiosity and a growing urge to explore the world. As graduation approached, she wavered between jumping straight into university or traveling with friends. Elinor, ever the pragmatist, encouraged her to start school right away, while Marianne and their mother championed the value of life experience.
As the two sisters sat in the car, watching the city lights streak past, Marianne suddenly gasped, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Oh, Elinor! I can't believe I haven't told you. I've done it! I auditioned for the Dorset Lounge's Velvet Mic contest, and guess what? I got in! And then… I won! Can you believe it?!"
Elinor turned to her, stunned. "You what ? Marianne, that’s incredible!" A smile broke across her face. "Why didn’t you say anything? I would have supported you!"
"Well, you’ll get your chance in May!" Marianne said, leaning back in her seat. "But I didn’t want to bother you. You’ve been so caught up with pitches for that new client."
Elinor groaned, slumping back in her seat. "Don’t remind me. They’ll be at the reception tonight. They’re not technically clients yet, but John invited the CEO and his business partner. The CEO is friendly, but a bit loud and boisterous. The partner barely talks unless it’s about timelines, projections, or budgets. He always looks disappointed with everything we propose."
She sighed, frustrated. "If we can land this account, it’ll be huge. Securing a former Allenham client would prove we’re not just a small, up-and-coming firm anymore. It would show we’re ready to compete with the big players."
Marianne couldn’t hide the sarcasm in her voice. “So let me guess, you expect me to charm him into signing on with you?”
“Ha!” Elinor exclaimed. “I have a hard time imagining that he’d be charmed by anyone. But enough about work. Tell me more about your performance!”
"Oh Ellie, it was magical ! I was so nervous at first, but the moment I sat at the piano, everything just clicked. And when I finished, a standing ovation! I even made a grown man cry!" She squealed with excitement. "Can you believe it?"
Elinor’s eyebrows shot up, intrigued. "Wait, really? Someone actually cried? I really would’ve loved to see that!"
"Okay, maybe not exactly, but his eyes were definitely glistening. You should’ve seen him," Marianne continued, practically dreamlike. "He was so handsome, but there was this deep sadness in his expression... I can’t stop thinking about it."
Elinor rolled her eyes, chuckling. "Oh no, don’t tell me you’re already planning your wedding and imagining your future with some stranger... He could be a creep."
Marianne waved her hand dismissively. "It doesn’t matter anyway, he was with a woman, probably his wife. But still… I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Elinor smiled warmly at her sister’s dreamy nature. Marianne had a knack for diving headfirst into her emotions, sometimes to a ridiculous degree, but that’s what made her so endearing. Passionate and endlessly romantic, Elinor was certain that someday, the right person would come along to match her sister’s exuberant heart.
Christopher sank into the back of the cab, tugging at his collar in frustration. He still couldn’t believe he’d let John Middleton talk him into attending. He swore Dashwood knew how to throw a memorable evening, but Christopher wasn’t convinced. It all felt like another attempt to schmooze their way into a deal that was already as good as done. Dashwood was practically guaranteed to win the account—but Middleton, ever the social enthusiast, had been eager to see what kind of party they could throw.
The partnership with Allenham Agency was finally ending, and not a moment too soon. Months of wasted time and resources had taken their toll, but the breaking point came when the founder’s nephew was assigned to the account—an inexperienced, unprofessional mess they were expected to indulge. Christopher had known it wouldn’t last. Before long, he was in meetings with Middleton and their Marketing Director, vetting new firms. Dashwood was the first to respond, and while Christopher thoroughly reviewed the others, none came close. Their solid proposal and bold, modern designs was exactly the kind of new direction the company needed.
The timing couldn’t have been better. Shareholders were growing restless. The company was still profitable, but growth had stalled. Projections weren’t being met, and there were whispers of cuts if things didn’t turn around. Christopher had seen the numbers and something had to change. But he was adamant that staff cuts would only be a last resort. If there was a chance to right the ship, it was with a bold marketing and branding overhaul, and Dashwood had shown they could deliver. Still, as CFO, it was his job to ensure the plan fit within budget while keeping the strategy financially sound.
That’s why he was at the reception tonight, sitting alongside Middleton, they had the final say on which firm to choose. As co-founders, it was up to them to decide where the company would go next, and tonight, Dashwood had the chance to prove they were the right choice.
The car glided to a stop in front of the venue. Christopher paid the fare, adding a generous tip, then stepped out into the crisp evening air. He took in the imposing facade of the hotel where Dashwood Creative Group was holding its client reception and dinner. Middleton had been right about one thing, they didn’t do things by halves. He wondered how much of that hefty monthly retainer would go toward events like this. Still, if he was going to help fund the spectacle, he figured he might as well enjoy it.
Inside the grand lobby, Christopher made his way to the ballroom and stopped short. It was extravagant, no question, but not in a tacky way. The room was draped in soft lighting and carefully chosen details, clearly meant to impress. To his left, a stage displayed the logos of Dashwood’s clients, their backlit panels casting a clean glow. Rows of round tables filled the space, covered in crisp linens and surrounded by chairs that looked far too comfortable for a networking event. Against the far wall, a bar gleamed under pendant lights, with clusters of cocktail tables nearby. The scent of gourmet hors d’oeuvres hung in the air and for a moment, Christopher forgot to be cynical. It was a lot, but he had to admit they knew how to make an impression.
Scanning the crowd, he spotted his business partner and friend, deep in conversation with John Dashwood. After grabbing a scotch, he made his way over to join them.
“Ah, there he is at last!” Middleton exclaimed, giving Christopher a hearty pat on the back. “Brandon, my friend, you remember John Dashwood from our meetings?”
“Of course,” Christopher replied, his tone neutral but polite. “It’s a pleasure to be here. Thank you for including us.”
“The pleasure’s mine,” Dashwood replied, offering a firm handshake. “My sister Elinor, who leads design on your proposals, should be here shortly with our younger sister, Marianne. She occasionally lends her expertise in copy editing, making sure the brand messaging is flawless.”
At the mention of the name, something jolted in Christopher’s chest. Marianne. The name struck a chord, echoing through his thoughts. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the Marianne who’d captivated him with her performance at the lounge just last week. The coincidence felt too strong to ignore.
Could it really be the same person?
He quickly pushed the thought aside. Marianne wasn’t as common a name these days, but it wasn’t unique either. It was entirely possible there were several women named Marianne in the city. And for all he knew, the woman from the lounge might have been using a stage name. He decided not to dwell on it further.
He shook off the nagging thought just as Dashwood’s voice sliced through his reverie. “Ah, there they are!” he called, gesturing toward the far side of the room.
Christopher’s gaze followed Dashwood’s hand across the ballroom, and there, standing with her usual confidence, was Elinor. But it was the woman beside her who made his heart stutter, the world around him seeming to pause. His breath caught as his grip tightened around his scotch. It was her. Marianne Dashwood was the same woman from the lounge. The very one who had entranced him with her voice, her energy, her very spirit.
For a moment, he couldn’t quite believe it. The crowded room faded into a low murmur, time stretching thin around him. Marianne. His mind raced, but his expression held steady, betraying none of the storm within. This was not the night he had imagined.
Marianne paused in front of the mirror in the softly lit lobby ladies’ room, scrutinizing her reflection with a critical eye. The moment she and Elinor had stepped out of the car, a sharp March breeze had swept in, tousling their carefully styled hair. Elinor, ever composed, had smoothed her chestnut locks back into place, the strands catching the light with their usual shine. Marianne, however, wasn’t satisfied. She fussed with her curls, determined to restore them to perfection.
“You’re so lucky, having smooth hair like Mama’s,” she muttered, her tone tinged with annoyance. Elinor’s sleek hair framed her face with the kind of simplicity Marianne envied. “I adore Papa, truly I do, and I’m grateful for his curls. It’s like having a little piece of him with me always. But sometimes… they’re more trouble than they’re worth!”
She continued adjusting the strands, dampening a few curls with careful fingers to coax them back into place. After a few more moments, she stepped back, giving herself one last critical glance in the mirror. Elinor’s graceful composure was something Marianne couldn’t help but admire, even if she couldn’t quite replicate it.
“Okay,” she said at last, nodding. “I think it’s good now.”
As they stepped out of the ladies' room and down the corridor toward the ballroom entrance, Elinor’s breath caught. The venue was nothing short of perfection. Though the company had brought in an outside planner, it was Elinor who had brought her brother’s vision to life, starting with a mood board built around the firm’s brand colors.
The grand ballroom was warm and striking, its dark wood-paneled walls set against crisp white tablecloths. Sheer runners in the firm’s light and dark blue caught the soft light as they shimmered across each table. Balloon clusters framed the stage, and fairy lights twinkled along the bar and cocktail tables. A quiet current of jazz played beneath the hum of conversation. It was simple and refined. Elinor paused to take it all in. Everything had come together exactly as she’d hoped.
Even Marianne was momentarily taken aback by the sight, though she couldn’t resist a pointed remark. “I can see now why you were disappointed with your raise this year,” she said, her voice edged with disillusionment. “I’m guessing it all went into this.”
Elinor sighed and tried to laugh. “Okay Marianne, get all the cynicism out now, before we face the clients.” But deep down, she knew there was some truth in her sister’s words. “Look, our brother’s over there with John Middleton and Mr. Brandon—the potential clients I mentioned. Let’s go meet them.”
Marianne’s gaze followed Elinor’s hand, and in an instant, her whole posture changed. Before Elinor could say another word, she yanked her sister out of the room and down the hall.
“It’s him, Ellie! The man from the lounge I told you about!” she whispered, nearly vibrating with panic, her hands trembling as she pointed toward the room.
“Who’s him ?” Elinor asked, brows furrowing.
“The tall man with our brother! The one with the sad eyes from my performance! I know it’s him!” Marianne’s breath hitched as heat rushed to her cheeks. The man who’d haunted her thoughts for days and moved her in ways she hadn’t expected was right there in front of her. She couldn’t breathe or think.
“You mean Mr. Brandon?” Elinor asked, raising an eyebrow, her tone bordering on mockery. “No way. He’s so stiff and formal. I doubt he’s capable of expressing anything but disapproval. There’s no way he’d set foot in a lounge, let alone be moved by anything happening in one.”
“I swear it’s him!” Marianne’s voice tightened, her nerves spiraling. “How mortifying! I’ll never be able to speak to him. What would I even say?” Her words tumbled out in a rush, panic setting in. It felt like the room had shrunk around her. She had no idea how to act or face him.
“Of course you can,” Elinor said, rolling her eyes with playful exasperation. “Do you really think he’ll remember you?” Her tone was light, but there was a touch of reassurance. “And even if he did, I doubt he’d mention it. Unless it’s about numbers or projected growth, he probably won’t say a word. Now come on, let’s go.”
With that, Elinor linked her arm through Marianne’s, gently guiding her back into the ballroom. Marianne felt a swell of gratitude for her sister’s calm practicality; it anchored her when her emotions threatened to sweep her away.
As they reentered, their brother spotted them across the room, his attention briefly breaking from the two men he’d been speaking with. He raised a hand and waved them over. Marianne’s eyes immediately sought out Mr. Brandon. Her heart skipped a beat, sure it was him. But when their eyes met, there was no hint of recognition. His expression stayed cool and impassive, as if their shared moment had never happened.
Swallowing her unease, Marianne took a steadying breath and slipped into her polished, professional persona with practiced ease. There was no room for hesitation. This event mattered, and despite her distaste for such affairs, she wouldn’t let her sister down now.
They made their way across the room to where the three men stood. “Ah, here they are,” John Dashwood announced with a smile. “Of course, you already know Elinor.”
Elinor greeted them with her trademark warmth, extending her hand. “Hello, John. Mr. Brandon. We’re honored you could join us tonight.”
Before either man could respond, their brother continued, his voice tinged with pride. “And this,” he gestured to Marianne, “is my younger sister, Marianne Dashwood. Marianne, meet the gentlemen we hope will become our newest clients: Mr. Middleton and Mr. Brandon.”
John Middleton, ever friendly, smiled broadly and was the first to extend his hand. “John, my dear. What a pleasure to meet such a beautiful young lady.”
“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Marianne replied effortlessly, her tone polished and poised.
Turning to Mr. Brandon, Marianne offered her hand. He took it gently, his thumb brushing her knuckles as he released her. A sudden, unexpected shiver fluttered through her at the contact.
“Lovely to meet you, Miss Dashwood,” he said, his deep, soothing voice sending an unfamiliar thrill through her.
“Likewise, Mr. Brandon,” she replied, a faint blush rising to her neck.
He chuckled, warm and inviting. “I’ve been meaning to mention this to your brother and sister—please, call me Christopher,” he said with a smile that lit up his slate-blue eyes. “Whenever I hear ‘Mr. Brandon,’ I half-expect my late father’s ghost to show up,” he added with a wink, his lighthearted joke easing the tension and drawing laughter from the group.
Christopher. Marianne savored the name, finding it both classic and timeless, a perfect fit for him. “In that case, Christopher,” she replied, her voice laced with a playful edge, “I must insist you call me Marianne. ‘Miss Dashwood’ is what I hear all day from my students.”
Christopher and John Middleton exchanged a glance, eyebrows lifting with mild curiosity as they looked toward the elder Dashwood. “We’d love to have her working on copy full time, but Marianne’s true passion is teaching English literature at a local school. She’s also a gifted musician, skilled in both singing and piano.”
The blush that had begun earlier deepened at her brother’s rare compliment. When their eyes briefly met, Marianne thought she saw something beneath Christopher’s composed exterior—a small crack in his façade. But she quickly dismissed it. Elinor was right; he didn’t seem the type who’d admit he’d seen her perform.
After a few more minutes of polite conversation, Elinor gently nudged Marianne toward the bar.
Elinor sipped her vodka soda with lime. “Well, If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Mr. Brandon—sorry, Christopher —had been swapped out for a much less uptight version of himself. I told you, you’ve got a knack for these events.”
Marianne gave a soft hum of agreement, but she didn’t believe for a second that the contrast in Christopher’s behavior was simply the result of their brief exchange. Elinor was probably right, though, maybe she was good at this. Or maybe there was a deeper reason. For now, though, she pushed the thought aside. As more clients filtered in, she took a sip of wine, letting the tartness ground her, and slipped into the polished, professional persona she knew all too well.
Christopher felt Marianne’s absence more strongly than he expected. Her musical talent was captivating on its own, but there was so much more to her than that. She was clearly intelligent, deeply passionate about literature, and carried an earnest, playful charm that drew people in, himself included.
However, she seemed young, though maybe a bit older than the nineteen or twenty he had first assumed when he saw her perform. Learning she was a teacher had offered some reassurance. At least she wasn’t still a university student. Even so, the gap between her age and his own forty years wasn’t something he could easily ignore.
He cleared his thoughts as the evening continued without a hitch. He and his partner moved easily through the crowd, exchanging stories with guests and fielding questions from potential clients. The four-course dinner was elegant, the presentation smooth and persuasive. By the end of it, Christopher felt confident that partnering with Dashwood was the right move.
On his way to the bar for a final scotch, he found Marianne again. She stood among a small group of clients, her laughter coming too quickly, too brightly. Something about it felt off. He saw it in the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she shifted her weight. And then, the reason became clear when a clearly drunk man let his hand slide along the small of her back.
Christopher didn’t hesitate. He knew exactly what he had to do.
“Excuse me, Miss Dashwood,” Christopher’s voice cut through the hum of the crowd. “It seems your brother and sister are otherwise occupied, and I could use your assistance.”
He offered her a brief, reassuring glance, which appeared to soften the discomfort etched on her face.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Brandon,” she responded smoothly, excusing herself from Mr. Miller’s unwelcome company with a practiced grace. Once free from the unwanted contact, Christopher led her to a quieter corner by one of the cocktail tables.
“I apologize if I’ve misjudged the situation,” he said as his gaze flickered back to Mr. Miller. “But it seemed you were uncomfortable.”
“No, you didn’t misjudge anything,” Marianne replied, her tone steady and grateful. “It’s unfortunate, but there’s always someone who crosses boundaries.”
Christopher gave her a sympathetic look. “Are you all right?”
She met his gaze, the discomfort slowly fading in his presence. “Yes, thank you. It’s happened before with him,” she confessed. “Elinor and I have spoken to John about it, but... well, it clearly didn’t make an impact.”
Christopher felt his heart go out to the sisters. He had witnessed far too many instances where the vulnerabilities of women were overlooked in these settings. “If you’d prefer, I could say something.”.
“No, it’s fine,” she said quickly, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “It’s not worth ruining the night over. Elinor and I will speak to our brother again. Besides, the rest of the evening has been lovely. I’d rather not spoil the mood.”
She met his clear, attentive gaze for the first time that evening and, in that moment, truly saw him. Christopher was striking, though not in a way that startled, but with a presence that drew you in gradually, rewarding careful attention. Tall, with a broad yet lean frame, he carried an unmistakable strength. One born of confidence rather than excess.
His impeccably tailored slate-blue suit, nearly the same shade as his eyes, hugged his shoulders and tapered at the waist, emphasizing his broad chest and athletic build. His brown hair, touched with hints of caramel, was neatly styled and held just enough of a deliberate tousle to suggest he didn’t require constant refinement, yet always appeared composed.
One of his large hands rested on the table while the other cradled his drink. She could clearly see now that he wore no wedding band, a detail that inexplicably reassured her.
His eyes reminded her of a winter sea, holding an intense depth—not only born of sorrow, but shaped by a life fully lived. And when he smiled again, they crinkled faintly at the corners which seemed to soften any burden they carried.
That was when she knew. He was older than her, perhaps more than what was ideal.
For the moment, that difference seemed insignificant. Christopher's concern for her well-being was enough, and Marianne found herself wanting to engage with him further.
Christopher held her gaze, curiosity blooming beneath his usual restraint, though his thoughts were still drifted to her performance the week before. He could still hear her singing, that hauntingly beautiful voice echoing in his mind, as if the moment hadn’t yet released its hold. For a breath, his composure slipped, and before he could stop himself, he spoke.
“Marianne, forgive me,” he said, his voice carrying a thread of hesitation. “But I can’t stop thinking about this. Did you, by chance, perform last week at the Dorset Lounge?”
He saw the surprise in her eyes, and regret swept through him. He realized, too late, how intrusive the question might have sounded.
To his relief, Marianne let out a soft, almost giddy laugh. “I’m so glad it’s out there,” she said, the words coming more easily than she’d expected. Perhaps it was the wine, but the tension between them seemed to ease.
He gave her a puzzled look. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Please don’t think me a fool,” she said gently. “But I noticed you too. There was this… sadness in your eyes. I couldn’t ignore it.” Her tone softened as she caught some hesitation in his expression. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
“No, no, it’s quite alright,” he said, his voice steady but thoughtful. “The song reminded me of someone I knew years ago. Someone who’s no longer in my life, that’s all.”
A face surfaced in his mind for the briefest moment, but the warmth of Marianne’s presence drew him gently back to the present. He offered a soft smile. “You have an incredible gift, Marianne. Truly remarkable.”
The conversation unfolded easily after that, the evening drifting by in shared laughter and light stories from past business events. Marianne found herself at ease in his company, the earlier awkwardness quietly dissolving as their connection deepened.
When the time came to part, Christopher hesitated. He lingered a moment longer than necessary before he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a business card, and wrote something on the back. He handed it to her with a small, purposeful smile.
“Thank you for the lovely company,” he said, his eyes meeting hers just long enough to suggest there was more beneath the surface.
“Well,” Elinor began after a brief pause, once they were on their way to the home Marianne shared with her mother and Meg, “you certainly made quite an impression on Mr. Brandon. I’ve never seen him so... relaxed and easygoing.”
Marianne, still wrapped in the memory of their conversation, smiled softly, the warmth of the evening settling in her thoughts.
“I wasn’t expecting to enjoy myself this much,” she said, her voice trailing briefly before she added, “But, about Mr. Miller,” her tone thick with disbelief, “he’s unbearable. You have to talk to John about him again.”
“Again?” Elinor groaned, frustration clear in her voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll deal with it on Monday.”
Marianne responded with a noncommittal sound, but the topic soon drifted as her fingers instinctively reached for the business card Christopher had given her. She turned it over and read the note he’d written:
A pleasure speaking with you, Marianne. If you'd like to continue the conversation, don’t hesitate to reach out.
His personal number followed in neat and purposeful handwriting. Marianne held the card close, a small thrill running through her as she wondered how long she should wait before calling.
Notes:
As always, thank you so much for reading! Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated—they really mean a lot!
I’m planning to post Chapter 4 this coming Sunday, but after that, I’ll likely be slowing down a bit to post one chapter per week. I’m currently working on Chapter 11, and while I have the earlier chapters written, I need some extra time to give everything a final polish before posting. Plus, I’ll need to check formatting to make sure everything looks right. I’ll do my best to avoid any gaps longer than a week!
Chapter Text
Now
Marianne drifted in the darkness, her thoughts scattered and tangled in a deep, unrelenting sleep. It wrapped around her like a weighted blanket—soft, but immovable. She didn’t know how long she’d been there, floating in this dark and silent void where nothing mattered.
Then, a voice broke through. Soft at first, barely more than a whisper brushing the edge of her mind.
"Marianne? Sweetheart, can you hear me?"
It was fragile and threaded with urgency. Her brow creased as a dull ache throbbed behind her eyes, pressing against her skull. The voice tugged at her, pulling her closer to the surface, but her thoughts were too slow. She stirred faintly, a small whimper escaping her lips. The voice sounded like her mother’s, but distant, like something out of a dream she couldn’t reach.
Her limbs felt wrong, heavy and unresponsive, as if surrounded by quicksand. Her fingers twitched, but even that small movement demanded effort, as though her body and mind were trying to reconnect across some great, invisible distance.
"Marianne, please wake up. You’re so close. I know you can do it."
The words were quieter now, filled with sorrow, as if the speaker were right beside her. But still, its face remained out of reach, swallowed by the unyielding black hole that clung to her like a second skin.
The soft rustle of fabric and the faint, sharp scent of antiseptic brushed against her awareness. The air hung thick and dry in her throat, leaving a metallic taste, as if she’d been breathing it for too long. There was an odd, unfamiliar stillness that made her uneasy, like she was somewhere far from home.
The voices kept coming, a relentless stream of words wrapped in apology and hope. “Please wake up... everything can be different.” Its warmth urged her towards a faint light in the distance, but her body fought against it, still weary and disconnected.
Wake up?
Marianne frowned, confused. A sharp pulse bloomed in her temple, radiating through the side of her skull and making her wince, as if even the thought of waking was too much. She’d always been a deep sleeper, stubborn in her rest, never stirring before she was ready. The voice knew that. Didn’t it? It had to.
But it pressed on, urging her forward, an insistent hand that tugged at her, pulling her from the deep, soft abyss.
Gradually, the dark began to melt away like ice under gentle heat. Her fingers twitched again, this time brushing something cold and smooth beneath the sheets. She tried to move further, but whatever was holding her down refused to release its grip on her.
A reddish glow stirred at the edges of her vision, softening into orange, like the first few rays of the morning's sunrise on the horizon. The warmth spread slowly over her, finally unwinding the heaviness that had clung to her. But the light was still unreachable, a reminder that she wasn’t quite free yet.
Instead, it pulsed slow and steady, like the beat of a heart. Then, almost imperceptibly, the darkness cracked open. Light finally spilled in, sudden and sharp, blinding her like she'd been pulled from the depths into brutal daylight. She winced, her eyelids fluttering but refusing to open, the brightness pressing hard against the ache in her head. Distant beeping, hushed voices, and the faint scrape of metal on metal cut through the silence, jolting her senses awake.
“Oh my God, Marianne!”
A soft, trembling voice sliced through the haze, fragile with relief and fear. Marianne fought to focus on the sound, but the light around her felt too bright, the air too thick. Everything was spinning in slow, dizzying circles. Her head pounded with a relentless throb, and every blink only made the world tilt further out of reach.
She tried to respond to the voice, but her throat was raw, scraped dry, and every inhale burned against her ribs.
A blur before her began to solidify, slow at first, then with aching clarity. A woman with dark brown hair that caught the light in copper streaks emerged from the haze. Her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, held Marianne in a steady, searching gaze. It was Elinor.
"Elinor?" Marianne’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, rasping against her lips. “Is Mama here?”
Elinor’s face softened, her expression mixed with joy and sorrow. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she leaned in close, fingers pressing into Marianne’s hand like a lifeline. Then she pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, a silent vow to stand by her, no matter what had come before.
“Marianne, you’re finally awake... oh thank God,” Elinor’s voice wavered, her breath catching as everything hit her. “Mama’s here, she’s in the cafeteria with Meg. I have to get the doctor, okay? Don’t move. Please, just stay here.”
With a final squeeze of Marianne’s hand, Elinor rushed from the room, leaving her in the stillness. The sterile brightness of the room bore down on her, the sharp antiseptic scent curling in her nose. The faint sounds faded in the background until the only sound she could register was the pounding of her own heart.
Confusion still clung to her mind, and the world felt more distant than ever. But Elinor’s touch remained, anchoring her to the present.
Awake? Cafeteria? Doctor?
The words replayed in her mind, but they had no shape or meaning to her. She tried to follow them, to string them together into something coherent, but they floated just out of reach.
She forced her heavy eyelids to open fully, their weight almost unbearable, and tried to make sense of her surroundings. But all she saw were stark white walls and harsh cold lighting that bathed the room in a clinical, unsettling glow. Nothing was familiar or offered any comfort.
She was trapped in a small, sterile room; three white walls closed in on her, while the fourth one, inexplicably, held a large window. The bright hallway beyond was just a blur of movement, but why was there a window here?
And why did the world seem so far away?
Her mind struggled to fit the pieces together, but nothing would hold. Her body, however, spoke more clearly. She tried to sit up, but her limbs refused, each movement pressing her further down. They were heavy, sluggish and seemed painfully disconnected from the rest of her.
Her eyes flicked to her right arm, and the sight of the tube hooked into her skin made her stomach twist. It connected to a clear fluid bag hanging quietly beside her, swaying slightly with the air. A small device was clipped to her finger, its soft beeping marking each moment, each breath. She looked to her left arm next, noticing a dull pain in her shoulder. A sling was wrapped tightly around it, feeling like it had been fused to her skin, immobilizing her entire arm.
Her left leg felt unusually light, almost disconnected, but her right ankle, carefully elevated on a pillow, throbbed with a steady, unfamiliar pain. The difference was startling. She tried to shift slightly, testing the sensation, but even the smallest movement was met with resistance.
The rhythmic beep… beep… beep… from somewhere nearby echoed in the room, slow and steady at first. But then, as her pulse began to race, the beeps quickened. Each one seemed to amplify the panic rising in her chest, drowning out everything else. Her breath grew shallow, her heart pounding in time with the relentless sound.
Hospital.
The realization was jarring, like the floor had dropped out from under her. Dread seeped into her veins as the word carved its way through the haze that clouded her mind. A question, once buried beneath the confusion, now surfaced with painful clarity.
How had she gotten here?
Before she could process any more, the door to the room creaked open, and a man and a woman stepped inside, both dressed in medical attire. Elinor, right behind them, took a step forward, but the woman quickly positioned herself between Elinor and the bed, blocking her path.
“I need to be with her,” Elinor said, her voice firm, though the concern was clear. “She’s my sister. I haven’t been able to see her properly in months.”
Months?
Marianne’s heart stumbled. That couldn’t be right. She had seen Elinor just last Friday at their movie night, something they did almost every week. There was no way months had passed.
The woman glanced at her colleague, then back at Elinor. “Now that she’s awake, we need to assess her. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait outside for a bit.”
Elinor held her ground, though she felt the pressure building in her chest. “How long?”
“Just a few minutes,” the woman said. “Then you can see her.”
Her breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening with an unfamiliar fear.
How long have I been asleep?
The question sliced through her thoughts, chilling her to the core. She fought against her body, pushing herself, willing herself to move, but her limbs still felt like lead. The more she struggled, the louder the beeping machines became. Their rhythmic noises escalated into frantic, panicked bursts, mirroring the chaos unraveling inside her.
The argument between Elinor and the nurse faltered when the doctor, hearing the rising beeps, turned sharply and hurried to her side.
“Marianne, it’s okay, you’re safe,” his voice calm but urgent. He moved quickly, checking the machines, grounding the moment with steady hands. “Take slow, deep breaths. We need you to stay calm.”
But the more she tried to focus, the more the world around her blurred. It was as though her body couldn’t catch up to her mind, and her mind couldn’t catch up to what was happening.
What had happened to me?
The question spun like a broken record, trapped in her mind with no clear answer.
How had so much time passed?
John Willoughby lay in his bed, the soft light of early morning filtering gently through the curtains. The world beyond his window felt far away while time dragged its feet in the silence of the room. His body shifted beneath the cool sheets, stretching lazily, becoming aware of the empty space beside him. It felt unfamiliar, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
His phone buzzed lightly on the nightstand, cutting through the stillness. He reached for it with the kind of practiced motion born from years of routine, eyes barely open but enough to feel the day creeping closer.
The screen lit up, revealing several unread messages. Names he recognized, each offering a distraction, a potential diversion for later. But one message in particular caught his eye. Simple, to the point, as she always was with him, yet carrying the stoic clarity of her manner:
She’s awake. Elinor’s message blinked on the screen. Come as soon as you can.
For a brief moment, his fingers hovered above the phone, its contents settling somewhere between indifference and... regret? Maybe. Or just the remnants of the argument that had put Marianne in a hospital bed. He couldn’t be sure, but it was there, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
Her fall and absence—it had been his fault, hadn’t it? His reckless actions, her desperate struggle to get away. She asked him to let go, so he did. And yet, the guilt felt distant. It was something he should feel remorse over, but his mind immediately tried to rationalize away.
He typed out a quick, neutral reply: I’ll come when I can.
His thumb slid across the screen, closing the message. He had made his choices, hadn’t he? He had no right to expect forgiveness or understanding. No right to demand that things be different, but the guilt still clawed at him regardless.
His eyes moved to the other unread names, each message a potential diversion and new thrill. Women who’d shown interest, each one eager for his attention, offering themselves up in an attempt to fill the void he couldn’t admit to feeling. His thumb hovered over a few names, their words warm and familiar, but none tugged at him the way Marianne had. Not now.
He let the phone drop back onto the bed with a slight flick of his wrist, as if tossing the problem away. He stretched again, eyes drifting over the room. The faint scent of the night before still lingered, but he pushed the unwelcome reminder aside.
Willoughby’s thoughts brushed briefly against Marianne. He had hurt her, but that didn’t mean he could simply walk back into her life. He had no idea what he could say, or if she even wanted to hear it.
He should go see her, of course. And he would, but not yet. There was still time to take. Time to wake fully, time to gather himself, time to do things on his terms.
“Marianne, stay calm, okay?” A deep, soothing voice cut through the fog, steady and firm. As Marianne’s blurry vision gradually cleared, she became aware of a man standing beside her. His face was kind yet purposeful, his dark skin complemented by a neatly trimmed beard streaked with silver. His eyes were focused and reassuring, carrying an easy warmth. “I’m Dr. Lawson. This is Nurse Betsy.”
The nurse, a woman with tan skin and a long braid, offered a polite nod, but her expression was soft; perhaps it was out of empathy, or perhaps just the careful detachment of someone who had seen these moments before.
“We’ve been closely monitoring your condition since you arrived,” Dr. Lawson continued, his gaze checking the monitors beside her, his fingers tapping lightly on the clipboard in his hands. “Your blood pressure’s been fluctuating. If it spikes too high, we’ll have to sedate you. And I’d prefer not to do that, especially after how long you’ve been unconscious.”
The words floated around her, slow and distant, but they hit with a dull finality. Unconscious... How long had she been out? She tried to focus, but everything felt out of reach, like a dream.
“How long have I been out?” she managed in a cracked whisper, the words echoing her thoughts.
“Five days,” he replied gently.
Marianne exhaled softly, her unease lifting slightly. Five days. It wasn’t as long as she’d feared, and she could live with that. But Elinor’s mention of not seeing her properly in months still gnawed at her, a sharp dissonance she couldn’t shake. Months?
Dr. Lawson moved closer on a stool, the squeak of it against the floor almost too loud against the quiet. He leaned over her, shining a bright light into her eyes. Marianne winced, the sudden burst of brightness sending a stab of pain through her skull, making her breath catch in her throat.
“Do you know where you are?” His voice was calm, but there was an urgency to gauge just how far she had come back from whatever darkness had claimed her.
Marianne blinked, struggling to focus on his face through the haze. She tried to form the answer, but her mind felt slow, like the gears of her brain were turning in molasses. “I think... I’m in a hospital,” she croaked.
“That’s right,” he confirmed, a slight nod. “And do you know how you got here?”
Her mind stumbled, grasping at threads that weren’t there. The last thing she could clearly recall was going to buy groceries for dinner, the hum of the store, the simple routine of it all. After that, it was just emptiness. Nothing. Her mind felt like a blank page.
“No,” she whispered. The admission felt heavy, like she was letting something important slip away.
“Well,” Dr. Lawson began, his voice calm but firm, “you had quite a fall down the stairs at your home and hit your head hard on the edge. Luckily, it seems to be just a concussion and some bruising. You also twisted your ankle, but that’s healing well. Additionally, you dislocated your shoulder, which we've reset, though it will need to stay immobilized for a bit longer to heal properly. Everything will recover in time. We’ll keep you in ICU for a couple more days, but you’ll be moved to a more comfortable room soon. You’re lucky your fiancé was home and brought you in right away.”
Fiancé? The word hit Marianne like an unexpected wave crashing against her.
“Fiancé?” she croaked, her voice dry and hoarse.
“Yes, John,” Dr. Lawson replied, glancing at the monitors before standing, signaling for Elinor to reenter the room. “Seems like a nice young man. I’ll let him know you’re awake and alert enough to see him now.”
Marianne blinked, her brow furrowing as her mind struggled to process what she had just heard. “Fiancé? I... I don’t have a fiancé. John... he’s my brother, isn’t he? You must mean him... right?” Her words trailed off, uncertainty clouding her expression.
Elinor stepped forward, her face pinched with concern. “What did you say?”
Marianne’s gaze flickered towards where Dr. Lawson had just left, the soft click of the door closing still echoing in the room. She turned back to Elinor, her mind spinning, desperately trying to make sense of the conversation that felt like it was happening in another language.
"Christopher?" she whispered, as though speaking his name might anchor her to something familiar. "We... we live together," she continued, her words slow and halting, as if the very idea was a puzzle she couldn’t quite fit together. “But… did he... did he ask me?” Christopher should be here, not her brother. The thought of him felt distant, and no matter how hard she tried, it didn’t feel right.
“And John?” Marianne blinked, her expression becoming more confused. “We’re not... close. Why would he... be at my home? How... would he know where I am?”
Elinor sat beside her, gently clasping Marianne’s hands, her face a mix of shock and sorrow. Marianne’s confusion deepened.
“Can you tell me what you remember?” Elinor asked softly.
Marianne furrowed her brow, her head throbbing as she tried to pull together the scattered pieces of her memory. Her voice came slowly, each word fragile, like it might slip away.
“The last thing… I remember... I was going to get groceries,” she murmured. “You were coming over… for movie night.”
Her gaze became unfocused as she tried collecting her thoughts. “You said... I fell down the stairs. But... that doesn’t make sense. Christopher and I... we don’t have stairs. Just a few steps... to the living room... and the den?”
She paused, uncertainty creeping in. “The building has stairs, but... we’re on the top floor. We always take the elevator.” Her breath was a little heavier now, her fingers twitching with anxiety. “The doctor... he said he was going to—call Christopher, right?”
Elinor’s face tightened, her eyes flashing with something that made Marianne’s heart stutter. She squeezed her hands gently. “The doctor isn’t going to call Christopher,” Elinor said quietly.
“Why not?” Marianne’s voice trembled as panic started to rise. “Did something happen to him too? Is... is he okay?” The frantic beeping of the monitors seemed to match her pulse, growing quicker, as though her anxiety was somehow bleeding into the world around her.
“He’s fine,” Elinor reassured her quickly, though her tone didn’t quite match the words. It felt distant, hollow. She hadn’t spoken to Christopher much outside of business since February. “I mean, he wasn’t hurt. Not like you.”
“Okay, then why... why won’t the doctor call him?” Marianne’s words tumbled out, uneven and shaky. “I don’t... I don’t understand. Why not?” She looked around the room, as if the answer might be hiding somewhere in plain sight.
Elinor’s grip tightened, almost to a painful degree. “Marianne, you have to promise me that you’ll stay calm, okay?”
Marianne nodded, a cold knot of fear twisting in her stomach, her breath shallow. “Okay.”
Elinor leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Marianne… you and Christopher... you ended things shortly after the new year. You moved home with Mama and Meg for a while. A few months later, you met someone new. His name is John Willoughby. He asked you to marry him after a few months, and you’ve been with him ever since.”
“What?” Marianne’s voice wavered, a tremor of disbelief in each syllable. “I’m not... Christopher and I... no, I don’t... I don’t understand,” she stammered, her eyes wide with confusion. “There’s... there has to be a mistake. I… I’m with Christopher. He loves me... and I love him.” The words came out like a plea, her grip on reality slipping, her heart racing as if saying them would somehow make them true.
Elinor’s face softened with sorrow, her voice gentle as she spoke. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you. The doctor called John. Maybe once you see him, you’ll—”
“John? Willoughby?” Marianne’s voice cracked, sharp and unsure. The name Willoughby... it sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place the rest.
“I don’t... I don’t want him. I want... Christopher. Please, Elinor, please, let me see Christopher!” Her words were rushed, desperate, as if the mere thought of not seeing him made the world feel even more wrong.
Elinor leaned forward, her hand trembling as she brushed Marianne’s hair from her forehead, then gently stroked her cheek. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now. You need to rest, and John will be here soon—”
“I don’t want to see him!” Marianne’s voice cracked, the words spilling out in a raw, panicked sob. “I don’t know him! Elinor, please… get Christopher!” Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, the terror in her eyes making it clear she could barely hold it together.
The beeping of the monitors quickened, mirroring the frantic thudding of Marianne’s heart. Tears pooled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks as she cried out for Christopher, her voice hoarse with desperation.
“Marianne, please, don’t be upset,” Elinor pleaded, barely holding herself together. She reached for Marianne’s hand, but before she could offer any comfort, the door opened, and two nurses stepped in.
“Mrs. Ferrars,” one nurse said, her voice firm, cold. “You need to step outside so your sister can rest.”
The words struck Marianne like a slap to the face. Mrs. Ferrars? The room seemed to tilt, spinning away from her as the nurse’s words echoed in her mind. She blinked rapidly, her pulse racing. She stared at Elinor, silently begging for an explanation that made sense. Had she missed her wedding? How could she have missed such an important moment? The thought lodged like a splinter in her brain, sharp and painful, too much to grasp.
Her panic spiraled, growing out of control. “I—I don’t understand,” she whimpered, her voice shaking. “Elinor, I don’t remember—”
“Elinor!” the nurse snapped again, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Let’s go. You both need some rest. You can see her tomorrow.”
Elinor’s eyes welled up, her heart breaking as she watched her sister, so lost and fragile. She reached out one last time, but Marianne’s trembling hand slipped from hers, and the nurse gently but firmly guided Elinor toward the door.
Marianne’s cries followed them, each sob a raw, guttural sound, filled with confusion and yearning. Elinor’s throat tightened as she was led out, the door closing with a soft click behind her. Marianne’s broken sobs continued echoing in the sterile room, a sound that would haunt her for the rest of the night.
A couple of days later, Elinor met their mother, Meg, and John Dashwood at the hospital. Though he’d never been particularly close to his middle sister, Dashwood felt a quiet, sincere concern. His relationship with her had always been more distant than with Elinor, with whom he shared a professional connection at the firm.
He usually stayed out of Marianne’s personal affairs, but her sudden engagement to Willoughby had unsettled him—especially given Willoughby’s ties to the Allenham Agency, a longtime rival interested in acquiring Dashwood Creative Group. The overlap between business and family made him uneasy, and Marianne’s involvement only complicated things further.
Dashwood had always resisted pressure to sell his family’s legacy. His wife Fanny had urged him for years to accept Allenham’s offer, but he had refused, the board siding with him. The thought of losing the company built by his parents was unbearable. Yet in this moment, it wasn’t about business or principle. His presence here wasn’t driven by corporate rivalry or boardroom loyalty. It was the helpless frustration of a man who wished he could ease his sister’s pain but never quite knew how.
By the time he joined the rest of the family, Marianne was beginning to show subtle signs of improvement. The emotional outburst from the first day had eased; rest along with small amounts of broth and clear juices had helped stabilize her vitals. Though the doctors remained puzzled by her memory loss, there was a cautious optimism in the air. She would likely be moved to a regular recovery room within a day or two. Further tests were needed, and her stay at the hospital would continue until a clearer diagnosis and treatment plan emerged, but there was now a faint, glimmering sense of progress.
Even as her body began to heal, Marianne couldn’t shake the emptiness clinging to her thoughts. She remembered Christopher clearly—his smile, the warmth of his voice, the way he made her feel safe. In her mind, he was still part of her life. But there was a gap she couldn’t explain. No fight or goodbye, just a void where the end should’ve been. She remembered them happy and together, but everyone else acted like he belonged to a different chapter, one she didn’t remember writing.
Elinor and their mother had tried to explain, but none of it felt real. Christopher had somehow slipped out of her life, and that absence was a cruel riddle she couldn’t solve. The idea of him being gone didn’t match the love she still felt. And now—someone new, someone named John Willoughby—had taken his place? Her heart and mind had been torn in two and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t put the broken pieces back together.
As her condition stabilized, the hospital began preparing a semi-private room for the next phase of her recovery. Her brother stepped in, insisting she be upgraded to a private one and offering to cover the cost himself. It was one of the few ways he could bridge the distance that had long defined their relationship. His concern may not have shown in words, but it was unmistakable in his actions.
Due to her disorientation and memory loss, the ICU staff restricted visitors to two immediate family members at a time. The policy was firm. While Meg and Mary took turns at Marianne’s side, Elinor remained in the waiting room with her brother, trying to make sense of everything that had unraveled.
“So, she has amnesia?” the eldest Dashwood asked, his voice flat with concern. “Must have been a serious fall.”
“We’re not sure yet,” Elinor answered. “The doctors haven’t given an official diagnosis, but from what I’ve gathered, she’s lost a lot—her memories of the present and even some months before. She doesn’t recognize Willoughby. She still thinks she’s with Christopher, and judging by the way her eyes widened when the nurse referred to me as Mrs. Ferrars, I don’t think she remembers Edward and me getting married either.”
Dashwood let out a soft, disapproving sigh. “I wish she was still with Christopher. He was better for her, more respectable. But Willoughby... What is she thinking? That family is nothing but trouble. I fear they’ve already taken something from her, something she won’t easily get back.”
“This isn’t helping, John,” Elinor’s words cut through the quiet. “I’ve seen the change in her, too. But now, as awful as the accident was, I can’t help but think it might be a chance to rebuild our relationship with her.”
Dashwood paused, his gaze distant as he mulled over her words. “I suppose you’re right,” he said reluctantly, just as a sudden commotion broke the fragile calm.
“Where is she?” a voice demanded, sharp with urgency.
Both Elinor and Dashwood turned towards the sound at the nurse’s station. John Willoughby stood there, his stance tense, his expression a mix of frustration and something more vulnerable and harder to pinpoint.
“You’ll let me in to see her,” he insisted, desperation creeping in his voice. His fists pressed against the counter—not in an overtly aggressive way, but controlled, as if he were fighting to maintain composure.
The nurse, seasoned in handling emotional displays, remained unfazed. “Sir, I’ve already told you, only immediate family is allowed in the ICU. It’s hospital policy.”
Willoughby’s jaw tightened. For a moment, he was silent, his gaze focused on the door behind the nurse, willing it to open. When he finally spoke, his tone was quieter, more measured, but no less intense. “I just… I need to see her. Please. I can’t—I need to know if she’s alright.”
The nurse didn’t flinch, but her expression softened just slightly. She recognized the sincerity, even if she couldn’t bend the rules. “I understand your concern, but I can’t make exceptions. Only her doctor can approve changes to the patient’s care.”
Willoughby stiffened, his expression faltering briefly before he forced a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. I apologize,” he said, though the words felt more like a formality. “I’ve just been… so worried. She means everything to me.”
The nurse nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure she does. But you must understand this is about her well-being. Please wait until we have more information.”
Willoughby gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. He stepped back just enough to let the nurse continue her work, his thoughts still with Marianne. He needed to see her, to understand what had happened, to make sure he hadn’t shattered whatever fragile connection they’d shared.
Across the room, Elinor and her brother watched the exchange, both skeptical of Willoughby’s act but choosing silence, waiting for any sign of genuine concern. After a moment, Dashwood approached, greeting him with forced politeness before inviting him over.
“So, I can’t see her because I’m not family yet?” Willoughby’s voice was edged with irritation as he gestured toward the double doors leading to the ICU.
Elinor glanced at him, her expression measured, but said nothing.
Dashwood, already on edge, kept his composure though his patience was wearing thin. “Willoughby, there’s something you need to understand about Marianne’s condition,” he said.
“Go on,” Willoughby snapped, stiffening, impatience clear.
“Her injuries aren’t life-threatening—a concussion, dislocated shoulder, twisted ankle—but serious enough to risk complications,” he continued carefully. “Her recovery is delicate.”
Willoughby’s gaze sharpened, but beneath the surface flashed a hint of genuine concern, clashing with his usual aggression. “Is she alright?”
“She’s physically stable,” Dashwood said slowly, voice softening. “But there’s a neurological disconnect.”
Willoughby leaned in, eyes narrowing, struggling to grasp the meaning. “What the hell does that mean?”
Elinor stepped closer, her voice steady but burdened with the truth. “Some of her recent memories are gone. She doesn’t remember you. The name John Willoughby means nothing to her. She doesn’t even remember being engaged. She still thinks she’s with her ex.”
For a moment, Willoughby froze, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His face tightened, a hint of real frailty slipped through his controlled façade. A disbelieving laugh escaped him—hollow, stripped of its usual arrogance. He shook his head slowly, almost to himself. “I don’t believe you,” he muttered, though an uncertain edge crept into his voice. “This has to be some kind of joke.”
Elinor held his gaze, her voice quiet but resolute. “It’s not. How can you say that when your fiancée is lying in a hospital bed, unable to remember you?”
Willoughby’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, his eyes flickering with the faintest trace of regret before he quickly masked it. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice strained. “But it’s hard to believe. What do the doctors say?”
“They don’t have a definitive diagnosis yet,” Elinor replied, the strain in her composure starting to show. “She’ll be moved soon so they can continue their assessment while she’s more comfortable. But for now, there’s nothing more you can do. It’s best if you return home and give her the space she needs.”
Willoughby stood there for a moment, his gaze distant, as if he were weighing the situation against his emotions. Finally, he nodded stiffly, his voice laced with a reluctant acceptance. “Fine. I’ll check on her in a couple of days. Always a pleasure, Dashwood.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply and walked out, his footsteps echoing in the waiting room, leaving the siblings standing in the aftermath of his departure—both unsettled by the swirl of anger, guilt, and raw shock they sensed but couldn’t fully understand.
“What an asshole,” Elinor muttered to her brother. He could only nod in agreement, his jaw tight with suppressed anger.
“How are you feeling, dear?” Mary Dashwood asked gently, brushing a stray lock of Marianne’s hair from her face. Her voice was tender, careful not to disturb the fragile peace between them. “The doctors are pleased with your progress. They plan to move you later this afternoon, but if you’re not ready, we can wait a little longer.”
In the days since Marianne had awoken, her physical recovery had surpassed the doctors’ expectations. Her ankle and shoulder, though still needing rest, were healing well. It was a small triumph that spoke to her strength despite the uncertainty.
“I feel much better today, Mama,” Marianne replied with a faint smile. “I’m ready to move whenever they are. There’s a shower in the new room, isn’t there?” Her tone was hopeful, as if a small touch of normalcy might bring comfort.
“Of course there is,” Mary chuckled, the warmth in her voice easing the tension in the room. “Margaret and I will be right here to help you.”
“Eww, Mama, really?” Meg groaned, feigning scandalized disbelief, though a smile tugged at her lips.
Marianne couldn’t help the light and easy laugh that escaped. “Don’t worry, Meg. Mama’s only teasing. It’d be just as embarrassing for me as it would be for you. I’m sure the nurses will help, so you won’t have to.”
“Thank goodness,” Meg said with exaggerated relief, planting a quick kiss on Marianne’s forehead before stepping back with a dramatic flourish, as if releasing herself from a heavy burden.
Marianne was disconnected from the machines and gently eased into a wheelchair, though she struggled to find her balance, especially with her injured ankle. After more than a week confined to bed, her body felt weak and unfamiliar; each movement was a harsh reminder of how far she’d drifted from her former life. With the nurses’ careful assistance, they wheeled her toward the general ward, where her private room and a proper bed awaited. Before settling in, Marianne insisted on taking a shower. Though Mary had offered to help, hospital policy prevented it, since Mary wasn’t an official staff member at this hospital.
Once Marianne was clean, dressed in a fresh gown, and tucked into her new bed with warm socks, Mary and Meg kissed her goodnight and left, leaving Elinor to take over for the night.
“He came by, you know,” Elinor said once Marianne was settled. “John Willoughby. He made quite a scene, demanding to see you. The nurses even had to threaten to have him kicked out.”
Marianne’s heart twisted at the mention of his name, a complicated tangle of feelings rising inside her. “He sounds… passionate,” she murmured, but the thought brought a pang of conflict. “It must’ve been pretty intense for them to threaten him.”
“It was,” Elinor confirmed. “They’ll let him see you now that you’re out of the ICU, but only if you want. You can say no if you’re not ready.”
Marianne fell silent, her mind drifting. She wasn’t sure what to make of Willoughby yet, or if she even wanted to see him. But somewhere deep inside, she ached for someone who could understand her past. Then, like a quiet whisper beneath the noise, a thought surfaced.
“I don’t think I’m ready to see him yet,” she admitted softly. “But… I’ve been thinking. Could we ask Christopher to come?”
Elinor blinked, a touch of hesitation crossing her face. She still felt the gravity of how desperately Christopher had tried to reconcile with Marianne after everything fell apart, sending messages, each brimming with regret and more fragile than the last. Marianne had shut him out completely—no calls, no texts, no chance for healing. It had nearly broken him, she knew.
Eventually, his hope faded and he stopped trying. But Elinor remembered, all too clearly, the way he spoke in those final moments. He’d promised to always be there for Marianne, no matter how far she pushed him away.
After a long pause, Elinor finally spoke, her voice quiet but gentle. “If you really want to see him, I can call him tomorrow,” she said, her words carefully chosen. “But you’re in control, Marianne. If it becomes too much, you can send him away at any time.”
Marianne’s gaze drifted to the window, her thoughts tangled in fragments she couldn’t quite piece together. Despite everything that had shifted, Christopher remained a clear, steady presence in her mind, anchoring her amidst the confusion. Their shared laughter, the comfort of being with him—those memories were hers to hold, even if everything else seemed to slip away.
She needed him. She needed to see him, not to fix things, but to hold onto something real, something familiar in a world that no longer made sense.
She looked at her sister, her eyes clouded with a mix of longing and desperation. “Ellie, I really want to see him. I need to.”
Notes:
I hope you’ve enjoyed Chapter 4! Marianne’s recovery journey is just beginning, and there’s still a long road ahead.
I’m planning to post Chapter 5 next Sunday, as it will be another glimpse into the past. I’ll need a little more time to refine both new and existing chapters before then.
Thank you so much for following along! Your comments and kudos mean a lot to me, and I truly appreciate every one of them.
Chapter 5: Then
Notes:
Welcome back! Chapter 5 brings a bit of much-needed fluff after the emotional rollercoaster of Chapter 4.
A huge thank you to everyone who's read, commented, left kudos, and bookmarked my story—I’m so grateful for your support. I really appreciate you all for giving my modern take on Sense and Sensibility a chance. 😊
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
A few days after the firm’s event, Marianne found herself buried beneath a mountain of student essays, each one attempting to untangle the complexities of social class and structure in Regency-era literature. She rubbed her temples, sighing in frustration as she came across a paper that was clearly not the student’s own work. The looming prospect of an awkward confrontation gnawed at her. Before she could dwell on it, her phone buzzed, pulling her out of the moment. It was Elinor.
“Marianne! You won’t believe this!” Elinor said brightly. “I don’t know what you said to Christopher Brandon at the reception the other night, but you must’ve made an impression! Not only did he and John Middleton sign on with us, but they’re seriously considering using us for a complete rebrand sometime next year!”
Marianne’s lips curved into a grin at the mention of Christopher’s name. “Oh, Ellie, that’s amazing!” she said, her voice lively but her thoughts briefly drifting back to her conversation with him, his warm and steady voice still vivid in her mind. “I’m so happy for you!”
But Elinor wasn’t finished.
“There’s more,” she rushed on, her voice a mix of disbelief and joy. “They asked our brother if I could lead the account, and take over the full visual strategy for the rebrand! And guess what? John had no choice but to promote me! I’m officially the newest Associate Art Director at Dashwood Creative Group!”
Marianne leaned back in her chair, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her mug. Her smile widened as she pictured Elinor’s reaction when she got the news.
“That’s incredible! I’m so proud of you. You completely deserve it, Ellie. You’ve worked so hard for this, and honestly I can’t take any credit.” She let out a soft laugh, her tone turning playful. “So, does this fancy new title come with a raise?”
“It does, actually!” Elinor replied, still grinning, but now with a touch more composure. “A twelve percent raise, and they bumped me up to the next bonus tier!”
She let out a soft laugh, still a little stunned. “It couldn’t have come at a better time. With Edward diving into his dissertation research, he won’t be able to take on as many teaching hours as before.”
Elinor’s life had recently undergone a few meaningful changes. She had just moved in with her long-time boyfriend, Edward Ferrars. He was quiet, thoughtful and deeply kind, with a dry, self-deprecating humor that made her smile when she least expected it. He had admired Elinor from afar for ages, but circumstances kept him from gathering the courage to ask her out.
He was the opposite of his sister, Fanny, who was outspoken, assertive, and married to their brother John. Where Fanny thrived on status and social influence, Edward gravitated toward quiet spaces and intellectual depth. He had recently completed his coursework and was now deep in the throes of writing his dissertation, working toward a PhD.
Edward stayed firmly committed to his chosen path despite his family favoring careers with more prestige and financial payoff. He knew it would be difficult, but this was the future he believed in.
Marianne felt a small, bittersweet pang in her chest—a mix of pride for her sister and a quiet longing for her own life to find solid ground, especially when it came to romance. She shook it off quickly, refusing to let the moment turn sour.
Instead, she focused on Elinor’s positive energy. “That’s fantastic! You’ve earned every bit of it, Ellie,” she said, enthusiasm bubbling up. There was a warmth in her sister’s joy, a feeling that had grown rare lately under life’s heavy challenges. “We definitely need to celebrate, just the two of us!”
“Absolutely! Just say when and where, and I’ll be there!” Elinor responded eagerly. “But enough about me. What about you? I haven’t really caught up with you since the event. I hope you had a good time.” Her voice softened with concern. “I didn’t want to embarrass you by mentioning it earlier, but... I noticed you spent quite a bit of time talking to Mr. Brandon toward the end of the evening.” There was a subtle hint in her tone, like there was more beneath the surface.
“Didn’t he ask you to call him Christopher?” Marianne teased, though a trace of uncertainty persisted. She wasn’t sure why, but his slate-blue eyes and warm smile kept invading her thoughts.
“But honestly, it was nothing, Ellie,” Marianne continued, her voice growing more thoughtful. “He kind of saved me from Mr. Miller. I think he saw I wasn’t comfortable and pretended to need my help with something just to get me out of that situation.”
She paused, the note Christopher had written flashing briefly in her mind. After a moment’s hesitation, she added softly, “Okay, maybe it was a little more than nothing. He gave me his card, and on the back, he wrote that he enjoyed our conversation and asked me to reach out if I wanted to continue it. So now... I’m wondering what I should do.”
Elinor was quiet for a moment before speaking. “Well, what do you want to do?” she asked. She wasn’t quick to judge, but she always knew when to offer the practical advice Marianne needed.
Marianne hesitated, her mind racing. She couldn’t shake the thought of him or how he looked at her. His attention felt different, almost like he saw her in a way no one else did.
“I think I want to call him,” Marianne admitted. “But... I don’t know. It feels like it could get complicated. He’s a client of yours now, and I don’t want to cause any issues.”
She bit her lip, torn between excitement and doubt. Was this the right step, or was she chasing something she didn’t fully understand yet? “And, well, he seems a bit older than me, don’t you think? I’m not sure by how much, but... it’s all a little new to me.”
Elinor chose her words carefully, but her concern was clear. “I don’t think you need to worry much about him being a client,” she reassured Marianne. “You’re not officially an employee at Dashwood Creative, and we wouldn’t ask you to consult on his account if things got serious.”
She paused, thoughtful. “As for his age, I’m not entirely sure. I think he’s around the same age as our brother, maybe a year or two older.”
Marianne let out a slow sigh, relief laced with hesitation. Knowing Christopher was around the same age as her brother—rather than significantly older—eased some of her worry.
Still, John being fifteen years her senior meant they’d never been especially close. She wasn’t sure if it was the age gap itself or the fact that he’d left for university while she was still a child, rarely present during the years that shaped her. The thought of dating someone even slightly older than John gave her pause.
She wasn’t concerned about appearances or social norms; she just didn’t know if they could truly connect in a meaningful way. And for her, that mattered more than anything else.
Not wanting to dwell on it, she shook the thought away. This felt different.
“I think I’m going to call him,” she murmured, more to herself than to Elinor. The words steadied her, even as some hesitation remained. The age difference still gave her pause, but her hopeful and impulsive heart whispered that it didn’t matter. Christopher had caught her attention for a reason, and maybe, despite her doubts, that reason was worth following.
“Good for you,” Elinor said, her voice light, though a note of concern woven through it. “I know it’s exciting... the possibility of a new connection is always exciting. But just be careful, okay? Don’t rush into anything. Take your time and see where it goes.”
She paused, her tone softening. “And when you're ready, I’ll need to hear every single detail afterward. So let’s plan our celebration for after.”
Marianne laughed, comforted by the balance of encouragement and caution in her sister’s voice. After sharing a few more laughs, she ended the call, her mind drifting back to the decision she had made. As she returned to grading her students' papers, her thoughts kept wandering back to the call she would make the following day, and to the possibility of something more.
Christopher sat at his dining table, his laptop casting a soft glow in the dim evening light. A steaming mug of chamomile tea rested nearby, its calming scent at odds with the stack of financial reports waiting for his attention. The new partnership with Dashwood Creative was a promising move, and the shareholders were eager to see results. But no matter how he tried to concentrate, the numbers kept blurring. His thoughts kept drifting to a pair of bright blue eyes and cascading golden curls.
He sighed, removing his reading glasses and rubbing his temples, trying to get his focus back on track. But he couldn’t get her out of his head. Her performance at the lounge kept replaying in his mind. Then, seeing her at the event—the way she spoke to him, the curve of her smile, the sound of her laugh. Every detail kept resurfacing, impossible to ignore.
Just as his attention focused back on the reports, a faint buzzing broke through the quiet. He glanced at his phone. An unfamiliar number.
Normally at this hour, he would’ve let it go to voicemail, but something stopped him. A strange pull, a curiosity he couldn’t explain made him swipe to answer.
“This is Christopher Brandon,” he said flatly, though there was an undeniable edge of anticipation in it.
“Hi… Christopher?” The soft, familiar voice on the other end made his pulse quicken. “It’s Marianne… Marianne Dashwood, from the event the other night.”
He caught the slightest hesitation in her tone, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to hear her voice again until now.
“Marianne… hi,” he replied, his voice warming in an instant. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d been hoping to hear from her until now. “It’s great to hear from you. How are you?”
“I’m good, thank you,” she said, her voice gaining a bit more confidence with each word. “And you?”
“Good,” he answered, though the word hardly scratched the surface of what he was feeling. He hadn’t expected to hear from her at all, especially not like this. After several days of silence, he’d started to wonder if he’d imagined their connection entirely, if it had only meant something to him.
Now, hearing her voice, everything felt more real.
“I wasn’t sure you’d reach out,” he admitted, unable to hide the relief in his voice.
“Oh,” she said, a hint of doubt in her tone. “I did think about calling sooner, but I wasn’t sure if it would come across as too forward. And with your company working with my brother’s firm now, I didn’t want to overstep.”
He smiled to himself, warmth spreading through him at the thought of her choosing her words so carefully. She’d been thinking about this too.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said gently, his voice reassuring. “I’m really glad you called. Honestly, I’ve been hoping you would.”
A small sigh escaped him as he recalled how much he’d enjoyed their conversation at the event. “I had a great time the other night. It was... nice, talking with you.”
“It was,” she said, but he could detect she was still holding back. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t about to let this moment slip away.
Leaning back in his chair, he exhaled slowly, trying to center himself. His mind urged patience, but his heart was already racing.
“There’s a new coffee shop I’ve been wanting to try in the arts district,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Would you like to join me Saturday afternoon?”
He could almost hear the relief in her voice when she responded. “I’d love that. How does three o’clock sound?”
“Perfect,” he replied, trying to mask the rush of excitement he felt. “I’ll text you the address.”
A pause stretched between them before he added in a softer tone, “Marianne, I’m really glad you called. I’m looking forward to seeing you on Saturday.”
“I am too,” she said, her earlier uncertainty melting away. “Goodnight, Christopher.”
“Goodnight, Marianne,” he replied, smiling to himself as he ended the call. His heart felt unexpectedly light, as though for the first time in a long while, something had unmistakably clicked into place.
As promised, he sent her the address, carefully saving her number.
Here’s the place, his text read. I’ll see you Saturday.
He hadn’t expected a response, but when his phone buzzed moments later, his heart skipped.
Great! See you then.
He fought to suppress the grin as he glanced back at the reports. The numbers on the screen no longer demanded his full attention. Instead, his mind replayed their conversation—the way her voice softened around certain words, the brief laugh that had caught him off guard. Everything about her felt just... right.
Marianne sat in the corner of the coffee shop, her fingers absently twirling a lock of her hair. She had arrived fifteen minutes early due the Saturday bus schedule being lighter. Despite her best efforts to stay calm, nervous anticipation seemed to cling to her body. She tried to steady herself by taking in the space around her.
The coffee shop was small and quiet, tucked just far enough from the main street to feel like an escape. Afternoon light filtered through the windows and potted plants, catching on the steam rising from ceramic mugs. A few of the wooden tables were occupied with friends chatting low, another with someone reading behind a laptop, but it didn’t feel crowded. The air smelled of warm pastries and coffee, and Marianne breathed it in, deciding it was the perfect place for whatever this first step with Christopher might lead to.
Exactly five minutes later, he walked in, looking naturally put together in a soft gray sweater and dark indigo jeans. She smiled as he approached, feeling a little more comfortable in her own jeans and blue sweater. Her loose blonde curls were neatly tucked away with a thick, ribboned headband knotted just above the nape of her neck.
Their eyes met as she stood to greet him. She offered a small wave, her smile widening as he grew closer.
"Christopher," she breathed his name, the sound of it lifting his heart.
"Hello, Marianne," he replied, mirroring her warm enthusiasm. He found it unexpectedly charming that she had arrived before him. "I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long."
"Not at all," she assured him. "I got here a few minutes ago. This place is lovely, so cozy."
“Yes, my colleagues haven’t stopped talking about it,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to give it a try, and today seemed like the perfect opportunity.” He offered a reserved smile before stepping aside to let her go ahead of him. “Shall we?”
He followed her to the counter, where a friendly barista was ready to take their order. Christopher gestured for Marianne to go first.
“I’ll have the lemon ginger tea,” she said, glancing at the offerings. “Coffee in the afternoon and I’m up all night.” Her eyes brightened as she noticed the selection of muffins, scones, and other tempting treats. “These pastries look amazing.”
“Order whatever catches your eye,” Christopher told her. “It’s on me.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Marianne protested, a soft flush creeping onto her cheeks. “I’ll pay for my own.”
He offered her a warm smile. “I insist. You can treat next time, if you’d like.” The words had slipped out automatically, already suggesting a second date before the first had even begun. He was surprised by how naturally it came to him.
But Marianne didn’t hesitate. “Deal. I’ll have a cranberry-orange scone as well.”
Christopher turned to the barista with a smile. “I’ll have a pour-over coffee, black, please.” He added with a playful glint in his eyes, “And make that two scones.” He shot Marianne a small wink, and for a moment, the atmosphere felt unexpectedly lighthearted.
They walked back to the table Marianne had been sitting before. As they settled in, the conversation started to fade. She fidgeted with her hands, picking at the edge of a napkin, unsure of how to fill the silence. It stretched on longer than she liked, making her suddenly aware of every small movement, every breath.
Sensing her unease, Christopher broke the silence. “Tell me more about yourself, Marianne,” he said, his voice warm with genuine interest.
Marianne exhaled, her smile returning. Talking about teaching came naturally to her, it was something she loved. She mentioned her school was just one stop further along the bus route. From there, the conversation found its rhythm, each sharing stories as if they’d known each other for far longer.
She told him about her students, her love of singing and the piano, and her family—especially her closeness with Elinor. The little things, small joys and daily rituals that made up her life. She found talking to him was easy and comforting, the way she might with someone she already trusted.
Christopher listened closely and, in return, shared pieces of his own life—his military service, the company he ran with John Middleton, the challenge of restoring his family’s old country home. When he spoke of it, there was pride in his voice, like the house had given something back to him.
The conversation naturally drifted back to that night at the lounge. “I noticed you in the crowd,” Marianne said, her eyes meeting his. “But I saw you with another woman.” There was a subtle curiosity in her voice, though she tried to keep it light.
Christopher chuckled, clearly recalling the scene. “Ah, yes. That was a blind date, actually. Remember my business partner, John? He’s surprisingly close with his mother-in-law. It’s a bit strange on the surface, but she means well. Matchmaking is her life’s work. She set me up with her niece that night, and... well, let’s just say it wasn’t the most successful evening.”
Marianne raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What happened?”
“Well,” he sighed, leaning back slightly, “she showed up thirty minutes late, did most of the talking, then spent the whole time trying to get her phone to turn on. But the coup de grâce was her running into an old friend and pretty much abandoned me. It was... an experience.”
Marianne’s face shifted into a playful expression of mock sympathy. “You poor thing. That sounds like the worst kind of date. I can’t imagine behaving like that.”
She then stifled a small laugh. She thought back to the night she’d first seen Christopher at the lounge, assuming the woman beside him was his wife. The idea felt almost absurd now, after everything she’d learned about him. Someone as gentle and attentive as him didn’t belong with someone flighty and distracted.
As the server arrived with their order, the soft clink of dishes broke the moment. Christopher’s easy smile returned. “This is certainly going better than that date,” he said, teasing but genuine.
Marianne smiled back, though her expression held a deeper concern. “You know,” she began, her voice cautious, “I’ve been wondering something... since the night we met. How old are you?”
Christopher blinked for a moment, caught off guard by the directness of the question. After a beat, he chuckled softly. “I suppose I can’t be too mysterious about that,” he said. “I’m forty. Almost forty-one, actually.”
Marianne nodded, but wasn’t surprised exactly. Now that the number was out in the open, the difference between them felt more tangible. “I’m twenty-four,” she said, keeping her voice light. “But I won’t turn twenty-five until the end of November.”
Christopher met her gaze, and for the first time, the age gap between them registered as something real. He hadn’t thought much about how it might look to others. Would people make assumptions, or question what he was doing with someone so much younger? The thought tugged at him, but not enough to change how he felt.
"How do you feel about that?" he asked, a hint of doubt in his tone.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “It’s new for me. I haven’t dated much besides a couple of guys back at university, and they were all my age.” She paused, her expression thoughtful. “This feels different. I’m not sure where it’s going, but I’d like to find out. I’m just... figuring it out as I go.”
He nodded, his tone calm and sincere. “It’s new for me too. The age difference is there; I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. But what matters to me is how we connect. How we treat each other. That’s what counts.”
Her shoulders eased, tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying quietly slipping away. She met his gaze, her smile confident. “I don’t really care what anyone else thinks,” she said. “It’s about us. And right now, this feels right.”
They continued sipping their drinks and nibbling on their scones, the conversation flowing more easily now that the question of age was behind them. Time seemed to slip by unnoticed, each exchange drawing them closer. Marianne was surprised by how comfortable she felt with him, so much so that she nearly forgot about dinner at home.
Sensing the afternoon was winding down, Christopher resisted the urge to prolong it. He didn’t want to keep her longer than she’d planned, though he wished for more time. Instead, he walked her to the bus stop, content just to be near her a little longer.
When he reached for her hand, Marianne didn’t hesitate. She slipped hers into his, her smile gentle, unguarded. He smiled back, the warmth of her touch sinking in deeper than he expected.
The bus pulled up, and with it, the bittersweet realization that their time together was coming to an end.
“I had a wonderful time, Christopher,” she said although she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon.”
“I did too,” he replied, his tone matching her warmth. “And I look forward to your treat next time.”
He squeezed her hand gently, reluctant to let go but knowing it was time. His touch lingered just a moment longer before she stepped onto the bus.
As it pulled away, Christopher remained still, hands in his pockets, watching until Marianne was out of sight. In the space she’d left behind, something unexpected but unmistakably real stirred. It hit him that something new was starting, a door inside him slowly opening that he believed had been closed forever.
“Tell me everything!” Elinor demanded, settling into a cozy corner of the bar with a mischievous grin. The place was just a few blocks from the apartment she shared with Edward. “What’s he like? What did you talk about? Did you find out how old he is? Did he kiss you?”
Marianne laughed, rolling her eyes as she took a sip of her wine. “Ellie, he’s so sweet. Thoughtful, too. I think that serious, buttoned-up version of him is just for work. We mostly kept things light—talked about our jobs, little details about our lives.”
She paused, her smile softening. “He’s forty. Turns forty-one in June. And no, we didn’t kiss.” She made a face. “But he did hold my hand while we waited for my bus.”
Elinor’s eyes lit up, but she leaned in, brows lifting. “No kiss? But he held your hand? That’s practically a marriage proposal in half the novels you teach.”
Her expression softened. “I’m glad you had a good time, but… are you sure about him? He’s older, and a client. I just want to make sure he’s not taking advantage of the situation.”
Marianne let out a small laugh, but Elinor’s concern struck a little deeper than she let on. Her sister’s protectiveness was familiar, even comforting, but sometimes it left her second-guessing her own instincts.
“It’s not like that. I’m sure he’s not perfect, but he seems genuine.” She met her sister’s gaze, a spark of something deeper behind her eyes. “We connect. And that’s what matters.”
Elinor raised an eyebrow, but curiosity was beginning to overtake caution. “Okay, okay, I get it. But seriously... do you like him? Do you want to see him again?”
Marianne didn’t hesitate. “I do.” Saying it aloud made it feel even more real. “I really do.”
Their conversation was then interrupted by the smooth, confident voices of two men approaching with easy grins. Charming, well-dressed, and clearly self-assured, their intentions were obvious.
“Hello, ladies. Care for another round?” the taller one asked, his voice like polished glass. Sandy blonde hair, neatly styled, and green eyes that scanned them with a practiced look. The other, shorter but more striking, had dark, wide-set eyes that studied them more deeply than necessary.
Both were undeniably handsome, but neither sister was in the mood for distractions.
“No, thank you,” Marianne said firmly, her tone polite but final. “We’re still working on these.”
The men exchanged a look, then turned to Elinor, clearly hoping she might be more receptive.
“Thank you, but no,” Elinor said, calm and confident. “And just so it’s clear, I’ve got a serious boyfriend at home.”
The taller man blinked, taken aback by her directness, but gave a small nod. The dark-haired one, however, kept his focus on Marianne, his voice dropping in a failed attempt at charm. “And you?” he asked, leaning in. “What’s your deal?”
Marianne let out a short huff, the edge of annoyance in her voice unmistakable. “I don’t have a ‘deal.’ I’m here celebrating my sister’s promotion and talking about a wonderful date I had with one of her firm’s clients. Someone I’m definitely seeing again.” She added a knowing smile, surprised by how natural it felt to claim her own space.
“Fair enough,” the man said with a smirk, finally catching on. He straightened up, gave a small shrug, and added, “We’ll leave you two alone.”
As they walked away, Marianne and Elinor exchanged a burst of nervous laughter.
“Okay,” Elinor said, shaking her head with a grin. “Back to what we were talking about.”
Marianne felt a sense of relief as they returned to their conversation. Despite the brief interruption, she was grateful for her sister’s protective nature. As they ordered another round, laughter returned easily, softening the edges of the week. Neither said it aloud, but they both felt how rare this time together was becoming.
Little did she know, elsewhere in the city, the darker-haired stranger hadn’t let her slip from his thoughts.
The air was thick with the scent of old paper and aged wood. Marianne inhaled deeply, savoring the comforting mix of nostalgia and history. Her fingers brushed lightly over the worn leather bindings as she wandered the aisles of the vintage bookstore, a kind of magic she couldn’t find anywhere else.
Her reverie was gently interrupted by Christopher’s voice, which pulled her from her thoughts. “Find anything that catches your eye?”
To her delight, Christopher reached out the day after her outing with Elinor, suggesting a trip to the bookstore to indulge her love of classic literature. He mentioned wanting to add a few to his own collection. Afterward, they planned to explore the local botanical gardens,somewhere Marianne had yet to visit.
“I want all of them,” she said with a sigh, her eyes scanning the shelves hungrily. “What about you?”
Christopher, holding up a pair of classic mystery novels, gave her a mischievous grin. “Just these.”.
Marianne raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Mystery novels for a mysterious man.”
She paused in front of a shelf, fingers grazing the worn leather bindings of the Gothic romance novels. She owned the paperbacks already, but after years of reading, those copies were worn thin—the pages frayed and spines creased. These leather editions felt like a small pleasure. Smiling, she tucked a few under her arm and glanced over at Christopher, still holding his two mystery novels.
The transaction was quick, and soon they were strolling toward the botanical gardens. A comforting warmth spread through Marianne when Christopher’s hand found hers, quieting the last of her nerves. With each step, the city’s bustle faded, leaving just the two of them, walking toward a new chapter.
As they reached the entrance to the gardens, Marianne eagerly reached for her wallet, a playful reminder of the deal they’d made on their first date.
“It’s my turn to pay,” she said with a grin. “You promised.”
He chuckled, feigning a sigh. “I was really hoping you’d forget about that part. But I’ll let you have this one.”
After paying their admission, the attendant fastened their wristbands, and they stepped through an arbor tangled with green vines. The scent of damp earth and blossoms hit them at once, and Marianne slowed, taking it in. The path opened onto a circular stone plaza bordered by garden beds, some just beginning to wake with pale blooms and fresh growth. Several trails branched off in different directions, each partially veiled by the hint of greenery just beginning to return.
Christopher let her lead, content to follow as she chose a path to the right. They slipped into a quieter part of the garden, where early spring ferns and hardy wildflowers were just beginning to emerge. The trees above were mostly bare, their branches still etched against the sky, but a few buds hinted at the green to come. The breeze carried a faint bite, still holding onto winter’s chill, but it was clean, earthy and full of promise.
Hand in hand, they moved deeper into the space. Marianne said little, instead content to just take in the colors, textures and the birds calling from somewhere out of sight. The further they went, the more the landscape changed around them, feeling like they were uncovering something not just in the garden, but between them as well.
“It’s so beautiful,” she murmured as they reached a small waterfall. The sound of water cascading over smooth rocks mingled with the rustle of bamboo leaves, and the cool air carried the scent of moss and earth. Around them, bonsai trees and stone lanterns lined quiet paths, inviting them deeper into the peaceful space.
Christopher’s gaze softened as he took in the sight of her, the words slipping out before he had a chance to think. “So are you,” he said sincerely. “You’re so beautiful... I thought so the moment I saw you.”
She turned to him, her smile shy yet warm, a light blush coloring her cheeks. “I thought the same about you too,” she replied, her words reflecting the attraction she’d felt for him from the very first moment they met. She tried to sound more relaxed, but the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her feelings.
Without thinking, Christopher reached up with his free hand, gently brushing a few loose curls from her face. His fingers trailed along her jaw before cupping her chin, his touch soft but certain. He closed the distance slowly, giving her space to retreat, but she didn’t. She leaned in, eyes fluttering shut as their lips met in a kiss that was tender, deliberate, and charged with something new. A subtle shiver ran through her, and he held her hand a little tighter, not wanting to let the moment slip away.
They parted slowly, their eyes locking in a moment of shared surprise and the promise of a deeper connection. It had been everything they both hoped for—gentle, sincere, and unforgettable. The gentle cascade of water falling around them only enhanced their certainty. They both felt an undeniable pull to experience it again, but the approaching footsteps reminded them they weren’t alone.
They continued their slow walk through the gardens, hands still intertwined, the affection they felt deepening with each step. Their path eventually brought them to the climate-controlled greenhouses, the final stop on their tour, where desert plants thrived under careful care. As they stepped inside, Christopher felt the ache of another perfect afternoon drawing to a close.
Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, but quickly looped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in. Marianne responded without hesitation, resting her head against his chest and wrapping her arm around his back. His embrace felt natural and steady, as if they’d known this closeness far longer than they actually had.
“Let me drive you home,” he said, hoping to extend the evening just a little longer.
Marianne hesitated, a trace of doubt creeping into her voice. “Oh, you don’t have to, I was planning on taking the bus.” Deep down, she wanted to spend more time with him, but a hint of self-consciousness crept in. “It’s about twenty miles outside downtown. If there’s traffic, it could be a long ride.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Christopher said with a reassuring smile. “I’d feel better knowing you’re comfortable getting home.”
She shifted slightly, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t have my own place... I still live at home with my mother and my younger sister,” she said softly. “I’ve been putting off moving out because I don’t want to leave my mother alone. It’s been a few years since my father passed, and things are still quieter than they used to be. I know I should, but it just doesn’t feel right yet. And, honestly, I don’t think I could afford it even if I wanted to.”
Christopher sensed her hesitation and gently tightened his hold. “I’m really sorry about your father, Marianne,” he said, his voice full of empathy. “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been… or how strange things must feel without him.”
He paused, then added, “I’m not offering you a ride with any expectations. I won’t push if you’re uncomfortable, but where you live doesn’t matter to me. It’s getting chilly, and it might rain. I’d hate for you to be stuck waiting for a bus in this weather.”
Her shoulders eased, and a soft smile crossed her face. His kindness, especially the way he spoke about her father, filled her with an unexpected warmth. “Okay,” she said, the relief clear in her voice. “In that case, I’d love a ride home.”
He took her hand again and led her out of the gardens, guiding her a few blocks back to where his car was parked near the bookstore. He opened the passenger door of an elegant deep blue sedan—polished yet unassuming, and clearly well cared for. Marianne slid inside the leather interior, taking in the clean lines. It seemed to suit him perfectly.
“This car is lovely,” she said once he took his place in the driver’s seat.
He smiled, a quiet appreciation in his voice. “Thanks. I’m glad you like it. Maybe you’ll get a chance to drive it sometime.”
Marianne looked around nervously. “Oh, I’d like that, but not here in the city. I can’t imagine trying to navigate all this traffic in something this... well, expensive.”
He chuckled softly as the engine purred to life. Marianne gave him her address, and he tapped it into the navigation before pulling away from the curb with a soft click. As they drove, their conversation drifted from their favorite spots in the botanical garden to which of the new books they’d picked up today they were most eager to dive into. The city passed by in a blur of lights and quiet streets, but neither of them seemed in a rush to get home.
Marianne couldn’t help but smile to herself, surprised at how easy spending time with Christopher felt. Without thinking, she reached across the seat, her fingers brushing against his. He caught her fingers, lifted her hand and gently kissed her knuckles. The simple yet sweet gesture made her heart skip.
Before she knew it, the car left the freeway and turned onto the quiet street where Marianne lived. The neighborhood felt like a calm refuge from the bustling city. Trees arched overhead, their branches just beginning to bud with the promise of spring shade. Along the street stood well-kept, mid-sized homes, each framed by neat lawns and bright flowerbeds tended with care.
“It’s just up here,” she said as Christopher turned onto her street. “The blue one, with the white shutters.”
He pulled into her driveway, the gentle hum of the engine settling as he put the car in park. “It’s a lovely neighborhood,” he said. He made a note of her earlier reluctance, choosing not to press her into offering an invitation inside.
“Thank you,” she replied with a sincere smile. “And thank you for such a lovely day, Christopher. I really enjoyed it.”
“So did I,” he said, glancing at her warmly. “I’d like to take you out to dinner soon.”
Her smile widened. “I’d love that.”
“Let me know when you're free and what you’d like, and I’ll make a reservation.” He added playfully, “and don’t even think about paying. I insist on treating you this time.”
“Okay,” she relented, the excitement in her voice clear. “I’m looking forward to it.”
A slight moment of tension hung in the air between them. Marianne, feeling emboldened by her desire to relive the moment under the waterfall, leaned in closer. Her fingers gently caressed the edge of his jaw, her thumb brushing over the slight stubble that formed. He tilted his head into her touch, his breath warm against her face, his gaze fixed on her intently. Without hesitating further, he closed the gap and pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was tender at first, a soft exploration, savoring the closeness of it this time. Slowly, their lips parted, their tongues hesitantly grazing together as the kiss deepened, growing more urgent with every second, a mix of desire and emotions neither could fully express in words. Marianne’s hands found their way to the back of his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as they lost themselves in the moment.
The kiss endured with a steady ease, making everything else—the car, the wind, even the passage of time—fade away. When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, their breaths mingling in the quiet.
Marianne leaned back slightly, trying to catch her breath. Her pulse raced, the connection between them still alive in the air. Her gaze drifted instinctively to the front window, where the faintest shift in the curtains signaled that someone had been watching.
A small laugh escaped her, part amusement, part embarrassment. “I think we’ve been spotted by my sister, Meg,” she said, her cheeks warming as she met Christopher’s eyes. “This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.”
Christopher chuckled, a flush rising up his neck. “Then I suppose I should make my exit. I had a great time again, Marianne. I’ll see you soon.”
“I did too,” she said, leaning in for one last unhurried kiss. “Goodbye, Christopher.” She held his gaze for a moment longer, before stepping out of the car.
At the top of the steps, she turned back to give him a small wave as he pulled out of the driveway. Her smile slipped into a sigh as she squared her shoulders, bracing herself for the inevitable teasing Meg was bound to unleash the moment she walked through the door.
Notes:
While I’ve kept the setting of the story intentionally vague, some parts are inspired by real places. One of them is the Japanese Garden at the Huntington Botanical Gardens in San Marino, California. There's a serene spot there with a waterfall cascading over a rocky alcove. It’s both beautiful and peaceful, making it the perfect backdrop for Marianne and Christopher’s first kiss. 🥰
I’ve also made great progress with writing, editing, and outlining future chapters, so Chapter 6 may arrive sooner than anticipated.
Chapter 6: Now
Notes:
I’m neither a mental health nor medical professional, so please bear with me as I’ve done my best to imagine a therapy scene and provide Marianne with a realistic diagnosis based on the symptoms in the story.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
Christopher leaned back against the cool leather couch, the familiar texture offering a sliver of comfort as he exhaled. The soft whir of the vent in Dr. Victoria Morton’s office wrapped around him, broken only by the faint scratch of her pen. He’d been seeing a therapist for over two months now—though he’d nearly walked away during the first few sessions, when letting down his guard felt impossible. His mind constantly pushed back against the walls he’d built, unwilling to let anything painful surface.
But recently, something had finally shifted. Maybe it was the slow pressure of long-buried guilt rising to the surface, or the crushing exhaustion from carrying it all alone for so long. Either way, it was time to face what he’d been avoiding.
“We’ve made a lot of progress the past few sessions, Christopher,” Dr. Morton said, her voice calm, yet steady. “You’ve acknowledged your part in how things ended with Marianne. You recognize now that she had no choice but to walk away. That’s not easy to accept, but it’s important.”
She paused, giving him a moment to absorb it. “And the fact that you’re still here, willing to explore why you couldn’t fully commit—that shows real growth.”
He let her words settle in, his fingers tracing the edge of the couch absentmindedly. They felt easier to bear now that they were spoken aloud, no longer trapped inside him. But the painful truth still remained; he had failed Marianne in ways he hadn’t fully understood until now.
“We’ll keep working through this,” she continued. “But I think before we end today, we should also touch on your concerns about becoming a father.”
Christopher felt a wave of unease rise in his chest. He’d avoided this conversation for so long. The very idea of fatherhood was too tangled with grief and uncertainty. His past, and the loss that shaped it, had always cast a shadow over the thought of raising a child. He’d never wanted to burden anyone with his fear. Yet his therapist’s undivided attention made it impossible to keep it locked away.
“It’s complicated,” he murmured, searching for the right words. “I’ve lost a lot… things I couldn’t understand, things I’ll never know. It made me wonder if I could ever move on. Life’s fragility makes me question whether I’m even capable of being a father... if I should even try.”
She held his gaze, before speaking thoughtfully. “I’m hearing something deeper, Christopher. There’s a fear of repeating patterns from your past. You’ve said before how your childhood shaped your views.”
His body tensed for a moment. She was right, of course, but he wasn’t ready to dive into those specifics just yet—not here, not now. He nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to his hands, which now rested still in his lap. “I don’t want to be… like him,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes my own father did.”
Dr. Morton's expression never wavered. “It sounds like you’ve been carrying a lot from your past. I can see how that would affect the way you approach the idea of fatherhood now.”
He nodded, unable to shake the uncertainty in his voice. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if it’s even something I can… face.”
She leaned forward slightly as she spoke. “It’s understandable to feel that way. Don’t be too hard on yourself for not having all the answers. That’s what we’re here for, to explore the fears and where they come from.”
Christopher looked down at the floor as his thoughts churned—grief over Eliza, fear of becoming a distant father like his own, and the pressure of living up to others’ expectations. Fatherhood felt less like a dream and more like a wound that never healed. Eliza’s death had stolen that future, leaving him paralyzed by doubt. Could he risk bringing a child into the world? Could he offer them the love they deserved when so much of his heart still felt broken?
“I just didn’t realize it then,” he said. “Marianne wasn’t asking me to forget what I’d lost. She understood that. But she needed more from me, and I let her down.”
She closed her notebook and offered him a calm, reassuring smile. “Healing isn’t always linear, Christopher. Sometimes it’s about recognizing those small moments of progress, even when it feels like you’re stuck. Just try to stay focused on the positives moving forward.”
As he stepped out of Dr. Morton’s office, an unexpected relief washed over him. For the first time in a long while, something felt clear. Though he longed for Marianne more than anything, he knew he couldn’t be the man she deserved until he faced the ghosts still haunting him. Even if they never reconciled, he now understood that peace would come only by letting go.
His thoughts were interrupted by the faint buzz of his phone. Glancing at it, he was surprised to see Elinor’s name. He paused, thumb hovering over the screen. It was probably work-related, something minor he could handle later. She had once been a steady presence in his professional life, but since her move to Creative Strategist and his complicated history with Marianne, their communication wasn’t as frequent as it once was.
As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, it buzzed again. He exhaled sharply and pulled it back out. Seeing her name again, he answered with a resigned sigh.
“Elinor,” he said, his tone distant. “If this is about the roadmap for next year, can it wait until I’m back in the office?”
Elinor’s voice came carefully. “Christopher, I’m sorry if this isn’t a good time, but this isn’t about the account. It’s about Marianne.”
“Marianne?” Her name caught him off guard. They hadn’t spoken about her in weeks, not since Elinor admitted that Marianne had asked her to stop passing along updates.
She hesitated, taking a deep breath. “She’s... there’s been an accident. She’s in the hospital—”
“What?!” Christopher cut her off, his breath catching. For a split second, all he could see was Eliza—how fast it had happened, how his life had turned upside down in an instant. “What happened? Where is she? Is she—”
“She’s okay,” she interjected quickly, trying to steady him. “She had a fall at home and lost consciousness for a brief period, but she’s been alert for some time. They had to keep her in ICU for a few days, but moved her to the general ward yesterday. She’s recovering and... she’s asked to see you.”
His pulse still thundered in his ears as panic edged in, but the words slowly took shape. She was okay. Hurt, but okay.
But it was the last part that caught him off guard.
She asked to see you.
Marianne. After months of silence, of running from him and shutting him out—she wanted to see him. His heart pounded, panic and hope crashing together in a flood he couldn’t contain. He clenched his fists, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. It was more than he’d dared hope for, but it still left him questioning everything.
Why now? What did it mean?
He finally managed to collect his jumbled thoughts. Finding his voice, he asked, “You’re sure she’s okay?”
“I promise you, Christopher,” Elinor said gently. “The doctors say she’s doing well, all things considered. She just… needs to see you.”
His thoughts slowed, the tension draining from his chest. “Of course I’ll see her.”
She exhaled, a trace of relief in her voice. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“I’d do anything for her,” he said, the conviction in his words clear and unwavering.
“I know you would.” There was a long pause before she spoke again, as though she were carefully choosing her words. “But before you come… there are a few things you need to know.”
Christopher sensed her hesitation. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the pavement ahead of him.
“When she fell,” she continued, “she hit her head on the stairs, dislocated her shoulder, twisted her ankle… she has a concussion.”
He could hear her exhale on the other end of the line, and it was like the atmosphere had solidified around him. He clenched his jaw, gripping the phone a little tighter, as if the pressure could somehow keep him grounded.
“She has some memory loss,” she said finally. “The doctors are still evaluating it, but for now… there’s a gap of the past year. She doesn’t remember ending things with you. In her mind, she thinks you’re still together.”
The words slammed into his mind, leaving him momentarily paralyzed. His legs turned to lead, and he staggered toward the nearest bench, collapsing onto it as the air around him closed in. He could barely process the flood of information. “I… I don’t understand,” he whispered. “Did anyone tell her the truth?”
“I did,” she assured him. “She was upset, of course, but she’s starting to accept that she’s missing so much time. It’s a lot for her to process." She paused, gathering strength to continue. "There’s something else, too… she’s engaged.”
He sank deeper into the bench, his mind struggling to grasp the word. Engaged. He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.
“Engaged?” His voice cracked with disbelief. “She’s… engaged?”
It hurt Elinor to deliver this news. She didn’t want his heart broken, but she couldn’t give him false hope either.
“I’m sorry. I know this is hard. She met someone a few months after you broke up. They’ve been together for a while and got engaged after just a few months,” she explained. “But the strange thing is… she doesn’t remember any of it. Not him, not the engagement. Nothing.”
Engaged. The word hit him harder than he expected. She had moved on, and seemed to have done so without a second thought. While he had been consumed by his shame and grief, Marianne had stepped into a new life, shutting the door on the one they had shared.
“She’s engaged…” he repeated as if it was the only detail he could process at the moment. “Just like that?”
Elinor’s voice trembled with sorrow. “It was a shock to all of us. We’ve tried to be supportive, but… he had a weird effect on her, Christopher. She was heartbroken after what happened between you two, but she still had her spark. She was finding her way out of the sadness and back to herself. But now… I’m sorry, I’ve said too much.”
He tried to make sense of what she had said, his thoughts racing with questions he didn’t feel he had the right to voice. Whatever had happened, whatever influence this fiancé had, it didn’t matter now. Marianne needed him, and he’d promised he’d be there.
“Can I see her today?” he asked, almost a plea.
“Yes, if you can,” she said. After a pause, she added, “Visiting hours are from five to eight.”
“I’ll be there,” he said without hesitation.
“Thank you, Christopher,” Elinor said softly. “For what it’s worth… you were good for her. We all miss you.”
He put his head in his hands after ending the call, a barrage of emotions surging through him. What was Marianne really asking for? Why now?
His mind drifted to the last message he had sent her months ago: I’ll leave you alone now. But remember, if you ever need me, I’ll always be here for you.
He had meant every word then, and still did, but he never expected her to hold him to them. Had she truly meant it when she asked to see him? Was her condition the only thing that had changed between them?
With a sharp inhale, he pushed the doubts aside. He slid his phone into his pocket and climbed into the car, the engine rumbling to life beneath him. The road ahead was uncertain, just as his path with Marianne was.
Hands tight on the wheel, he drove toward his office, each passing moment only deepening his unease.
What would it be like when he saw her again?
Christopher arrived at the hospital just before 5 PM, his heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and an odd feeling of hope. He wasn’t sure what would await him in Marianne’s hospital room, but he was desperate to hold onto whatever moments they could share, before they slipped through the cracks once more. In his hands, he clutched a vase of sunflowers and dahlias. He was sure the bright, familiar seasonal blooms would bring her a small comfort.
At the front desk, his fingers trembled as he handed over his ID. The receptionist glanced at the visitor list—due to Marianne’s memory loss, only names she had approved were allowed to see her. He waited patiently as the woman printed his badge, her tone polite but distant as she directed him to the elevators. Each step forward grew heavier, drawing him closer to a reunion he longed for but wasn’t sure he was ready to face.
When he reached her room, Elinor was waiting outside her door. Her weary smile lifted his spirits unexpectedly. She stood and pulled him into a brief, comforting hug, her embrace offering a momentary sense of familiarity.
“Christopher,” Elinor said softly, her eyes flickering to the vase in his hands. A soft smile lifted her features. “I’m so glad you came. She’ll love these, they’re just… so her.”
A small relief settled in him when Elinor said she’d like the flowers. Clutching the vase a little tighter, he asked, “How is she today?”
“She’s a little tired, but she rested earlier,” she replied, smoothing out her hair. “She’s been asking about you all day.”
The words hit him unexpectedly hard. She still wanted to see him. After everything, after all the distance, she was asking for him now. The thought comforted and devastated him in equal measure.
Before he could respond, Elinor’s voice dropped, soft but cautious. “Before you go in… she’s still confused about some things.” She glanced toward the door to Marianne’s room. “She’s trying to piece everything together, but it’s not all there yet. If she asks you something, be honest, but don’t overwhelm her.”
She paused, then added gently, “If she remembers something wrong, it’s better to guide her softly rather than correct her outright. Just take it slow. Be patient with her.”
Christopher nodded, his mind quiet as he carefully listened to Elinor’s advice. He had no idea what kind of reception to expect from Marianne. Would she remember him as she once had, or would he face someone new, someone already distant and lost in her own confusion? He reminded himself to be patient, to meet her wherever she was.
“I understand,” he said calmly, despite the storm raging in his chest.
Taking a steadying breath, he approached the door, fingers brushing its surface before pushing it open. The faint murmur from the room met him. Marianne’s bed was propped up just right for sitting, but she stared blankly at the TV, lost in thought.
At the sound of the door, she shifted, her eyes locking with his. For a moment, she froze—not in fear, but in disbelief, as if uncertain how to process his sudden presence.
He couldn’t help noticing how pale and drawn her skin was, her face thinner than he remembered, the sharpness of her features more pronounced. The sling, the IV, the monitor clipped to her finger were a stark reminder of the toll everything had taken. She looked fragile in a way he had never seen before.
But beneath all the exhaustion and uncertainty, she was still Marianne. Still the same woman he had loved for so long. That unmistakable beauty, the one that had always undone him, was still there.
She tried to smile weakly, but it faltered, unable to hold beneath the weight of her emotion. The tears that welled in her eyes gave her away, revealing just how much she was trying to keep in.
A lump rose in his throat as he looked at the woman who had once been all warmth and fire reduced to a fleeting shadow of herself. The vibrancy that had always drawn him in, that had lit up every moment between them, had dimmed beneath the strain of all she’d endured.
Still, he held his ground, forcing his own emotions back. She didn’t need more chaos; she needed calm. With a quiet, steady smile, he stepped closer.
"Hey," he said softly, settling beside her as he pulled a chair closer. He laid his hand gently over hers, grounding himself in the warmth of her skin. "These are for you," he added, placing the vase of flowers on the table.
Her eyes softened as she looked at them. "Thank you," she murmured. "They're beautiful… I love them." She reached out with her right hand, fingertips brushing the petals before her arm fell back to her lap.
His hand remained over hers, feeling the subtle tremor beneath his touch. She looked down at their hands, her fingers trembling before lifting her own to rest atop his. It was a simple gesture, one that didn’t need words to be understood. It said enough on its own.
“Christopher,” she whispered, breaking the silence. “I wasn’t sure if you’d really come.” Her lips trembled, and a single tear slipped free before she could hold it back.
“Shh,” he whispered, his thumb gently brushing it away. “I’m here.” His voice was a promise to stay, even if holding her together meant falling apart himself.
They sat in silence, the quiet between them shaped by his caution and her confusion. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath shallow, and when they opened again, they studied him with uncertainty. “Is it true, Chris? We’re not together anymore?”
Her words struck him with unexpected force, knocking the air from his lungs. He sat still, keeping his focus on her eyes, which held a tentative trust, as if she sensed he was the only one who would give her a straight answer. Deep down, he’d known she would ask this question eventually, but he still found himself unprepared. Elinor’s voice echoed quietly in his mind, reminding him to be patient and gentle with her. He couldn’t shield her from the truth any longer, not when she needed him to help her through it.
He swallowed hard before speaking, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “It is,” he said quietly. “But... that’s not what matters right now. What matters is you getting better. We’ll take it one step at a time, okay?”
“I’m trying,” she whispered, her voice trembling but slowly gathering strength. “But I can’t remember the things Elinor and the doctors tell me.”
She furrowed her brow, seeming more disoriented. “What happened to us?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Did I do something to make you stop loving me?”
Her words struck him hard, the question more painful than he’d ever imagined. His mouth went dry; the words he desperately wanted to say felt stuck in his throat. He squeezed her hand, grounding himself in the only connection he had left. But the vulnerability in her voice and the honesty of her question made it impossible to stay composed. He could feel his tenuous grip on his emotions slipping.
“No,” he finally said, his voice cracking. “Of course not. I…” He paused, took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. “I still love you, Marianne.”
A wave of guilt washed over him as the words tumbled out. Was it right to say this? Would it hurt her more than it helped? But it was too late, they were already out, and he couldn’t take them back. “I love you… so much.”
He let the silence stretch as he struggled to gather his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter and more fragile, but no less sincere. “But… we reached a point where we wanted different things. Neither of us was willing to bend. It wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It just… it wasn’t enough anymore.”
He kept his eyes trained on her, watching for any hint that he’d gone too far or exposed too much of the pain they’d both buried. But Marianne’s expression softened, a gentle sigh escaped her, as if some of the tension in her had loosened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice quieter now, the apology carrying a lightness he hadn’t expected. “I guess I’m a little stubborn.” She offered him a hesitant smile, small but genuine, and despite everything, it eased the tightness in his chest.
He returned her smile, a faint laugh escaping him, one filled with quiet relief. “Don’t apologize, Marianne,” he said, offering the steady presence she needed. “Honestly, most of this is on me. But I swear we’ll figure it out together.”
Her smile widened, a flash of hope igniting in her eyes, and it shifted something inside him. She seemed to believe his promise, even though the road ahead was unclear. For a moment, he believed it too, despite the uncertainty still hanging between them.
But then her expression darkened, the brief spark fading as she looked down at their joined hands. “But what about John?” she asked softly. “They say we’re engaged, but... I don’t remember him at all. He’s tried to visit, but... I’m not ready. And the staff won’t let him in unless I give the go-ahead. What should I do?”
Christopher took a deep breath as he carefully considered his response. A lesser man might have tried to dissuade her, perhaps encouraged her to shut out someone she no longer recognized. But he wasn’t that man. He wasn’t going to make decisions for her. She deserved the space to find her own answers. He owed her that much.
“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he said gently. “But maybe letting him visit, even for a little while, could help you move forward in your recovery.”
Marianne seemed to consider her options for a moment. “I think you’re right,” she replied softly. “Maybe in a couple of days.” Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she exhaled a small, weary sigh. “I’m really tired, Chris.”
He gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze. “You need to rest.”
Her eyes closed, but then, almost as if she couldn’t bear the thought of his absence, her voice managed to break through again. “But I don’t want you to leave me alone.”
His heart clenched at her words, a rush of emotions threatening to drown him. Her final words— I want you to leave me alone —they had marked the end of everything. Now, hearing the opposite, unguarded and unsure, it struck him like a desperate plea she didn’t even understand herself. Was she somehow reaching back for the person she had once pushed away? It twisted something broken inside him, making him feel both wanted and powerless all at once.
“Then I’ll stay here with you,” he said quietly, moving his chair closer to her bedside. His presence, unwavering and constant, spoke louder than any words ever could.
Marianne relaxed for a moment, but her eyes opened just enough to search his face. There was a question in them, a need for reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what had happened before. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
“I promise,” he said, his voice steady despite everything churning inside him. “I’ll be here as much as you need me.”
Elinor, Meg, and their mother gathered closely around Marianne’s side, offering their support as Dr. Lawson addressed them. The sterile room felt smaller as they anticipated the news to come.
“So,” Dr. Lawson began, “we’ve run several tests and consulted with our neurology team. Marianne is experiencing two forms of memory loss: post-traumatic amnesia and selective retrograde amnesia.” He paused, letting the diagnosis settle in.
“Post-traumatic amnesia affects memories around the time of the injury. In this case, the fall. It’s very common with head trauma. The brain can struggle to retain or retrieve memories from just before or right after the event, so she may never recall those moments.”
He continued, voice steady but compassionate. “She’s also dealing with selective retrograde amnesia. That means she can make new memories, but some from a specific period are inaccessible. In Marianne’s case, it seems to be the past year. The brain essentially walled off memories it perceived as too painful.”
Elinor, still processing, asked, "Why the two types of memory loss? I can understand why she wouldn’t remember the fall, but why is the past year gone as well?”
The doctor’s expression softened. “That’s the hard part. We believe it’s the result of both physical and emotional trauma. The scans can only show us so much. Some of it, Marianne will have to piece together on her own.”
“But I can’t remember,” Marianne interjected with a frustrated huff. “The memories are gone.”
Elinor turned to her, her voice gentle. “I don’t think the doctor means they’re gone for good. It’s just that you can’t access them right now.”
The doctor offered a comforting glance. “Exactly. The brain sometimes protects itself by blocking access to painful memories, especially after emotional trauma. In Marianne’s case, it may be prioritizing physical recovery by limiting access to distressing information until she’s stronger.”
The family exchanged looks, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place.
"So, it’s possible that... those events are too painful for her to remember right now?" Meg asked gently, trying to understand.
Dr. Lawson nodded. “It’s entirely possible. The mind has powerful ways of protecting itself. The good news is she’s forming new memories without issue. With time, she may be able to work through what’s been blocked.”
“So, she’ll be able to remember everything eventually?” Mary asked, her grip tightening on her daughter’s hand as she looked at Dr. Lawson.
He offered a reassuring smile. “It’s possible, but not guaranteed. With the right care and therapy, she may recover most of her memories, though some could stay out of reach. That said, we’re optimistic. If her recovery stays on track, she could be ready to go home in three or four days.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Mary said, a small sense of relief washing over her as he excused himself.
When the door clicked shut, Marianne shifted in bed, her eyes unfocused as they drifted to the sterile hospital wall. Her thoughts spun in a haze as the questions and uncertainties pressed against her fragile sense of reality. She couldn’t help but fixate on the idea that her mind might be shielding the most painful memories, but with no sense of what they could be, she felt even more disconnected.
“When did Christopher and I end our relationship?” Marianne asked, her eyes drifting around the room, searching for an answer.
Mary, Elinor, and Meg exchanged uneasy glances. Elinor, always the calmest, spoke up gently. “Marianne, we don’t have to talk about this right now,” she said, trying to steer the conversation away from anything too heavy. “It’s almost lunchtime. How about we get something special from the cafeteria? Something to help take your mind off things?”
“I’m just thinking about what the doctor said,” Marianne replied with frustration. “If I can’t remember the last year, I want to try to piece together a timeline. I think it might help to have a rough sense of when things happened.”
Elinor gave a gentle nod and offered a sympathetic smile. “It was a couple of weeks after the New Year—around mid-January.”
“Can you tell me when I met John and when we got engaged?” Marianne pressed on, the need to fill in the blanks clear in her eyes.
“I think you met him in April, and you got engaged at the beginning of July,” Elinor answered thoughtfully. “Today’s August 13th, so that means you’ve been engaged for about six weeks now.”
She continued with the questions. “When was the wedding supposed to be?”
“The end of the month—the 30th,” Meg said softly, the sadness in her voice unmasked. “Right before I head back to university.”
Mary looked at her daughter with a small, almost apologetic nod. “Of course, the wedding was canceled, sweetheart,” she said gently. “You couldn’t have gone through with it… not in your condition.”
Marianne gave her mother and younger sister a small, grateful smile. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said. “I was going to marry a man I’d known for only four months… when I’d been with Christopher for four years, and we weren’t even engaged…” Her words trailed off—not in frustration, but in acknowledgment of the strange, unfamiliar path her life had taken.
The other family members exchanged glances, relief seeming to settle over them. Marianne’s rushed engagement and impending marriage had never quite felt right, and seeing her start to question it brought a small sliver of hope.
“It doesn’t all have to make sense right now,” Mary reassured her. “Don’t force it, sweetheart. Are you sure there’s nothing you want from downstairs?”
She thought for a moment, the idea of a sweet treat after such a heavy conversation lifting her spirits. A playful glint lit up her eyes. “I’d love one of those giant chocolate chip cookies I saw Elinor nibbling on in the hall the other day.”
The others shared a quiet laugh, a spark of hope kindling in their hearts. Maybe the Marianne they loved and knew, would return to them, piece by piece.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me seeing John now?” Marianne asked. Her eyes searched his, seeking reassurance, as if needing his approval to take the next step in a life she didn’t know.
Christopher paused, the question hitting him harder than he expected. The irony wasn’t lost on him. The woman who had walked away because he couldn’t be what she needed was now seeking his permission to see a man who claimed to be her fiancé, though she no longer remembered him. It felt surreal, as if their painful past had never happened.
It was an odd position to be in, yet there was no bitterness in his response, only the acceptance of a reality beyond his control. He blinked, pushing troubled thoughts aside, and looked at her, his voice steady and gentle. “The choice is always yours, Marianne. You don’t need my permission. Only if you feel ready, and if it’s something you truly want.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting as she murmured, “I’m just curious to know who he is. Everyone talks about him, but I don’t even know what he looks like.”
“That’s completely understandable,” he said, offering her the patience she needed. “You’ve been through a lot, and it’s natural to have mixed feelings.”
Glancing down at his watch, he added, “I think he’ll be here soon. And as much as I wish I could stay, I’ll give you space and privacy.”
“Thank you, Chris… for everything,” she said, squeezing his hand gently.
He softly ran his thumb over her knuckles, offering what comfort he could in the moment. With a tender smile, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head—echoing his promise to be here for her, no matter what.
After leaving her room, Christopher headed to the lobby to return his visitor’s badge, which the hospital required each time. He’d visited her several times over the past week, offering steady support as she navigated her recovery. The hospital issued a new badge for every visit, and old ones must be returned before leaving.
Just as he handed his badge to the woman at the desk, a young man entered through the front doors, heading straight for the front desk. Christopher barely noticed him until he heard the impatient demand the man made.
“What room is Marianne Dashwood in?” the man snapped, his voice laced with entitlement.
Christopher paused, the mention of Marianne’s name catching his attention. This had to be him, the man who had somehow managed to claim Marianne’s heart after he let it slip away. He stepped aside, out of the stranger’s direct view, watching carefully.
The woman at the desk matched his impatience with cool professionalism. “That patient has a restricted visitor list. Your name, please?”
“I’m on the list,” he spat back at the woman.
“Name?” she demanded again, her gaze sharpening.
“John Willoughby,” he replied, as if this whole situation was beneath him.
Willoughby. The name echoed in Christopher’s mind, vaguely familiar. It took a moment to place it. He was sure they’d never met in person, but the name tugged at him. He was sure he’d heard in passing, probably in business circles.
Then it clicked. John Willoughby had once overseen the marketing account for Christopher’s software company. They’d exchanged a few emails and phone calls, and even from that limited contact, something about him had rubbed Christopher the wrong way.
His approach was messy and unfocused. Whenever Christopher raised questions about billing discrepancies, Willoughby and his superiors brushed them off with flimsy excuses, always circling back to the fact that he was the founder’s great-nephew. It was clear his family connection shielded him from accountability, even as the mistakes piled up and the campaigns fell short.
Eventually, with his legal team behind him, Christopher called a meeting with several directors, presenting concrete evidence of services billed but never approved. It wasn’t pretty, but it had to be done. Allenham reimbursed the erroneous charges and quietly dissolved the contract, eager to avoid scandal and move on.
Since then, Christopher had never regretted cutting ties with the Allenham Agency. If anything, he’d felt relieved when he switched to Dashwood Creative.
And now, here was Willoughby again, somehow having made his way into Marianne’s life. The thought festered, a knot of discomfort tightening with every step as Christopher left the hospital. How had she ended up with someone like him? Marianne, who was so passionate about her work, about the things and people she cared for—how had she fallen for a man who treated his own responsibilities with such indifference?
If this was how he handled business, what kind of care could he possibly show her?
Notes:
Now that we have three chapters set in the past and three in the present, I’d love to hear which timeline you're more invested in at this point. Are you drawn to the past, where Marianne and Christopher’s romance is just beginning to bloom, or to the present, where the focus is on Marianne’s long journey of healing?
Chapter Text
Then
Marianne paced the living room, her fingers absentmindedly grazing her nails. The polish Meg had carefully applied earlier was already in danger of being ruined, but she hardly noticed. Her nerves were suddenly in overdrive, and she couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at her.
“Marianne dear, relax,” her mother said, her voice tinged with amusement. “I’m sure I’ll like him just fine.”
Everything felt heightened when it came to Christopher. Marianne couldn’t exactly put her finger on why. Perhaps it was the novelty of their relationship, or maybe it was just the fact that she was about to introduce him to her family. She wasn’t used to these feelings, and even though it felt like a natural step, the thought of him coming here to meet her mother made her stomach twist.
She shot her a doubtful look. “You’re really sure you don’t mind he’s so much older?”
Marianne had shared the news about the new man in her life a few days ago, unsure how to explain the connection she felt with someone nearly seventeen years her senior. Saying it aloud had made it feel more real and complicated, but also undeniable. As she spent more time with him, what had started as curiosity deepened into something far more intense.
When he suggested meeting her family, her nerves flared at first, but soon the idea slowly began to feel less daunting. To her surprise, her mother seemed just as eager as he was to make the meeting happen. Still, as the time for his arrival drew nearer, the anxiety that Marianne had tried to suppress threatened to take over.
"Your father was nine years older than me," Mary said with nostalgia. “I’m no stranger to age gaps. I know this one’s a little wider, but if it’s just a coincidence, not something he’s after… well, that’s between you two. What matters is how he treats you, and how you feel about him.”
Marianne hesitated. “It’s just... I’ve never brought anyone home before. I’ve never really been with someone who wanted to take that step.”
She paused, trying to make sense of her complicated feelings. “But Christopher… he’s unlike anyone else. He’s very sweet and kind, even if it’s sometimes hard to know what he’s thinking. He listens to me, actually listens. He makes me feel like we’re on the same level. I’ve never known anything like this before.”
Though dating wasn’t new to her, the men she’d dated at university had never shown any interest in meeting her family. Their relationships had been brief, casual encounters which were more about moments of fun than anything meaningful. None of them had ever taken a step towards something serious, and the idea of introducing them to her family seemed laughable.
But Christopher was different. He asked questions, eager to learn about her world, about the people who shaped her. He wasn’t content to keep their connection confined to just the two of them. Now, he was coming over for lunch, a step none of the others had ever shown any regard in taking. Even though she was anxious about this milestone, it didn’t feel like a burden. Deep down, she felt a surge of excitement, eager for her family’s approval.
“Well, he certainly sounds like someone special. I don’t think you’d be this nervous otherwise,” Mary said, softening the edges of her concern. “Oh, I think that’s him!”
Marianne glanced through the curtains, her heart leaping as she saw his car pull into the driveway. She stepped back quickly, as though flaring nerves might be visible through the glass. Moments later, the doorbell rang, and Mary gave her a final, knowing look before heading towards the door.
“Christopher,” she greeted with a warm smile. “Please, come in. I’m Mary Dashwood, Marianne’s mother.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dashwood,” he replied smoothly, stepping inside, offering a bouquet of spring flowers. “These are for you.”
Mary’s eyes lit up as she accepted the flowers, her smile widening. “Oh, how lovely. Thank you, Christopher. And please, call me Mary.” She paused to admire the bouquet for a moment before turning toward the kitchen. “I’ll put these in a vase. You’ll find Marianne in the living room, to the left.”
He nodded, offering a small smile as he followed her directions. Stepping through the archway, he entered the room where Marianne sat at her piano, perched on the edge of the bench. At the sight of him, she sprang to her feet, her face lighting up.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly. She closed the distance between them in an instant and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, both the excitement and nervousness radiating from her.
He kissed the top of her head gently. “Hey,” he said, pulling back slightly. “You seem a little tense.”
Marianne hesitated, her fingers brushing absentmindedly against her sleeve. “I know this probably sounds silly,” she murmured. “I’ve just... never brought anyone home like this before.”
She gave a shaky laugh, trying to ease the tension. “It’s all just... new. I guess I just want everything to go well.”
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't have to be nervous," he said. He took a moment to take in the room around him. "Your home... it feels like you. It's lovely. Have you always lived here?"
Marianne nodded, her gaze drifting around the space. “For the most part. We moved in when my mother learned she was pregnant with Meg. It had enough rooms for everyone, but Elinor and I got along so well, we always shared.”
“That’s nice,” he said. “You’ve stayed close.”
She smiled. “It’s just always been that way. My family’s been close-knit, but things have gotten quieter since my dad passed away and Elinor moved out.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I never really had that closeness with my brother. He’s much older and by the time I came along, he was already on his own path. I didn’t spend much time with him growing up.”
“How much older? You know my brother is fifteen years older than I am.” She thought back to when she had asked him about his family before, but he’d only shared a few details—his older brother, their estrangement, and that his parents had long been gone. After that, the subject had drifted away.
He chuckled softly, though his tone grew slightly more distant. “He’s twenty-three years older than I am, if you can believe it. I was a surprise, so to speak. My parents were older when they had me, even older than I am now.”
She blinked, surprised. “Wow, that’s even wider than our age gap. My father was forty-four when Meg was born. Were your parents even older than that?”
He nodded, his expression softening. “Yeah. My mother was forty-six, my father forty-eight. My mother was incredible, but she died when I was twelve. My father… he did his best, but he’s always been a bit stern and distant. It wasn’t easy, but that’s just how he was.”
Marianne’s hand instinctively reached for his arm. “Oh, Christopher, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were so young when your mother died. And your father not being there the way you needed him. That must have been hard.”
His gaze shifted briefly before meeting hers again. “It was a long time ago, Marianne. I don’t like to dwell on it, that’s why I never went into too much detail. Sometimes, things just play out differently than you imagine. My father did what he could, but it wasn’t always what I needed.”
He shrugged, as if dismissing his history without letting it weigh him down. “But that’s all in the past. We’re here to see your family,” he said, shifting the focus. “Shall we head to the kitchen?”
"I understand if you don’t want to talk about it now," she said, her hand still resting on his arm. “But if you ever do want to, I'm here. You don’t have to carry it alone."
She didn’t press further, though a part of her wondered what had shaped the reserved man beside her. She respected his space, knowing that the time would come when he felt ready to share more.
Christopher said nothing, but put his arm around her and pulled her close as they walked towards the kitchen. When they entered, they found Mary alone, putting together a simple spread for lunch. A variety of sandwiches, a cold pasta salad and a colorful assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables and other snacks filled the kitchen island.
“This looks wonderful,” he said, scanning the spread before settling beside Marianne at the table.
“Thank you,” Mary replied. “I’m just going to grab Margaret. I called for her earlier, but she must not have heard me.”
A few minutes later, Margaret appeared, apologizing with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I had my headphones in and the music cranked up too loud.”
“Margaret,” Mary said, gesturing to Christopher, “this is Christopher, Marianne’s… friend.” She hesitated, unsure what label to use for the two of them. “Christopher, this is my youngest daughter, Margaret.”
“Nice to meet you, Margaret,” he said, extending a hand with a smile.
“It’s Meg,” she corrected, rolling her eyes as she shook his hand. “Margaret sounds like a name for someone’s grandmother.”
He chuckled at her bluntness. “Fair enough, Meg. But even if it’s a bit old-fashioned, I think Margaret is still a beautiful name.”
Meg blushed slightly, clearly caught off guard by the compliment. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she turned to her sister. “So, is Christopher your boyfriend?”
“Meg!” Marianne’s face turned crimson as she threw her hands up in embarrassment. She turned to him, her cheeks still flushed. “I’m so sorry. My sister seems to have left her manners upstairs.”
“Meg, don’t tease your sister,” Mary said with a hint of amusement in her voice.
“I’m sorry,” Meg replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be nice now.”
The tension eased, and they settled into what turned out to be a pleasant lunch. Meg chatted animatedly about her plans after finishing secondary school. Although she and Mary had visited several universities throughout the year, Meg wasn’t sure the timing was right, so she’d decided on a different path—travel.
“I know it makes Mama nervous,” she admitted, shooting a quick glance at her mother, “but I’ve found some friends with similar ambitions, and they’re responsible. They’re all excited to include me.”
Mary hesitated, her concern evident. “I just worry. You’re still so young, Meg. I don’t want you getting into anything that could be dangerous.”
She gave a small sigh, smoothing her hands over her lap, clearly torn between wanting to support her daughter and fearing the unknown. “But I suppose... I suppose it could be good for you. You’ve always wanted to explore, and I know you’ll be careful. Just promise me you’ll keep in touch and take care of yourself, alright?”
Meg gave her mother a reassuring smile. “I promise, Mama. I’ll be careful. I’m not going off into the wild unknown alone. These are people I trust.”
“I think it could be good for her,” Christopher chimed in. “When I was about Meg’s age, I joined the military, and it gave me a chance to travel and experience things I wouldn’t have otherwise. It was a valuable experience. I understand your concerns, though, Mary. Trust is important. Meg will need to be sure she can rely on her friends, and they need to trust her, too.”
Meg flashed him a grateful smile for siding with her. As she asked him about his time in the military, the conversation drifted from his experiences to other topics—his favorite books, his thoughts on travel, even his favorite movies. Slowly, she began to realize that he seemed to be a decent guy. Despite the teasing she’d given Marianne ever since catching them sharing a passionate kiss a month ago right in full view from the front window, she couldn’t deny that Christopher genuinely cared about her sister. And if she was happy, Meg was willing to accept him, no matter what.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Christopher leaned back in his chair after the rich slice of chocolate cake Mary had baked for dessert that afternoon. With a smile, he slipped his arm around Marianne's shoulders. “This was all delicious,” he said. “Mary, you’re an incredible baker. But if Marianne and I are to make that movie, we should probably get going.”
The two of them thanked Mary for the wonderful meal and bid Meg goodbye before heading out the door and into his car. He opened the door for her, as he always did, and though she’d grown used to his chivalry, she still couldn’t help but be charmed by how natural it felt.
As they drove down the street, Marianne glanced over at him, a thought crossing her mind. “You know,” she began carefully, “I was thinking... you’ve seen my home. When can I see yours?”
He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re okay with a later movie, we could head there now.”
“Really?” Marianne said. “I’d love that, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“None at all,” he assured her with a smile.
She smiled back at him as she settled back in her seat, unable to help but wonder what his home would be like. Would it reflect the quiet yet caring man she had come to know in the past month, or would it offer glimpses of him she hadn’t yet encountered? The idea of stepping into his world left her with a small thrill, the anticipation of something new and unknown.
As they made their way through the crowded city streets, his eyes flicked toward the towering structure ahead. “It’s right up there,” he said, gesturing toward a building that stood apart from the sleeker glass towers around it.
Marianne’s gaze lifted to the building, and she couldn’t help but marvel at its commanding presence. It wasn’t the tallest structure, but its intricate design stood out in a way that made it impossible to ignore. The stone façade, worn with time but still beautiful, seemed rich with vibrant history. The windows, tall and framed by arches, seemed to speak of a time when this building had been a hub of culture and ambition.
She couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, as if she were about to step into a world far more refined than her own. She had passed buildings like this during her commutes, often wondering what kind of people lived inside, what their lives might be like. Now, looking up at it through the car window, she felt as though she were on the edge of stepping into something unfamiliar and slightly intimidating.
“Wow,” Marianne breathed, gazing at the structure. “You live there? It’s stunning. Which floor?”
“The top,” he said casually.
Her eyes widened. “The top? That’s… that’s the penthouse, isn’t it?” She hesitated, caught off guard. The idea of someone she knew living in a space like this seemed surreal. “I... I didn’t expect all this. It’s nothing like what I imagined.”
He gave a small, modest smile. “I would’ve preferred somewhere a bit more remote, honestly. Somewhere quieter. But I needed to be close enough to the office. Finding a place I could feel comfortable in... that was the priority.”
He turned the corner and eased the car into the parking garage, smoothly pulling into his designated spot. After cutting the engine, he stepped out and opened her door, offering her his hand.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s head out the side and take the front entrance. You’ll want to take it all in.”
Though he wasn’t trying to show off, he noticed the curiosity in her eyes. He wanted her to feel at home here, to see the space as something familiar, something that could feel like hers too. The idea of spending more time here with her, in his world, settled into his thoughts in a way that made him eager yet uncertain.
They left the garage and made their way to the quiet side street. As soon as they turned the corner onto the main road, the city’s chatter, honking cars, the shuffle of distant footsteps seeped in. It was suddenly everywhere, a contrast to the calm they’d just stepped out of.
They stepped through the glass doors of the entrance and into the lobby, where the front desk concierge gave them a brief nod as they passed. The space felt both inviting and slightly imposing, with its high ceilings and sleek furnishings. It was calm, almost still though, the din of the city outside barely reaching them. As they approached the elevator, Christopher didn’t press a button like most would. Instead, he pulled a small fob from his pocket and waved it at a hidden sensor.
Marianne raised an eyebrow. “What’s that for?”
“This elevator goes straight up to the penthouse without stopping,” he explained. “The fob gives me access.”
“You’re full of surprises,” she said, watching him with a new layer of curiosity.
Once they ascended to the top floor, they stepped off the elevator into a small vestibule, its soft hum barely reaching them as they stepped off. He unlocked the door to his apartment and pushed it open, allowing her to step inside first. Marianne’s eyes immediately caught the expanse of the space, which seemed to unfold in front of her, as if it had been waiting for her arrival.
The entryway welcomed her with warmth, the rich texture of the wood floors grounding her as she moved deeper into the apartment. Her fingers brushed the wall, the coolness of the surface a comforting contrast to the warmth of the room.
Ahead of her, the living area spread out before her, bathed in natural light. The bright kitchen caught her attention first. The warm, reddish hue of the cabinets contrasted beautifully with the sleek, white countertops and the soft green pattern of the backsplash that hinted at nature without overwhelming the space.
As she moved past the kitchen island, her fingers lightly grazed the cool stone, a brief, soothing touch against the room’s warmth. The minimalist stools tucked neatly beneath invited you to settle in and relax with a cup of coffee.
Her eyes shifted toward the dining area. The table, simple and solid wood, stood ready for conversation, its surface set for eight, though there was plenty of space for more. Above, soft globe lights bathed the room in a warm glow, giving everything an effortless, lived-in feel.
Marianne continued further into the space, her gaze following the curve of the sunken living area. The stone fireplace anchored the room, its steady, cool presence offering balance to the surrounding warmth. The furniture was a blend of soft neutrals and touches of color. It had a welcoming quality, as though the room was eager for someone to settle in and enjoy its comfort.
“It’s so cozy,” she murmured, her hand sinking into the soft cushions of the couch. The initial elegance of the building no longer seemed intimidating. Instead, the room reflected the way Christopher made her feel—welcoming and easy to be in, a sharp contrast to the more reserved nature he showed to others. She imagined herself here on a relaxed evening, surrounded by the room’s gentle warmth.
The back wall of the apartment was lined with large windows that opened up to a sweeping view of the terrace. She stepped through the French doors, immediately drawn to the expansive space. The outdoor space wrapped around the apartment, offering a private corner that still felt connected to the city below. Potted plants added a touch of nature, their vibrancy softening the hard edges of the urban landscape beyond.
She stood at the edge for a moment, letting the cool breeze settle around her, the stillness of the terrace a sharp contrast to the city below. “It’s so peaceful up here,” she said. “I can’t believe we’re still in the city.”
“I know. It’s one of the reasons I bought the place,” he told her. “Would you like to see the rest?”
“Please,” she replied. “Lead the way.”
They made their way back inside, heading toward the front of the apartment. Passing through a wide opening and stepping down a few stairs, they reached the den. The room settled around them, warm and inviting. A large TV dominated one wall, and the large, soft sectional seemed to invite you to sink in and forget the day.
They crossed the gallery again, turning down a hallway on the right. Marianne slowed as they passed the library. She studied the shelves lined with books, each one a subtle reflection of his personality. She couldn’t help wondering what else the space might reveal. The hall continued past a small powder room, two guest rooms, and a full guest bathroom before finally opening up to the primary suite.
She hesitated in the doorway, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. She searched his face for any hint of how he felt about her stepping into this part of his life. He met her gaze with a reassuring smile, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. The touch, simple but steady, made her feel at ease and gave her the push to step inside.
The room was warm, a natural continuation of the comfort she’d already found in the rest of the apartment. Her gaze moved to the king-sized bed against the slatted feature wall, its rich wood tones adding depth to the space. Marianne ran her fingers along the fabric of the headboard, the navy contrasting softly with the cream bedding. She wasn’t sure why, but the simple act of touching it made her feel grounded, as if the room was inviting her to settle, if only for a moment.
The back wall was lined with windows as well, but unlike the living room, the deep navy curtains and cream sheers kept the outside world at bay. They framed the view, leaving just the two of them in the room’s soft, steady light.
As her gaze drifted across to the dresser, she noticed the unique chevron pattern in the wood, a subtle but striking detail. The ultra-thin TV mounted on the wall added to the room’s cozy atmosphere.
Marianne turned slightly, her eyes landing on the two doors leading to the walk-in closet and the bathroom. She imagined how the space would feel in the morning light, just her and the world outside still. Glancing at him again, she realized this room wasn’t just a sanctuary, but a reflection of the composed, thoughtful and warm man who lived here.
“It’s perfect,” Marianne said softly, taking in the entire room. A sense of ease settled over her, as though the space mirrored the simple calm she felt when she was with him. In that moment, she could imagine herself here, just as he had already, the connection between them growing more familiar with each passing second.
Their gazes met, the air between them thickening. He closed the distance, his hand gently cupping her cheek, while hers rested on his stomach, feeling the warmth of him through the soft fabric of his sweater. Without a word, he leaned in, their lips meeting softly at first, a gentle exchange. But the kiss deepened quickly, urgent in its unspoken desire.
Marianne’s hand slid up to his neck, pulling him closer, her heart pounding in her chest. For a fleeting moment, the rest of the world vanished, and it felt as though there was only them—just the room, just the kiss. Everything else faded, leaving only the sharp clarity of the connection between them.
But then, as if sensing the line between what was and what could be, the kiss slowed. They pulled back slightly, breathless, their foreheads still pressed together. Marianne’s hand lingered on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingers. He took a small step back, caught between wanting more and the tension of what was hanging in the air.
“Do you still want to see the movie?” he asked, letting her decide.
She hesitated, her thoughts a swirl of emotions. Part of her wanted nothing more than to continue and let the moment unfold, but another part of her, the part that sometimes measured her actions carefully, held her back.
“No… but I still think we should,” she said with a hint of uncertainty. “I just… need a moment to clear my head. But I don’t want to lose this.”
He understood her desire and hesitation. “We won’t. We’ll know when the time is right.”
As they left his apartment, the air between them felt heavy, but not in a way that was suffocating. It was the kind of weight that only came with a shift, a deepening understanding that neither of them had to speak aloud. They didn’t need words to know the door they’d just opened together. The tension between them, a delicate balance of desire and restraint, wasn’t resolved, but that was okay.
Marianne glanced at him as they stepped into the elevator, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like she was stepping into unfamiliar territory. She was beginning to understand that this—whatever it was—marked the beginning of something wonderful.
“Oh my god, Christopher,” Marianne said, her eyes widening in delight as she took the first bite of her red velvet brownie. “This is amazing ! You have to try this.”
“If you insist,” he replied, laughing. He took a corner of her brownie with his fork, making sure to scoop up a bit of the cream cheese frosting. “It’s incredible. Though it seems your chin thinks so too,” he added, handing her a napkin.
Marianne’s hand shot to her chin. “Oh no! How bad is it?” She dabbed at the spot where the icing had dripped, then stuck her chin out toward him. “Better?”
He inspected her chin for a moment. “Perfect.”
It had been just over a month since their first date, and in that time, things had settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly comfortable. On this pleasant afternoon, they were back at the same coffee shop where it all started. It now felt like a small, familiar piece of their growing connection. Marianne was determined to try every tempting sweet the shop had to offer, and today, the red velvet brownie had been an easy choice.
She leaned in a little, her tone teasing. “How’s that almond croissant treating you?”
Before he could respond, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the coffee shop.
“Marianne?” A man’s voice called out.
Marianne turned at the sound of her name, blinking as the man stepped into view. It only took a brief moment for her to place him—the mop of sandy blonde hair, the confident smirk on his face. It had been a few years since they parted ways. He once was a constant fixture in her life, but now, it felt like a lifetime ago.
"Andrew," she said, her smile wavering briefly. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected him. "Wow, it’s been a while. How’ve you been?"
Andrew’s grin widened, his eyes bright with excitement from the unexpected reunion. "Good! I’m so glad I ran into you," he said. "I’ve actually been thinking about you a lot lately."
Marianne faltered for a moment, but quickly composed herself. “I’m sorry, Christopher, this is Andrew.” She paused, deciding honesty was the best route here. “We… dated for a few semesters at university. Andrew, this is Christopher.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said warmly, extending a hand.
Andrew shook his hand, his gaze passing briefly between the two of them before deciding to push ahead, focusing more intently on her.
“Marianne, I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime and catch up.” He said casually, but with a hint of something more.
Marianne hesitated, her gaze flicking to Christopher. He watched the exchange with mild amusement. It felt strange seeing an old flame now, in the context of her life with the man who had so quickly begun to feel like home. Andrew had been part of her past, someone who never seemed interested in anything serious. And now, she realized, whatever he wanted from her wasn’t something she was willing to revisit.
With a slow exhale, Marianne turned her attention back to their visitor. “I’m sorry, Andrew, but I’m going to have to decline. Christopher and I have been seeing each other for a little while now.” She squeezed his hand, a simple gesture meant to reaffirm the boundary, but it also helped her ground herself in the present. “But I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”
His smile faltered for a moment, and Marianne could see the shift in his eyes—surprise, then something closer to disappointment. "Oh. I didn’t realize it was like that," he said, shifting his focus between them. He nodded, the edges of his smile stiffening. "Well, it was good seeing you again, Marianne. And you," he added, turning to Christopher, offering a quick handshake before retreating. "Take care."
As Andrew walked away, Marianne let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She didn’t even notice that her hand was still resting in Christopher’s.
"I think he’s a little disappointed,” Christopher teased, leaning back in his seat.
Marianne flushed with embarrassment. "I’m sorry. He’s the last person I ever thought I’d run into. We dated on and off for a few semesters, but he was more into partying and video games than anything else. I... I just got tired of it and decided to focus on my studies." She absentmindedly picked at the crumbs of her brownie, lost in thought for a moment.
Noticing her discomfort, he squeezed her hand gently. "You don’t have to apologize. We all have a past."
She looked up at him, her curiosity piqued. "What about you?" she asked. "I know about the woman you were set up with at the lounge. But... I remember you mentioning the song I sang reminded you of someone else. It stuck with me."
His expression tightened, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to look right through her, as if the present had momentarily slipped away. When he spoke again, his voice was more measured. "The woman I was referring to... her name was Eliza. She loved that song you sang. We were together when I was in school, but parted ways after I joined the military. We reconnected again when I was at university. But… she died... fifteen years ago."
His voice caught just slightly on the words. "And that song,” he said, his eyes drifting for a moment, the memories clouding his face. "Well, you know the lyrics."
Marianne's heart sank, and her hand instinctively covered her mouth in shock. "Oh, Christopher," she whispered. "I’m so sorry. I never would’ve asked if I’d known."
He waved it off with a gentle shake of his head. "It’s alright, really. It was a long time ago. I’ve learned to live with it."
He exhaled slowly, trying to release a burden that never quite lifted. "After her death, I threw myself into the business. John Middleton and I worked tirelessly to get the company off the ground. The first few years, dating wasn’t even on my radar—there was just no space for anything else. But when things started taking off, I thought I should try again."
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening. "But it was always the same. Most women seemed more interested in what I had than who I was. They didn’t really care to know me."
His hand moved across the table, a silent plea for her to understand, and he took hers in his. His voice softened even more. "But you… I’ve never met anyone like you, Marianne. I’m so grateful you’re here with me now."
Something unexpected welled up inside her, a warmth that took her by surprise. "Nor have I," she said, squeezing his hand. "In the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve felt more for you than I ever have for anyone else."
They sat there, their hands clasped together, a shared understanding passing between them. For a moment, all was calm, the silence filled only by the sound of their breaths.
But for Christopher, beneath the calm, a storm churned quietly within him. The memory of Eliza loomed, heavy as ever, mingling with a profound guilt that never seemed to fade. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed her, that if he should have done things differently. Maybe if he had been the one to take care of her that night, she would still be here. Maybe their child would be, too. He had lost so much in that moment—his love, his future, his family.
And yet, sitting here with Marianne, imagining a future with her, the paradox hit him with a brutal clarity. If Eliza had lived, if things had gone as he had once hoped, this moment and this profound connection with Marianne, would never have happened. And still, even with this knowledge, the sting of loss clung to him sharper than he cared to admit.
Notes:
I’ll admit, this chapter has a bit of filler, but sometimes it’s necessary to set the scene. Christopher’s apartment is heavily inspired by mid-century modern design. In the early drafts, it sounded like a catalog or real estate listing, with every detail laid out. I scaled back on the specifics and chose instead to focus on how Marianne interacted with and felt in the space. I hope you’re able to envision his home as a warm, inviting space that reflects both his personality and the comfort he offers Marianne.
Chapter 8: Now
Notes:
I hope you enjoy Chapter 8! Moving forward, I’ll be updating on Sundays. Don’t worry—this story has been in the works for a while, and I’ve written many more chapters already, so updates should be consistent.
Originally, I planned for around 20 chapters, but it’s looking like the story will go beyond that. Aligning the present chapters with key moments from the past has turned out to be more challenging than expected, but I’m hoping the extra effort will be worth it in the end!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
John Willoughby didn’t like being told what to do, especially not by people he considered beneath him. Elinor Ferrars was one of them. There was no denying her intelligence or sense of duty, but she had a tendency to overstep, particularly when it came to her sister.
So when she called to inform him that Marianne had finally agreed to see him, rattling off a list of instructions on how to approach her, Willoughby couldn’t suppress an eye roll. He didn’t need a lecture. He needed Marianne to come around and get their engagement back on track. Elinor’s constant interference was an obstacle he hadn’t anticipated, but one he fully intended to maneuver around.
She briefed him further on Marianne’s condition, detailing the memory loss that had wiped out the last year of her life. He already knew she didn’t remember him. He knew she still believed she was with that insufferable man who had broken her heart. Willoughby almost felt a twinge of pity for her, but he smothered it before it could take root. Someone less astute might see her condition as a setback. He saw it as an opportunity to rebuild their connection and prove he was the man she needed. If that meant starting from scratch, so be it.
He remembered how he’d first approached her—charming, carefree. It hadn’t been difficult. She was vulnerable. She needed someone, and he’d been all too willing to step in. At the time, he told himself it was just for fun, a bit of amusement.
But now, the thought of losing her was more unsettling than he’d expected. Almost... uncomfortable. He shoved the feeling aside. Marianne wasn’t just a beautiful woman, she was an opportunity. Getting close to the Dashwoods was a step up. She could be his ticket to something bigger, and he wasn’t ready to let that go. He could win her back. He would.
As he walked down the sterile hospital hallway, he caught his reflection in a window. His fingers moved instinctively, adjusting the collar of his shirt, smoothing the tailored fabric of his pants. He looked every bit the concerned fiancé who had once held Marianne’s heart, and who would again, if he had his way. She would remember what they shared. She had to.
He knocked gently on the door.
“Come in,” Elinor’s voice rang out, a controlled coolness hiding the disdain beneath it.
Willoughby opened the door slowly, stepping in with easy assurance. Marianne sat up in bed, dressed in a soft T-shirt and joggers, having clearly abandoned the hospital gowns. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, a few stray curls framing her face. He understood she’d been through a lot in recent days, but he couldn’t help noticing how far her appearance fell from the polished woman he remembered. She was no longer the version of herself he had once so carefully shaped.
Marianne studied him, searching her mind for any trace of recognition, but came up empty. She turned to her sister for guidance.
“Marianne, this is John Willoughby,” Elinor said, kneeling beside the bed. “Remember, dear, you’re in charge. I’ll be right outside. The staff has been instructed that if you need him to leave at any point, they’ll escort him out. Alright?”
Marianne nodded, her gaze drifting back to Willoughby as Elinor left her side. Before exiting, Elinor shot Willoughby a final look, a commanding note in her tone. “Be good to her.”
Willoughby’s lip curled in slight disdain at the remark, but he quickly schooled his expression as he approached Marianne. He moved with careful intention, projecting warmth under a mask of restraint.
“Marianne, darling,” he said warmly. “I’m so glad you’re awake.” He faltered briefly before sitting beside her. “I’ve been worried about you… so much.”
Marianne took him in, her mind struggling to piece together any sense of familiarity. There was no denying he was striking. His features were sharp, yet softened by a youthful vitality. His brown eyes, wide and bright, seemed full of energy, and his dark hair was styled with an effortlessness that belied the care behind it. His confident posture only deepened the disorienting feeling that she should know him.
However, there was nothing about him that felt familiar, no spark of recognition. She studied him with increasing doubt, but the longer she looked, the less sense he made. The man before her didn’t seem to belong to any part of her past, yet his presence here reminded her that he must have once had a place in it.
“Hi,” she said quietly. “I’m really sorry... I don’t remember you.”
Willoughby was caught off guard by her directness, the sharpness in her voice jarring against the version of her he had grown used to. When they first met, she had been vulnerable—grieving, unsure, easily swept up in the comfort he offered. He had mirrored what she seemed to want at the time, all intensity and affection, the illusion of a whirlwind romance.
But once she began to find her footing again and her true self emerged, he had quietly steered her back, reshaping her into someone more manageable. Now, stripped of his influence, she was slipping out of the mold he had so carefully pressed her into.
It bothered him more than he cared to admit.
“It’s alright, Marianne,” he said, taking her hands in his. “I know you’ve been through a lot. I just need you to know… I’ve missed you very much. More than I can say.”
Marianne stared at his hands wrapped around hers, a cold unease spreading through her. Why did his touch feel so foreign, so unsettling? Slowly, she pulled her hands away from his grip, the action almost instinctive.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she murmured, sounding lost. “Everyone tells me I know you, but… there’s nothing. I’m so confused.”
Willoughby’s smile remained steady, though his eyes darkened for a moment, quickly masked by his calm demeanor. He pulled out his phone, offering it to her with a casual, almost eager gesture.
“Here, look at these photos of us,” he said. “These were taken throughout the summer.”
She scanned the photos, her frown deepening with each one. The woman in the pictures was unmistakably her, but something about them felt wrong. Her face was thinner and her skin paler. At first, she’d assumed it was from recovery, but the more she looked, the more she realized the change had started long before the accident. The thinner frame had been there even then.
She continued scrolling through the photos, but the version of herself seemed more out of place. This woman appeared polished, almost unrecognizable. Her hair was sleek and styled, lacking the carefree curls she remembered. The clothes were stiff and sophisticated, nothing like she was now. In one photo, she was holding up her left hand, the giant engagement ring gleaming in the light. The smile on her face was wide, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
She studied the image, discomfort settling in as she faced what was supposed to be. The wedding was just days away, but it felt like she was looking into someone else’s life. She wondered how much of it had been real.
“We were supposed to get married at the end of the month,” Marianne said quietly, almost to herself.
Willoughby’s voice cut into her thoughts, laced with frustration. “Yes, but I had to cancel everything... lost all the deposits.” He paused, then softened. “But none of that matters now. You’re what matters.”
The images blurred in her mind as her thoughts scrambled to catch up. She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. “I don’t remember any of this,” she whispered. "I’m still with Christopher.” Her voice cracked with the lie, but it was one she needed. “I love him. I’m sure of it.”
Willoughby’s expression tightened, the patience in his eyes thinning. “Christopher?” He exhaled sharply, barely concealing the anger simmering beneath the surface. “Marianne, he broke your heart.”
She stiffened, a cold pang of panic rising. “What do you mean?” Her voice trembled. “He would never—”
“He hurt you,” Willoughby said, more firmly now. “You told me everything. I was there when he wasn’t. And I’m here now, helping you pick up the pieces.”
The force of his words hit her unexpectedly, making her flinch. “No.” She shook her head, as if the motion could clear the fog. “I don’t... I can’t believe that. He said we wanted different things, but…” She trailed off, unable to reconcile the past with this strange new reality.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” She blinked rapidly. “It’s too soon. I think you should go.”
Willoughby’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening before he caught himself. “Marianne, please. Let me help you. Let me show you I’m here for you.”
Her thoughts tangled, struggling to make sense of him. The man in front of her felt more like a stranger with every passing second. Her clouded mind made it even harder to grasp anything solid. She should be feeling something, but there was nothing to hold on to.
“I need space,” she said. “I need time. Please... you need to go.”
As he turned toward the door, Marianne couldn’t look away. She watched him leave, the door clicking shut behind him. Relief flooded her briefly, before it gave way to a deeper unease. The room felt lighter, but her mind churned with a need for answers she wasn’t ready to face.
“You ready, dear?” Nurse Betsy asked, gently guiding Marianne into the wheelchair. “Your sisters have packed up all of your things, and your mother is finishing up with the doctor, getting your discharge papers.”
Marianne glanced around the room, clutching the vase of flowers Christopher had brought her, as though they might anchor her in this strange moment. “Yes, I think so,” she replied. “Thank you for everything. I’m glad I can go home.”
Her smile was faint but genuine. The words felt right, but once they left her mouth, her mind began to spiral. Home. What did that even mean now? Was it Christopher’s penthouse, the place she’d shared with him for the past two years? Or Willoughby’s townhouse, the one she’d been told she lived in before the accident, but couldn’t recall?
She frowned, frustration creeping in. That was then. Home now meant moving back in with her mother. And while she knew her mother’s background as a pediatric nurse would help with her recovery, the idea of returning to her childhood home made it feel like her life was moving in reverse.
“I’m… still adjusting, I suppose,” she said, trying to excuse the uncertainty in her voice.
“It’s okay, dear. You’ll get there,” the nurse reassured her gently as she wheeled Marianne down the hall. They met her mother at the nurse’s station, where the doctor was finishing up some last-minute paperwork.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Mary said with a grateful nod. “I’ll make sure she gets all the outpatient care she needs, and I'll be there to support her at home.”
Marianne’s recovery plan included weekly visits to the neurologist to monitor any lasting effects on her brain, sessions with a physical therapist for her ankle and shoulder, and twice-weekly neuropsychologist appointments to help rebuild her memory. Between appointments, she was advised to rest and manage her stress. Visitors were allowed, but like in the hospital, she was encouraged to limit interactions at first, avoiding anything that might overwhelm her or push her to fill the memory gaps too quickly.
She was wheeled through the hospital halls, the stark environment slowly fading as they reached the main entrance, where Meg had already pulled the car around. Mary and the nurse helped her into the front seat, while her sister carefully packed the rest of her belongings into the back. Needing to return to the office, Elinor promised to stop by later that evening to check on her. After another round of heartfelt thanks, they were on their way.
As the car rolled through the city, she gazed out the window reflecting on her surroundings. The bustling cityscape gave way to the calm, familiar streets of her residential neighborhood. At least this much I remember, she thought, a small comfort amidst the instability.
When they arrived home, her first request was to shower and get rid of what she called the “hospital smell.” She also asked to relax in the back family room, hoping the change of scenery might calm her nerves. Mary offered to help her with the shower, but Marianne gently, firmly declined. “I can manage that on my own,” she said, though she did ask for help getting up the stairs.
Once clean and dressed in fresh, comfortable clothes, she sank into the plush sofa in the family room. The exhaustion of the day, paired with the haze surrounding her memory, left her feeling drained. But then, something unexpected happened. A warm, familiar pressure settled on her lap. She looked down in surprise as a large black cat leapt up and curled comfortably against her.
“Mama, who’s this?” Marianne asked as the cat gazed up at her with bright, curious eyes before letting out a small meow.
“That’s Lucky,” her mother replied. “You adopted him shortly after…” she faltered, unsure of how to continue. “Shortly after you moved back home earlier this year.”
“Do you mean after Christopher and I broke up?” she asked, the words coming out with effort.
“Yes,” Mary said, nodding. “It was then.”
Marianne’s expression faltered, exhaustion creeping back into her voice. “Mama, it’s okay to mention our split, even if I don’t remember why it happened.” She paused, collecting herself. “I know I need to take things slow, but please… don’t shield things from me that I know I can handle.”
Mary sat beside her, gently resting her hand on Lucky’s sleek fur. “I’m sorry, my dear,” she said. “I’ll be more mindful.”
“Thank you,” Marianne replied, her fingers moving to scratch Lucky under his chin. The cat purred, the comforting sound filling the space between them. “I may not remember getting you,” she whispered. “But I already know I love you.”
“Lucky has been a constant companion, and he’s missed you,” Mary said. Remembering her daughter’s earlier words, she added, “You couldn’t take him with you when you moved in with John Willoughby. He’s very allergic to cats.”
Marianne gazed at the creature beside her. She tried, but couldn’t summon a single memory of bringing Lucky home, or the comfort he might have provided during a difficult time. She looked down at the cat, who seemed to know her so well, and yet, he was a stranger to her.
He nestled deeper into her lap, resting his chin on her arm. Within moments, he was asleep, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing a steady rhythm that calmed the room.
“I think he’s got the right idea,” Marianne murmured. “I think I’d like to rest too.”
“Of course, dear. I won’t be far if you need me,” Mary reassured her.
Marianne closed her eyes, letting the gentle warmth of the moment surround her. As her mind worked to process everything she’d been through, she felt the daunting task ahead of her. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was determined. She would reclaim every piece of herself, no matter how long or difficult the journey would be.
Marianne was already exhausted, and the day wasn’t even half over. Her first outpatient appointment at the neurologist’s office had dragged on for nearly two hours, filled with a series of physical tests that left her worn thin.
It started with a simple task—touching her nose with each finger—but even that felt awkward. Her shoulder ached with every movement, stiff and uncooperative. Then came walking in a straight line. It should’ve been easy, but her ankle still throbbed, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Tests for reflexes, coordination, and vision followed, the doctor quietly typing notes while she pushed through each one. By the end, a familiar weariness crept into her bones. The tasks hadn’t looked like much from the outside, but each one chipped away at her energy, reminding her of the long road ahead.
Despite her discouragement, the doctor was pleased with her progress, especially given how soon she was being evaluated after the injury. Still, each test had left her feeling more exposed than reassured—a reminder of how far she had to go.
Afterward, her mother took her to a nearby café for lunch. Marianne picked at her food, her appetite fading despite Mary’s gentle encouragement.
“You won’t get your strength back if you don’t eat,” her mother said softly.
Marianne offered a faint smile. She knew her mother was right, but she struggled to focus on anything beyond the tiresome morning.
After lunch, they headed across town for her neuropsychologist appointment. In the waiting room, anxiety curled in her stomach. The soft music and occasional shuffle of papers did little to ease her nerves. After the tests at the neurologist’s office, she wasn’t sure squeezing in another appointment today had been wise.
Her mother’s logic was to give her more full rest days per week, which Marianne appreciated. At least physical therapy wasn’t until the next day. Still, she wished she were at home, resting instead of sitting here.
“Marianne Dashwood?” A calm voice called from the doorway, snapping her out of her thoughts.
She stood up, her legs a little shaky as she followed the woman into a small, well-lit office. The room had the clinical but comfortable feel of a professional space. A neat desk was stacked with papers, a few potted plants placed by the window, and a cozy chair near the door. Her mother stayed close, her hand resting lightly on her daughter’s elbow for support as she took slow, careful steps.
The neuropsychologist, a woman in her early fifties with kind hazel eyes, motioned for her to sit. “I’m Dr. Richards. It’s nice to meet you, Marianne.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Marianne smiled faintly as she settled into the chair, trying to ease her discomfort.
Dr. Richards took a seat across from her, folding her hands on the desk. “How are you feeling today?”
She hesitated, then sighed. “Tired. Overwhelmed, I guess.”
“I imagine that’s understandable. You've been through a lot lately.” Dr. Richards nodded empathetically. “This session will be a bit different from the one you had with your neurologist. While they focus on physical function, my job is to help you work through the cognitive and emotional aspects of your recovery.”
Marianne nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant for her just yet.
“I’ll ask you a series of questions, and we’ll work through some exercises together,” the doctor continued. “It’s okay if you don’t remember everything perfectly. That’s what we’re here for. You may feel frustrated, or even a little lost at times, but we’ll take it slow, and I’ll be right here with you.”
Marianne allowed herself a moment to relax. The therapist’s calm tone was reassuring, making her feel comfortable with the idea of opening up.
“Let’s start with something simple,” Dr. Richards said, reaching for a clipboard. “Tell me about your typical day before the accident. What would a normal morning look like for you?”
Marianne’s mind went blank; the days leading up to the accident were completely out of reach. She rubbed her eyes and sighed, frustrated. “I… I don’t really remember what my days looked like recently.”
She paused, the sting of it catching her. “But I can tell you what I do remember, if that’s okay?”
She smiled gently. “Of course it is, Marianne. Recounting the things you do remember—no matter how long ago—can help unlock the parts still out of reach.”
“Well,” Marianne began slowly, her thoughts racing as she searched for the words. “I used to wake up around seven o’clock. Christopher would already be up, with coffee and breakfast waiting for me. Then we’d get ready for the day and head out. I’m a teacher…” she trailed off, unease creeping in. Was that still true? She knew it was summer, that school was out, but still…
Dr. Richards made a note, her voice calm. “Christopher. Is he someone important to you?”
“Yes.” Her voice held a mix of confusion and longing. “We were together... I’m told it lasted four years, but then we broke up. I don’t remember when or why. And now, I’m told I’m engaged to another man, but I don’t know him at all.”
The therapist’s expression softened. “That’s okay. We’ll work through it together. Memory isn’t just facts, Marianne. It can also be emotions and connections. Sometimes memories hold feelings more than events.”
Dr. Richards guided Marianne through a few more exercises, testing her short-term memory with simple lists of words and objects. These felt easy, as if the information was still fresh. Though some gaps remained around the moments before her fall, her ability to recall recent details seemed solid.
At the end of the session, the doctor offered her reassurance. “You’re on the right track. There will be ups and downs, but every day you move closer to understanding yourself again. We’ll go at your pace.”
Marianne left the office feeling drained, her mind already heavy from the day’s work. She settled into her seat, the rhythm of the passing scenery almost lulling her into a daze. Then an unsettling thought from earlier resurfaced.
“Mama,” Marianne murmured, breaking the silence. “How am I going to start the new school year if I’m not better by then? If I still don’t remember everything, how will I teach?”
Mary’s hands tightened on the steering wheel before she answered. “You don’t need to worry about that. You decided to take a break from teaching when things got serious with John. You finished the school year, but you weren’t planning to go back.”
Marianne blinked, taken aback. “I… quit teaching? How could I… ” The thought felt wrong, like a decision someone else had made for her. Walking away from something so central to her identity seemed impossible, but hearing her mother speak so plainly unsettled her.
Mary glanced at her for a moment before returning her eyes to the road. “Yes. After you got engaged, you wanted to focus on your life with him. Teaching and singing felt like too much to handle. The wedding, building a future together—that’s what mattered most to you.”
Marianne frowned as she processed her mother’s words. She couldn’t imagine giving up teaching, or singing, for that matter. They were a part of her, or at least they used to be. “I stopped singing too?”
Mary hesitated before answering. “I’m afraid so, dear. You thought your new life with him would be enough.”
The sadness in her mother’s voice clung to Marianne, unwelcome and suffocating. “I would have gone back to it, though, right?” she murmured, as if trying to convince herself. “What else have I forgotten about myself?”
Mary didn’t answer immediately. The only sound for a moment was the hum of the car, the road stretching before them. Marianne sat in the silence, her thoughts churning.
What had she left behind, and who had she become?
The next week's sessions followed a similar rhythm to the first. At the neurologist's office, Marianne showed slight improvement in her physical assessments. Her visit to the physical therapist went well too; he confirmed that her injuries were healing at a good pace and she’d likely only need a few more weeks of care before transitioning to home exercises. But the progress during her neuropsychologist sessions felt slower, more elusive. Each session felt like being pulled into a rip tide, draining her strength with every simple memory test.
One afternoon, after a particularly draining session, her mother broke the silence with news she hoped would lift her spirits.
“Marianne, dear,” Mary asked, “do you feel up to some company this weekend?”
Marianne hesitated, the thought of visitors overwhelming her. Though she’d appreciated seeing Christopher in the hospital, Willoughby’s visit had left her drained. The idea of more people tugged at her, but she didn’t want to sound unappreciative. “I don’t know, Mama. It depends on who it is.”
“I’ve been in touch with Christopher,” Mary said. “He’s been busy with work, but he asked if he could come by Saturday afternoon. What do you think?”
Marianne’s heart lightened at the mention of his name. “Of course he can come, Mama. I’d love to see him.”
“Me too,” she confessed with a smile. “I’ll let him know when we get home.”
When Saturday afternoon finally arrived, Marianne took extra care with her curls, gently tying a ribboned headband at the base of her neck. She didn’t fully understand the impulse to look nice for Christopher’s visit. While she hadn’t quite worked up the courage to abandon the comfort of her joggers and t-shirts, her hair was something she could still reclaim.
She sank into the sofa, the place she returned to whenever the world felt too loud. As the time ticked closer to Christopher’s arrival, her nerves tightened. Even though their relationship had changed and she wasn’t sure where it stood now, she trusted him.
The doorbell rang, and Marianne straightened, her pulse quickening. Her mother stood to answer it, handling the small tasks with ease. Still easily fatigued, Marianne appreciated the way Mary took charge without a second thought.
When Christopher entered the family room, he wasn’t empty-handed. He carried a drink carrier with four to-go cups and a sack of pastries from their favorite coffee shop.
“Chris!” Marianne exclaimed, her face lighting up. “What’s all this?”
“I couldn’t come empty-handed,” he replied with a warm smile. “I brought something for everyone—your mother, Meg, and of course, you.”
“Thank you, Christopher,” Mary said. “That’s really thoughtful. I’ll take Meg’s up to her and let you two have some privacy.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” Marianne said once her mother had left the room. “What’s in the bag for me?” she asked, peeking into the bag with curiosity.
“Well,” he teased, “you can have one of those awful croissants with the chocolate-hazelnut spread you love so much, or you can be a ‘normal’ person and go for the almond one.”
Christopher could never quite acquire a taste for the overly sweet pastry Marianne was so fond of.
“I’ll be awful, thank you very much! Of course I want the chocolate-hazelnut one!” she exclaimed, laughing. The easy banter between them felt good, a welcome relief after such a draining week.
“So, how have you been?” he asked, as they devoured their treats. “I wanted to reach out sooner, but it’s been busy at the office. Your mother also mentioned your appointments have been leaving you a little run down.”
“She’s right,” Marianne admitted with a sigh. “They’re exhausting, and progress feels slow. But the doctors say I’m doing well... I just wish it were happening faster.”
“I can imagine.” But before he could say more, his phone buzzed. “Sorry,” he muttered, glancing at the screen. “I just need to make sure this isn’t urgent.”
He pulled out his phone, and Marianne’s gaze flickered to the screen. Her eyes widened.
“It’s nothing important. Just an update from John Middleton. Wait—Marianne, what’s wrong?” he asked, noticing her serious expression.
“The date,” she said tightly, reaching for the phone, tapping the screen to bring it back to life. “Today’s August 30th…”
“Yes, it is. What’s wrong?” Christopher asked, noticing the shift in her expression.
She shook her head, snapping herself out of the moment. “Nothing,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just... the date caught me off guard.”
Christopher studied her, sensing there was more beneath the surface. “Marianne, it’s okay. You can tell me.”
Her fingers absently traced the fabric of the plush sofa as she spoke. “Today… I was supposed to be getting married today... to John Willoughby.” The words hung in the air between them, settling like a storm on the horizon.
Christopher’s expression shifted, but he said nothing at first. Marianne could see him turning the words over, caught between the past and present. Of course he hadn’t known today was supposed to be her wedding day. He didn’t quite know how to feel. Part of him stung at how far she’d moved on, while another part, one he wasn’t proud of, felt an undeniable relief. She was here with him now instead of walking down an aisle, promising a future to someone else.
“I… haven’t heard from him either,” she admitted. “Not since I told him to leave that day in the hospital. No calls, no messages. I guess I thought…”
Christopher fell silent, his eyes troubled as he searched for the right words. “I’m sorry, Marianne. I can’t pretend to know what that feels like.” He hesitated before adding, “But I know how much it hurts to feel lost. And you won’t have to find your way back alone.”
“It just doesn’t make sense.” Her brow furrowed as she struggled to make sense of it all. “When he visited me in the hospital, he said he loved me. That he was the one who stood by me when... when everything fell apart. He said you were the one who hurt me. And when I asked him to leave, he promised he wasn’t giving up on me.” Her voice wavered, disbelief pulling at her words. “If that’s true... then where is he?”
Christopher’s face tightened for a moment, but he quickly righted his expression, careful not to overstep. “I can’t speak for Willoughby,” he said quietly. “I don’t know him well, just that he briefly handled my business’s account before we switched to Dashwood. But from what I saw, he wasn’t the type to follow through on promises.”
He met her eyes, his expression steady and sincere. “I’m not here to rush you or push you into anything. Just know I’m here for you, whenever you’re ready. And when that time comes, I’ll be honest with you, no matter what.”
Marianne felt her body loosen as Christopher’s words settled in. Was she ready to face the truth about her past with him? The thought was fleeting, interrupted by the soft meow of Lucky as he padded into the room. Christopher turned at the sound, his eyes following the cat’s cautious approach.
“Well, hello there,” a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He reached his hand down slowly, unsure of the proper protocol for greeting a cat. Lucky, as if attuned to human hesitations, jumped lightly onto the couch beside him, curling up with a deep, contented purr.
Marianne chuckled lightly, watching his tentative interaction. “He’s friendly, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen him this bold since I’ve been home. Meg had a few friends over the other night, and the poor thing hid under the bed the whole time.”
Christopher chuckled nervously, gently stroking the cat’s back. “I’ve never had cats before, just a dog when I was young… not sure what I’m supposed to do with him.”
“You seem to be doing just fine,” she reassured him, as Lucky rested his chin comfortably near Christopher’s knee. “I think he likes you.”
As the moment settled between them, Christopher glanced at the cat and raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Lucky, huh? You do know that black cats are supposed to be bad luck, right? I’m not sure this is going to bode well for me.”
Marianne’s lips parted in surprise before a small laugh escaped her. “That’s a terrible superstition!” she blurted out. “Black cats are actually harder to adopt because of it. People think they bring bad luck, but it’s completely unfounded. I remember the shelter worker telling me that when I got him.”
Her words hung in the air, and suddenly, a thought surfaced with undeniable clarity. Marianne’s breath caught as a memory slipped into her mind. She could see the shelter worker, the way she smiled as she spoke about black cats, and the warmth of holding the kitten in her arms.
“I…” She froze, her pulse quickening. “I remember.” Was she speaking to Christopher? To herself? She wasn’t sure.
Christopher’s eyes sharpened with concern. “Marianne?”
She pressed her hand to her temple, trying to hold on to the fleeting clarity. “I… I said that. About black cats and the superstition… at the shelter. She told me the same thing I just told you.”
She stared at the cat, then back at Christopher, as if seeing everything in a new light. “I remember it. I remember it now.”
The words tumbled from her lips, her eyes widening with disbelief. The world outside the room blurred as her mind struggled to catch up with the flood of images and sensations. She had remembered something, a piece of herself she thought was lost.
Christopher’s voice trembled slightly, disbelief softening his tone. “You… you’re saying you remember something now that was blocked before?”
Marianne laughed lightly, almost giddy. “Yes!” Her excitement bubbled up uncontrollably. She hardly knew what to do with herself. “I have to tell Mama. I need to go tell her!”
She started to rise, but her body lagged behind. Her legs wobbled, and Christopher was quick to notice. He stood and stepped toward her, placing a steadying hand on her arm.
“Easy,” he said, guiding her carefully to her feet. “Here, allow me.”
Marianne blinked, a little sheepish but grateful. “Right. Sorry. I just—” She laughed again, joy still there, though tempered by the awareness of her fragile body.
Christopher stood beside Marianne as she made her way to the stairs, his hand steady at her back, ensuring she had the support she needed. When they reached the top, he didn’t let go immediately. His fingers rested on her arm, a gentle pressure to let her know he was still there, still watching over her.
Once she was in her mother’s room, he returned downstairs and settled back into the family room, gently stroking Lucky’s sleek fur. The joy he felt for Marianne in that moment was overwhelming. He had witnessed her first step forward, and he had been there for it. Though he feared the hurt that might come with her memories and the possibility of being seen as part of her past pain, his only wish was for her to find her way back to herself. Her healing mattered more than anything else now.
Notes:
As always, I’d love to hear your feedback! I truly enjoy reading and responding to your comments.
Chapter 9: Then
Notes:
Ah yes, this is the chapter where the “M” rating kicks in. If that’s not your thing, you can skip the last scene and still follow the story just fine.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
The cozy Italian restaurant buzzed with the hum of conversation and clinking silverware. Candlelight flickered from the tables, casting a warm glow, while the faint scent of garlic and fresh bread filled the air. Yet despite the inviting atmosphere, Marianne felt like a world away, her thoughts consumed by tomorrow night.
“Are you nervous about performing?” Christopher asked, watching Marianne absentmindedly twirl her pasta.
She paused, staring at her plate before answering softly. "No. Well, maybe… I don’t know… What if my voice cracks? Or my fingers falter?" She sighed, setting her fork down with a small clink. "What if I make a fool of myself?"
The reality of her big night had finally hit. Her month-long showcase at the Dorset Lounge, a prize she’d won after triumphing at their semi-annual Velvet Mic night, was no longer a distant dream. Six weeks ago, it had felt like an incredible opportunity. But now, with the moment nearly upon her, excitement had transformed into nervousness.
“You’ll do great,” Elinor said, squeezing Marianne’s hand. “You never miss when it counts. You’ve never let nerves get in the way of a performance, and this one won’t be any different. Christopher and I will be there for your opening night, and Edward will come when he can, right?”
Edward looked up from his glass of merlot, his expression thoughtful. “Of course. I’d love to be there tomorrow, but I’ll probably be buried under research for the foreseeable future. The academic grind is a jealous mistress.”
He then glanced at Marianne with a hint of amusement before adding, “I am planning to come when I can, hopefully for the final performance. But I should warn you, I’m already a disappointment to my family. I’d hate to let my girlfriend’s down as well. I just don’t think I have the ear to fully appreciate what you do.”
Marianne laughed, shaking her head. “In that case, I’ll save you a front-row seat for when you finally embrace the artistic side of life.”
After a pause, her expression softened. “But it’s not that I lack confidence in my ability. I know what I’m capable of. I just wish I could be certain that my performance will reach the audience the way I intend. That it’ll mean something to someone else, not just me.”
Christopher set his fork down and wiped his hands before reaching for hers. "Marianne," he said, "your gift is incredible. Remember six weeks ago? Your performance meant something to me then, it stayed with me. I believe in you, in everything you've worked for. I’ll be here, no matter what happens." He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, silently reminding her of his unwavering presence.
Marianne’s lips curled into a smile, the kind that reached her eyes. She leaned over and kissed his cheek lightly. "Thank you. I really needed that."
Across the table, Elinor noticed how easily affection flowed from Christopher—genuine, unforced, and exactly what her sister deserved. A warm sense of contentment settled over her. She was grateful Marianne had found someone who met her with such care and patience.
She thought back to her first impressions of him, a stern no-nonsense businessman who seemed more concerned with numbers than people. But watching him with Marianne now, the warmth and ease, it was clear this side had always been there. It just took the right person to bring it forward.
With a steady hand, Marianne lifted the powder brush and swept it across her forehead and cheeks in slow, practiced strokes, trying to tame the anxious heat rising beneath her skin. It wasn’t fear exactly, just the anticipation of knowing all eyes would soon be on her. She exhaled and studied her reflection in the mirror. The golden bulbs cast a soft, radiant light, wrapping her in a subdued glow, as if the room itself were offering reassurance.
You can do this, she reminded herself. You’ve done it before. That’s why you’re here.
The stage manager had stopped by to check on her and collect the names of her guests for the reserved table. There was other information too, but though she nodded along, none of it seemed to stick.
Lost in her thoughts, Marianne was startled by a gentle knock at the door.
Is it time already?
She’d thought she had a few more minutes. She stood, crossed the room, and smoothed the hem of her dress before easing the door open. To her surprise, Christopher stood there, holding a stunning bouquet of seasonal spring flowers.
“Christopher!” she exclaimed, arms wrapping around him, nearly crushing the bouquet. “Oh my goodness, these are gorgeous.” She lifted the flowers to her face, inhaling their sweet fragrance.
“I’m glad you like them,” he said, smiling. “The florist tried to talk me into roses, but something told me those wouldn’t suit you.”
“You were right!” she replied. “Roses are beautiful, but they’re a bit overdone. These are perfect.” She carefully set the bouquet on the small coffee table and patted the space beside her. “I’m so glad you’re here. But how did you get backstage?”
“When we arrived, the hostess checked our names against the guest list,” Christopher explained, sitting down beside her. “When she saw the flowers, she said I could come backstage and deliver them. I figured I’d bring them myself and see you before you go on.”
He met her surprised expression. “Didn’t they mention guests could come back?”
“You’re so sweet,” she said. “Maybe they did, but they gave me so many instructions, I probably missed it.”
“Are you ready for this?”
“Yes, this time I mean it.” Just then, a second knock echoed at the door. Time was up.
“I’ll be right there in the audience with Elinor.” Not wanting to smudge her lipstick, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, his hand brushing hers as he stood.
She smiled, composed herself, and let the stage manager lead her out.
Elinor smiled at Christopher as he returned to their table near the front of the lounge. It was far enough from the stage for comfort but close enough to stay connected to Marianne’s performance.
“How did she seem?” Elinor asked, taking a sip of her mule. The sharp sting cut through the butterflies swirling in her stomach. The usual flutter for her sister met the anxiety of sitting beside Christopher, one of Dashwood Creative’s newest and most important clients.
“Good,” Christopher said, sampling his Old Fashioned. “Still a few nerves, but she’s feeling better overall. If tonight’s half as good as when she won, she’s got nothing to worry about. They’ll love her.”
“I wish I could’ve seen that,” Elinor said. “But with work and everything else, I probably wouldn’t have focused. Besides, if I’d spotted you here, I might’ve just turned around and left.” She laughed nervously, hoping he didn’t take it the wrong way.
Christopher raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Elinor flushed but couldn’t take back what slipped out. “Honestly… and please don’t take this the wrong way, but... you kind of have a reputation at the office. For being... intimidating.”
He chuckled, amused. “Intimidating, huh? Is that so?” He leaned in a little. “Do go on.”
Elinor blinked. Then, without a word, she reached for her drink and took a longer pull, as if preparing for battle. “Well, back when I only knew you through the firm, you were always so quiet and serious in meetings. No one ever knew what you actually thought, or even if you liked our pitches.
“Some of the team even started calling you ‘Colonel Brandon’ after someone read on your company profile that you’d served in the military, just because you were so... rigid with deadlines and communication.” She winced, looking away for a moment as if wishing she could sink under the table.
There was a brief pause before Christopher burst out laughing. “‘Colonel Brandon,’ huh? I kind of like it. I may just adopt that as my new nickname.”
Relieved that he wasn’t offended, Elinor managed a small laugh. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, of course. I just… I think we all didn’t know how to approach you at first. Now, after seeing you with my sister, I get it. You’re not what we thought. You just have this... focused, professional side at work. But that’s not all there is to you.”
Christopher’s expression softened. “I see what you mean. Our last agency really let us down, and I wanted to make sure the new team could handle everything. But please, don’t let me scare you off.”
He gave her an easy smile. “You’re right, though, I can be pretty rigid with deadlines. In the future, I’ll make sure we don’t overextend you too much.”
“Thank you,” Elinor said, glad to have cleared the air without making a fool of herself. “The firm’s thrilled you trust us, and I’m really glad I’ve had the chance to get to know you better. Marianne adores you, and it’s clear you make her incredibly happy.”
She hesitated for a moment, her shoulders relaxing. “I do worry about her sometimes. She has a kind and passionate heart, but… sometimes I fear people might take advantage of that.”
“She means a lot to me,” Christopher replied, understanding her concern. “I get it, Elinor. Marianne’s heart is one of a kind, and I would never take that for granted. My intentions toward her are honorable, and I’ll always do my best to respect and care for her.”
Elinor looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “I believe you. I truly do.”
Just then, the lights dimmed slightly, and Miles, the lounge’s host, stepped onto the stage with a confident air. He introduced Marianne as the winner of Velvet Mic night, his voice carrying effortlessly through the room. Elinor and Christopher shared a quick, knowing glance, their smiles wide as they leaned in, eager to hear the first notes of Marianne’s performance.
Marianne barely registered Miles’s introduction or the applause that followed. Stepping into the spotlight beside him, her smile was automatic. The stage lights were blinding at first, but as her eyes adjusted, she spotted Christopher and Elinor at the front table. Her smile deepened, and she gave them a small, comforting wave.
She settled into her seat, grateful the piano’s position let her catch glimpses of her guests without losing focus on the keys. Having them close by was a comfort.
She squared her shoulders, fingers grazing the polished keys before playing the opening notes of her first song. As the familiar music filled the room, the last traces of tension fell away. Her gaze drifted towards Christopher and Elinor, a composed smile forming as she began to sing.
Every time I look into your lovely eyes
I see a love that money just can’t buy
One look, from you, I drift away
I pray that you are here to stay
The words flowed naturally, easily. She couldn’t help but glance at Christopher whenever she could, noticing how completely captivated he was, his eyes locked on her, just as they had been before.
She played through the song, letting the last chord hover before lifting her hands from the keys. A brief silence followed, one that settles when no one wants to be the first to break the spell. The stillness in the room quickly transformed as applause erupted. She looked up, smiling as she scanned the room, allowing herself to fully embrace their appreciation.
She waited for the applause to fade before taking a deep breath to loosen the tension in her shoulders. Steadying herself, she reset her posture, ready to begin the next song. She put her own spin on the tempo, deliberately slowing the pace to create a low, simmering tension beneath the melody.
I don't know why I run away
I'll make you cry when I run away
Take me back 'cause I wanna stay
Save your tears for another
Save your tears for another day
Save your tears for another day
Marianne let her fingers rest lightly on the keys as the last notes faded, the room filling once again with applause. Her gaze found Elinor, who offered a small, reassuring smile, then Christopher—still watching her like nothing else existed.
She took a steadying breath, preparing herself for the final song. This one felt different from the others, aching beneath the surface, but closer to the truth. It echoed the parts of herself she rarely gave voice to, the ones that crept in when her confidence wavered or she felt just slightly out of step with the world.
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here
I don't belong here
After the final note of the song hung in the air, the room seemed to stand still for an instant longer. Marianne’s hands remained poised on the keys, unwilling to break the moment just yet. She sat back, eyes closed for a moment, letting the impact of what she’d just shared echo inside her.
The audience, still captivated, took a moment to process before the first clap broke the silence. Slowly, the applause grew, swelling into a thunderous ovation that encompassed the room. The beauty of her voice and the precision of her playing had caught their attention, but it was the vulnerability she’d allowed herself to reveal that held it.
Marianne’s heart pounded, the sudden swell of sound crashing over her. Whatever Miles said next was lost in the rush of adrenaline and the roar of the room. She stood and offered a small, graceful bow, before turning to face the crowd.
There Christopher stood, neither his attention nor his gaze ever wavering from her. A breath of silence stretched between them, saying more than words ever could. She held that look for a heartbeat longer before stepping backstage, the sound of the crowd still echoing in her ears.
Marianne sank into the small sofa in her dressing room, exchanging her performance dress for the comfort of dark jeans and a fitted black sweater. She took a long gulp of water, exhaling as the pressure of the evening eased from her shoulders. She’d done it, and had done well. A small laugh escaped her as she unwound, shaking off the last of her nervous energy.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Come in!” she called, still buzzing with excitement.
Christopher and Elinor stepped inside, their faces bright with smiles. Her heart lifted at the sight of them. She sprang to her feet and pulled her sister into a tight hug.
“Marianne! You were incredible!” Elinor gushed. “And you sang one of Papa’s favorite songs, he was definitely smiling down on you!”
Marianne beamed, still catching her breath. “Thank you, Ellie!”
She turned to Christopher, who had been giving them space. Before she could speak, he pulled her into a caring embrace and spun her around, making her laugh in surprise. He set her down gently, his eyes full of adoration.
“I can’t find the words to tell you how amazing you were,” he said. “I’m so proud of you. I can’t wait to see you perform again.”
Her heart swelled. “Christopher, thank you for being here. For supporting me.”
They shared a brief, tender kiss, then pulled back as Elinor, still standing nearby, gave them a playful smile.
“What do you say we go out and celebrate?” Elinor suggested, her energy infectious.
The pair exchanged a glance, smiles spreading across their faces. Marianne picked up her flowers, and Christopher gathered the rest of her things. Side by side, they stepped out of the dressing room, united by the night’s success.
“Christopher, what is even going on in this show?” Marianne's voice was muffled by his shirt, her face half-hidden as she snuggled closer to him on the expansive sofa in the den.
It had been a few weeks since Marianne’s performance showcase began, things between them settling into a comfortable rhythm. Christopher had been there for every show, always offering his steady support. Since then, they had eased into their relationship, growing closer with each passing day.
Today, after a busy stretch, they were finally enjoying a relaxing Sunday afternoon together. There was rain and an unexpected chill, giving them the perfect excuse to stay in and unwind in front of his massive TV. Christopher had handed her the remote, but after flipping through options without finding anything, she handed it back to him with a sigh. She just never thought he’d pick a detective show set during WWII.
He chuckled, clearly enjoying her snuggled up next to him. “I gave you the chance to pick, and you couldn’t decide, so no complaints about what I chose,” he teased. “It was either this or a documentary.”
“But we’ve been watching for forty minutes, and nothing’s happened!”
“Exactly. The slow build-up makes it compelling. Don’t you appreciate the subtle details in literature?”
Marianne rolled her eyes, but her tone was playful. “Well, yes, I like when my stories go into rich detail when I’m reading. There’s something about getting lost in the words. But this? It could’ve gotten to the point a lot sooner.”
She paused, smirking. “Honestly, this show feels like something my grandfather would have fallen asleep watching. An old show for an old man.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Old man? So you’re now noticing my age, huh?”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “Well, when you watch shows like this, it’s hard not to.”
“This show isn’t even that old,” he shot back. “Maybe you’re just too young to appreciate the slow pace, the attention to detail, and the nuanced storytelling.”
She planted a kiss on his cheek, her eyes betraying a hint of mischief. “Am I too young to appreciate you?”
“Not at all.” He met her playful kiss with a passionate one on her lips. It stretched on, but the sudden vibration of his phone on the coffee table broke the moment. “Sorry, I gotta get this. If John’s calling me on a Sunday, it must be important.”
He stepped out into the corridor that separated the den from the living room. Marianne could catch bits of his conversation, and from the tone of his voice, it didn’t sound like good news.
She shifted, concern creeping in as she waited for him to return. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine with the company,” he reassured her quickly. “But I’m afraid I have to be out of town this Thursday. We’ve secured new enterprise clients, and John and I need to be there to make sure everything runs smoothly.”
Marianne’s heart sank as disappointment crept in. “So you won’t be able to see me perform?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried to get them to push the trip to Monday, but the clients insisted on this week. I’ll leave Wednesday and will return late Friday night. I’ll be there for your performance Saturday, I promise.”
Marianne nodded slowly, forcing a smile. “It’s fine. I understand,” the tightness in her voice betraying her true feelings.
Christopher gave her a long look, sensing the disappointment but choosing not to press. He reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then, without another word, they settled back onto the couch, continuing their lazy afternoon together.
When Saturday rolled around, although the weather was still dreary, Marianne somehow woke up early with the usual kind of excited energy that only came on performance days . She was certain tonight’s performance would be her best yet, and she was eager to see Christopher, who’d promised to be there. But the phone call she received that morning had her stomach dropping in an instant.
“Marianne, hey, it’s me,” Christopher’s voice crackled through the line, immediately hearing the frustration in it. “I’m still stuck at the airport. My flight from last night got canceled, I had to stay another night at the hotel, and now they’re scrambling to get everything sorted. I’m so sorry.”
Her heart sank further, the familiar sting of disappointment flaring. She swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “So, you’re not coming?”
He sighed, clearly upset. “I’m afraid not. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get a flight out. It’s all a mess over here. I wish there was something I could do.”
There was a long pause before she spoke, her emotions building up from the week, no longer able to contain them. “Christopher, I need you to be there,” she blurted out. “I know this is beyond your control, but it’s not the same without you.”
He said nothing for a moment, as she felt his regret hanging in the silence between them. “I wish I could be there, Marianne. I really do. I don’t want to let you down.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I just hate doing this without you.”
The call ended shortly after that, the quiet that filled the room feeling almost worse than the tension in the conversation. Her heart was still heavy with frustration, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been unfair to him.
The next morning, Marianne woke to a few texts and a voicemail from Christopher, letting her know he’d arrived home safe and wanted to make it up to her. He’d be picking her up at noon. She hopped out of bed and hurried to shower, dress, and get ready before he arrived.
When she opened the door, Christopher stood there with a genuine smile, holding a fresh bouquet of spring flowers she seemed to love.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I let you down. I wish I could’ve been there for you. For your performances.”
His words hit her differently this time, and she couldn’t stay upset. After a brief pause, he added, “I thought we could spend the day together. How about it?”
They headed to their favorite local coffee shop, the same one where they’d had their first date. It had become a place filled with meaning for both of them. Christopher ordered their usual favorites, and they sat by the window, chatting about everything and nothing. As they talked, the disappointment from the previous day seemed to fade, replaced by the ease of being together.
Afterward, they walked to the nearby art museum, somewhere they’d never been together. They spent hours wandering through the galleries, pausing to discuss the pieces that caught their eye, savoring the small, meaningful moments that reminded Marianne of how much she appreciated him.
The evening ended with a cozy dinner at a candlelit, intimate restaurant. As they sat across from each other, the world seemed to fade away. She leaned in, placed her hand over his, and took a deep breath.
“I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” she said. “Thank you. And I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have gotten upset over things you couldn’t control.”
He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You’re allowed to feel frustrated, Marianne. And you’re allowed to tell me how you feel, even if we don’t always see eye to eye. I might not always agree with you, but I’ll always listen.”
Marianne smiled, realizing just how fortunate she was to have someone who cared so deeply. She made a silent promise to herself. She would find a way to show him just how much he meant to her, too.
Marianne stepped onto the stage, her heart pounding. The moment of her final showcase performance had finally arrived. She inhaled deeply, spotting Christopher in the crowd. A faint smile formed as she turned toward her family. Her mother, Meg, Elinor and Edward were all gathered around the table, with Christopher nestled between them. Their familiar faces grounded her as she prepared to perform.
A round of applause greeted her as she took her usual place at the piano, the gentle heat of the spotlight enveloping her. She adjusted the microphone, glancing towards her family. For a moment, the words she’d carefully rehearsed caught in her throat as she met their gazes. The air around her seemed to still, her thoughts scattered, before she found her voice again.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” she said. “This performance means so much to me, and I’d like to dedicate it to someone who’s been my biggest supporter from day one. Thank you, Christopher.”
She turned to him, offering a faint smile as she tried to express what words couldn’t.
Christopher’s throat tightened at her words, and Elinor gently squeezed his arm, offering her support. They both watched Marianne closely, the room around them fading into a hush that seemed to stretch the moment wide.
The first song was a soulful 1960s melody, filling the room with warmth, followed by a haunting reimagining of a 90s classic. What had once been an angsty anthem became a tender, vulnerable ballad, every note filled with longing.
The applause that followed was louder than anything she’d ever received, but it felt distant, insignificant compared to the look on Christopher’s face. His eyes glistened with emotion, holding the same intensity she’d seen that night at the contest. But now, she understood that those tears weren’t just remnants of a past love, a tragic memory he’d carried for years. They were for her and her alone, for what she was to him in this moment.
Marianne paused briefly to steady herself before beginning her final number. The song was simple, ethereal—its melody a private conversation between her heart and his. She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her, and as always, her gaze found him in the crowd. It spoke the words she couldn’t say aloud, the emotions she’d never been able to fully name—every glance, every touch, every unsaid truth.
I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete
As the music swelled, Marianne poured her heart into each note. Her voice, clear and unwavering, wove through the melody, telling a story of longing and hope. The words took on a new meaning, as if she were singing them directly to him, across the distance of the room.
Ooh, oh-oh
Ah, oh
This could be the end of everything
So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?
Somewhere only we know
Somewhere only we know
She let the final notes hang in the air, then slowly removed her hands from the keys, lifting her head to face the audience. The room erupted in applause—clapping, whistling, a few whoops of admiration. She took it all in, her eyes finding couples wrapped in each other’s arms, visibly moved.
Her gaze drifted to the center table, where her family sat. Her mother was pointing her out to the stranger beside her with a proud smile on her face, Meg clapped enthusiastically, while Edward and Elinor held each other in a loving embrace.
But it was Christopher she sought next. She spotted him brushing away a tear, and her heart filled with adoration. Without thinking, she moved toward the front of the stage. He stepped forward to meet her, effortlessly lifting her down as if she weighed no more than a feather. In that moment, all the emotions they’d both been holding back overflowed as he kissed her, one he’d longed to give her since the first note. The audience cheered, but it was just the two of them, lost in the intimate, undeniable connection between them.
“Oh, my dear girl,” Mary gushed, pulling Marianne into an affectionate hug after her performance. “You were absolutely wonderful. We’re all so proud of you!”
“I took a video of you!” Meg chimed in excitedly. “Wait until all my friends see it!”
The room chuckled, but Elinor, ever the voice of caution, gently reminded her. “Meg, you shouldn’t post anything without asking Marianne first.”
“It’s fine, Meg,” Marianne assured her. “Just remember, there may be some negative comments. Try not to engage with them, alright?”
“I won’t,” Meg promised.
Before anyone could respond, there was a knock at the door. Marianne glanced at Christopher, then opened it to find the lounge owner, Mr. Parker standing there, smiling with awe.
“Miss Marianne,” he said warmly. “I’ve been in this business a long time, but I’ve never seen a talent quite like yours.”
Marianne’s heart fluttered. “Thank you, Mr. Parker. I’ve really enjoyed my time here. I’m going to miss this stage.”
“That’s actually why I’m here,” he continued, his look serious yet hopeful. “I’m expecting an opening come January, and I’d love to offer you a regular spot here. Think it over, talk to your loved ones, but I really hope you’ll consider it.”
Her eyes widened with excitement. “Really? That would be an honor!”
He smiled. “Let me know in the next couple of weeks, and we’ll go over the details. Now, I’ll leave you to your family.”
After thanking Mr. Parker, Marianne closed the door, excitement bubbling inside her. She turned to her family, still processing the news.
“Everything okay?” Christopher asked, moving towards her. There was a subtle, undeniable pull to keep her close tonight, something he couldn’t explain.
“Yes,” she said, her smile growing. “That was Mr. Parker. He’s offering me a regular spot here starting in January.”
Gasps of surprise and joy filled the room, and before she could process it all, Marianne was surrounded by hugs and cheers. But amidst the excitement, she looked at Christopher. His expression had shifted to one of calm intensity, the same pull she felt now evident in his eyes. An unspoken understanding passed between them, and staying close felt like the only thing that mattered.
“Marianne, we should plan something special,” her mother said, breaking through her thoughts.
Marianne’s heart swelled, but the strong emotions from the night began to catch up with her. “I would love to, Mama,” she said, her voice a little shaky, “but later in the week. I’m a little tired… I just want to head back to Christopher’s tonight.”
Mary’s eyes softened. “Of course, darling. We’ll celebrate later this week, just the way you deserve.”
Marianne smiled gratefully at her mother’s understanding, and as the room buzzed with excitement, she reached for Christopher’s hand. Together, they slipped away into the calm of the night.
Marianne stood at the edge of the terrace, nestled among the lush potted shrubs, gazing out at the twinkling city lights in the distance. The cool air kissed her still-damp skin, a soothing contrast to the warmth of the shower she'd taken to unwind from the night’s fading energy. Inside, the soft sound of running water echoed through the apartment, reminding her that Christopher was taking his own moment to relax after the evening’s excitement.
She heard his footsteps behind her, felt the air shift as he came closer. His arm slipped around her waist, and she leaned into his embrace without hesitation, instinctively drawn to the comfort he offered. She inhaled deeply, the scent of his soap mingling with the night air, grounding her.
“I can’t believe it, Christopher,” she murmured. “They want me to perform regularly… I never thought this would happen. I almost didn’t even send in my audition video. And now… it’s brought me this opportunity… and brought me to you.”
His fingers brushed lightly up her arm, sending a shiver through her. The soothing pressure of his touch was both comforting and electrifying. “You’re amazing, Marianne,” he said, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. “You deserve this, and everything wonderful that comes your way.”
Marianne turned in his arms, searching his face until she found the deep and restrained yearning in his eyes. For a moment, the words she longed to say slipped away, though her heart already held them.
“You’re one of the best things that’s come my way,” she said softly, needing him to know the truth. A twinge of doubt remained, but his gaze erased it.
He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her jaw. “You are too, Marianne. And tonight—dedicating your performance to me—was the most meaningful thing anyone’s ever done.”
Before she could respond, Christopher’s lips found hers, gentle and hesitant at first, born of respect for the delicate balance they’d built. His hand settled on her waist, a subtle but firm touch that ignited the undeniable spark between them.
The kiss deepened fiercely yet anchored in affection, a fragile rhythm of want and restraint. Christopher, sensing the shift in her, tightened his hold just enough to pull her closer. She melted into him, her hand sliding down his firm chest and stomach, the world fading into the background as she surrendered to the connection they’d both been dancing around.
Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her easily, as though this moment was exactly where they were meant to be. Her arms shifted up to wrap around his neck as he carried her towards the glass patio door, the heat of her body against his enough to spark a fire in his chest. The cool glass brushed against their skin as they stepped inside, and in the quiet of his bedroom, everything felt absolutely perfect.
He laid her down on the bed gently, their lips still joined, their mouths and tongues moving together in a harmony that was both earnest and urgent, a rhythm woven from unmistakable passion. Her heart rate increased, the depth of the moment curling around her, undeniable and electric. What was about to unfold felt impossible to ignore.
“Marianne, tell me,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she whispered, tentatively at first, but soon her desire overtook it. “I want you.”
“Are you sure?” he asked her. He wanted this, ached for it even, but more than anything, he didn’t want to rush her or push her before she was truly ready.
“Yes,” she said, though a trace of hesitation remained. “But…”
“What is it?” he asked quickly, fearing she might be second-guessing herself.
“It’s... it’s just that it’s not my first time—”
“That’s okay,” he assured her. “I never assumed it would be.”
She shook her head, a relieved smile forming on her lips. “No, it’s not that. It’s just... while it’s not my first time, it’s been a while, so… just go slow at first, okay?”
He slipped his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face so their eyes could meet. “We’ll go as slow as you need,” he promised. “Just don’t be afraid to tell me what you want—what feels good. And if anything doesn’t feel right, or you want me to stop, just say the word.”
For a brief moment, his words soothed her, but that calm quickly unraveled, her pulse quickening as a restless energy surged through her, leaving her both grounded and unsteady at once. She reached for his shirt, her movements fluid and sure, lifting it over his head with a swift motion. She drank him in, her eyes tracing the smooth expanse of his skin, the defined lines of his muscles, and the soft trail of hair that curved across his chest and disappeared lower.
“May I?” he asked, his hand gently brushing the hem of her sweater. She nodded, no hesitation in her eyes—only trust, and a yearning that needed no explanation.
He carefully lifted the garment over her head, his smile growing as he took in the sight. He moved to the waistband of her pants, pausing for a brief moment, looking up to silently ask for permission. She gave a small nod, and with a slightly hurried motion, he eased them off, his eyes never leaving hers as he took in the beauty of the moment.
His hands then moved before he could think, drawn to her like a magnet. The tips of his fingers brushed against dark blue lace, grazing over the satiny material. He could feel her shiver under his touch, a gasp catching as his hands traced the edge of her bra, following the curve of her breasts, down her sides and to her hips.
The fabric was smooth, almost slippery under his fingers, and the way it clung to her made his pulse quicken. His fingers traced the edge of the lace, teasing the creamy skin just beneath the waistband.
“Christopher,” she sighed, slightly shaking. It was an invitation and a demand, one he understood without having to ask a second time
His hands moved to the clasp of her bra, his fingers trembling slightly as he unhooked it. The fabric fell away, revealing her breasts to him for the first time. His hands moved almost of their own accord, cupping them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. He felt her shudder under his touch, each pull of air shallow and uneven.
They then trailed down her body, skimming over her waist, her hips, until they reached the edge of her panties. His fingers hooked into the lace, and he looked up at her, his eyes asking for permission. Marianne nodded, her eyes dark with need, and he slowly pulled the fabric down, unveiling her completely.
As she lay there, feeling the pull of her own insecurities, her thoughts inevitably landed on the parts of herself she always wished were different—her hips, wider than she thought they should be, and her breasts, which she often felt could be a bit larger to balance out the rest of her frame. Her lack of clothing wasn’t the only thing that made her feel exposed, it was also the fear that she may not be enough for him.
When Christopher’s eyes met hers, the insecurity humming beneath her skin quieted, undone by the wonder etched into his expression. It was as if her perceived flaws didn’t even exist to him. In that steady look, she saw something unexpected—adoration. His eyes were full of lust as they roamed over her, a heat building in his gaze that left her lungs desperate for air. He savored every inch of her with his eyes. There was longing, raw and undeniable. He not only accepted her; he revered her, as if she were the very essence of beauty itself.
“God, you’re gorgeous Marianne,” he breathed, his hands continuing to glide across her body. “So incredibly beautiful.”
Her heart ached with the sweetness of his words, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opened them again, he was watching her with such intensity that it sent shivers throughout her entire body.
He then leaned down, his lips brushing against her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. His kisses were feather light, exploratory, as if he was memorizing every part of her. She gasped when his mouth closed over her nipple, and then the other, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peaks. Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him to her as a jolt of electricity ran through her body.
He continued his slow descent, his lips and tongue tracing a path down her stomach. She shivered, the beat of her heart tumbling into a faster rhythm. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he paused to look up at her, his breath warm against her skin.
“Christopher… you don’t have to…” she said, her words heavy with vulnerability and longing.
He could sense the hesitation behind her words, a trace of a past that had left her wanting. “Do you want me to?”
She inhaled slowly, her chest rising with the heat of the moment, and nodded. “Yes,” she gasped. “Please.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. His mouth covered her, his tongue slowly circling her sensitive bud as she let out a low moan, her hands clutching the sheets. Encouraged by this sweet sound, he picked up the pace, lapping at her flesh with a skill that pushed her to the edge of oblivion. Her back arched off the bed, her grip tightening as pleasure began to radiate throughout her body. He was relentless, his tongue working her with a rhythm that had her moaning his name.
“Chris—,” she whimpered, her voice breaking, not able to get his full name out. “Oh God…”
He didn’t stop, his hands gripping her hips to hold her still as he devoured her. She could feel the tension building inside her, coiling tighter and tighter until she thought she might break. And then, with a cry, she did, her body convulsing with the force of her release.
He continued until she was spent, her body trembling with aftershocks. When he finally pulled away, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving. He crawled up her body, resting on his elbows, the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.
“Christopher,” she struggled to get out. “That was incredible.”
“You’re incredible,” he murmured, kissing her. He leaned in closer to her ear, his low whisper a warm tickle against her skin. "I love hearing you say my name... but 'Chris'—that’s just for you. Say it again."
She reached for him, her hands sliding down his back, pulling at the waistband of the joggers he still had on. “Chris,” she whimpered.
“Marianne, tell me,” echoing his words from earlier. “Tell me what you want.”
"I want..." Her desires struggled to manifest themselves into words. "I want to see you and touch you too.”
She slipped her hands down to the waistband of his joggers and slid them down around his hips. He shifted to her side, removing the rest of the garment off his body.
A slow smile spread across his face, one that made her stomach tighten. “Then touch me. I’m all yours.”
Marianne gave a shy smile as her eyes followed the sculpted lines of Christopher’s entire body, her hands instinctively tracing the path her gaze had just taken. He was toned, not overly muscular, but sculpted in a way that made her want to trace every line with her fingertips. Her hands then found his length and she gently stroked him, her eyes resting on him. A faint flush rose as she realized how different he was from what she’d known before, his masculinity larger and more pronounced than she'd expected.
He was hot to the touch, the skin velvety smooth but taut with need. She continued to stroke him slowly, experimentally, her eyes locked on his face as she watched his reactions. His eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenched, the only air he could manage came in shallow bursts. Marianne felt a surge of power knowing she could make him feel this way.
“Marianne,” his voice was raspy as he said her name. “That feels amazing.”
Her strokes grew more confident, her thumb brushing the sensitive tip, and he groaned, a sound that sent a thrill through her. She could feel him throbbing in her hand, could see the tension in his muscles as he fought to stay still.
In a swift motion, his hands rose to gently cover hers, halting her before she could go any further.
“Did I do something wrong?"
"God no," he reassured her. "But I don't think we want it to end like this."
He moved to the edge of the bed, his fingers clumsily searching the drawer of his bedside table, finally brushing against the box of condoms he had impulsively bought not long after her first visit to his apartment.
“We don’t have to use those,” she told him. “I’ve been on the pill for a few years.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind—”
“I’m sure, Chris,” she said, full of conviction. “I want to…I need to know how you feel.”
A low growl rumbled in Christopher’s chest, and he shifted to hover over her, settling in between her legs, his strong thighs pressing them wider apart. His fingers found her entrance first, gently slipping one inside, then another. Marianne moaned softly at the sensation, her hips rising slightly in line with his touch, urging him deeper.
She let a small whimper escape her when he removed them, spreading the slickness of her arousal over himself. He then shifted himself lower, and she could feel the blunt head of him nudging at her opening. She gasped at the contact, her body instinctively arching toward him.
Her hands slid down to grip his hips, her nails digging into his skin. “Go slow. Please.”
He nodded, his pulse racing as he slowly entered her, his eyes never leaving hers as her hands guided his pace. He could feel the way her body resisted at first, the tightness of her around him, but he didn’t rush. She let out a choked sigh as he pushed into her, inch by inch, moving further until he filled her completely. The feeling was overwhelming for them both, a mix of pleasure and emotion that left them breathless. He didn’t move at first, letting her adjust to him, his forehead pressed against hers.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, her hands sliding up his back. “Yes. More than okay."
He began to move inside of her then, slow and steady, his eyes staying tethered to hers. The connection they shared went beyond physical closeness. She felt like he had been waiting for her all along. She could feel it in every touch, every kiss, every thrust.
“Marianne,” his voice came in short, shallow gasps. “You feel so good. You’re so beautiful…so perfect.”
His movements began to gain intensity, each thrust deeper than the last, as Marianne’s hips rose to meet his. Her body soon found its rhythm, matching his in perfect harmony. As their bodies moved, their eyes stayed locked, grounding them in something deeper than simple lust. It was something patient, personal, and real. Marianne felt treasured, not just touched. And for Christopher, he wasn’t trying to forget or fill a void. He felt present, at home.
“Chris,” she moaned, pulling him down for a kiss. He responded eagerly, his tongue tangling with hers. Feeling the tension building inside her, she knew she was getting close. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “It’s so good… please… don’t stop.”
He didn’t plan to. His pace quickened, his hips driving into hers with more force, her panting growing louder, more desperate with every second. He could feel her tightening around him, her body shaking as she neared the edge.
“Let go,” he urged, the heat between them moving closer to its peak.
“I think…” her voice faltered as her pleasure kept climbing. “Chris, I’m so close…”
“Let me feel you come,” he begged, his tone both an invitation and a command.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she surrendered to the sensation, her body shaking with the first wave of her orgasm. Her hips jerked against his, her moans turning into cries as the ecstasy tore through her, sharp and sweet and endless. She could feel him still pulsing inside her as she clenched around him, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own climax, his body writhing with the force of it.
“God… Marianne,” he groaned, finally succumbing to his release. His hips slammed into hers one last time before he stilled, his body shuddering above hers.
For a long moment, neither of them moved, their bodies still melded together, unwilling to break the connection. Christopher’s head rested in the crook of her neck, his eyes closed, his chest heaving. Marianne’s hands slid down to his sides, her fingers tracing the dips and curves of his muscles, her body still vibrating with aftershocks.
He slowly shifted, pulling her close beside him, her head naturally resting against his chest. She let out a peaceful sigh, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “You were incredible,” she murmured, her voice still wavering.
Christopher smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, placing an affectionate kiss on her cheek. “You are too, Marianne,” he replied sincerely.
The warmth between them settled into a comfortable silence, each simply aware of the other’s presence. Marianne lay close to Christopher, her head resting on his chest, her fingers absently tracing patterns through the sparse, coarse hair there. He relished the feeling of her body pressed so closely against him, the soft pressure of her bare skin against his, the way her touch stirred something deep within him. It reassured him that despite everything he carried, this moment was real. The gentle, steady rhythm of her breathing, the feel of her hand moving across him—it all reminded him of the tenderness he’d long since convinced himself was lost forever.
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I would love to hear your thoughts!
The songs Marianne performs during her first performance are "You Got It" by Roy Orbison, "Save Your Tears" by The Weeknd and "Creep" by Radiohead. Her final performance set includes "Stand By Me" by Ben E. King, "33" by The Smashing Pumpkins and "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane.
This entire piano lounge arc was originally inspired by "The Morning Show" S1E2 "A Seat at the Table", where Rozzi Crane performs a raw, stripped down version of "Creep" with only a piano accompaniment. However, I imagine Marianne's vocal quality is closer to Jennel Garcia's rendition. Both versions are worth a listen!
And, in case you're curious, the TV show that Christopher put on—the one that completely bored Marianne—was "Foyle's War."
Chapter 10: Now
Notes:
Posting a little early this week! I’m traveling for a wedding tomorrow, so I figured it was better to share Chapter 10 a day ahead rather than a few days late. Chapter 11 will go up on May 4 as usual.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
Mary Dashwood's hand settled gently on Marianne’s shoulder, her warm touch offering reassuring support. “But this is still good news, isn’t it? A step forward?”
“Yes, of course,” Dr. Richards answered. “A single memory restored, no matter how small it may seem, is progress. But I must remind you both not to get too carried away. It’s important not to expect the same from the rest, should they take longer to return.”
Marianne sat back. The excitement that had surged through her a few days ago began to fade. She had been eager to share her breakthrough, her thoughts full of hope at the idea of regaining lost pieces of herself. But the doctor’s words brought her back to the uncertainty ahead—how slow and unpredictable this recovery would be.
“Marianne, dear, is there anything else you’d like to share with Dr. Richards?” her mother asked gently, treading carefully on fragile ground.
“No,” Marianne replied, more clipped than she intended. “I just... I wish this felt more meaningful. The memory came back so clearly, and my mother can verify it. She was there.”
Dr. Richards nodded with understanding, removing her glasses and leaning back slightly in her chair. “I know. And while this is a good sign, it’s important to remember that it’s still early. Only a few weeks since you’ve been out of the hospital. That you’ve had any breakthrough at all is a positive step.”
Marianne nodded, though her thoughts felt murky, pulled in opposing directions. The optimism she brought in had already eroded, worn down by caution and careful words. She wanted this to feel like progress, something solid she could hold on to, but her therapist managed to dull any sense of accomplishment. She was still at the beginning, unsure of where this would lead or how much of herself she could expect to recover.
The drive home was slow, the Tuesday afternoon sun casting long shadows that stretched along the streets. Marianne’s gaze stayed fixed on the passing world outside. She replayed the doctor’s words in her mind, each one pulling her deeper into uncertainty. She never expected a breakthrough would feel so empty. Now the idea of piecing together her forgotten life seemed less like a path forward and more like a chasm she didn’t know how to cross.
Her mother, sensing the subtle shift in her daughter’s mood, tried to offer some comfort. “Marianne, sweetheart, you’ve made progress today. It’s more than we had last week.”
Marianne’s lips trembled, but she didn’t look away from the window. “I know, but it doesn’t feel like enough,” she said. “What if that’s it? What if nothing else comes back? I… I just want to understand why I woke up in a world that isn’t mine anymore.”
“We’ll help you remember, if you can’t,” Mary said, resting her hand briefly on Marianne’s knee. “You’re not alone in this. We’re all still right here.”
Marianne let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to do about John,” she said. “I know I sent him away, but he hasn’t tried to see me since. He didn’t even call Saturday—the day that was supposed to be our wedding. I don’t even know what he thinks anymore.”
She turned her gaze towards her mother, searching for comfort she couldn’t find on her own. But Mary stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, her expression unreadable.
“Mama… what is it?”
Mary sighed, the sound barely audible over the hum of the engine. As she made the final turn into their neighborhood, she spoke with measured care.
“He called yesterday,” she said. “I told him you weren’t ready to see him. But I only said that because you’ve been spending time with Christopher, and I didn’t think it would be wise to overwhelm you.”
“Mama!” Marianne’s voice cracked with frustration as she turned toward her mother, eyes wide with disbelief. “You can’t keep this from me. I’m sorry, but you have to tell me. I should see him, even if I don’t remember. I have to understand what all of this means.”
She paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “And while I’ve enjoyed seeing Christopher… I know it’s not how it used to be. I don’t want to pretend it is.” Her gaze drifted back towards the window, as if just realizing the truth in what she’d said. “Do you know what happened between us?”
Mary’s fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “I only know what you told me, my dear,” she answered. “You said he didn’t want to get married or have children, and because of that, you couldn’t stay with him any longer.”
She hesitated before continuing, her lips pressed together in a firm line. “But I can’t help thinking there’s more to it... something the two of you just couldn’t figure out together. I found it strange how quickly you gave up on him.”
Marianne frowned, trying to understand. “You mean I ended it? I left him?”
A sudden doubt creeping in, an unexpected fear gnawing at her. The thought surfaced quickly and unbidden, her voice wavering slightly as she asked, “You don’t think there was someone else, do you?”
Mary’s response was swift, almost defensive. “No, of course not. Christopher… he’s never struck me as the type to… he loves you so much. He was completely devoted to you.”
Marianne sat still in the passenger seat, her hands folded in her lap as her mother pulled into the driveway. The soft hum of the engine faded away as her mother turned off the ignition. Marianne didn’t move right away, her mind still caught between the present and the pieces of a past that felt increasingly out of reach.
“Mama,” she asked, “what was it like for Papa when you two first met? Was he still grieving Catherine?”
Mary’s gaze drifted for a moment, her mind clearly turning over the question. “Well,” she said slowly, “I knew right away that he was a widower. His grief was... still very much with him. But, Marianne, he wanted to move on. Not to forget her, but to find a way to live again. That’s what I saw. Why do you ask, my love?”
Marianne hesitated, her mind drifting to Christopher, to the way his past grief had woven itself into their relationship. “Christopher loved someone before me,” she said distantly. “It was years ago, when he was younger than I am now.
“She was a few months pregnant, and they were going to marry, but she died in a car accident. He always told me it was so long ago, that he’d moved on. But...” Her voice faltered. “But I’m starting to wonder if he really did.”
Mary watched her closely, sensing the deepening pain in her daughter’s voice. “Grief manifests in different ways,” she said steadily, as though she'd navigated it for years. “It doesn’t always look the same from person to person. It can stick around, even when you think you’ve moved past it.
“Your father and I, we found our way together, but it wasn’t easy. We both had to learn to carry that grief, to let it shape us without letting it keep us from living. It doesn’t go away, but you make space for joy again.”
Marianne turned her gaze back to the window, her thoughts circling inward. “Is that why I moved on so fast?” The question slipped out, uncertain whether it was meant for her mother or herself. But it felt necessary, as though it might unlock the reason why she had so quickly embraced a future with Willoughby.
Mary let the silence settle before she answered. “That’s something only you can know,” she said. “But I think we all try to outrun grief sometimes, even without realizing it. Maybe you moved forward because standing still hurt too much. But the heart doesn’t follow logic or timelines. It finds its way when it’s ready. Just like your father did. Just like Christopher will.”
Marianne leaned against the headrest, the fabric warm beneath her cheek. Her mother’s words replayed quietly in her mind. Grief, she was learning, didn’t obey logic or vanish on command. As she watched the last streaks of sunlight slide across the driveway, she wondered if healing meant learning to carry the past without letting it define what came next.
Later that afternoon, Marianne sat in the privacy of her bedroom, the soft light filtering through the curtains as she sifted through the screen of her phone. She hadn’t paid it much attention since returning home, since Elinor had retrieved it along with the rest of her belongings from Willoughby’s townhouse.
Now, as her days spanned out in a haze of recovery, she found herself scrolling through the pile of missed calls, texts, and notifications. Each message was a well-wish, a hollow reminder of the world she had once been a part of, with friends, colleagues, and acquaintances offering their concern and words of reassurance.
Her thumb lingered over the screen as she scrolled through her contacts until she found the name. John Willoughby . For a moment she hesitated, her finger hovering above his name, caught between impulse and doubt. Finally, she pressed it.
“Marianne?” His voice was cautious, as if unsure of what to expect. “Is that you?”
“Hi, John,” she said, the words leaving her more softly than she intended.
“Marianne,” he breathed. “I’m so relieved to hear your voice. I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Then why did you wait so long to reach out to my mother? And why didn’t you call me Saturday?” The words spilled out before she could stop them, biting and unexpected.
She immediately regretted them. Her heart kicked in her chest, tangled in the mess of confusion and frustration she hadn’t planned to unleash.
Willoughby was silent for a beat too long. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, careful. “I’m sorry, Marianne. I didn’t call because I didn’t know if I had the right to. That day… I thought about you every minute. But it didn’t feel like my place anymore. After what happened in the hospital, I figured you didn’t want to hear from me. Especially not then. I was trying to respect that.”
Marianne sat on the edge of her bed, the phone pressed to her ear. Her anger hadn’t vanished, instead it was dulled by something more complicated. “You could’ve tried. Instead you just left me alone.”
“I see that now,” he said with a sigh, as if he were holding back. “I just want you to get better, Marianne. I really do. Whatever you need, tell me. I’ll do it.”
Marianne sighed, but didn’t feel like pushing back. “I think... I think I’d like to see you again,” she said tentatively. She needed clarity, if nothing else. “If you want to, that is.”
Of course I want to see you,” he said, the words rushing out. “It’s all I’ve wanted since the accident. Do you want me to come over? Or would you prefer to go out somewhere? Whatever you want, Marianne.”
“I think for now, it’s best if you come over,” she said, a note of reluctance in her voice. “I’m more comfortable here. Sometimes I get dizzy... I need to lie down right away.”
"Oh Marianne," he said. "I’m so sorry this happened to you. I really am."
Instead of comforting her, his concern only deepened the unease that had taken root inside her. “Don’t worry,” she replied. “When can you come?”
“How about Thursday, after work? I’ll bring you dinner,” he said eagerly. “How does that sound?”
“It sounds nice,” she agreed. “I’ll see you then.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said.
“Goodbye,” she replied, ending the call.
She let the phone fall gently to the bed and sank back against the pillows, her eyes tracing the shadows cast by the fading light. She didn’t feel clarity, but she’d made a choice, and for now, that was a step in the right direction. There was a strange relief in facing the past, one that may help her understand how she had ended up here with him, with this uncertain future.
Sussex Sports and Rehabilitation Center carried the clean, clinical scent of antiseptic with a hint of worn rubber mats. Marianne sat at the edge of a padded treatment table, her feet dangling just above the floor as Carla, her physical therapist, gently guided her arm through a rotation.
"How does that feel?" Carla asked. "Any sharp pain, tightness?"
"A little stiff," Marianne replied, shifting slightly on the table. "But nothing sharp. Just... tight."
"Good. Let’s test your strength now." Carla took a step back. "Hold your arm out, bend the elbow to ninety degrees with your palm towards me. I’m going to press against it, and you try to hold steady."
Marianne braced herself as Carla applied pressure. Her shoulder protested with a low, dull ache, but her arm held its position. Carla nodded and moved through a few more angles, repeating the test from different directions. Each time the discomfort was there, but it was manageable.
"You’ve come a long way," Carla said with a smile. "I think we can say goodbye to the sling. Just promise me you’ll take it easy. No sudden heroics."
Marianne let out a breath that bordered on a laugh. "That’s a relief. I’ve been itching to get back to the piano."
"Perfect," Carla said, already reaching for her tablet to log the progress. "That kind of fluid and controlled movement is great. Just no overhead lifting for now. Ease back into things."
She crouched beside the table. "Alright, let’s take a look at that ankle next."
Carla rolled her stool closer and gently took Marianne’s foot in her hands, rotating it slowly at the ankle. "Any discomfort here?" she asked, looking up to check Marianne’s expression.
"No, nothing," Marianne said, watching the motion with mild curiosity.
"Good. Let’s try a bit of weight-bearing." Carla stood and gestured for Marianne to do the same. "Go ahead and stand, just on your injured foot. I’ll be right here if you need support."
Marianne eased herself down from the padded table, careful not to jostle her shoulder. She stood, then shifted her weight and lifted her other foot slightly off the ground. It felt awkward at first, like her body wasn’t quite sure how to trust itself yet.
"Now try a shallow squat on just that foot," Carla instructed, staying close. "Like you’re about to sit down. Just go as far as you’re comfortable."
Marianne moved slowly, her knee bending. A brief wave of dizziness washed over her, but she stayed steady.
"Alright, come back up," Carla said, watching her carefully. "How did that feel?"
"No pain," Marianne replied as she straightened. "But I still feel a little… off balance. Not because of the ankle, I don’t think. It’s probably my head injury. Just a little wobbly sometimes."
Carla gave her a nod of understanding. "That makes sense. The good news is, from a physical therapy standpoint, you're on track. Your ankle is healed, and your shoulder is nearly there too."
She paused, her tone gently shifting to more of a reminder than a warning. "But when it comes to resuming full activity—walks, exercise, anything that might challenge your balance—you’ll still need clearance from your neurologist. Everyday movements around the house though? Piano, light tasks? You’re clear."
Marianne thanked Carla as they walked back to the lobby, where her mother was waiting. After the discouraging session with Dr. Richards two days earlier, this felt like a small but meaningful win. Hope stirred within her again, subtle but real, and she wasn’t about to take it for granted.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to leave?” Mary asked as she watched her daughter fidget in her seat, awaiting Willoughby’s arrival. “I don’t want to be in your way. I can always visit the Palmers down the street, if that would be better.”
“No, Mama,” Marianne replied quickly. “Please stay. I… I don’t want you to leave. I know it sounds strange, but I don’t want to be alone with him. I still don’t really know him.”
“It’s not strange to feel that way, dear,” Mary said, her hand brushing Marianne’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’ll give you space when he arrives. I’ll just be upstairs, watching TV in my room, if you need me.”
Marianne nodded, offering a small smile, grateful for her mother’s understanding. “Thank you, Mama,” she said, leaning in to give her a quick hug as the doorbell rang, breaking the tension in the room.
“Let me get that for you,” Mary said, motioning towards the door. “You just relax.”
A few moments later, the sound of footsteps grew nearer, and Mary appeared in the doorway, guiding Willoughby into the family room. He carried a couple of takeout bags in one hand, and in the other, a large vase cradled carefully in his arms. Two dozen deep red roses stood tall, their fragrance taking over the air. Balloons bobbed above the bouquet, their cheerful “Get Well Soon” messages dancing in the air above her. The gesture was grand, for sure, but too much.
Marianne was silent, momentarily lost in the sea of flowers. She hadn’t expected this… this display. It was kind, yes, but also so much more than she’d been prepared for. She suddenly felt uneasy, unsure of how to respond.
“John,” she said, trying to steady herself. “This is very sweet, but you really didn’t have to.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the flowers, searching for something to say, some way to acknowledge them.
“They’re lovely though,” she added, offering a polite smile as she inhaled the heavy scent of roses. The overly flowery and sweet scent was too much for her. She wasn’t sure if she even liked roses, but she didn’t want to seem ungrateful.
"It’s the least I could do," Willoughby said, his voice almost apologetic. He stepped closer, setting the vase down carefully on the table between them. "I’ve been distant, Marianne. I know I haven’t been there for you the way I should have, and I want to make it right. Any way I can."
Marianne swallowed, unsure of how to respond. His words were kind, but the entire situation felt off. She didn’t know how to place her feelings, how to fit into the space he seemed to be trying to create for them.
“Thank you, John,” she finally said, offering a small smile.
“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing towards the table as she set the bags of food down next to the flowers. “I got Greek food. I hope that’s okay.”
She smiled, though a twinge of disappointment tugged at her. Greek food wasn’t her favorite. She never cared for the dry grilled chicken and the spices were often too strong, but she didn’t want to make him feel unappreciated. Maybe over time she had come to accept it, or at least, that’s what she had told herself.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice as earnest as she could make it. “It smells wonderful.”
He smiled back as they sat across from each other and began to eat. The chicken wasn’t as dry as she’d expected, though the garlic and spices overwhelmed her palate. Still, she couldn’t help appreciating the thoughtfulness behind his efforts.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Willoughby focused on his plate, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork. Marianne picked up her glass, set it down again. The clink of silverware and the faint ticking of the kitchen clock filled the room, each second stretching a little too long.
Finally, she spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly. “I just wish I could remember something about you. But since I can’t… why don’t you tell me about yourself? Or maybe… how we met?”
“Well,” he said with a calm smile, “how about you start by asking what you really want to know?”
Marianne’s lips curved slightly as she tilted her head. “We could begin with the simple things. Your age, where you work, what you enjoy in your spare time?”
Willoughby chuckled lightly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Ah, diving into the deep end, are we? Well, I’m thirty-one, an Account Manager at my family’s marketing and PR firm. As for hobbies, I’d say fitness, the outdoors… adventure sports, if I’m being honest.”
“Adventure sports?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow, intrigued.
He leaned forward, a mischievous spark lighting his features. “You know, things that get your adrenaline going. Skydiving, parasailing, cliff diving... those kinds of things.”
“Wow,” she said quietly. “That sounds exciting... and dangerous.”
He shrugged, the confidence in his voice unwavering. “Sure, it’s dangerous. But that’s what makes it thrilling. In fact, we went parasailing together once, remember? Tandem. You loved it.”
Marianne frowned with confusion. “No. I don’t remember that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was stupid of me to say. Here, look at this.” He reached for his phone, swiping across the screen before showing her a photo. In it, they were both in harnesses, smiling as they floated above the sea, the sun bright behind them.
She studied the image, her gaze focused on their faces, but her mind remained frustratingly blank. She tried to feel the sun against her skin, the rush of the salty air, the thrill of floating. No matter how much she searched, no connection came. “It does look like I was having fun,” she murmured, handing the phone back to him with a faint smile.
Willoughby slipped his phone back into his pocket, watching her closely. “You really can’t remember anything about me at all?”
Marianne shook her head slowly. “It’s like there are doors in my mind that I can’t open. I know you’re behind one of them, but I don’t know which one or when it will open.”
Trying to change the subject, she shifted the conversation. “Tell me more about your job,” she said. “You mentioned working at your family’s marketing and PR firm. That’s a strange coincidence,” she added, her curiosity piqued. “My brother runs a marketing firm too, and my sister works there. What’s your family’s firm called?”
John paused for a moment, as if trying to read something deeper in her words before continuing. “Allenham Agency. Are you familiar with them?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “You’re a big competitor. In fact, I think I remember my sister mentioning something about you trying to buy out Dashwood Creative.”
A nervous chuckle escaped him, though he quickly recovered. “That’s true, but I’m not personally involved with that,” he said, waving it off. “And really, it shouldn’t matter, should it? We loved each other. We were going to get married. Our family businesses shouldn’t stand in the way of that.”
Marianne chewed thoughtfully, swallowing carefully before she spoke. “I suppose you’re right. I don’t really have much to do with my brother’s business, aside from a few copyediting gigs I’ve helped with in the past.” She paused, setting her fork down gently. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
They ate quietly for a few minutes, the occasional clink of cutlery filling the spaces between them. Willoughby seemed more at ease now, his earlier nervous energy giving way to something gentler. He talked about things that felt safely distant—books he'd been reading, an art exhibit he'd meant to see, even the odd new plant spreading through the local parks.
Marianne listened, offering polite replies, surprised by how unforced it felt. She hadn’t expected conversation with him to be this easy, not after his hospital visit. But even as she found herself relaxing, a part of her remained alert, aware of how strange it was to be rebuilding familiarity with someone who already knew some parts of her life better than she did.
Finally, as they both leaned back in their chairs, finished with the meal, Willoughby glanced at her, his expression shifting as if torn between wanting her to remember and fearing what she might.
“Marianne,” he said softly, “I know you don’t remember us, but I want you to know… you’ve always had a way of making people feel special. I’ve always admired that about you. I never knew how, but you could walk into a room and make everyone feel like they belonged.”
Marianne was caught off guard by the earnestness in his voice. Not knowing what to say, she merely nodded, trying to hide the slight warmth spreading through her chest.
His smile was almost sheepish as he continued, “I guess what I’m trying to say is… even if you don’t remember me, I remember you. I remember who you are. And I’m really glad you’re giving me the chance to prove myself.”
Marianne’s heart gave a small, unexpected jolt as she listened to his words. She couldn’t fully explain why, but something about what he said affected her more than she expected. She found herself unable to look away from him.
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to break eye contact. “John,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, “thank you. That was… nice of you to say.”
He stood up, smoothing his jacket and offering her a small, almost shy smile. “I mean it. I’ll let you rest now, but I’m really glad we could talk.”
As Marianne watched him leave, conflicting emotions filled the space he left behind. She still didn’t know who he had been to her, but for the first time, she wondered if he might deserve a place in her life again.
Marianne sat at the piano, her fingers pressing down on the keys with growing frustration. The notes she reached for eluded her touch. She knew the piano, maybe even better than she knew herself, but today her hands seemed to betray her at every turn. A small trace of worry stirred. Was this another piece of herself lost to the injury? Something else she would have to fight to reclaim?
Before the thought could settle, the sound of the front door opening broke her focus.
“Marianne!” Elinor’s voice rang through the house. “I’m here, and I brought all your favorite snacks!”
“In here!” Marianne called back, turning on the bench, a spark of warmth rising behind her eyes.
Elinor appeared moments later with a shopping bag in hand. “All alone tonight?” she asked, noticing the quiet in the house.
“Yeah, well you know Meg went back to uni,” she explained, taking the bag from her sister and pawing through its contents, finding all her favorites. “And Mama, she started taking on small shifts at the children’s hospital again.”
“That’s right, I remember her mentioning that to me,” Elinor said, gathering up the items Marianne removed from the bag. “I guess that means more junk food for us!”
“Oh, I haven’t had this in ages !” Marianne said, holding up the bag of snack mix with cheese curls, tortilla chips and pretzels with a grin. “At least, I don’t think I have. I might eat the whole bag if I’m not careful!”
“Go for it!” Elinor replied, laughing. Though Marianne had regained much of her health since returning home, she still looked a little too thin for Elinor’s liking.
They settled into the family room for movie night, a tradition they’d had since they were kids. They cozied up on the couch, the same old blanket from childhood draped over their legs, and a tray of snacks balanced between them like always. Elinor clicked the remote with a satisfied hum, starting the movie.
“It’s a rom-com, but different,” she explained, glancing at Marianne between bites of cheese. “It’s about two people who were once close, but drifted apart. They reconnect years later and have to figure out if something is still possible, or if it’s too late.”
Marianne sighed loudly, letting the air out like a deflating balloon. “Really, Ellie? This is the last thing I need right now.”
“I swear, I didn’t pick it to make you feel awkward,” Elinor said quickly. “I just thought it might be fun, and… well, it kind of reminds me of Edward and me. I tried to get him to watch it, but when I told him about it, he gave me that look, you know, like I’d suggested a documentary on the history of reality TV or something.”
She smiled softly, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, sometimes I forget how studious he can be. But if you really don’t want to—”
Marianne paused, her lips twitching with the hint of a smile. “No, it’s fine,” she said, settling back into the couch. “I’ll give it a shot, for you.”
Marianne leaned back on the couch, giving in, though still unsure. Elinor resumed the film, but her mind wandered, intrigued by her words. As the characters on screen grappled with their past and the uncertain future, Marianne found herself reflecting on her own tangled relationship with Christopher—and what, if anything, she was supposed to do about Willoughby.
Despite her earlier reservations, Marianne found herself drawn into the movie. As the movie went on, Marianne’s focus blurred, her thoughts circling around her own unfinished story, not unlike the one unfolding onscreen.
Elinor was right, there were themes that mirrored her relationship with Edward. She couldn’t resist the pang of longing that grew within her. Was that what it was supposed to look like, when two people found their way back to each other? Was there hope for that, even for her?
She frowned, a sudden thought forming as she turned towards her sister. “Ellie,” she murmured, a trace of confusion in her voice, “I never asked you... I don’t remember your wedding. What was it like?”
“You were there, of course,” she assured her. “You were my maid of honor, and Meg was one of my bridesmaids. Edward made it through the vows without stuttering.”
Marianne closed her eyes as she softly chuckled. She wanted to remember, but there was nothing. It was just... blank. A gap in her mind where one of the most important events should have been.
“Do you have any photos? From the wedding?” she asked.
Elinor gave her a small, understanding smile. “Of course,” she replied, reaching for her phone. “I made a whole site full of them.”
As she pulled up the gallery, Marianne leaned in, studying the images of Elinor and Edward’s wedding with a strange mix of hesitation and need. The photos revealed a winter wonderland backdrop with Marianne and Meg as bridesmaids, wearing icy blue dresses. Elinor stood in the center, calm and luminous in her flowing lace gown.
Marianne recognized the smiling, vibrant woman beside her sister as herself, but the connection felt thin, like a life from a different universe. The more she scrolled, the more bittersweet the feeling became. It was getting harder to reconcile that woman with who she was now.
“Ellie, everything is so beautiful. Especially you,” she said, her voice wavering. “I can’t believe I don’t remember this.”
Elinor put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know,” she said. “But I believe you will remember, someday.”
“When exactly was it?” she asked, her curiosity edging out her sadness.
“It was right between Christmas and New Year’s,” Elinor replied. “It was freezing, but somehow, a winter wedding just felt right.”
Marianne smiled softly as she continued scrolling. Images of her laughter, the tears she’d wiped away, the easy happiness in her eyes filled the screen. There were photos of her with Christopher, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark blue suit, his dress shirt and pocket square the same shade as her dress. Whether posed or candid, each shot captured them locked in an embrace, looking completely in love.
“Ellie, you told me at the hospital that Christopher and I ended things a few weeks after the New Year, right?” Marianne asked quietly.
“That’s right,” Elinor said carefully, her eyes lingering on her sister.
“I can’t make sense of it,” Marianne confessed with a bit of frustration. “We looked so happy here. What could’ve happened to us in just a few short weeks?”
She stared at the screen, waiting for something to surface, some clue that might explain the sudden unraveling. Confusion gave way to something more intense. There was urgency in it now, a need to understand. She couldn’t let the unknown sit quietly in the corners of her mind. The more she stared at the photos, the more determined she became to uncover the truth.
Notes:
It was only a matter of time before Marianne would have to give Willoughby a chance. At this point, she's still not sure what to make of him, but feels she owes it to herself and to him to spend some time together.
And what about Lucky and Willoughby's cat allergy? Don't worry, I didn't forget one of my own tiny plot devices. Chapter 12 will shed more light on that. 😅
Chapter 11: Then
Notes:
This chapter opens right where Chapter 9 left off, but as it unfolds, there will be a small time jump of a few months. From this point on, the past timeline will begin to move forward more quickly, with some time jumps between scenes, so we can gradually catch up to the present timeline.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
Early mornings had never agreed with Marianne. She had always resented them, especially when someone tried to wake her before she was ready. Daylight felt like a sudden and unwelcome betrayal, pulling her from the heavy warmth of sleep and dragging her from dreams she wasn’t ready to leave.
But today, the interruption was welcome.
Feather-light kisses brushed the back of her neck, his lips trailing along her shoulder with steady intent. Each touch drew her closer to waking, not with urgency, but with the kind of patience that left no room for doubt. His fingers followed, tracing the line of her waist and the curve of her hip in a slow, familiar rhythm. The heat of his skin and the soft pressure of his hand told her everything. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was him.
She shifted under the sheets, reaching for the familiar shape beside her. The chill in the air couldn’t touch what remained between them, his presence anchoring her in the calm of morning. She stretched, muscles still warm and heavy from sleep, and turned toward him.
Her gaze met Christopher’s. His eyes were already open. For a moment, they simply looked at each other. No words or uncertainty. Just the sense of something real. She sank deeper into the bed, curling into him, savoring the feeling of being exactly where she was meant to be.
"Good morning," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. "Did you sleep well?"
“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, eyes fluttering open again. She turned to face him, holding his gaze with a soft, sleepy smile. “I kind of wish I was still asleep, but I’m not mad you woke me.” She kissed him slowly, then pulled away. “What about you?”
"I slept soundly. It’s been a while since I’ve felt... this at ease." He pulled her closer, his mind drifting back to the night before. "So, my question now is..." he paused, brushing soft kisses against her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her chin. "Should we get some breakfast? Or do you just want to stay here?"
Marianne shifted closer, her body responding to the draw of his touch. But as she moved, the low rumble of her stomach broke the stillness. She giggled, breaking the quiet. "I guess that means breakfast first. But then we’re coming right back here."
Marianne’s boots clicked confidently down the school hallways where she taught English literature. The usual buzz of student chatter and faculty talk filled the air, but Marianne’s mind was miles away, still replaying the weekend with Christopher. Her cheeks warmed at the thought.
Passing a group of students, she caught sidelong glances and stifled giggles. Confused, she wondered if she stepped into a room full of telepathic teens, or was her secret written all over her face?
She stopped to glance at her reflection in the nearest window, half-expecting to find a silly, satisfied grin or, worse, something more obvious. But her hair was neat, her cream blouse collar slightly askew, and a faint smudge of lipstick on her bottom lip from breakfast. Nothing alarming.
Still, the giggles continued. A few students exchanged knowing looks as they walked by. Could they tell? Was there a telltale sign she was missing? Her heart raced the way it might when everyone seems to know your secret, even though you’re doing your best to hide it.
The more she tried to dismiss it, the more convinced she became that her very good weekend was written all over her face like a neon sign.
Her unease stayed with her as she entered the classroom. A few students were gathered around, absorbed in something on their phones. She let it slide for now, there were still a few minutes before class, and she wasn’t about to make a fuss.
The rest of the students trickled in, and when the bell rang, class officially began.
“Alright, everyone,” Marianne said, her voice shifting into the steady, no-nonsense tone she reserved for the classroom. “Phones away.” She checked that the smartboard behind her was ready. “We’re reviewing for the final exam today, and I’d prefer to see you focused on your notes, not scrolling through... whichever influencer is determined to rot your brain.”
A few muffled chuckles followed, but Marianne ignored them as the students shuffled their phones away. When her presentation appeared on the screen, she turned back to the class, only to spot one student still sneaking glances at his phone under his desk.
“Liam,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “You know the rules. If I catch you with your phone out once I’ve started, you have to come up here and show me what couldn’t possibly wait until the end of class. Now, let’s see it.”
Liam flashed her an exaggerated smirk, clearly enjoying the challenge. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she said firmly, not backing down. She motioned for him to come up to the front of the room.
When he reached her desk, he handed her the phone, and Marianne took a glance at the screen, expecting a prank or a silly meme. But what she saw froze her in place.
It was a video of her final performance from Saturday night. Meg had posted it online sometime overnight, and it had already gone viral. Tens of thousands of views appeared in just a few hours, and the numbers kept climbing. Worse still, it wasn’t just her performance on display. It was the moment she’d dedicated the song to Christopher.
Her face drained of color. So this was the source of the whispers and giggles earlier. This was the last thing she wanted her students, or anyone else to see. The video was... personal.
“Liam...” she managed, trying to steady herself. “Turn it off. Now.”
Liam, still grinning, didn’t look the least bit sorry. Instead, he tapped a few buttons and paused the video but didn’t delete it. He just turned the screen toward the class.
“Miss Dashwood's got a boyfriend!” one student called out, triggering laughter throughout the room.
“Yeah, tell us who Christopher is!” another yelled from the back.
Marianne’s cheeks flamed. “That’s really none of—” she began, but it was too late. The teasing had started.
“Miss Dashwood, your voice is amazing,” another student piped up, genuinely impressed.
“Yeah, Miss Marianne, you’ve got serious moves on the piano,” someone else added.
Others joined in, either complimenting her performance or chuckling as they replayed the clip. Marianne could only stand there, mortified, as the class continued their relentless teasing.
“Alright, enough.” She took a breath, trying to calm her racing pulse. “Liam, turn that off and give me your phone. You can have it back after class. You’re not going to distract me from teaching today with this.”
She straightened her shoulders, voice firm, eyes sweeping the class. “Everyone, settle down. Let’s focus on final exam prep, shall we?”
Her attempt to regain control was met with a mix of chuckles and jokes, but soon the room settled and Marianne forced herself to focus. The laughter faded, but the unease remained. Some students might have been impressed, but that didn’t mean the moment was over. She had no idea who else might see it.
The rest of the class passed without incident. Marianne swiftly quelled any mention of the video in her other classes with the threat of an unexpected pop quiz. But when lunchtime came, the atmosphere in the teacher’s lounge told a different story. Word had spread quickly, and soon a few colleagues couldn’t resist commenting.
“Miss Marianne!” Mr. Forrest, the history teacher, called out as he spotted her. “Who would have thought!”
“Do you take requests?” Mrs. Wick, the math teacher, asked with a mischievous grin.
Marianne stifled a groan, wishing she could disappear into the floor. Then Alice Chambers, the music teacher, spoke up with genuine warmth. “I thought you were wonderful,” she said sincerely. “You’ve got true talent. You really shouldn’t keep it to yourself.”
“Careful, Alice,” Mrs. Wick scoffed. “If I were you, I’d watch my back. She may come gunning for your job.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Lydia. You’re highly mistaken.” She turned to Alice with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Alice. That means a lot, especially coming from you.”
She realized she didn’t know much about the music teacher other than she was only a few years older. Marianne made a mental note to chat with her more when their schedules allowed.
The rest of the day repeated the same teasing and compliments, but Marianne navigated it all with grace, though a faint blush of embarrassment remained on her cheeks.
On the bus ride home, she pulled up the video Meg had posted. To her relief, most comments were overwhelmingly positive, praising her performance and talent. A few even noted that whoever Christopher was, he was lucky to have such a beautiful woman dedicate such a moving performance to him.
Marianne smiled softly, her heart swelling at the thought. Still, a twinge of unease crept in. She wondered how Christopher might feel about this new level of exposure. The encouraging feedback was comforting, but a nagging sense of possible fallout pressed at the back of her mind. She decided she needed to gently remind Meg to think carefully before posting, even if the outcome turned out well.
When Marianne walked in the door, Meg was already perched at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone with an excited grin. Her eyes lit up the moment Marianne entered.
"Did you see what happened?" she asked, barely able to contain her excitement.
Marianne sighed, half exasperated, half amused. "Oh, I saw. But I don’t think I was fully prepared for what would happen after I gave you the green light."
Meg’s brow furrowed in confusion. "But you said it was okay, didn’t you? I thought you’d be thrilled. You were amazing, Marianne."
Marianne sat down, running a hand through her hair. "I’m glad people are enjoying the video," she said, her voice tightening. "But I never imagined it would go viral like this. I didn’t consider how far it could spread once it was out there. I didn’t think about my students, my colleagues or how exposed my whole damn life would suddenly be. Social media is a minefield, Meg. One wrong move and everything can blow up."
Meg’s eyes widened. "Are you mad?"
"No, not mad," Marianne said, shaking her head. "But I’ve learned something, and I think you should, too. Next time, maybe we both take a step back before hitting ‘post.’ Consider the bigger picture."
"I will, I promise," Meg said earnestly. "I never thought it would spread like wildfire. I’m sorry if it put you in an awkward position."
Marianne smiled weakly, her hand trembling slightly as she reached across the table to squeeze Meg’s. "You didn’t do anything wrong," she said, though the words rang a little hollow. "I gave you permission. I just didn’t think through the consequences. And now... now everyone knows about Christopher. I never imagined it would go this far. I don’t know how he’ll react… or what this means for us."
Meg gave her a knowing smile. "Hey, no shame in that. You’ve got nothing to hide. You two are adorable together."
Marianne laughed despite the heat in her cheeks. "I know, but the relationship is still new. I wasn’t ready for it to be out there. I didn’t think about him either. He runs a company, he’s used to being seen professionally, but outside of that, he’s a very private person. I don’t want this to complicate things for him."
Meg’s smile faded. "I guess I didn’t think about that. But he’s not in the video, and you only said ‘Christopher.’ That could be anyone. Still, for your sake, I hope he’s not mad."
Marianne sighed, shaking her head with a rueful smile. "I was so caught up in the moment, I didn’t think it through. But I’m going to talk to him later tonight. In the meantime, though, let’s consider this a lesson for both of us. More thinking before we act."
"Lesson learned," Meg said with a slight grin. "But seriously, everyone at school is obsessed with you now. They wish you were teaching at our school, instead of the one in the city."
Marianne shot her a pained look. "Just what I need. A bunch of local teenagers thinking I’m some kind of celebrity."
"Come on, it’s cool!" Meg insisted. "You’ve got talent, and now everyone knows it. You’re not just Miss Dashwood, English teacher. Now you’re Miss Marianne , badass singer and piano player!"
Marianne laughed, shaking her head as she stood up from the table. "Stop it. I’ve had enough awkward conversations today, and I’m not looking forward to the one with Christopher later."
Christopher opened one of the wide French doors, letting in a cool evening breeze that cleared out the stagnant air. He checked the time—still a little over an hour to spare—then reached for the mystery novel he and Marianne had picked out together at that little bookshop they’d stumbled into on impulse. Settling back on the sofa, he adjusted his reading glasses and turned to the first page. But before the first words could settle in, his phone buzzed.
He almost ignored it, untill he saw her name. Her smiling face lit up the screen, and without hesitation, he answered.
“Hey,” he greeted with a smile. “Did I mess up the time? I thought we said 9:30?”
“Hey! Oh, glasses?” Marianne observed, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen those on you.”
“Oh, yeah, these?” He laughed, pulling them off. “I only need them for reading, not all the time.”
“Hmmm, too bad,” she said, a sly smile forming. “I like them.”
She paused, exhaling quietly. “No, you didn’t mess up the time. I just... needed to talk to you now.”
His expression shifted. “Is everything okay? You don’t regret anything, do you?”
“Chris, heavens no. Never.” Her cheeks flushed as she steadied her voice. “Trust me, I’m fine in that regard.” She inhaled deeply before continuing. “Do you remember the video Meg took of my performance? The one I told her she could post?”
“Yes, I remember,” he said, concern still clouding his gaze. “Did she post it?”
“She did,” Marianne sighed, her voice tinged with both frustration and fatigue. “And it went viral. My students, my colleagues—everyone’s been tormenting me all day. The performance, the dedication... constant questions about my ‘mystery boyfriend.’ I didn’t think it would blow up like this.”
“Can I see it?” he asked, his curiosity piqued, though it was clear he wasn’t as worried as she was.
“Sure, just a sec,” she murmured, tapping at her phone and sending over the link.
“Marianne, I get it. I do. But honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like anyone knows who I am in that video, other than the ‘Christopher’ you’re dedicating your song to. And trust me, I’m good with that,” he added, a playful grin curving at the corners of his mouth.
“Besides,” he said, “I’m forty. I think I’m allowed to have a girlfriend at my age without it being a scandal. I’m not worried about it, and you shouldn’t be either.”
Marianne hesitated, her gaze drifting off screen for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “It’s just... I didn’t expect the teasing, especially from my students. I still have two more weeks until the end of the year. They’re relentless, and I hate the thought of them gossiping behind my back.”
“Trust me,” he said, his expression softening, “your students will be onto something else in a couple of days. Their attention spans are short. Teenagers live for teasing, but it’s rarely personal.”
She sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “I suppose you’re right,” she said quietly. “I was really worried about all of this. Worried you’d be upset, or think I’m just some silly girl who’s too young to have any sense.”
“Marianne,” he said gently, his eyes steady as he tried to meet hers through the screen. “You’re not a silly girl. You’re an intelligent, passionate, ridiculously talented, and beautiful woman. If anything, I should be the one worried that one day you’ll wake up and realize you can do better than some old man like me.”
“Chris!” she laughed, her voice rising with affection. “Forty isn’t old anymore!” She paused, her tone softening. “You’re kind, thoughtful, incredibly attractive… and you sure didn’t seem like an old man the other night.”
She shot him a pointed, playful look, then added with a mischievous lilt, “Which reminds me... since this is all settled, your girlfriend here would like to plan something special for your birthday. I know it’s coming up soon.”
“Oh no,” he said, smiling, “please, you don’t have to do anything.”
“I think I do,” she teased, giggling as their conversation flowed easily into the rest of the evening.
Christopher leaned back further into the sofa, his smile remaining. As the laughter between them ebbed into a comfortable silence, he found himself watching her on the screen with admiration. He didn’t know when it had happened, but somehow, she’d quickly become someone he couldn’t imagine being without.
Christopher had been right, something Marianne was finding to be a recurring theme. A few days later, her students had already shifted their attention from her performance and the impromptu dedication to a fresh scandal involving the swim coach at a rival school. The chatter and teasing at her expense faded quickly, replaced by the next distraction.
Despite the usual end-of-year chaos, the remainder of the year ended without further drama. Marianne finalized grades, sat through the obligatory meetings, met with the owner of the Dorset Lounge to discuss a regular performance schedule, and watched Meg graduate with pride. By the time summer officially began, just four days before Christopher’s birthday, she had all the time she needed to plan something truly special for him.
She lost herself in a world of cooking blogs and videos, her determination setting in as she searched for the perfect meal. She wanted something simple enough for her limited skills but thoughtful enough to show how much she cared. In the end, she settled on a bolognese that didn’t require much experience, just time and patience, served with fresh pasta. She added garlic bread with herbs and a tomato, cucumber, and feta salad tossed in a homemade vinaigrette. For dessert, a twist on tiramisu, using limoncello instead of espresso.
She knew she needed to drop a small hint, enough for Christopher to realize something special was coming, but she was set on keeping the rest a secret. To make it work, she’d have to spend the entire day at his place while he was at work, which meant she had to coordinate carefully.
The night before, as they lay together in the soft warmth of his bed, the air between them charged with the lasting heat of their kisses and touches, he tried to coax the truth out of her. His fingers danced along her skin, his lips trailing across her neck as he asked, “Come on, tell me what you’re planning. I’m dying to know.”
But Marianne only giggled softly, her expression betraying a hint of mischief. “I told you, it’s a surprise.”
He pressed a little more, persistent but patient, but she wouldn’t budge. With a teasing smile, she said, “The only hint I’ll give you is that I’ll need the building staff to recommend a market for supplies and to let me back in when I return. That’s it. The rest… well, you’ll have to wait and see.”
And just like that, she sealed her lips, her smile wide and mysterious, leaving him to simmer in playful frustration, no matter how hard he tried to wear her down.
The next morning, Marianne stirred slightly as Christopher placed a soft kiss on her cheek before leaving for work. She managed to mumble a sleepy “Happy Birthday” before she succumbed to the covers once again. A few hours later, she awoke, a determined smile forming as she began her preparations.
After showering and dressing, she made her way down to the lobby, where the building’s staff gave her helpful recommendations for the market and wine shop. They also assured her that Christopher had arranged for her to be treated with the same trust and access he received. She was welcome to everything—from his home to the building’s amenities.
Her first stop was a short bus ride to the vintage bookshop, where they’d shared one of their first dates. She’d already made sure the book she wanted to buy wasn’t one he already had. Finding the rare first edition of his favorite series, she tucked it into her bag, feeling a subtle thrill at the thought of how he’d react when he saw it.
She moved through the market with purpose, selecting the best tomatoes, onions, and herbs. At the wine shop next door, she asked for a couple of reds that would pair well with pasta without being too heavy. By the time she let herself back into Christopher’s apartment, it was just past two. She set the bags down on the counter. No time to waste.
With a deep breath, she set to work, determined to finish everything and have the kitchen spotless before Christopher returned. She imagined the look on his face when he saw all her effort. That thought kept her moving.
She decided to start with the dessert since it needed time to chill. Things went smoothly until a splash of lemon juice caught her eye. The sting made her swipe at her face, which knocked the spatula and cream mixture onto the floor. It splattered across the counter and floor, a few drops landing on the kitchen tiles with comical precision.
“Perfect,” she muttered, quickly tending to her irritated eye and cleaning up the mess. With a flurry of motion, she washed the spatula and wiped down the counter. When she finally managed to finish preparing the dessert, the relief she felt gave her the confidence she needed to power through the rest of the meal.
But the rest of the meal had different plans.
She burned the first batch of garlic for the butter sauce. The acrid scent filled the air, setting off the smoke alarm with an ear-piercing screech. The noise startled her, and a quick glance at the ceiling revealed the flashing red light of the alarm. Moments later, her phone rang, the front desk checking in to make sure she was okay. “Everything’s fine!” she assured them, trying to swallow her embarrassment.
Next, the bolognese bubbled over and splattered sauce across the stove. The sticky mess clung stubbornly to the burners. She tried adjusting the heat, but the sauce seemed determined to misbehave regardless.
Just when she thought she had things under control, the pasta water boiled over and spilled onto the stove in a frothy rush. She sighed and dropped her shoulders.
Finally, as she was chopping cucumbers for the salad, the knife slipped. She flinched, the blade just grazing the tip of her finger, but luckily it didn’t draw any blood. Her heart raced for a moment, and she took a steadying breath, reminding herself to slow down.
For a moment, the pressure almost made her want to give up. Then her phone buzzed with a message from Christopher.
Hey! I’m about to head home. I can’t wait to see you and this surprise.
Me neither! she typed back. But it’s not ready yet. Could you maybe give me another hour?
Certainly, I’ll use the gym downstairs for a bit first.
Thank you!!!
His message gave her the boost she needed. Knowing he’d be just downstairs made all the difference. She took a deep breath, wiped her hands on a towel, and returned to the kitchen with a renewed resolve.
When everything was finally ready, she laid the components out in serving dishes and set the table. Just as she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, she heard the door open. Panic surged through her—everything wasn’t quite set.
Thinking quickly, she rushed to greet him, trying to keep him away from the chaos of the kitchen.
“Hi,” she said, meeting him at the door with a kiss. “Happy birthday!”
“Thank you,” Christopher replied, his eyes glancing around the space. “It smells amazing in here…but unfortunately, I do not. I’m going to need a shower first.”
“Perfect!” she replied with a bright smile. “I’ll finish up in the kitchen, but no peeking!”
With a playful tug on his sleeve, she led him down the hall toward his bedroom, making sure he didn’t catch a glimpse of the kitchen mess.
Once she heard the water running from the shower, she hurried back to the kitchen, determined to clean up the mess, but quickly realized there was no way she could finish before he was done. When he returned, she was still scrubbing at the burnt sauce, frustration creeping in.
“What happened here?” he asked, his voice a mixture of surprise and amusement as he entered the kitchen, freshly showered, his damp hair still glistening.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s a mess, but I really did try to clean things up,” she said, flashing a sheepish smile.
“It’s ok,” he reassured her, pulling her close from behind, his arms wrapping around her waist. “Let me worry about it. Though I might have to give my housekeeper a raise after this,” he teased.
“Poor thing,” she said softly. “But let’s enjoy dinner first, and then I’ll give you my gift.”
“Wait, there’s more to this?” He looked at her, smiling. “You really didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to,” she told him. “You deserve it. Now, sit,” she added playfully, snapping her fingers toward the softly lit dining area.
He chuckled, still grinning, and made his way to the table. She poured him a glass of wine, the deep red liquid catching the light as it swirled in the glass. Taking her seat across from him, she watched as he took the first bite of the bolognese. His expression softened, as if savoring something more than just the taste.
“Marianne, this is incredible,” he said sincerely. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a homemade spaghetti bolognese. This is better than most restaurants.”
She couldn’t suppress the small laugh that bubbled up. “Thank you, but are you just saying that to be nice?”
“No,” he assured her. “I’ll always tell you what I’m thinking, as long as you ask.”
Her smile deepened at his kind words and honest praise. They ate in contented silence, the meal only adding to the calm that settled between them. By the time they moved onto dessert, the evening felt perfect, a peace that endured long after the last bite.
“You really outdid yourself,” Christopher murmured as he took his final bite, leaning back in his chair, a soft, appreciative smile on his lips as his eyes found hers. “This was… perfect.”
“It’s not over yet,” she said, getting up to retrieve the gift she’d hidden in the living room. When she returned, she handed him the book wrapped in navy blue paper, dotted with delicate white balloons. “Happy birthday, Christopher.”
He took the gift, pressing a kiss to the side of her head before gently unwrapping it. When he saw the rare first edition of the book, his eyes lit up in surprise.
“Wow,” he said with disbelief. “I’ve been looking for this one. The bookstore didn’t have it when we went.”
“Do you like it?” she asked, studying his face.
“I love it,” he said. “Thank you. For everything.” He opened his mouth as if to say more, but the words got stuck in his throat.
Without thinking, Marianne crossed the space between them, her heart quickening as she sat in his lap and pulled him close. Their kiss was soft, but sure, a simple expression of everything she felt in that moment.
As they pulled away, Christopher thought about everything she had done for him today—how much effort she’d poured into making his birthday special. He wanted to tell her, wanted to let her know just how much she meant to him.
Instead, he held her tighter, silently grateful for this woman in his arms. He didn’t know how to say it yet, but he was falling in love with her, more and more each day.
The carefree days of summer stretched on, time drifting by unnoticed. For Marianne, the break from teaching had been a welcome reprieve. She was able to meet Alice for coffee on a few occasions and took on some copyediting work for Dashwood Creative, which provided a steady flow of tasks to keep her mind engaged. Between that and the time she spent with Christopher—easy Sunday mornings, long walks through sun-dappled parks, and dinners that stretched on into the night—she couldn’t have asked for a more perfect break.
Most days blended together peacefully and unhurried. But today, she found herself in Elinor’s office, hunched over her laptop as the steady clack of keys filled the quiet of the space. She’d been at it for hours, focused on a tricky project, when one of the junior account managers burst in.
“Sorry, Elinor, I hate to bother you, but “the Colonel” is on the phone, and I just can’t deal with him today,” she said, looking flustered.
“It’s fine, Martha,” she told her. “I’ll handle him. Go see to the rest of your work.”
“Elinor?” Marianne asked, raising an eyebrow. “‘The Colonel?’ Who does she mean?”
Elinor let out a small laugh. “Oh, just wait. But do me a favor, don’t say anything,” she said, giving Marianne a knowing look before pushing the speakerphone button on her phone. “Go ahead, Martha. Put him through.”
The phone clicked, and Christopher’s familiar voice came through the speaker.
“Good afternoon, Elinor,” he said, his tone precise and rigid. “I’m just calling for some status updates.”
Marianne’s eyes went wide with amusement. “What’s going on?” she mouthed to Elinor, but she simply motioned for her to remain silent.
“Is that all?” Elinor asked. “I can give you that, but just a heads-up, my sister is here today. You’re on speaker, so she can hear everything.”
“Hi, Christopher,” Marianne piped up, though she couldn’t resist adding, “or should I call you Colonel? What’s that all about? Are you giving my sister a hard time?”
Christopher chuckled, the sound light and easy compared to his earlier tone. “They’re at it again, huh? Do I really sound that bad on the phone?”
“It’s just a joke around here,” Elinor playfully explained to Marianne. “They call him that because of his military background and the way he always wants constant updates on timelines.”
“That’s hilarious,” Marianne remarked with a laugh.
“Well, we can’t let anyone around here know he’s in on the joke,” Elinor added with a hint of mischief. “It’s fun to watch the juniors squirm when they think they’re dealing with a stern, military man.”
Marianne giggled. “I can’t say I blame them. You do seem to have a certain…commanding presence in the office.”
"Of course I do," Christopher’s voice came through, his tone light and teasing. "But Elinor, I really need the revised budget and timeline for Q4 in about ten minutes. Does that work for you?"
“Perfect,” Elinor said, her fingers already moving to tap away at her keyboard. “I’ll send those docs right over.”
“I’m setting a timer,” Christopher joked. “And Marianne, I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice softening as a smile formed at her lips. “I’ll see you then.”
With a soft chuckle, they ended the call, Marianne’s smile softening as she shook her head, amused by the easy familiarity between them. She gave her sister a smirk before returning to the glow of her laptop screen, the rhythmic tapping of the keys once again the only sounds filling the space.
“So, how’s everything going with you two?” Elinor asked warmly after a beat. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossing with a casual grace, her lips curving upward as she studied her sister.
Marianne paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. It was impossible not to smile at the question, at the thought of him. “It’s going really well,” she said. “We’ve spent as much time as we could together this summer. It’s been... nice.”
“Nice?” Elinor raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk formed as she leaned in closer. “I think we both know that ‘nice’ is a bit of an understatement.”
Marianne laughed, the sound light and free, though it carried something beneath the surface. She shrugged, leaning back in her chair as she exhaled slowly. “Maybe it’s just hard to find the right words for it. But it’s comfortable, you know? It feels... real.”
Elinor’s smile softened, her eyes gentle but steady. “You’re happy.”
Marianne nodded, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Yeah. I am.”
They paused for a moment before Elinor asked, “And he’s happy?”
Marianne’s heart gave a small skip. “I think so. He’s not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, but I can tell. In the way he looks at me when he doesn’t think I’m watching, or the way he still laughs at something I said hours later. He’s... dedicated. Quietly, but in all the ways that matter.”
“That sounds like a man who’s falling for you.” Elinor’s tone held that familiar lightness that always made Marianne feel understood.
Marianne’s cheeks flushed, and her heart gave a small, nervous thrum at the thought. A faint, almost reluctant smile touched her lips, but it was tinged with doubt. “I know I’m falling for him,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “But he’s not the easiest to read. I guess I was hoping he would’ve said something by now. Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”
Elinor shifted in her seat, her expression softening as she studied her sister. “Marianne, he cares for you. I know that for a fact. He told me that night after your performance, remember? He may not be one for grand declarations, but I truly believe he’s in love with you.”
Marianne took a moment to weigh her sister’s words. Could she be right? Did Christopher really love her but just hadn’t found the way to say it? She looked up, meeting Elinor’s steady gaze. “You really think so?”
Elinor leaned back, her voice steady and sure. “I know. Some men just have a harder time showing it. Especially if they’ve been hurt before. Look at Edward. He was the same way.”
Marianne nodded, her thoughts drifting back to that moment in the coffee shop when Christopher had mentioned his past—the love he lost so suddenly. “Ellie, he told me once… he lost someone he loved. She died,” she said quietly, sadness beneath her words. “But he didn’t want to talk about it then. He said he’d moved on and changed the subject right after.”
Elinor’s face softened. “Oh, that’s awful. How long ago was it?”
“Fifteen years, I think,” Marianne said, her heart aching for him. “He’s never really opened up since. I don’t think he’s ready.”
“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” Elinor said softly. She paused, choosing her words. “Something like that could make him guard his feelings, but Marianne, if you love him, don’t hold back just because he hasn’t said it first. You deserve to say it too.”
Marianne leaned back in her chair, her fingers tracing the edge of her laptop as her thoughts drifted to the steady rhythm of her relationship with Christopher. She hadn’t expected falling in love to be without grand gestures or fireworks. She’d always thought love was supposed to be louder, more intense.
But with Christopher, it was different. It was the small moments—the way his thumb brushed her fingers when he held her hand, the way he listened when she spoke. It was quieter, gentler, and somehow just as real. Maybe this was what love was meant to be. Maybe this slow, steady feeling was exactly what she needed.
The next evening passed in comfortable silence, the soft sounds of the city drifting in through the open patio doors. They had cleaned up after dinner, and the clink of dishes was now a distant memory. A half-empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, but neither felt the need to break the quiet. Marianne rested against Christopher’s side, his arm around her, his fingers moving slowly across her skin. It felt like time had slowed, the world folding inward until it was only the two of them.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”
“Yeah,” she said, leaning closer. “I’m just a little tired. And, I guess, a little sad that summer’s ending soon. I’m excited to meet my new students, but I’ve really enjoyed the extra time with you.”
“Me too,” he murmured, kissing her cheek. “I’ll miss having you spend the night during the week.”
After a long pause, Marianne shifted, meeting his warm, patient eyes as if he’d been waiting.
“Christopher,” she whispered hesitantly. “There’s something I need to tell you… I should’ve said it sooner.”
He frowned, brow knitting in confusion. “Said what?”
“That I love you,” she breathed, a nervous but relieved smile creeping across her face. “I think I’ve known for a while, but I wasn’t sure if… I didn’t want to say it if you didn’t feel the same.”
Christopher’s smile spread slowly, his features lighting with joy as he brushed a lock of hair from her face. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it,” he admitted softly. “I love you too, Marianne. More than I’ll ever know how to put into words.”
A gradual breath escaped her as his words sank in. She reached up, cupping his face, her fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. She pulled him toward her and kissed him slowly. There was nothing to prove, no performance. Just an honest moment shared, something they’d both been moving towards for a long time.
When they finally broke apart, her heart full, she smiled up at him. “I’m glad we finally said it.”
“Me too,” he murmured, pressing his forehead gently against hers. “And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”
Christopher held her close, allowing the sound of those words to echo in his mind. He loved her, and she loved him in return. Nothing else mattered, what they’d both been waiting for was finally out in the open.
Notes:
I had a lot of fun writing Marianne in the classroom, though I can only imagine how challenging it must be for teachers to wrangle a room full of teenagers who won’t put their phones down. 😮💨
Chapter 12: Now
Notes:
Chapter 12 is live!
Quick little status update: I still don’t know exactly how many chapters this story will have (we’re embracing the mystery for now), but I do know when the timelines finally meet—just not giving that away yet. What I can say is we’re about a third of the way through, and things are about to get messier (in the best possible way) from here on out.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
“Okay, Marianne, we’re all set here,” the MRI tech’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice steadier than it had been in days.
“Just stay as still as you can,” he reminded her. “It might feel a little tight, but since we’re only scanning your head, you won’t need to go all the way in. You’ll be fine.”
She nodded and drew a slow breath. After weeks of recovery, lying still had become second nature. Her body didn’t fight it anymore.
She wondered how much progress she’d made. How far she’d come since that dark day. The clicks and pulses of the scan faded into the background as her mind floated somewhere quieter and more hopeful. Maybe the images would show something good, like she was coming back to herself, whoever that was now.
The hum then slowed, the table vibrating faintly beneath her as it began to slide out. A soft buzzer sounded, and the door opened. The tech and a nurse stepped in, their footsteps quiet on the sterile floor.
“We’re all done,” the tech announced. “You did really well, Marianne. You can sit up now.”
With slow, deliberate movements, Marianne began to sit up, the nurse gently supporting her.
“Step down here, slowly,” the nurse instructed.
Marianne’s legs felt weak, but the nurse’s steady hands guided her down carefully.
“We’ll get you back to the changing room so you can dress. Then I’ll come get you and take you back to your mother.”
In the adjoining room, Marianne changed slowly, each movement more difficult than it should have been. By the time she was dressed, a soft knock came at the door. The nurse stepped in and led her back to the waiting area, where her mother sat patiently.
“We should have the report from the radiologist in the next day or two,” the nurse explained to Mary as they neared the door. “Dr. Jameson will go over it with you next week during your regular appointment.”
Turning to Marianne, she offered a kind, reassuring smile. “Take care, dear.”
“Thank you,” both Marianne and Mary said in unison.
The nurse gave one final smile and opened the door, letting them know they were free to go.
Mary gently draped her arm around Marianne as they stepped out of the clinic, the warm afternoon light spilling across the pavement.
“You okay, my dear?” she asked.
Marianne paused for a moment, taking a deep, grounding breath. “Yeah, Mama. I’m good. I feel good today.”
The feeling stayed with her as they got into the car, this newfound certainty that had eluded her for so long. Things seemed to be slowly transforming—she was steadier, more in control. Confident enough that she could begin to gather the broken pieces and start putting them back together without the fear of unravelling entirely.
For the first time since her accident, Marianne believed she could start to face what happened with Christopher. She hadn’t yet been ready for the truth, so she hadn’t pressed him for the details. But now, she knew it was time to ask him the question that had been haunting her thoughts since she woke up in the hospital.
What really happened between them?
“Is there anything specific on your mind today, Christopher?” Dr. Morton asked, settling into her chair with a notepad in hand.
Christopher fidgeted on the leather couch, uneasy in the quiet room. He hesitated, caught between holding back and wanting to speak.
“I’ve seen Marianne a few times,” he said finally, unsure how she’d take it.
Dr. Morton softened. “That’s surprising. Do you want to talk about what brought those visits on? What was it like to see her?”
He took a long breath, eyes drifting. His heart still ached from the past, but the present was even harder to grasp.
“Well,” he said, his voice catching, “I’ve seen her because… she asked me to. About a month ago, she had an accident at her fiancé’s house. She fell down the stairs and hit her head.”
He paused, gathering himself before speaking again. “She can’t remember the fall. Can’t remember him. Can’t remember how we… ended. But she knows something’s wrong.”
“That sounds serious, especially with the memory loss,” Dr. Morton said with concern. “How is she doing now?”
“I’ve talked to her mother a bit,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “The doctors think her physical injuries will heal, but it’s unclear how much of her memory will come back.”
“She sounds like she has a strong support system,” she said softly. “You mentioned she has a fiancé? That’s new, isn’t it?”
Christopher let out a short breath. “It is. It caught me off guard. After we ended, I knew I had to accept that she’d move on. She deserves happiness. I just… didn’t expect it to happen so fast.”
Dr. Morton nodded slowly. “I understand,” she said quietly. “But I remember you telling me early on that your goal wasn’t to win her back, but to heal. To become a better version of yourself, for you and for others. Don’t lose sight of that.”
“I’m not,” he said, though his voice held a hint of doubt. “But… seeing her again was harder than I expected. She’s different now. There’s a hesitation in her, like she’s still trying to find her footing. It’s hard to watch, because she used to be so sure of herself, so full of fire. She’s still there, though. I can feel it beneath the surface.”
“And being near her again, even for a moment, was like remembering how to breathe. Now that I’ve been given this second chance,” he paused, voice softening, “I don’t want to lose it.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor as if searching for the right words.
“I know it won’t be like before,” he continued. “Right now, she doesn’t know why we ended things. If she asked, I’d be honest. I’ve never lied to her.” He paused, brow furrowed. “But I’m scared. Scared of how she might react. Scared it could push her back into anger, or even further away.”
Dr. Morton’s voice was gentle but firm. “I’m here to help you navigate being part of her life again,” she said softly. “Even if it’s different now. Relationships change, Christopher. What matters is how you show up for her, whatever that looks like.”
She sat back, giving him a moment. “Ultimately, you can’t control how she reacts. But you can control how you approach it. If you believe honesty will help heal things between you, that’s where the real work begins.”
Dr. Morton held his gaze calmly. “You’ve said before you didn’t want children because of what you lost. But it sounds like the story is more complicated than grief and fear. Maybe even something older.”
He leaned back into the couch. “It’s never felt straightforward. I thought I was being honest, telling her I wasn’t sure about marriage or having kids. But looking back, maybe I was only telling the part I could live with. The part that felt safer than admitting how broken I still was.”
She leaned forward slightly, her tone soft but steady. “We’ve talked about how Eliza’s death and losing your unborn child shaped you. But would you like to explore your fears about starting a family now?”
Christopher took a slow, steadying breath. “I’m not exactly young,” he said quietly. “I turned forty-five a few months ago. My parents were about the same age when they had me—maybe a bit older.”
His next words faltered. The memory of his parents, long faded, stirred unexpectedly. Staring ahead, his mind drifted back to another time.
His parents, George and Grace, had grown up in the same small town, their lives running parallel until his father returned from military service. Their connection was immediate, and not long after his discharge, they married. His mother had always longed for a family, and a few years later, Christopher’s older brother Paul was born, marking the beginning of the life they’d dreamed of. She envisioned a house full of children, and longed to give him a sibling to share his childhood.
But as the years passed, that dream slipped further out of reach. Despite their hopes and efforts, another child never came. Grace felt the ache in small ways—the second bedroom that stayed untouched, the mantle of their fireplace adorned with only three stockings. George, always perceptive, did what he could to ease her pain. He threw himself into providing for the family, making sure Paul’s childhood felt full and rich with attention.
But Paul, wrapped in his parents' devotion, took their love for granted. Like many children without clear boundaries, he pushed limits, testing the edges of their patience and love, because he knew that they would always catch him when he stumbled.
By the time he reached his early twenties, that restless energy had turned into something darker. What had seemed like normal teenage defiance became real trouble—substance use, run-ins with the law, choices that shook the family to its core. Grace, who had built her identity around being the perfect mother, struggled to hold on to what was left. The boy who had once been their whole world had become the source of their deepest pain.
In the middle of everything going wrong, Grace discovered she was pregnant again. She was forty-six, and the timing wasn’t what anyone expected. The news felt like both a gift and a heavy burden. George, tired from years of carrying the load, didn’t know how to take it at first. But Grace, who’d always wanted another child, welcomed the pregnancy with a sense of hope.
She had long since set aside the idea of a perfect family. But Christopher’s arrival felt like a fresh start, a chance to try something different this time.
As he grew, the contrast between Christopher and his older brother became impossible to ignore. George, worn down from years of managing Paul’s chaos, approached fatherhood the second time with strictness, not softness. He was determined not to repeat past mistakes, but in doing so, held Christopher at a distance. His love wasn’t absent, but it came with discipline, order and the expectation of obedience.
Grace, still recovering from a difficult pregnancy that had left her health fragile, offered a gentler balance. She didn’t coddle him, but there was warmth in her parenting George couldn’t provide. Her boundaries were clear, always paired with the kind of steady, unconditional love that made their small household feel safe. Even on the days when exhaustion left her with little to give, she still managed to offer him love and warmth he could feel.
Paul had been wild and headstrong, always testing limits. Christopher, by contrast, was quieter, more thoughtful. His easier nature didn’t mean he lacked spirit, it came from growing up with firmer boundaries and steadier guidance. He wasn’t a perfect kid, no one is, but his calmness helped him make sense of things in a way Paul never could.
When Christopher was only twelve, his mother, worn thin by the toll of both her difficult pregnancy and the years of illness that followed, passed away peacefully in her sleep one night. For a boy who had grown up surrounded by structure and her unconditional love, the loss felt like the floor giving out beneath him.
He was forced to carry the grief alone. His father, unable to process the loss, retreated further into himself, and Christopher, still just a boy, had no one left to show him how to grieve. The man who had once been a distant figure had now become a stranger, someone whose emotional absence only deepened Christopher’s sense of isolation.
As for his brother, he had long since drifted beyond the family’s reach. Caught in his own spiral, Paul left the area and severed ties. Whatever sense of connection had once existed was now a hollow memory Christopher could no longer touch.
It was during those years, still carrying the burden of that grief, that he met Eliza. They shared a few classes at school, and through her, he began to feel a spark of something he hadn’t known in a long time—a glimpse of life beyond the shell his mother’s death had sealed around him. But real healing didn’t come quickly.
Christopher took a slow, steady breath, memories still haunting him just beneath the surface, but he didn’t want to dwell on them for too long. “I just didn’t know how to connect with my father,” he continued quietly. “Whether it was because of his age, the strain with my brother, or my mother’s death, I’ll never know. I thought joining the military would create some kind of bridge between us, since he’d served. Maybe help us find common ground.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, a deep ache stirring within. “But in my final year of service, he passed away so I came home. I couldn't fix things or change what was already gone.”
Dr. Morton made a few notes, giving him space to continue when he was ready.
“After university, I reconnected with Eliza. She had a daughter, Beth, and I grew close to both of them. When she got pregnant again, it felt like we were building something real. Then... she was gone.”
He paused, the grief starting to weigh on him. “After that, going back into the military made sense. But when I was finally out, after seeing too much... I knew I needed something different.”
“That’s when you started focusing on the business, right?” Dr. Morton asked gently, keeping her tone encouraging.
Christopher nodded, his gaze drifting inward as he recalled. “Yeah. John Middleton, a good friend from university, had this idea for a software company but lacked the financial know-how to get it off the ground. So he turned to me. I threw myself into it, giving everything I had to make it work. After years of hard work, it finally paid off.”
He shifted in his chair, voice lowering slightly. “I tried dating again after that, but it felt like people were more interested in my success than in me.”
He let out a soft breath before continuing. “Then I met Marianne. She was twenty-four, I was forty. We knew the age gap was there, but it didn’t matter. We had a connection, a bond that neither of us could shake. For almost four years, it felt right. We were happy... I thought we were.”
His voice broke briefly, but he pushed on. “Eventually, she wanted more. And... well, you know the rest. I couldn’t commit to her and give her what she needed. The thought of giving her the family she wanted felt like too much after everything I had been through.”
Dr. Morton set her pen down and leaned forward. “Christopher, I hear fear in your words. Not only fear of repeating your father’s mistakes, but fear of letting Marianne down in the ways that matter most to you. You’ve carried the grief over Eliza for so long it’s made you believe you can’t give someone what they need.”
She let the silence hang between them. “You’re not your father. The love you shared with Marianne was real. You have the chance to build something healthier if you’re willing to face what’s still holding you back, both from the past and going forward.”
She gave him a moment to process, then added with a soft smile, “The work now isn’t rewriting your past, Christopher. It’s finding the courage to loosen its grip on you. That’s what will help you build something better for yourself and for the people you care about.”
Christopher sat quietly, her words sinking in. They felt like a window had cracked open in a room long sealed shut, allowing just enough air to breathe and just enough light to see that the way forward still existed, even if it remained unclear.
The soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead filled the otherwise hushed office as Marianne sat across from Dr. Jameson, her neurologist, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the chair. She felt the subtle tension in the air, the kind that always seemed to settle around a crossroads. She took a deep breath, trying to steady the nerves that always formed around appointments like this.
Dr. Jameson looked up from his notes and offered a reassuring smile. "How are you feeling today, Marianne?"
She nodded, her gaze drifting to the window, though the world beyond it seemed far away in the confines of the office. “I’ve been feeling… good.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, before gesturing toward the large monitor beside them. “Let’s take a look at your scans.”
The room dimmed slightly as he flipped the switch, the screen flickering to life. The images of both her initial CT scan and her most recent MRI filled the display. “On the left, we have the original scan, and on the right, we have the latest MRI.”
Marianne leaned forward, her gaze shifting between the two images, though she could make little sense of them herself. The CT scan on the left showed the immediate aftermath of her injury as a stark, grayscale cross-section of her brain, where the trauma from the fall had left its mark. The contrasts of light and shadow outlined areas of swelling and bruising, the impact site a small but unmistakable disruption in the delicate structure.
The MRI on the right was far more detailed than the CT scan. It offered a sharper, layered view of the contours of her brain. Some areas showed clear signs of healing, others still tinged dark, evidence of lingering trauma. As the scan scrolled past her eye sockets, Marianne wrinkled her nose. They showed up unnaturally white, like they didn’t belong to a living person. It was unnerving, seeing her mind rendered like this, stripped of anything recognizably human.
“The clarity’s striking, isn’t it?” Dr. Jameson said, pointing between the two scans on the monitor. “The CT showed the immediate trauma right after your injury. The MRI gives us a fuller picture. This one shows where the initial damage is clearest. And this one shows how much progress you’ve made. Your brain is adapting and healing. There’s still work to do, but you’ve come a long way.”
Marianne nodded quietly, her eyes fixed on the screen without really seeing it. The scans showed clear, measurable progress, but it felt strangely empty. Her body was healing, her brain repairing itself, but only one memory had returned. The rest remained out of reach, leaving her caught between relief and frustration—grateful to be recovering, but still searching for pieces of herself.
“Do you know when she’ll be fully healed?” Mary asked, placing a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “At least physically?”
Dr. Jameson shifted slightly, choosing his words with care. “As you know, brain injuries can be complicated,” he began. “We’re about six weeks out from the injury, and you’ve made significant progress. But we also have to consider the other injuries, your ankle and shoulder. I understand your physical therapist has cleared both, which is a good sign. Still, taken together, all three put a considerable strain on the body.
“That’s why rest, proper nutrition, and keeping stress low are still important,” he added. “If you stay on track, I’d estimate another six to eight weeks for full recovery.”
Mary gave her daughter an encouraging smile. “See? You’re doing so well, sweetheart. We’re about halfway there.”
Dr. Jameson nodded. “I’d also recommend starting some short walks. They can really help at this stage by improving circulation and keeping your joints from getting stiff. Start small, just a few minutes around the block. But make sure someone’s with you, in case you feel dizzy or unsteady. Your body’s been through a lot, so listen to it. If anything feels off, take a break. We can adjust as needed. But even small steps like this will make a real difference in your recovery.”
Marianne nodded. The idea of something as simple as a walk through the neighborhood, watching the leaves change, brought a quiet sense of comfort.
Dr. Jameson noticed the shift in her expression and offered a warm smile. “Those small steps will help more than you think. As for our check-ins, I think we can scale back to just once a month moving forward. But if anything feels off, don’t wait. Just call.”
He paused. “You’re on the right track, Marianne. Healing will come, as long as you keep listening to your body.”
The cool autumn breeze tugged at Marianne’s curls, swirling them around her face. She paused, tilted her chin to the sky, and let the crisp air fill her lungs.
“Are you alright? Not too tired?” Mary asked, her voice lined with concern as she watched her daughter closely.
“I’m fine, Mama,” Marianne said, the words coming easily. “It just feels good… doing something normal outside the house.”
Mary smiled as they kept walking towards home. The steady rhythm of their steps and the sound of leaves crunching underfoot brought a calm Marianne hadn’t realized she’d been missing. It felt wonderful just being outside, doing something simple she had once taken for granted.
Back inside, Mary helped her upstairs and eased her into bed. Rest was still essential; the doctor’s advice hummed in the back of her mind. As she settled, a familiar buzz broke the quiet. She reached for her phone without much thought, surprised by the small, almost automatic smile that formed when she saw the name on the screen.
John Willoughby.
Her thumb hovered over the screen for a moment. Seeing his name sparked a brief, cautious curiosity she hadn’t expected even though she barely knew him.
“Hi, John,” she answered, unsure if the smile that formed was even warranted.
“Hi, Marianne,” Willoughby’s voice came through smoothly. “How are you feeling today?”
“I’m good,” she replied casually, which surprised her. “I was just out for a walk with my mother. The doctor said I can start taking short walks with someone. It felt nice being outside.”
“That’s wonderful,” he responded, the relief in his voice catching her for a moment. But the feeling passed almost as quickly as it surfaced. “I’m so relieved you’re making progress. I was wondering—”
Before he could finish, Marianne let out a small surprised grunt as Lucky jumped onto her lap, his soft paws landing against her legs with a thud.
“Is everything okay?” Willoughby asked with a hint of concern.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” she said with a small laugh. “It’s just my cat, Lucky. He jumped up on the bed and… oh.” Her voice trailed off as the thought caught up to her. A detail she hadn’t questioned before suddenly stood out. “Wait… aren’t you allergic to cats?”
A heavy silence filled the space between them, stretching longer than she expected. The absence of his usual confident tone made her stomach knot.
“Well… I…” Willoughby stammered, his voice struggling to maintain his usual confident tone.
Marianne’s frown deepened. “John, my mother told me you were severely allergic to cats. That’s why I couldn’t bring Lucky when I moved in with you…” Her voice dropped, suspicion taking root. “But you were here not long ago, and Lucky was around. How could you tolerate it?”
Willoughby exhaled, his voice softening. “I’m sorry, Marianne. I’m not actually allergic to cats. I just… I don't like them. I didn’t know how to explain that to you. I didn’t want to seem difficult.”
Marianne’s grip on the phone tightened. Her pulse quickened as a low thrum of disbelief and frustration rising beneath her calm. “So you lied to me?”
“I know,” he murmured. “And I regret it. I just… I wanted everything to go smoothly between us. I was so excited when you were going to move in, and I didn’t want anything to mess it up. I thought saying I was allergic would be… easier.”
The air slowly left her lungs. She understood the impulse, maybe, but not the choice, especially over something so trivial. “And you thought lying was easier than just telling me the truth?”
His voice lowered further, regret coloring his words. "I know it wasn’t. I just... I wanted you to be happy. I thought if I told you the truth, you’d think I was too difficult. I thought maybe... you’d think I wasn’t the right person for you."
Marianne’s mind swarmed with questions that seemed impossible to answer. She didn’t know how to react. Was it anger? Disappointment? Hurt? Or was she giving this moment more weight than it deserved? She tried to imagine what it had been like to love him, to say yes to a life with him, but now she couldn’t feel it. And that void, more than anything, unsettled her.
"You could’ve just told me," she said, her voice flat. "John, we were going to get married . Why didn’t you trust me enough to be honest with me?"
"I’m sorry," Willoughby said sincerely. "I never meant to hurt you."
Marianne didn’t answer right away. She stared at the wall, the phone warm in her hand, trying to make sense of the thundering unease. His words certainly sounded sincere, but she had nothing to measure them against. No memory, no instinct, no spark of recognition. The only reason she’d let him back into her life at all was because her family had confirmed the engagement, because the photos showed her smiling beside him, as if it had all made sense once. That should have meant something. And maybe it still did. That small thread of possibility was enough to keep her on the line.
Finally, she spoke, her voice firm. “You have to be honest with me. No more lies, no more pretending. If we’re going to move forward, it has to be with the truth.”
Willoughby’s voice softened. “I promise, Marianne. No more lies. I’ll be honest with you, always.”
She inhaled slowly, letting his words sink in. Doubts lingered, but stubborn hope pushed her forward.
She wanted to believe him. She felt she owed him the benefit of the doubt at least this once.
As she exhaled, her decision settled. For now, she would take him at his word. Deep down, she only hoped she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.
Marianne sat across from her neuropsychologist. The soft whir of the office fan was the only sound between them. She glanced aimlessly at the bookshelves lining the walls but couldn’t focus enough to read any titles. These sessions had become familiar yet never routine. Each one felt like trying to dig through fog, chasing shapes that dissolved before she could grasp them.
“How are you feeling today, Marianne?” Dr. Richards asked, adjusting her glasses as she set down the pen she'd been scribbling with.
“The same,” Marianne replied, frustration sharpening her tone. “No new memories. No flashes, no sudden returns.”
Dr. Richards gave a small nod. “That’s not unusual. Memory recovery is unpredictable after trauma. But you’re moving forward—don’t discount the physical progress you’ve made. It’s meaningful.”
Marianne shifted uncomfortably, folding her hands in her lap. She wasn’t sure what she expected to hear anymore. Patience wasn’t the thing she was running low on. She needed answers too, and she felt like she wasn’t getting any.
“I know, and I’m grateful I’m healing physically,” she began, trying to put into words what bothered her most. “But mentally, the days all feel the same. I still don’t know what happened in those months before the accident. It’s like there are empty spaces in my mind.”
Dr. Richards gave her a sympathetic look but stayed silent, allowing Marianne the space to speak.
Marianne bit her lip. “I’m also… struggling with something else.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “How do I know what’s good for me right now? Should I keep seeing John—the man I was supposed to marry but don’t remember? Or spend more time with my ex, Christopher—someone I feel I can trust?”
Dr. Richards took a breath, her gaze steady. “Those are valid questions, Marianne. Relationships get complicated after trauma, especially ones with history. It’s important to spend time with people who support you. But emotional closeness can also be overwhelming when you’re still finding your footing.”
Marianne’s thoughts tangled, becoming hard to separate. She loved spending time with Christopher. He had been patient and supportive, but was she only holding on to the parts that still felt good? What if remembering everything changed how she saw him?
And Willoughby... it wasn’t hard to see why she might have once said yes to him, but even now, something about him still felt distant.
“But how do I know who’s actually helping me?” she murmured, more to herself than to her therapist. “How do I even know if I’m making any progress?”
Dr. Richards tilted her head slightly, expression calm. “That’s something only you can answer. No one else can define what progress looks like for you, not John or Christopher. What matters is living up to your own expectations, not someone else’s.”
Marianne thought about what she wanted from herself. Beneath the confusion, something was starting to settle. “I think I need to step back. Spend some time figuring out what I want without trying to sort through two relationships at once.”
“That sounds wise,” Dr. Richards said. “Healing doesn’t mean pushing forward at full speed. Sometimes it means stepping aside and letting the pieces fall into place.”
Marianne nodded slowly. “I’ll try to be patient with myself. But I also need answers, especially from Christopher. I don’t think I can fully move forward until I know the truth.”
Marianne steadied herself against Christopher, looping her arm through his as they walked, her trainers scuffing the path with each step. A crisp gust of the cool October breeze tousled her hair, pushing it across her face. She tucked it behind her ear as small pockets of silence passed between bouts of idle chatter.
When Christopher had called, asking to see her, she knew it was time. Time to ask the difficult questions that had been tumbling through her mind ever since she woke up. But she hadn’t wanted to talk at home. She didn’t want to unsettle her mother or risk turning her living room into a potential battle ground.
So, she suggested a local park. Somewhere neutral, without the distractions or expectations that came with being at home. They walked for a while, trading small observations about the weather and passersby, but Marianne’s mind was already set. She knew what she had to do.
Eventually, she led him to a bench tucked away from anyone else, a quiet spot in the middle of the park. As they sat down, the change in the atmosphere was immediate, becoming subtly tense. Christopher’s hand brushed against hers, but the touch felt distant now, the intimacy between them dulled by her need for answers.
“Are you feeling tired?” Christopher asked, concern clouding his slate-blue eyes. “Do you want me to drive you home soon?”
“No, it’s not that,” she replied, shaking her head as she turned to face him fully. Her heart thudded in her chest. “Christopher, I need to ask you something. I need you to be honest with me.”
His gaze held hers, full of the same intensity and affection she’d always known. He’d been bracing for this moment ever since he learned of her memory loss, but now that it was here, the words caught somewhere between his chest and throat. In her eyes, he saw the hesitation and anguish of not remembering why they ended, but also the desperate plea for him to help her understand.
“Of course, Marianne,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I’ve told you before, I’ll always be honest with you. Whatever you need to know, just ask.”
Marianne took a deep breath, her eyes dropping to her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. Her voice was composed when she spoke, but beneath it was a rawness he hadn’t expected.
“Chris… I have to know. What really happened between us?” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I’ve tried to remember, but nothing comes. I’ve pieced together what I can, but it doesn’t add up. Please… just tell me. I need the truth.”
Christopher’s hand tightened its grip on the edge of the bench as he slowly grappled with her question. Even though he had prepared himself for it, he wasn’t prepared for the pain in her voice just now. It struck him like a bolt of lightning, setting his mind ablaze.
He loved her still, that had never changed. And he knew she could remember it, but not the hurt that had ripped them apart. She was asking for that now, and recounting it would mean stepping back into the most difficult and agonizing chapter of their story.
Time seemed to come to a standstill, but he knew every second he hesitated only deepened her heartache. Finally, with a shaky breath, Christopher began to speak.
Notes:
Sorry for the cliffhanger! But hopefully I’ve left enough breadcrumbs in earlier chapters to give you a sense of what Christopher might say.
One of my goals with this story has been to align past and present in meaningful ways, which means I prefer readers to experience key moments in real time rather than through flashbacks. It’s definitely been a challenge—but I think (and hope!) it’ll pay off in the end.
Chapter 13: Then
Notes:
I've placed a content warning in my end notes to avoid any spoilers.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
As the last student left, Marianne stayed behind at her desk, smiling as she thanked them for their birthday wishes. Once the room was empty, she let out a deep breath. It had been an eventful week, but the weekend ahead promised a much-needed escape. Christopher had teased a surprise, leaving her only one cryptic instruction:
Pack a bag for this weekend. Make sure you bring comfy clothes for indoors and out.
A holiday falling on the same weekend as her birthday was an unexpected gift, giving her an extra day to enjoy the surprise he had planned.
She sat back and skimmed her notes for the next week, but the buzz of her phone interrupted her thoughts. She smiled at the message from Christopher:
I’m out front. Ready?
A rush of excitement swept through her as she typed her reply:
Yes! Be out in just a bit.
Grabbing her things, she headed for the door, saying a quick goodbye to Alice, who wished her a lovely birthday. Outside, Christopher’s car gleamed in the late afternoon sun. She smiled as he stepped out and greeted her with a soft kiss on the cheek, his lips lingering just a second longer than necessary, sending a rush of heat through her.
Once they were settled on the road, she said, “Alright, I have to know. What’s the big surprise?”
“Marianne,” he teased with a knowing grin, “did you tell me what you had planned for my birthday?”
“No,” she admitted, fingers toying with her purse. “But that was different. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
His grin widened. “It’s not different at all. It’s exactly the same.”
She tilted her head, pretending to pout. “Fine. But can you at least give me one clue? How far are we going?”
“About an hour and a half,” he said, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “If traffic’s decent through town, we’ll make good time.”
Marianne’s excitement continued to grow as they drove. Just being with him made everything feel right. When a quaint town with cobbled streets and cozy cafés finally came into view, she leaned forward with wide eyes.
She glanced around, taking in as much as she could. It was the kind of place that made you want to slow down, breathe deep, and forget the world. Where time moved a little slower, and the simple things mattered most.
“This town is lovely.” she said, her voice full of wonder. “Please tell me this is it.”
“Not quite,” Christopher said, his tone warm. “We’re still about thirty minutes out.”
“But you’ll bring me back here, won’t you?” she asked, her gaze drawn to the streets.
“Of course,” he said, smiling. “I’ve made a reservation at a little restaurant for Saturday. We’ll explore then.”
As they left the town behind, the scenery shifted. The rolling hills and autumn leaves gave way to the scent of pine in the distance. Marianne reached for Christopher’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He kissed it softly, giving her an affectionate look that always made her melt.
“Not much longer,” he promised.
The trees began to thin, revealing a gravel drive flanked by taller ones still ahead. An old wrought-iron gate came into view. Christopher slowed the car and pressed a button on the console, the gate opening with a soft creak.
"Welcome," he said quietly as they passed through, revealing the sprawling estate beyond.
Marianne let out a low gasp when the stately house came into view. Its stone façade, softened by ivy, stood tall against the land, as if it had always belonged. A small pond mirrored the afternoon sun as they pulled up to the porch, where potted plants and rocking chairs welcomed them.
“We’re here,” he murmured, cutting the engine.
“Wow. It’s beautiful. Is this what you’ve been renovating?” she asked, awe in her voice.
“Yes, but not by hand. I hired contractors.” He smiled faintly. “It’s been in my family for generations, but after my mother passed, it fell into disrepair. Restoring it was important to me.”
Marianne paused, taking in the hush and the wide-open sky. “I can’t believe it’s real.”
“It’s real,” he said gently. “I promise.”
He reached over and brushed her hand before stepping out. Marianne followed, the crisp late-November air washing over her as leaves rustled and birds called in the distance.
“I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time,” Christopher said softly, reaching for her hand again.
Marianne took his hand and followed him inside. The house carried its history in the worn wood and stone, but every room felt freshly loved. He led her through each space, starting from the wide living area with its massive fireplace to the bright, gleaming kitchen. The home’s warmth was unmistakable.
After showing her the library and small powder room downstairs, he gave her a quick tour of the upstairs bedrooms and baths, each one bright and thoughtfully restored.
“I’ll leave you to explore,” he said with a soft smile, “Come find me when you're ready.”
Marianne nodded, already imagining where to wander first. The house had been updated beautifully, with nothing feeling stark or showy. She moved through the halls slowly, taking in the spaces. It had a warm grandeur, as though it had always belonged. Unlike Christopher’s sleek city home or the familiar ease of her own in the suburbs, this place felt set apart, timeless and serene.
Eventually, she found Christopher in the kitchen, already pulling ingredients from the fridge. The air was filled with the comforting scent of garlic and rosemary, making the place feel more welcoming.
“How was all this here?” Marianne asked, eyeing the well-stocked fridge with surprise.
Christopher glanced over with a smile. “I have caretakers who check on the place every week. They keep it up when I’m not here. I asked them to make sure it was stocked so we wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
Marianne’s eyes widened. The care he’d put into this weekend began to sink in. “Chris… how much money do you have?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. “I mean, I don’t care. Not really, but now I’m curious.”
She regretted it immediately, worried it sounded like the opposite of what she meant. But when she looked up, his easy grin set her at ease.
He chuckled, turning back to the fridge. “A bit more than I let on, I guess. You’re right, that’s not what matters. It’s about us, not what I have.”
She smiled, grateful for his understanding. He always made her feel grounded, even when her own questions left her uncertain. For someone so successful, he carried himself with such natural humility. It was one of the things she loved most about him.
“I know,” she said warmly. “It’s just… this place. This weekend. You really went all out.”
His smile deepened. He stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder in a quiet, steady gesture. “I wanted to give you something special. You deserve it.”
She stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, her cheek resting against his back. After a moment, she pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Thank you,” she whispered, the words simple but full of affection.
He turned towards her, his hand lifting to gently tilt her chin. “I love you, Marianne,” he said, slow and sincere, as if every part of him meant it.
She looked up at him, her heart full. “I love you too, Chris.”
The next morning as sunlight crept through the curtains, Christopher smiled as Marianne curled deeper into the blankets, resisting the new day. He pressed a kiss to her neck, but when that didn’t wake her, he slowly tugged the covers back. She let out a low moan as the cool air touched her skin. He slipped closer beside her, warming her again as he coaxed her gently awake. Her body responded before her mind could fully awaken, but when it did, she allowed herself to fully surrender to the heat of his intimate touch.
The day unfolded slowly, filled with a blend of adventure and ease. They wandered the grounds, hiking trails that wound through towering trees and sunlit glades. The crisp autumn air filled their lungs, invigorating their every step. Marianne smiled beside him, their companionship so natural it made everything feel effortless. Conversation drifted between everything and nothing, the world narrowing to this simple moment they shared.
For lunch, Christopher spread a blanket on the grass, and they picnicked beneath the afternoon sun, their laughter weaving through teasing jokes. Their comfort felt timeless, as if they’d known each other for years, though every moment still felt new.
Later, after a wonderful dinner Christopher had prepared, they slipped into the large soaker tub, steam curling around them. Marianne leaned back against his chest, eyes closed, fingers lightly tracing his arm. She felt the steady beat of his heart, allowing it to ground her in the intimacy of the moment.
He leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of her head. “This... is perfect,” he murmured.
Marianne nodded, closing her eyes as she sighed softly. “I agree,” she whispered back. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Christopher smiled as he watched Marianne stir the next morning, the room brightening with the warm light of the new day.
"Happy birthday, Marianne," he whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face.
She blinked sleepily, a smile curving on her lips at the sound of his voice. “Thank you,” she murmured, her heart swelling at his sincerity, as she pressed a tender kiss to his lips.
The drive into town was short but scenic, winding through countryside painted in late autumn hues. Christopher glanced over at Marianne, her smile still soft from the morning’s peace. The gentle hum of the car filled the space between them, a calm that mirrored the ease they always found in each other’s company.
The town appeared as they rounded a bend, with quaint buildings with shopfronts that promised a day of whimsical charm. Marianne lit up at the sight, delighting in the cozy stores and curated displays. They wandered through a small bookstore, each choosing something to add to their collections. At a nearby café, she couldn’t resist the pastries in the window, and they relaxed over sweet treats and tea, the warmth of the moment as golden as the afternoon sun.
As the day faded and street lamps cast a soft glow over cobblestone streets, Christopher paused. “Give me five minutes,” he said, leaning in with a brief kiss. “I’ve got one quick thing to take care of.”
Marianne raised an eyebrow but smiled. “Should I be suspicious?”
“Maybe,” he said over his shoulder as he walked off. “Meet you at the restaurant.”
When he joined her outside the charming French restaurant, its windows spilling warm golden light, he gave no hint of where he’d been.
“Did you take care of what you needed?” Marianne asked, a teasing glint in her eye.
“All set,” he said with a smile. “Let’s go in.”
Inside, the restaurant felt like an intimate escape—rustic yet elegant, filled with the scent of fragrant herbs and freshly baked bread. At a small, candlelit table by the window, they settled in with a view of the starry night. The menu offered a tempting selection of dishes, and they made their choices easily, the meal unfolding in warm, satisfying courses.
They shared the meal slowly, savoring each bite, their conversation drifting easily, punctuated by soft laughter and shared glances. Time seemed to stretch around them, feeling as though the world put itself on hold just for them.
As candlelight glowed between them, Christopher reached into his coat pocket, his fingers brushing the velvet box. He placed the box on the table, his fingers brushing hers in passing. Then he looked up and met her gaze.
“Happy birthday, Marianne,” he said softly.
“Chris… is that why you vanished earlier?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips as she ran a finger over the velvet box.
“It is,” he replied, eyes glinting. “I had it made a few weeks ago so it would be ready for tonight.”
Her smile deepened, touched by this thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” she said gently, opening the box.
Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, lay a delicate teardrop-shaped pearl pendant, set in a graceful gold chain. The pearl’s soft pink hue shimmered in the candlelight, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. She blinked, her breath catching.
“You had this made for me?” she whispered in awe. “It’s beautiful. So… perfect. I love it.”
Christopher’s smile deepened, proud and tender. “I’m so glad you do,” he said, his voice as sincere as the gesture itself. “Here, let me help you put it on.”
She stood and stepped to his side. As he gently swept her hair aside, his touch sent a soft shiver through her, warmth rising that had nothing to do with the candlelight around them. With careful hands, he fastened the clasp, his fingers lingering just a moment before retreating. She turned to face him, her eyes shining.
“It’s perfect, Chris. Thank you… for everything. This weekend, the necklace… I love you so much,” she said, her voice catching on the words, as she bent to kiss him softly.
“I love you too,” he murmured against her lips, the words full of sincerity. “So much, Marianne.”
After dinner, the cool evening air had settled, and the warm glow of the house welcomed them back. While Marianne slipped off her shoes, Christopher built a fire, the gentle crackle soon filling the living room. Languid shadows stretched across the walls as they settled onto the rug, the heat from the hearth wrapping around them.
Marianne leaned against the sofa, her legs stretched across Christopher's lap, her head resting in the crook of his neck. The warmth of his skin, the steady rhythm of his breath, and the quiet sounds of the room filled the space between them. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The calm was easy, but inside, Marianne was a whirlwind of emotion.
Everything he had done for her this weekend, from the trip to the gift, had overwhelmed her in the most beautiful way. It was care she had never expected but always dreamed of. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being deeply cherished, truly seen for the first time.
She glanced over at him—the man who had given her not just comfort or beauty, but his heart, his time, his love. And in that moment, she realized words weren’t enough to express what she was feeling.
Without thinking, she shifted to straddle him, her heartbeat quick and insistent. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him. It was soft at first, then deeper, slower, savoring the feel of him. Gratitude and longing tangled together as she poured herself into every touch.
He answered with equal fervor, his hands sliding over her hips, pulling her closer, his mouth matching hers with aching tenderness.
They finally broke apart, breathless, their foreheads pressed together. Her pulse was still racing, her skin alive with the heat of his hands, the memory of his mouth on hers. She didn’t need words to know what he felt. She could feel it in the way he held her, as if she wasn’t just wanted, but chosen.
“Thank you, Chris,” she whispered, her voice catching on the rush of emotions that overpowered her. “For everything.”
“You deserve it, Marianne,” he replied simply, the words soft but filled with more sincerity than he could ever express in a lifetime.
She kissed him again, this time with more urgency and need. The quiet of the room was soon replaced by heavy breathing and the soft thud of their clothes being cast aside. The firelight danced across their bare skin as they moved together, every touch instinctive and rooted in a trust that asked for nothing, yet gave everything.
He held her as if he never wanted to let her go. She felt completely, unmistakably his.
The next morning, the house was quiet, the faint scent of last night’s fire still hanging in the air. Outside, low clouds hung over the hills, and the damp earth glistened with the overnight rain. Marianne paused by the window, taking in the muted golds and browns one final time.
When Christopher approached, his hands on her shoulders, his touch grounding her, he asked softly, "Ready to go?"
Marianne turned to him, her heart full. "I want to stay here forever," she whispered.
"I know the feeling," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But we’ll come back here, whenever you need to."
She leaned into him, knowing she’d carry this weekend with her forever. The love and care he’d shown her had only deepened their connection.
Once outside, Christopher pulled the keys from his pocket and, with a small smile, tossed them to her.
Marianne caught them with surprise. “Chris, what’s the meaning of this?”
“I told you I’d let you drive it sometime,” he reminded her. “But you said you didn’t like driving in the city. We’re nowhere near the city out here.”
Marianne laughed. “You’re serious?”
“Completely,” he said with a grin.
She shook her head, still smiling as she slid into the driver’s seat, the leather cool against her legs. As they pulled away, the house shrinking behind them in the rearview mirror, she felt something shift. With him beside the road ahead felt more certain than ever.
Fanny Dashwood sifted through the glittering contents of her jewelry box, lifting one necklace after another, each more extravagant than the last. Light caught on diamonds, pearls, and sapphires, but nothing felt quite grand enough. Not for tonight. Not for the statement she intended to make.
Behind her, her husband’s voice broke through her deliberation. “Are you almost ready, my dear? Henry’s settled with the nanny, and the car will be here in ten minutes.”
“I suppose,” Fanny said, barely glancing at him. She held up two diamond necklaces, each ostentatious in its own way. “Which of these do you think suits the occasion?”
John gave her a tired but indulgent smile. “Whatever you wear, you always look lovely.”
Fanny rolled her eyes, turning back to the mirror before he could see. His predictable response was as useless as it was irritating. “This one will have to do,” she muttered, fastening one at random. “Though I still think that piece we saw the other day would’ve been the better choice.”
John sighed. He knew where this was going before she even said it.
“Fanny—”
“If you’d sell,” she interrupted smoothly, “nothing would be out of our reach.”
His jaw tightened. “Fanny, we’ve discussed this.”
“Yes, and yet you insist on making things more difficult than they need to be.” She turned to face him, the diamonds at her throat catching the light. “John, Allenham’s offer is beyond generous. We’d never have to think twice about anything again. Imagine what that would mean for Henry. He could do whatever he wanted. No pressure, no responsibilities—”
“No legacy,” John cut in, his voice sharp. “This company meant everything to my mother. To my father. And it means everything to me. I want Henry to grow up knowing that. Learning what it means to build something.”
Fanny’s expression softened as she stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his chest.
“Darling,” she said sweetly, “I only want what’s best for us. For all of us.” Her fingers trailed upward, adjusting his tie with slow, deliberate care. “If you sold... you’d have so much more time. Time to spend at home. With me. With Henry.”
John’s shoulders shifted under her touch, and for a moment, he wavered. She saw it—just for a second—and pressed on.
“Wouldn’t you like that?” she murmured. “No more late nights at the office. No more flights or client dinners or putting out fires. Just… peace. Time to be with your family.”
He exhaled slowly, then stepped back from her grasp.
“And Elinor?” he asked, voice hardening again. “What about her? Allenham doesn’t care about the company. They only care about the client list. They’ll gut the place.”
Fanny’s warmth evaporated in an instant. “Oh, John, don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “You’re really putting your half-sister above your own wife and child? Elinor will be fine. She always is. She landed my brother—she can land another job.”
She folded her arms, lips tight. “Honestly, I never understood what Edward saw in her. She’s clever, I’ll grant you that, but where’s the ambition? The sense of strategy? At least she’s better than that other girl he was wasting time with. What was her name? Lucy something. That one would’ve sold her own mother to get her claws in.”
John stared at her, momentarily at a loss. He loved his wife, but at times like this, he didn’t know what to say to her. The conversation was over for now, but that same dull unease hung in the air.
Marianne spun around in her emerald green gown, the satin skirt swirling gracefully around her. She felt the cool velvet bodice against her skin, its off-the-shoulder V-neckline gently embracing her lithe figure.
“What do you think?” she asked, her tone light but expectant, watching him in the mirror as he adjusted his bowtie.
Christopher paused, his gaze lifting slowly from his hands to take her in. She looked effortlessly radiant, poised and almost unreal. The pearl pendant he’d given her for her birthday rested just above her collarbone, its soft pink hue a perfect match for the warmth in her smile. Her golden curls were half up, ringlets framing her face, glowing in the muted light of his expansive closet. She’d kept her makeup light, just enough to accent her features, and it only made her seem more luminous.
“You look amazing,” he said, his voice a little hoarse as he struggled to comprehend how someone like her had come into his life.
Marianne smiled at his words, but the steady—almost reverent—way he looked at her made her breath catch.
She stepped closer, her smile becoming more sincere. “You look... exceptional in that tux,” she said, smoothing down the front of his shirt. “It suits you perfectly.”
As they drove through the city, Marianne leaned her temple against the cool glass. Her fingers brushed the pendant at her throat, the pearl smooth beneath her touch. Streetlights cast fleeting gold across her lap. When they pulled up to the venue, light shimmered through tall windows, and the sound of conversation and clinking glasses drifted out each time the doors opened. Christopher came around to her side and offered his hand.
“It’s going to be different attending one of these events as a guest,” Marianne told Christopher, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m really happy it’s as your guest.”
“Me too,” he said, his fingers tightening slightly around hers as he led her through the entrance hall.
The ballroom was stunning as it glittered in warm tones of red, green, silver, and gold. Dashwood Creative never did anything halfway, especially when it came to their year-end gala. The air buzzed with conversation and laughter, and the scent of pine and spiced wine drifted faintly through the space.
“I wonder if Elinor’s here yet,” Marianne mused, her eyes scanning the crowd. But before she could spot her sister, her sister-in-law’s voice rang out, piercing with that performative cheer she always wore in public.
“Marianne!” Fanny called, weaving through the crowd in a fitted gown that shimmered with sequins. “I didn’t know if you’d be here tonight. Good thing you are, now that Miller’s out, we need you to work your charm on Johnson. We’re worried he’s considering someone else.”
Marianne’s smile tightened. “I’m sorry, Fanny,” she said evenly, keeping her voice polite. “But I’m not working tonight. I’m here as Mr. Brandon’s guest.” She gestured toward Christopher, her tone just shrewd enough to emphasize her point.
Fanny’s eyes drifted towards him, and her smile cooled, though she recovered quickly. “Oh yes, hello Mr. Brandon,” she said sweetly. “So happy you’re with us now. And Marianne,” her eyes flicked back with a glint of false warmth, “you always had such charming taste.” She paused, her gaze roaming over Christopher. “I suppose there’s something to be said for finding someone... established.”
Marianne’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dashwood,” Christopher interrupted smoothly, his voice calm but firm. “But Marianne’s never needed anyone to establish her. She’s more than capable on her own.” His smile was polite, but there was steel behind it.
For a moment, Fanny looked as though she might press further, but instead, she let out a shrill little laugh. “Of course,” she said, her smile brittle. “Well, enjoy your evening.”
As she swept away, Marianne exhaled indignantly. “I can’t believe her sometimes,” she muttered.
“I know,” Christopher said with a tight smile. “She’s just masking her misery behind that sharp tongue.”
Despite the awkward start to the evening, Marianne and Christopher managed to enjoy the rest of the event. Elinor helped plan it, and was in charge of seating and had placed herself and Edward next to Marianne and Christopher, which helped relieve any lasting tension. John Middleton and his wife, Mary, rounded out their table.
Marianne didn’t know what to make of Mary Middleton. She sat still and silent for most of the evening, a stark contrast to Middleton’s boisterous personality. Marianne couldn’t help but wonder about the source of that disparity.
“She’s so strange, Ellie,” Marianne remarked to her sister while getting a drink. “I don’t think she’s moved or blinked in twenty minutes. She’s the complete opposite of her husband.”
Elinor chuckled softly. “They do make an interesting pair. I sometimes wonder what goes unsaid between them.”
“Probably nothing from him,” Marianne said with a smirk. “He talks enough for both of them.”
“Maybe John Middleton is just drawn to quieter people,” Elinor said. “I mean, he’s been friends with Christopher for what, almost twenty years?”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said as they returned to their table. “The dynamic is still odd though.”
Marianne found Christopher seated beside Middleton, the two of them quietly discussing last-minute details for VeriSphere’s upcoming holiday party.
She placed a hand on Christopher’s knee and leaned in. “So what’s yours like? The VeriSphere party, I mean. Don’t tell Elinor, but I’ve been looking forward to that one a lot more than this.”
Christopher let out a low laugh. “It’s similar, but less… theatrical. And only business formal, thankfully. No tux required.”
“I told you,” she said with a playful grin. “You look good in a tux.”
“Then my suffering is worth it,” he said, planting a small peck on her cheek.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of speeches, polite conversation, and way too many clients vying for a piece of Marianne’s time. She made the effort for Elinor’s sake, but by the time dessert arrived, she could feel her energy fraying at the edges.
Christopher could read the fatigue behind her polite smiles. “Ready to call it a night?”
She nodded, relief flashing across her face. He stood first, offering his hand with an easy smile, and together they slipped out into the cold night air, leaving the glittering din behind them.
Marianne stared at her reflection, fingers massaging her temples as if willing the headache to fade. It had been three days since the Dashwood gala, and between the whirlwind of teaching and the constant motion mixed in, she hadn’t had a moment to rest. Outside, the cold rain fused with sleet, the bleak night offering no comfort.
Now, standing at the edge of Christopher’s world at VeriSphere’s holiday party, the timing couldn’t have been worse. She inhaled slowly, hoping the ibuprofen would dull the pounding in her head. Her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed the fabric of her deep red column gown, Her pale reflection only reminded her of how much she was about to face.
Christopher waited just outside, brow furrowed with concern when she emerged. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she forced a smile, though her voice barely hid the discomfort gnawing at her. “Just a headache. Took something for it, so it should pass soon. I didn’t want to miss this, or your speech.” The words felt hollow as the ache in her temples was becoming a dull drumming she couldn’t ignore.
He studied her, doubt still in his gaze. “You don’t have to stay—”
“Chris, I’m fine,” she cut in, steadier than she felt. She needed to be here for him. “Let’s go in. I’m sure everyone’s eager for your arrival.”
He didn’t look convinced, but gave her a reassuring smile before placing a gentle hand at her back and linking his arm with hers. The gesture was familiar and comforting, yet her nerves only deepened.
The more relaxed and intimate atmosphere was a far cry from the grand Dashwood gala, but Marianne barely noticed the soft glow or the murmur of laughter before Christopher was pulled into conversation. Suddenly, all eyes seemed to land on her, the pressure landing like a boulder. She wasn’t just a guest anymore.
She was his guest.
A blur of names and titles collided in her mind, faces unfamiliar, each handshake and polite smile feeling like a performance she wasn’t sure she could keep up. She tried to follow the flow of conversation, but it was like wading through quicksand, with every word heavier than the last.
The distance between her and Christopher grew with each passing moment, swallowed by the crowd he knew so well. She knew she was expected to leave an impression and be more than just the woman beside him. She was his partner now, a role that, in theory, should have felt natural. But tonight, it felt like being given a script with no time to rehearse.
She did her best to smile, chat, and laugh her way through what felt like an endless stream of small talk, the conversations drifting in and out of focus. Christopher’s presence at her side was a lifeline in the swirl of strangers. But the headache that had simmered all night now sharpened into a piercing pulse. The walls of the room seemed to close in. Just as she was about to excuse herself for a moment of respite in the ladies’ room, an older woman approached.
With long graying hair and an elegant gown that caught the soft lighting, the woman’s arrival was both sudden and impossible to ignore.
“Oh, Christopher!” she exclaimed, warm but teasing. “Is this her? You naughty man, keeping her hidden from us for so long.”
Christopher chuckled, a flash of tension beneath his amusement. He turned to Marianne, his expression softening. “Mrs. Jennings, it’s good to see you again. Marianne Dashwood,” he said, giving her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze. “Marianne, this is Harriet Jennings, John Middleton’s mother-in-law.”
The name sparked a memory, the woman determined to find Christopher a new companion, always trying to set him up with one eligible lady after another.
Marianne smiled politely, though the pressure in the room and the pounding in her head made warmth hard to find. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Jennings.”
“Please, call me Harriet, dear. What a delight to meet such a lovely young lady. I must find my daughter, but I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about,” she said with a wink before drifting away.
Once out of earshot, Marianne’s expression betrayed her exhaustion. “She’s… interesting.”
“I know,” Christopher said with a rueful smile, fondness clear in his tone. “She can be a bit much, but I assure you she means well. Come on, let’s find our table.”
He led her to a long table near the stage, reserved for executives and their guests. Marianne tried to enjoy the atmosphere—the soft candlelight, the steady hum of conversation, the subtle clink of glasses—but it all felt distant, like moving through fog.
When they reached the table, Marianne sank into her chair, grateful to finally be off her feet. She closed her eyes briefly, pressing her fingers to her temples, wishing for relief from the ache beating louder with each minute.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” Christopher said, his hand brushing hers for a second before he stood.
“Just seltzer with lemon,” Marianne murmured weakly. “No wine.” She hadn’t been able to stomach it all night. The idea of wine, or any spirits, made her feel more ill.
He gave her a concerned look before disappearing back into the crowd. Marianne closed her eyes again, letting her fingers rest on her temples as the dull ache behind them seemed to thicken. She needed a moment of stillness, but she wasn’t sure if she could find it here, in the midst of all this noise.
“Ah, there you are!”
Marianne blinked up to see Harriet Jennings standing beside her, her smile as wide as ever, full of that warm, unrestrained cheer that overwhelmed her earlier. Before Marianne could gather her thoughts, Harriet settled into the chair beside her, radiating an almost motherly energy that was hard to escape.
“You’ve done well for yourself, my dear,” she said, her voice full of approval, as if Marianne had just won the grand prize. “Christopher’s a great catch you know. Rich, successful, and with a good heart. Now that you’ve finally got him, you’d best keep him close.” She leaned in with a knowing wink. “I’ve been trying for years to find him a nice lady!”
Marianne smiled faintly, though it felt more like a reflex than genuine warmth. “He’s wonderful,” she said softly, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty at her intent.
“Oh, he is,” Harriet agreed, her certainty making Marianne feel a bit trapped. “You know, he’d make a lovely father too.” She patted Marianne’s arm casually, as if parenthood had already been a given topic of discussion. “I’d wager he’s been waiting for someone like you to give him that.”
The words landed with a soft thud in Marianne’s mind. Not entirely unwelcome, but still a little startling. Sure, she’d daydreamed about marriage and a family with Christopher, but now was certainly too soon. The idea felt like a possibility for later, something to grow into when the time was right. For now, she was still learning who they were together, and the path ahead hadn’t yet fully come into focus.
She tried to smile, but suddenly her stomach clenched violently as the ache in her head surged. The pain itself seemed to demand to be felt.
“I’m sorry,” Marianne said quickly, her voice trembling. The effort to hide her discomfort only made it worse. “I don’t feel well…”
Without waiting for a response, she pushed back her chair. The pressure in her head was too much, blurring the edges of everything. She hurried toward the ladies’ room, desperate for space and silence.
The cool splash of water on her face was a brief relief, but the pain in her head only intensified. Pressing her palms to her temples, she breathed deeply, willing the pulsing to fade. It ignored her efforts, only growing more pronounced.
The door creaked open behind her, and Mrs. Jennings’ voice followed—softer now, still tinged with that maternal concern that could both soothe and smother.
“Oh, my dear,” she said, her hand resting lightly on Marianne’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“I just... I think I need to go,” Marianne whispered, voice barely audible over the pounding in her skull. “Could you… find Christopher for me?”
Mrs. Jennings hesitated, genuine concern spreading across her face. “Of course, my dear,” she said softly. “I’ll get him right away.”
The older woman helped guide Marianne out of the ladies’ room, her feet dragging as she got her settled in a quiet alcove just beyond, away from the laughter and clinking glasses of the party. She sank into one of the plush armchairs and closed her eyes, willing the world to still. The throbbing only deepened, relentless and consuming. Even the muffled voices from the party seemed to press inward, reverberating behind her eyes.
She hated the thought of leaving early and disappointing Christopher, but there was no denying it. A headache like this couldn’t be pushed through. She needed stillness. Darkness. Anything to shut it out.
“Marianne?” There was a thread of urgency in Christopher’s voice. He appeared at her side, his gaze frantic as he knelt down in front of her. His hand cupped her chin gently, urging her to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong? Harriet said you’re not well.”
“I’m sorry, Chris,” she whispered, her voice trembling as the pain settled deeper. “It’s my head… it’s worse now. I don’t think I can stay.”
His expression faltered, a flash of panic crossing his features before he masked it with a sense of purpose. “It’s okay,” he said quickly, his voice steady but clipped. “I’ll get your coat and drive you home.”
“No,” she replied, her voice a little more firm than she intended. “You don’t have to drive me. I can take a cab.”
The color drained from Christopher’s face at her suggestion, his brow furrowing as the faintest edge entered his voice. “No, Marianne. I’ll drive you,” he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Chris, no,” she protested, her irritation creeping in despite the haze of her headache. “You’ll risk missing your own speech if you drive me. I’ll take a cab, I’m fine.”
“I’m driving you,” he said, his voice taut with force. “I don’t care if I miss my speech.”
She felt her frustration rise, the edge in her own voice catching her by surprise. “Don’t be ridiculous—” she started, but he cut her off.
“Damn it, Marianne!” he snapped, the bite in his voice unlike anything she’d ever heard from him before. The soft, easygoing Christopher was gone, replaced by someone who felt almost unrecognizable. The command in his words was unmistakable, but beneath it, she caught a glimpse of something raw and desperate. “ Please , don’t fight me on this.”
The words hit her like a punch, and for a long moment, she just stared at him, confusion and frustration knotting deep down. She wanted to argue, to insist she could handle it—that she wasn’t some helpless child—but something in his eyes, something beyond anger, stopped her cold. There was more here than stubbornness.
Finally, she exhaled slowly, the fight draining from her as her shoulders slumped. “Fine,” she whispered. “You can drive me.”
The ride home was silent, the tension building an impenetrable wall between them. Marianne pressed her forehead to the cool window, the freezing rain tapping against the glass like a distant, relentless echo of her turmoil. Its chill brought a brief relief from the pounding in her head, but a harrowing doubt took root beneath it. Christopher was so different now, and she couldn’t make sense of his sudden volatile behavior.
When they arrived, he helped her inside, his touch careful but unwavering as he guided her to the bedroom and helped her out of her dress. She moved slowly, the pain still pulsing behind her eyes. Once she’d changed into more comfortable clothes, she made her way to the living room. She sank onto the couch beside the fire, but its warmth couldn’t ease the tension from before.
After a moment, she turned to him, her voice low but firm. “Christopher,” she said, her eyes meeting his with steady intensity despite the dull pulse in her temples. “You don’t get to speak to me like that without an explanation.”
Christopher’s eyes softened as he froze, then sank down beside her on the couch. His hand brushed gently across her cheek in a nearly apologetic gesture. His touch was comforting, but the tension between them hadn’t subsided.
After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and sincere. “I’m sorry, Marianne,” he murmured, his thumb lightly tracing her skin. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just… I needed to get you home.” He paused, gazing at her intently. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”
He kissed her forehead softly, the touch carrying more than just an apology. Without another word, he stood and left, leaving Marianne alone with silence and her unanswered questions. Her headache still throbbed, but it was the intensity of his sudden change that unsettled her most.
Why had he acted that way?
She sensed something deeper was driving him, something far more complicated than she could have ever imagined.
It was just before midnight when Christopher returned home. Marianne had managed to take a warm bath after he left, easing the headache that had plagued her all evening. She’d settled back onto the sofa afterward, her eyes closing in a light, easy slumber. The sound of his return stirred her gently.
“You’re back,” she murmured drowsily.
He removed his jacket and walked down to her level, concern still evident in his eyes. “How are you feeling?” His tone was gentle, filled with the same warmth he’d shown at the start of the night.
“Better,” she replied. “How was the rest of the party?”
He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Good. A few of my colleagues were disappointed you had to leave early. They all really liked you.”
She smiled faintly, appreciating the sentiment. “I wish I’d stayed longer,” she admitted, a touch of regret in her voice. “I’m really sorry I missed your speech.”
“It’s okay, there will be other events,” he reassured her. “I’m going to take a quick shower and change. Do you want to come to bed?”
“No, I’ll stay here for now,” she said, then hesitated before adding, “Chris, I still need to know what happened earlier.”
His expression softened as he nodded. “I know. And I’ll tell you,” he promised.
He kissed her forehead lightly before leaving the room. A few moments later, he returned, now dressed in flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He settled next to her on the couch, their quiet breathing the only sound between them for a moment.
He took a deep breath, staring past the firelight as if the words might come easier from the shadows. His fingers dug into the cushions, grounding himself. He’d avoided this moment long enough. Whatever it cost him now, it had to be said. She deserved to know everything.
“Marianne,” he began softly, his voice almost tentative. “You remember I told you about losing someone special to me… years ago?”
“Yes,” she whispered, nodding, though she couldn’t yet grasp the depth of the pain he carried.
“Her name was Eliza,” he continued, the name falling like a bittersweet echo. He paused, trying to find his voice, but it betrayed him.
“There was a time when we were everything to each other. We met in school, when we were just teenagers. I was quiet and reserved, the same as I am now, but when I met her, she was full of life and energy. She... pulled me out of my shell, made me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. Like you’ve done for me now.”
Marianne inched closer to him. She had suspected this connection, but hearing it aloud made her ache for the version of Christopher she never knew.
“We spent a lot of time together,” he went on, eyes distant, as if replaying those moments in his mind. “Sharing firsts… everything was new, thrilling.”
His voice softened, a faint smile forming as a memory surfaced. “She loved that song, the one you performed at the lounge. It was always on the radio back then. She’d sing along, even though her voice would crack on the high notes. It wasn’t perfect, but it was her. She’d laugh and try again. I loved hearing her sing it… even when she’d hit the wrong note. I guess I was just happy to hear her voice.”
Marianne listened intently, but her mind also drifted back to that night and the way Christopher had looked at her from the crowd when she finished singing. His eyes held a mixture of sadness and longing that she’d never forget.
He paused for a moment, his gaze shifting somewhere distant. “But after we finished school, we went our separate ways. She wanted to attend university right away, and I joined the military. I thought I could connect with my father, try and make him proud. We decided it was best to let go and not hold each other down.
“Three years later, my father passed away, right at the end of my first tour,” he said quietly, as if the words were still too raw. “I decided to come back home. I had to settle things with my brother and his estate. And honestly, after he was gone, being in the military just didn’t make sense anymore. So I started university, studying business and finance. That’s when I met John Middleton. We had a few classes together, became fast friends.”
Marianne felt the subtle shift in his tone, the way the mention of his father made his voice falter. She didn’t speak, just watched him, knowing there were layers to this pain, ones he might not want to share.
“By the end of my third year,” he continued, his gaze momentarily shifting to her, “I ran into Eliza again. It felt like no time had passed, but also like everything had changed. She had a two-year-old daughter, Beth. Her father wasn’t around much… wasn’t ready for the responsibility. But me? I fell in love with her, even though she wasn’t mine, just as easily as I had fallen in love with her mother all those years ago.”
Marianne reached over and took his hand in hers. A part of her couldn’t help imagining the life he might have lived if Eliza hadn’t died. It was a quiet, unwelcome thought, but she pushed aside for now. This moment belonged to him.
“The three of us became a family,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “When I finished my degree, Eliza and I rented a small house together. I had just started a job as a risk analyst, and Eliza had part-time work at a dentist’s office, something that gave her flexibility. It was a nice simple life, and we were happy.
“A few months later,” he said, his voice quieter now, the words reluctant to leave his mouth, “Eliza found out she was pregnant.”
Marianne swallowed hard as her fingers twitched against his. She didn’t speak, just listened as he gathered himself for what came next.
“She was scared,” Christopher murmured, looking down at their joined hands. “She thought I’d react the same way Beth’s father had. That I’d leave her, or be scared of the responsibility. But I wasn’t, I was thrilled. I wanted to marry her right then, but she wanted to wait. She had this vision of her perfect wedding day, something she wanted to plan out.
“She started collecting bridal magazines, cutting out pictures of flowers and dresses for inspiration. She wanted ‘Without You’ on the playlist at the reception. She was determined to make every detail exactly what she wanted.
“It was around the holidays,” he continued, his voice growing heavy. “Her family always had this big gathering. Eliza loved it. She couldn’t wait to see everyone, to tell them the news about the baby and the wedding. By then, she was just starting to show.
“Beth hadn’t been feeling well, sick with an ear infection, so we were planning to miss it. But her family insisted she come. And I could see how much it meant to her, so I told her I’d stay behind and care for Beth. Eliza hesitated, but I could tell she was relieved.”
He stopped then, a deep breath filling the silence. Marianne could feel the sorrow he tried to keep buried for so long. He wasn’t only telling it, he was reliving it.
“Later that night,” he said, his voice faltering, “she called me. Her car wouldn’t start. Her family couldn’t get it to jump either, but... they weren’t in any condition to fix it, let alone drive her. She wanted to come home, wanted to be with Beth. I told her I’d come get her, but she didn’t want to inconvenience me.
“The weather had turned bad by then—like tonight, snow and freezing rain. She told me she’d take a cab instead. I didn’t want her to, but she insisted. She didn’t want me driving in the storm and disturbing Beth. So I gave in...”
Marianne saw the pain in his eyes, as though he was experiencing the moment all over again. He had known, somehow, that letting her go that night would change everything.
“She didn’t make it home,” Christopher’s voice cracked as the words tumbled from his lips, his slate-blue eyes pooling with tears. His body stiffened, the pain of that night flooding him again, raw and unrelenting. He clenched his fists at his sides, as though trying to contain the storm inside him.
“A truck skidded on some ice,” he continued quietly, his voice trembling. “Ran through a stoplight... slammed into her side of the cab. There was nothing anyone could do. She was gone... and so was the baby.”
He swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat, but the tears slipped out anyway. “We didn’t even know if we were having a boy or a girl…”
Marianne’s heart shattered at the sight of his grief. Her hand reached out instinctively, wiping away a tear that had fallen, but more spilled over his eyes, trailing down his cheeks.
“Chris… I’m so sorry,” she whispered, though the words felt hopelessly small.
“I kept replaying our last conversation,” he said, his voice breaking between each word. “Why didn’t I go to her? Why didn’t I try harder to convince her to let me come get her? I could have prevented this.
“And then her family… they tried to comfort me, but it was too painful to be around them. I felt it was my fault…”
“No, Chris,” Marianne said gently, trying to bring him back to the present. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He went on, her voice not able to reach him. “One day, Beth’s father showed up after the accident. Once he heard… he came and took her. Suddenly, he was ready to be a father. I spoke to lawyers, but I didn’t have a case. Beth was legally his... and just like that, everyone who mattered to me was gone.”
He took a deep breath to steady himself, but didn’t speak right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
“About a month after the accident, I heard the song again. It had been years. It wasn’t even popular anymore, but there it was, playing like nothing had changed. It used to be her song. It felt like a part of her. But hearing it again… those lyrics… it didn’t bring her back. It just reminded me of everything she lost. Everything I lost.”
I can't live, if living is without you.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice still raw. “So I reenlisted in the military for another three years. I thought if I just kept going, kept moving, I could outrun it somehow. But that’s not how grief works.
“I saw awful things in combat—so much unnecessary loss. And I came out knowing I couldn’t keep living like I didn’t care if I made it home. I needed something else. Something new.
“That’s when John Middleton reached out. He had this idea for a software company and needed someone to manage the financial side and handle the risks. And I... I threw myself into it. Poured everything I had into building that company.”
His voice cracked again, but he steadied himself and met Marianne’s eyes.
“I never stopped thinking about Eliza and our baby. About Beth. I tried dating again after a few years, but no one ever came close. After losing them, I just couldn’t open myself up like that anymore.”
Marianne felt for him, caught between admiring his devotion and hoping that he had room in his heart for her.
“But then you came into my life,” he continued, his voice softening as if recalling a cherished memory. “You were at the lounge, about to perform the song Eliza loved so much. Her song. At first, I thought it was some cruel joke. I almost walked out. But then I saw you. I heard you. The way you sang it, it no longer haunted me. It was… comforting instead. Hopeful. I couldn’t stop thinking about it… or you.”
He paused, fingers tracing the back of her hand, grounding himself in the present.
“When I saw you again at the client reception, I couldn’t believe my luck. It felt like I was being given another chance. And now, after everything we’ve shared, I can’t imagine losing you.
“So when you said you wanted to take a cab tonight—in this weather—it thrust me back to the night I lost her. I couldn’t risk it. I had to make sure you got home safe. I know I snapped at you, and I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let it happen again.”
“Chris… I’m so sorry… I had no idea,” she gasped, her voice full of sorrow. “If I had known, I would never have fought you. I would’ve understood.”
“I know,” he said, his voice strained. “That’s on me. I don’t talk about it, not really. Only John Middleton and a few others know the full story. But I should’ve told you sooner. I don’t want anything standing between us.”
Marianne then shifted, moving to settle in his lap. She curled her legs around his sides and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, holding him as tightly as she could, anchoring them both in the moment. “There won’t be,” she promised him. “Nothing will come between us, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.”
As she held him close, Christopher let himself exhale, slow and uneven. Her body was warm against his, her arms steady around his neck, and for the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe. The past was still there—the family and dreams he’d lost—but it no longer crushed him. Not with her here.
He knew Marianne wasn’t Eliza, and he’d never expect her to be. But she understood him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. She didn’t flinch from the darkness in his past; she simply chose to walk through it beside him.
Notes:
Content Note: The final chapter scene includes mention of a fatal car accident and a resulting pregnancy loss. The events are not graphically depicted, but may be emotionally difficult for some readers.
Chapter 14: Now
Notes:
Here's Chapter 14! I took an extra week to do some work behind the scenes. I've been cleaning up earlier chapters and finalizing the outline. I've set the story to have 36 chapters in total (Chapter 35 will be the final chapter, Chapter 36 will be the epilogue.) I know where this story is going, how it gets there, and where the ending will take us.
I hope you’re enjoying the journey so far!
I also have the very beginnings of a new story in the works—one that will be centered around Elinor! It will be based on a movie somewhat, but I will take some liberties where I need to. I've starting writing a very rough summary and I have a clear sense of the story's path. Like this story, it will be a deeply emotional journey. However, I don't anticipate publishing anything until next year, as I will prioritize finishing this story.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
Marianne sat frozen in the passenger seat of Christopher’s car, her fingers trembling slightly in her lap. She’d asked for the truth, but now that she had it, it only deepened her confusion. He couldn’t commit, so I left him. But now, replaying his words, the pieces didn’t exactly fit together. Something had to be missing. But what?
As he pulled into her driveway, the engine’s hum grew louder now that they were still. He turned to her, eyes fixed, waiting for her to say something after what he had laid bare.
“Do you want me to come in?” he asked, his voice carrying both uncertainty and longing.
Marianne looked away, her thoughts colliding faster than she could hold them—confusion, sadness, guilt, even a faint glimmer of hope. It was too much to untangle right now. She needed space to let it settle.
“No,” she said quietly. “I... I need some time to process, Chris. I think... I think I should be alone for that.”
He pressed his lips together, biting back a response. Instead of speaking, he nodded and gave her a brief, sincere smile. She felt the silence stretch between them and saw the unmistakable disappointment in his eyes, but he still respected her space.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
Marianne opened the door, her hand resting on the handle for a moment. Without thinking, she turned back to Christopher and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. His arms responded immediately, pulling her close, the familiar warmth of his embrace offering comfort amidst her uncertainty. For a brief moment, the steady beat of his heart against hers reminded her of the affection she hadn’t realized she’d missed. It made her hesitation to pull away even stronger. Leaving felt almost like a mistake, but she couldn’t ignore what had driven them apart.
Reluctantly, she pulled away, her fingers brushing his for the briefest moment before she stepped out. She closed the door gently, her gaze lingering on him for a heartbeat longer. He didn’t move for a moment, only watched her with a soft, sad smile.
She watched him eventually pull away, the sound of his tires fading into the distance. The cool evening air bit at her skin, but it helped ground her in the present. She had asked for the truth, but now that she had it, one of the hardest questions remained.
What was she supposed to do with it?
Once inside, she locked the door behind her and sank into the couch in the living room. Folding her hands tightly in her lap, she stared blankly at the dimly lit room. Even though it was what she had asked for, it felt strange to be alone now. She didn’t know how to begin unpacking her conflicting emotions.
Had leaving him truly been her only choice?
She closed her eyes, trying to fit together the pieces of their conversation. Christopher wasn’t able to let go of his past, his grief trapping him in ways she couldn’t entirely comprehend. She couldn’t remember how she felt then, especially when it pushed them apart. But now, she didn’t blame him. How could she? She had never walked in his shoes. She had never known the suffocating weight of his loss, the lives and the future stolen from him.
But why had she walked away?
Was it only because he couldn’t give her the commitment she needed? She had promised him and herself that nothing would come between them. She remembered the night he told her about Eliza’s death, the raw vulnerability in his eyes. In that moment, she vowed, again and again, that no matter what, she would always be there. Yet somewhere along the way, that promise cracked under pressure.
Reaching for her phone, she finally decided it was necessary to face a few things she had been putting off. Her thumb hovered over her photo library; she hadn’t been able to bring herself to open it since she came home, afraid of what she would uncover. Bracing herself, she finally tapped it.
What she found wasn’t what she’d expected.
She scrolled back through the months and years, searching for anything that might shed light on what had gone wrong. But there was nothing. Only landscapes, places they had visited together, photos of her smiling alone. Not a single image of Christopher. Neither with her, nor by himself.
She scrolled through again, just to be sure, as the panic began to creep in. She stopped when she reached the more recent months, when photos of her and Willoughby began to appear. She wasn’t ready to face those yet.
She put the phone aside as the reality settled in. She must have deleted them. But why? How could she have erased nearly four years—four of the most wonderful years—of memories with him? Had something inside her broken more deeply than she’d realized? Was there more to their unraveling than even Christopher had let on?
Could she have been more patient with him? More understanding? Maybe she had been too consumed by needing more from him and from their relationship to see how much he was still hurting.
And what about him? He had loved her, but had he ever truly fought for her? Or had his grief clouded everything, making it impossible to see how desperately she’d needed him to meet her where she was, to show her he hadn’t disappeared inside himself completely.
She longed for something to make sense, but nothing did right now. She had asked the questions, turned them over again and again, searching for clarity. But even now, nothing sat right.
Why did this feel so wrong?
“Trust me,” Willoughby said, leaning back in his chair with an easy, disarming smile. “If you sign on with us and the projections hold up, this campaign will put you on the map. You’ll be so well-known, you won’t have to handle the day-to-day anymore. You’ll have assistants, interns—all that grunt work will be off your plate. You’ll be able to focus on the bigger picture.” He paused, giving her time to consider. “Take a week. Think it over. But I’m confident you won’t regret it.”
He ended the call with Ms. Walker, a potential new luxury skincare client, and let out a satisfied exhale, reclining in his chair like a man who had already won. Charm still worked wonders. It always had, especially when wielded by someone who knew how to use it.
But even in moments of triumph like this, the sting of failure had a way of creeping in. That fiasco years ago, when an important client left the table and signed on with one of their biggest competitors, had been overblown from the start. The CFO—some stiff, he couldn’t recall the name offhand—had taken a couple of harmless discrepancies and acted like he was trying to rob them blind.
He tried to downplay it at the time, but he still remembered the smug tone and thinly veiled condescension in those emails. As if they’d never made a mistake. His manager took his side at first, saying the client had always been difficult to please. Willoughby thought the issue was settled, until the lawyers got involved.
Of course, the higher-ups at Allenham had no choice but to cave. They nearly pushed him out, but being the favorite nephew of the founder had its perks. At every holiday gathering as a child, he was the only one who didn’t run from her lipstick-covered kisses, even when his cousins disappeared in disgust. That patience finally paid off. His job was saved at her insistence, but he was moved to a different department and told to keep a lower profile.
The worst part of it all was how he was portrayed, like some common thief or fool caught committing fraud. Even with his aunt, Mrs. Smith’s favor, he lost the respect of several colleagues and his reputation took a hit. For the past four years, he’d been working hard to prove he was trustworthy and responsible. That effort rewarded him that summer, when he secured a long-overdue promotion.
Still, a part of him would always believe they’d overreacted and made a spectacle out of a slip-up just to put him in his place.
He pushed the memory aside. There was no use dwelling on old missteps, not when everything else was finally under control. Work was predictable now, and he had mastered how to keep up appearances, how to step in when things threatened to fall apart. That part of his life ran on instinct.
Bored, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through social apps, but nothing held his attention. He closed out of them and opened his photo library instead.
Marianne.
She was still stunning, and she had been his. It had been so easy then, stepping into her life and offering her comfort when she was at her lowest. He’d given her what she needed, promised her what she lacked most. And in return, she’d become exactly what he wanted.
But now, something in her had changed. Since the accident, she seemed more distant, but not in a way that pushed people away. She was cautious, but also sharper and more aware. The ease with which he used to read her had vanished. And that, strangely, only made her more compelling.
He'd never lost interest in something just because it got harder to reach.
She still mattered to him, more than he cared to admit. Even now, when things were complicated, he couldn’t shake the desire to find a way back to where they had been, or to something new altogether.
He wasn’t entirely blind to his role in the mess that had unfolded between them. He had pushed her too far, played the games he always played, until she saw through them. None of this would have happened had he been more careful then.
Now he had a chance to make it right and make her fall for him all over again. He thought back to the day he visited her in the hospital. He’d tried to charm her, pretended nothing had changed, but it hadn’t worked. When she kicked him out of her hospital room, he let it sting longer than necessary. He should’ve fought through the discomfort instead of letting his pride fester.
He didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he failed to contact her on what was supposed to be their wedding day. Frustration churned at the memory of his inaction. It stung even more when she challenged him on it, remembering the lame excuse he gave for not calling. By some miracle, she had bought it and agreed to see him.
Then, he’d nearly screwed it up all over again. That stupid lie about the cat, so small he barely remembered inventing it. But when she confronted him, the mistake drove another wedge between them. It wasn’t a grand deception, but the triviality of it made her question everything he was trying to rebuild. And that instilled a fear in him. Not of Marianne, not exactly, but of what she had become. She no longer saw him as someone who could sweep her off her feet. The woman who might never look at him the same way again. And the worst part? He feared that version of her was permanent.
He had to put his fears aside. The time for self-pity was over. He couldn’t let her slip away, not like this. The thought of losing her, of never having her again, burned hotter than ever. He did care for her—maybe more than he’d ever admitted—and he’d failed her. But he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
With a deep breath, he picked up his phone. His thumb hovered over her name, pulse quickening as he stared at the screen. He hesitated a moment too long—unsure if he was ready to hear her voice, unsure how she’d respond.
Then, he pressed down. The phone rang once. Twice.
“Marianne,” he said, his voice softer than he’d meant. He paused, the silence thick between them, then cleared his throat. “It’s John. I hope you’re doing okay...” He waited, listening for her breath on the other end before continuing, his words faltering. “I’ve been thinking about you... a lot, actually. And I was wondering if you’d be open to dinner sometime. Just the two of us. What do you think?”
A call came through while Marianne was sitting on the couch, staring absently out the window, the weight of the past few days still pressing on her shoulders. She glanced at her phone, her expression immediately brightening at the sight of her younger sister’s goofy expression.
"Hey, Meg!" Marianne said. "How's third-year university life treating you?”
“Marianne!” Meg exclaimed, adjusting the camera to give her sister a better view of her dorm room. “Check it out! I got a deluxe dorm this year, one with a kitchen, common living area and its own bathroom! No more going down the hall late at night in my pajamas to pee anymore!”
“Your own bathroom!” Marianne said, feeling a flash of envy. Navigating dimly lit halls in the middle of the night had been a constant struggle.
“I know, right? Here, I’ll show you the rest.” She flipped the camera, panning across the space. “Emma and Mathilda share a room. Mattie’s super neat, Emma… not so much.” She laughed as the screen showed a pristinely made bed and another drowning in clothes. She then moved through another doorway. “This one’s mine and Cecilia’s. We’re not exactly tidy, but we’re not slobs either.”
Marianne smiled at the slightly chaotic space, filled with institutional furniture and colorful personal touches.
“Wow, it looks great, Meg.” She took in the vibrant clutter of fairy lights, posters, plush blankets, and throw pillows scattered everywhere.
“Thanks!” Meg beamed at the camera. “But enough about me. How are you ? Are you feeling any better?”
Marianne started with her latest neurologist appointment, her voice carrying a hint of relief. “The good news is, my head injury is healing well. And my shoulder and ankle are fully recovered.”
“Thank goodness,” Meg replied quickly. “No more shuffling around like an old lady, huh?”
Marianne let out a soft laugh, grateful for her sister’s humor. “Nope, not only can I go on walks again, I look normal doing it. Pretty exciting stuff.”
Meg’s face brightened as she leaned in closer to the screen. “That’s a relief. But... how are you really doing? How’s your head... I mean, emotionally?”
Meg’s question caught Marianne off guard. She hadn’t been expecting such an open question, but she appreciated it. She took a slow breath before answering. “I’m doing okay, all things considered. It’s been tough at times, but I’m getting there.”
“You’ve come a long way, Marianne,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”
Marianne smiled at her sister. “Thanks, Meg. It really means a lot.”
“So, any new memories? Anything else coming back?” Meg asked hopefully.
Marianne sighed, twirling a curl around her finger. “Not really. Just the one about getting Lucky.”
Meg’s face lit up. “Oh! Can I see him? I miss that cat so much.”
Marianne laughed, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m not sure where he is right now, but I’ll send you some pictures and videos later. He’s still as adorable as ever.”
“Okay, good. I need my Lucky fix.” Meg’s playful enthusiasm helped cut through the tension. “But what I really need to know is how things are with Christopher. And John. Are you feeling any better about them? Or still stuck in the middle?”
Marianne leaned back into the couch, sighing deeply. “I saw Christopher last week. I needed to understand why we broke up... I thought talking to him might help make sense of everything.”
Meg’s expression turned serious. “Did it?”
“No,” Marianne admitted softly. “If anything, it just left me more confused. I thought I needed closure, but now... I’m not even sure what that means.”
Meg shifted, glancing down. “You know… he helped me once.”
Marianne leaned closer to the screen, curiosity piqued. “Christopher helped you? What do you mean?”
“It was at Ellie’s wedding. I drank too much and didn’t feel great,” Meg said. “He found me in the hallway and made sure I was okay. He didn’t make a big deal out of it or tell Mama. We had to tell you, but he made sure you went easy on me.”
“I didn’t know that,” Marianne said softly.
“I know you don’t remember, but I’ll never forget it,” Meg replied. “He really saved me that night. Not just from making a fool of myself, but ruining Elinor’s reception on top of it.”
“This is why it’s so hard,” Marianne murmured. “I have all these memories of him being kind and thoughtful, but none of the bad ones that made us break up.”
Meg nodded, her gaze softening. “I can tell it’s not easy for you. Not having all the answers.”
“It’s not,” Marianne agreed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get them.”
Meg was thoughtful for a minute, but unable to hold it back any longer, she spoke her mind. “I think I know why it’s so confusing for you. You’re still in love with him.”
Marianne froze—not from shock, but from a deeper realization. “But… how could I be?” she asked quietly. “I wouldn’t have agreed to marry John if I was still in love with Christopher. At least… I don’t think I would have.”
“Marianne, I know you can’t remember, but after you left Christopher, you wanted so badly to be over him. When John came along, I think you jumped into things fast to try and fill that space. But I don’t believe for a second you ever stopped loving Christopher.”
Could Meg be right? Could it really be that simple?
“Meg,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “it’s not that easy. I can’t just... turn back to him. And what about John? I was going to marry him. I’m seeing him soon. I think... I owe him that much.”
“I know,” Meg said gently. “But even then, I don’t think you ever fully believed it was right. John… he was sweet and charming, sure, but he never really fit you. Not the way Christopher did. I think if you could step back and really look at it, you’d see that.”
The words hit Marianne harder than she expected. A lump rose in her throat as she stared at the screen, unable to speak. She wasn’t sure she was ready to accept it, but part of her feared Meg had nailed the truth.
The silence hung a moment longer than either of them expected. Meg shifted, fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her desk. “I know we’ve been talking about a lot of heavy stuff,” she said, her voice tentative. “And I’m not trying to change the subject or make this about me, but... there’s this guy in my creative writing class. I think I might like him. I just thought you’d want to know.”
Marianne blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Her thoughts were still knotted around Christopher and Willoughby, and Meg talking about a boy felt jarring at first, almost out of place. But as she looked at her sister’s hopeful face, she began to understand. This wasn’t merely a distraction. It was Meg offering something lighter, something normal, a reminder that life went on beyond hospital walls and heartbreak. Marianne exhaled softly, her expression beginning to ease.
“It’s okay, Meg,” Marianne said softly. “I don’t want you to hold back just because things are... complicated for me right now. But seriously, boys already?”
Meg gave her an incredulous look. “I’m twenty-two, Marianne. You had a boyfriend in college. You were, what—twenty-four when you met Christopher?”
Marianne laughed, shaking her head. “I know, I know. You’re right. It’s just... in my head, you’re still ten and begging Elinor to let you put glitter on everything.”
Meg rolled her eyes, but she smiled. “Yeah, well. I’m not ten anymore.”
“I noticed,” Marianne said. “Just... take your time, okay? Don’t let anyone rush you.”
“I won’t,” Meg assured her.
Marianne smiled as she listened to Meg talk fondly of this boy, her voice light and full of hope. Her carefree excitement and giggles felt like a small beacon in the middle of all the uncertainty.
Her gaze softened as she realized that this was what she needed—to let her sister have this space without feeling burdened by the complexities of her own heart. For now, she was content just to listen.
“I think this is it, Mama,” Marianne said, pointing ahead to the modern, sleek sushi restaurant.
Mary gave the restaurant a quick scan and smiled. “This looks nice,” she said, glancing at her daughter with a playful twinkle in her eye. “Sushi sounds good. Maybe I’ll stick around and get myself a table too.”
Marianne couldn’t suppress a soft smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, it’s been a while since I had it. Honestly, I’m more in the mood for pasta, but John wanted to try this place, so... I agreed.”
Mary’s expression softened as she heard the hesitation in her daughter’s voice. She pulled the car to a stop outside the restaurant. “Well, you’re a good sport, dear. Let me know when I can come and get you.”
“Thanks, Mama,” Marianne replied, leaning over to kiss her mother’s cheek. The warmth of the gesture was enough to make her feel a little less alone in this. As she stepped out of the car, she focused on staying present, trying to let herself enjoy the evening, despite everything else on her mind.
She adjusted her coat and walked into the restaurant, where the faint scent of fresh fish and soy sauce mingled with the soft clink of glasses and quiet conversation. She took a deep breath to steady herself. It felt good to be out and doing something normal for a change.
She spotted Willoughby immediately. He was sitting at the bar, drink in hand, already looking at ease. He waved when he saw her, his smile as wide as ever. Marianne returned his smile as she walked up to him.
“Hi,” she said, her voice soft but warm enough to match the polite familiarity of the situation.
“Hi, Marianne,” Willoughby replied, standing up to offer her a hug. She hesitated for a split second before melting into the embrace, her arms wrapping around him. She reminded herself that she did want to give this a chance, that she didn’t want to shut him out entirely.
As they pulled apart, she could tell he noticed her slight tension, the way she didn’t quite settle into him like she used to. “Sorry,” he murmured, looking a little uncomfortable himself. “I didn’t mean to make it awkward.”
“It’s okay,” she said quickly, her voice a little more uncertain than she wanted. She smiled, trying to ease the moment. “It’s just... still strange. But I’m trying.”
He gave her a small, almost wistful smile. “I’m really glad you’re giving me a shot. I’ve missed you.”
Before she could respond, the hostess approached with a friendly smile and informed them that their table was ready. She led them to a cozy booth with decorative wooden slat partitions separating them from the neighboring tables. They slid into their seats, each picking up a menu to study its offerings.
After a beat, Marianne broke the silence. “Ooh, I know what I want. What about you?”
He glanced at the menu, then met her eyes. “I think I’ll go with the deluxe sashimi and nigiri platter.” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “What did you decide on?”
“The Chilean sea bass and the volcano rolls sound really good,” she replied, her voice light as the promise of a small indulgence seemed to lift her spirits a little.
His expression faltered, and a subtle frown tugged at his lips. “Those are a little heavy, don’t you think?”
Marianne’s gaze shot up from the menu, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “It’s just not something you’d normally pick, but you can get whatever you like.”
She met his gaze, her tone steady but with a hint of defiance. “I plan on it. It’s what I want.”
Willoughby’s face softened immediately, a brief flash of regret in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly. “Of course,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “I guess I got a bit carried away. You used to say you’d feel guilty after heavy meals sometimes, and I forgot you’re not quite the same person now. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“It’s fine,” she said, relaxing a bit. “I don’t really know what our dynamic was before, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” She added with a small smile, “But just this once.”
“Fair enough,” he said with a soft chuckle.
After they placed their orders, Willoughby skillfully steered the conversation toward lighter topics, asking about her family and how she was spending her days now that she had more time to herself. Marianne mentioned that she’d started playing the piano and singing again, though both her hands and voice felt rusty after being out of practice. Still, she was determined to regain her old skills. She also told him she was thinking about picking up some copyediting work with Dashwood Creative to earn a little money, though she hoped to return to teaching once she’d fully recovered.
“I remember,” Willoughby said, his tone thoughtful, almost rehearsed. “You tried so hard to juggle wedding planning with teaching, playing, and singing. You wanted it all, but... something had to give, didn’t it?” He paused, holding her gaze. “It broke your heart to let those things go, but... I know how much making that wedding perfect meant to you.”
Marianne sighed, her eyes clouded with frustration. “Teaching, playing, and singing were so important to me,” she admitted. “I just... wish I could remember why I gave them up.”
Before Willoughby could respond, their food arrived, and Marianne found herself grateful for the interruption. She picked at her rolls slowly, noticing how her appetite still felt uncertain, but she had to admit they were good.
After a few bites, he set his chopsticks down and glanced up. “Marianne, I want you to know that I’m sorry about how things have been since your accident. I don’t think I’ve been there for you like I should have.”
She paused, swallowing the piece of her volcano roll. “John, I don’t know what—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he assured her. “I just wanted you to know that. I guess I took you not remembering me and throwing me out of your hospital room a little too hard.”
After he spoke, she looked down at her plate, the chopsticks resting lightly between her fingers. The noise of the restaurant faded into the background as she brought herself back to the day he visited her, how things had unraveled so quickly. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, she’d just been desperate to cling to the only thing she felt certain of at the time.
“It was probably true,” she said, her voice hesitant. “What you said… about me being heartbroken. I still don’t remember exactly what happened or how I felt then, but I’ve talked to him… my ex. At least now I understand why we split.”
He didn’t speak right away. His thoughts drifted to the day he first met her—tears in her eyes, grieving a man who wouldn’t commit.
“Does it help?” he asked softly. “Knowing what happened?”
“It does, in a way. At least I don’t have to keep wondering about it.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “For weeks, I tried to come up with reasons. I thought maybe I’d done something to push him away... or that he found someone else, that he was having an affair.”
Willoughby nearly fumbled a piece of tuna nigiri, but managed to recover. “You told me he didn’t want to marry you,” he said, steadying his gaze. “But Marianne, I did. I still do. I know we can’t now, not while you’re recovering. But I’ll wait for you, however long it takes.”
She gave him a pained smile. “Why did things move so fast between us?” she asked, her voice thoughtful, as though trying to piece it together.
“I think we both felt it,” he said. “It just felt right from the start. We didn’t want to waste time overthinking it.”
Marianne considered his words carefully. “I can’t say I know what’s going to happen with us, but if things work out... we’ll need to take it slower. Much slower,” she added, setting a boundary she wasn’t willing to compromise on.
He smiled at her, a reassuring expression in his eyes. “I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes.”
When she smiled back, it felt lighter, more effortless. For the first time since her accident, she began to see how she might have fallen for him, how it could have been so easy before everything had changed.
They finished the remainder of their dinner in comfortable silence before making their way out of the restaurant and into the cool, October night air.
“Let me drive you home,” Willoughby offered.
She shook her head slightly. “Oh, you don’t have to. I just texted my mother. She’s on her way.”
He hesitated, glancing at the darkened street ahead. “It’s getting pretty cold out here, especially for this time of year. Why don’t we wait in my car? It warms up quickly.”
Grateful she wouldn’t have to wait for her mother in the cold, Marianne didn’t hesitate to accept his offer. She sent her mother a quick update before following him to an unmistakably expensive bright red luxury SUV. The car was a bit much for her taste, but for Willoughby, it somehow seemed to fit.
He opened the door for her and made his way around to the driver’s side. Marianne slid into the warmth of the seat, grateful for the relief from the chilly night air. As the engine purred to life, She found herself smiling softly as any remaining tension from earlier had started to vanish.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said, breaking the silence. “I had a nice time.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice more earnest now. “I did too. I’d like to take you out again.”
Marianne paused, her fingers lightly tracing the screen of her phone as she thought. Surprisingly, her first instinct was to accept. She reminded herself that she owed it to herself to at least try, to understand what their past had been, and what it might be like to open up to him again.
“I’ll go out with you again on one condition,” she replied, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
“What’s that?” he asked, clearly intrigued.
“I get to pick the restaurant,” she said.
He returned her smirk with a genuine smile. “Whatever it takes.”
Their gazes met, and Marianne found herself hesitating for a moment, unsure of what to expect. Willoughby leaned in slowly, almost tentatively, as if waiting for her to pull back. She didn’t move as she focused on his eyes, curious to see if anything might stir within her.
His lips brushed hers gently, and for a fleeting second, she allowed herself to wonder if it would spark some memory, some feeling of familiarity. But as the kiss lingered, there was nothing. No flash or recognition to ground her. The image of his warm brown eyes blurred with the memory of steely blue ones, and without warning, she pulled back.
“I’m sorry,” Willoughby said quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Marianne assured him. “I was just hoping something would come back. But it didn’t. I can’t understand why your memory is eluding me.”
Willoughby’s expression stiffened slightly at her remark, his eyes momentarily shifting away. “I wish I knew why too,” he said cautiously. “But I’m sure everything will make sense one day.”
Before she could respond, Marianne saw a flash of headlights in front of her. “Oh, I think that’s my mother. Thank you again.”
He leaned in again, but this time it was just to give her a light kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for letting me do this,” he told her. “I can’t wait to see you again soon.”
She smiled at him as she exited his car, but a sense of unease formed beneath the surface. Despite how pleasant the evening had been, something about it didn’t feel right. Her words— I can’t understand why your memory is eluding me —echoed in her mind, and she wondered if the truth was something far harder to face than she realized.
Notes:
Thank you for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this chapter or the story as a whole. If you’re wondering why I glossed over Marianne and Christopher’s conversation, that was a deliberate choice. I want readers to experience their breakup in real time, through the past timeline. Just as Marianne’s own understanding is limited when she first asks about it, hearing the entire story secondhand would lessen its impact.
What do you think of the alternating timeline? Do you enjoy the structure, or does it feel frustrating to wait two chapters for the continuation of a specific plot point?
Chapter 15: Then
Notes:
This chapter, like most past chapters moving forward, will move through the timeline much quicker. They will on average span about 6-9 months, giving you a broader look at the character's evolving lives. The present chapters on the other hand, only span a few days or weeks.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
Marianne ran her fingers over the worn piano keys, the notes echoing lightly through the room. Her voice followed, high and clear, as it always was. It felt good to be singing again, even if her only audience was one person on the couch beside her. Still, he’d become one of the most constant parts of her life, right up there with her family.
Outside, the January wind pushed against the windows. With the holiday season behind her, the Dorset Lounge gigs were just weeks away. She squeezed in practice whenever she could, eager to ease back into the rhythm.
She finished the song, letting the final notes settle in the air before lifting her feet from the pedals and spinning toward Christopher, a smile spreading across her face.
“Well?” she asked. “What did you think of that one?”
He paused for a moment, chin resting on his thumb and forefinger, as though deeply considering her performance. Slowly, a tiny smile crept across his face.
“Marianne,” he said, “you should know by now it’s impossible for me to critique you objectively. I loved it, just as I loved the other five songs you sang.”
“Chris,” she said, sighing. “I need to know if it’s right for the lounge… for the atmosphere. You can’t just tell me you loved it. You have to pretend the beautiful performer on stage isn’t your girlfriend, but a stranger. How did it make you feel?”
He chuckled, thinking back to ten months ago when he had been that person, watching this beautiful stranger captivate the room. How her music had turned the burden of his grief into something inspiring and hopeful. Since he had opened up about Eliza, and how compassionate Marianne had been in response, there was a newfound ease between them—something he hadn’t realized he was missing before.
“I don’t think I can imagine that anymore,” he admitted with a smile. “And honestly, I wouldn’t want to.”
Marianne’s smile softened as joined him on the couch, relaxing against the warmth of his body. She reached up to brush a stray lock of his hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering longer than necessary.
“You’re not helping,” she chided.
“I know,” he admitted, inching closer. “Maybe this would?”
Before Marianne could respond, Christopher’s lips found hers in a slow, tender kiss. What started as a gentle touch soon deepened, their bodies instinctively leaning into each other. They lost themselves in the moment, the world outside of them quietly slipping away.
Neither of them noticed the wind continuing to howl, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, or the garage door creaking open. Not until the soft shuffle of footsteps and a quiet cough from the doorway broke through their bubble.
Mary, standing in the entryway, carrying a bag of groceries, cleared her throat. Her lips twitched, fighting a smile that threatened to give away what she had just witnessed. “Marianne, I didn’t know you had company.”
The sound of her mother’s voice sent a jolt through Marianne. She pulled back from Christopher as if scalded, scrambling off the couch. Something about seeing her mother in the doorway, still wearing her cartoon bear scrubs from a long shift at the children’s hospital made the whole scene feel even more mortifying. Her face burned hotter than the sun.
“Mama… yes, I was just practicing some songs for Christopher…”
The excuse sounded flimsy even to her own ears. A fresh wave of embarrassment rose up as she wished, uselessly, that she could sink straight through the floorboards.
Her mother’s expression softened, the teasing smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. “Well, in that case, Christopher, please stay for dinner.”
Christopher stood up, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward attempt to maintain some composure. “Thank you, Mary, but I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. Maybe another time.” He turned to Marianne, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
Once he left, Marianne’s blush intensified, the heat of it spreading to the tips of her ears. She turned to her mother, still reeling. “Mama, I’m sorry about that,” she stammered, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
Her mother met her gaze, a playful glint in her eye. “About what, dear?” she asked innocently, though the slight wink gave her away. “You’re allowed to have your boyfriend over. I was young once, I get it. Just as long as you keep things... appropriate for the living room.”
Marianne exhaled sharply, the tension leaving her body. Her mother’s understanding was a relief, and her teasing, while still embarrassing, was far better than anything more serious. “Thank you, Mama.”
Marianne and Christopher walked together in the gentler wind, the first signs of spring finally beginning to show. They made their way to their favorite coffee shop, the familiar scent of coffee and fresh pastries meeting them at the door. He held it open for her, as he always did, and Marianne headed straight for the bakery case.
“What are you going to have this time?” Christopher asked, leaning over the case with her.
“I don’t know,” she said, scanning the treats. “You know I’m determined to try everything at least once. What about you?”
“Hmmm…” He glanced over the rows of pastries. “I think the maple pecan danish looks promising.”
“Oh, I had that one back in October!” she said. “You won’t be disappointed.”
After a few more moments of careful debate, she finally settled on one of the jumbo cinnamon rolls.
They took their usual table by the window. When their order arrived, Christopher chuckled at the size of Marianne’s cinnamon roll.
“We’re going to dinner later,” he teased. “You won’t be hungry after that.”
“Wanna bet?” she said with a mischievous smile.
“No,” he replied, knowing it was a losing game. He raised his pour-over coffee. “Happy anniversary.”
“Happy anniversary,” she echoed, lifting her latte to gently clink her cup with his.
Later that evening, after returning from their cozy anniversary dinner, Marianne made a beeline for Christopher’s oversized sofa. She sank into the cushions with a contented sigh, stretching out and rubbing her stomach.
“I’m so stuffed,” she murmured. “I’m never eating again.”
“You don’t say,” he said, joining her on the couch. “Still think devouring that entire cinnamon roll was a good idea?”
“The best idea. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
He chuckled, pulling her closer and wrapping his arm around her. “I know you would. That’s one of the things I love about you. You never hold back. You just… live in the moment.”
She turned to face him, shifting her legs across his lap. With a gentle tug, she pulled him in for a kiss. When they parted, she smiled up at him. “Want to know one of the reasons I love you?”
“Hmm… because you have a weird thing for uptight old men?” he asked, grinning.
“No,” she laughed. “I love you in spite of that. I love you because you let me be myself. You never try to change me.”
“I’d never want you to change,” he said, brushing a hand against her cheek. “And you should never feel like you need to. Not for me, or anyone else.”
Marianne pulled him close once more, her lips meeting his in a kiss, one that slowly deepened with intent. When she finally drew back, it was only far enough to whisper, “I love you.”
But Christopher didn’t get the chance to answer. Her mouth was on his again, hungrier this time, silencing everything beyond the two of them. Everything else besides the two of them ceased to exist. There was only the heat of his hands, the press of his body and the rising ache between them that was impossible to ignore.
Elinor sat at her desk, fingers moving steadily across the mouse, though her thoughts had already drifted elsewhere. A quiet knock at her office door snapped her back to focus, her brother stepping in without waiting for a response.
“Are you almost ready?” he asked. “VeriSphere’s already set up in the conference room. They seem eager to dive in.”
Still scanning her screen, she glanced up briefly. “Just a second, John… got it,” she murmured, then looked at him fully. “Hard to believe we’re already talking about the rebrand. Feels like we just brought them on. Over a year already.”
“I know,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “This is a big project. Allenham sent another letter of interest. But if this rebrand lands, those board members on the fence will hold out for the long game instead of selling.”
Elinor’s brows rose, the familiar frustration showing in her expression. “And Fanny? What would make her back off?”
He stood straighter, his smile brief and humorless. “Don’t worry. I can handle her. She doesn’t have the support she thinks. She won’t make this a problem.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she muttered, unsure if he even heard her.
They made their way to the firm’s sleek executive conference room, where Christopher and John Middleton were already seated with coffee in hand. Elinor greeted them with a polite handshake and a faint smile before taking her seat. The brief pleasantries exchanged barely warmed the room before she connected her laptop, casting the soft glow of the presentation monitor across the table.
For the next few hours, she led them through a detailed analysis of their brand. She gave her insights on what worked, what didn’t, and how the public perceived it as a whole. After establishing a baseline, she moved to competitor logos, highlighting what set VeriSphere apart and what left it behind.
Next, she introduced the curated mood board of images, textures, and color palettes designed to suggest a new tone, one that leaned confident and future-focused. She watched their reactions closely, gauging what resonated. Finally, she unveiled the initial logo concepts. Several bold, modern designs built to move the company into its next chapter filled the screen.
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes passing between her brother and the men across the table. “So,” she began. “After all that, what are we thinking?”
John Middleton, ever quick to offer his opinion, was the first to speak. “I loved it,” he said. “Great work, Elinor. I’m not sure where we’ll land yet, Brandon and I will need to sort that out, but it’s clear you and your team have the vision and the skill to make this a success.”
Christopher took a moment before speaking. “I’ll echo Middleton’s sentiments,” he said, his gaze shifting between Elinor and her brother. “Your research and approach are exactly what we were hoping for. That said, you should know me well enough by now. I need to know what the numbers look like. I’ve got an idea, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
Elinor allowed herself a subtle smile, her eyes briefly flashing to her brother before she replied. “I’ll defer to my brother on that one.”
Even after a year with Dashwood Creative, Christopher’s obsession with budgets and timelines was the unofficial office running joke. But Elinor knew a different side of him now, one that was far less intimidating.
John Dashwood cleared his throat before speaking. “Given the scope of the project, the cost will be significant. Our initial estimate falls somewhere between $250,000 and $500,000. But remember, this isn’t just an immediate expense; it’s an investment in the future.”
Christopher exhaled slowly, letting the numbers settle. He turned to Middleton, who gave a slight nod of agreement. “That’s about what I expected. While the initial investment is considerable, we’ve been preparing for this. More important is making sure it aligns with VeriSphere’s priorities and that the ROI meets expectations.”
Dashwood nodded, gaze steady. “Exactly. You’ve already seen what Elinor and her team have done with the existing brand over the past year. This rebrand will only accelerate that momentum.”
Middleton’s voice was steady, resolute. “I’m on board. If this is what it takes to move the company forward, let’s proceed.”
Christopher leaned back, his fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his chair. “Alright,” he said confidently. “We’ll need a more comprehensive proposal for the shareholders—something to show the details, but we’re moving forward. And Elinor,” he added with a wink, “don’t let me down.”
A wave of applause swept through the Dorset Lounge while Marianne took a moment to bow, her heart filling with the warmth of the crowd’s admiration. Her eyes searched the room, landing on the one person who always made her feel grounded. Christopher sat near the front, clapping with the same awe and pride that had been there from her first performance. It was a look that never failed to reassure her, no matter the chaos of her world.
Back in her dressing room, she longed to slip into something comfortable and head to Christopher’s for some long overdue quality time. It had been too long since they’d shared even a few quiet moments together. Between the rebrand and new product launches, his work had been consuming so much of his time. For her, the twice weekly performances coupled with new responsibilities at school had begun to drain her energy.
She told herself that tonight would be different. She had packed a small overnight bag, enough to get through the night and the next day teaching. It wasn’t much, just a small comfort in the middle of their busy lives.
Back in her dressing room, she rifled through her bag, pulling out her sweater and jeans to change into before leaving. Looking into the bag further, a sinking feeling came over her. She saw pajamas, underwear, her toiletries bag and nothing else. The outfit she had picked out for teaching tomorrow never made it into her bag.
It was a small mistake, but it landed on her like a ton of bricks.
She stared at the contents, as if the missing clothes might suddenly appear if she looked long enough. She took a deep breath as the disappointment festered into frustration—not just at herself, but at how little room she seemed to have for anything lately. There just wasn’t space for anything to slip.
She sunk down into the couch, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. She had been looking forward to this night with Christopher all week, but now she felt it slipping out from under her. They could drive her home and back, she knew, but by the time they did that most of the night would be lost.
The tears came quietly. She tried to push them back, but it was too late. Fatigue and disappointment only made them flow more freely.
A soft knock at the door made her pull her hands from her face, quickly dabbing at her eyes. In the mirror, her reflection stared back with smudged makeup, slumped shoulders, and the unmistakable look of someone at the end of her rope.
“Come in,” she called, trying to hide just how drained she felt.
Christopher entered, his expression shifting the moment he saw her. “Marianne. What’s wrong?”
“Chris, I’m such an idiot,” she said as fresh tears spilled over. “I forgot to pack clothes for tomorrow. It’s too late now. I’ll have to go home.”
He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. “Shh… it’s okay—”
“No, it’s not!” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “I’ve barely seen you since our anniversary. We’ve both been so busy. I was really looking forward to tonight. Even one night… just us.”
Christopher felt the distance creeping up too. He gently tilted her chin up so she had to meet his eyes, his thumb brushing away a tear from her cheek. “Marianne,” he said, “it’s not too late. We’ll go to your place, get what you need, and then we’ll head back to mine.”
She sniffed, searching his face for sincerity. “Really?”
He nodded. “And if you want, you can stay the whole weekend. I’ll drive you to work in the mornings, pick you up after. Whatever you need.”
Marianne’s shoulders relaxed a little, her frustration easing. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course,” he replied. “It’s no trouble. I don’t want to see you upset over something we can easily fix.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve been so tired with work and performing. It wasn’t like this last year.”
“I know,” he said, gently rubbing her back. “It won’t be like this forever. C’mon, let’s head out.”
She nodded, rising to face the mirror and gently wiping away the last traces of smudged makeup, willing herself to leave the night’s emotions behind. After a few steadying breaths, she decided she was presentable enough to leave the lounge. Together, they stepped out into the cool night.
The drive to her house felt longer than usual. When they arrived, Marianne’s mother was still up, cradling a cup of tea. Marianne gave her a quick, tired greeting before hurrying upstairs, but her puffy, red eyes didn’t go unnoticed.
“Is everything alright?” Mary asked Christopher.
“Yes,” he answered quietly. “She forgot to pack her clothes for tomorrow and thought it was too late to come here and go back. She’s been juggling teaching, performing, and committee work. Trying to keep up with everything has left her exhausted. She’s going to stay with me for a few days.”
Mary gave him a sympathetic smile. “Ah, I know. She’s always been a bit extra emotional when she’s run down. But she’s lucky to have someone as patient as you.”
Christopher smiled softly. “I think I’m the lucky one. She means so much to me.”
It didn’t take long for Marianne to return, her bag now brimming with clothes for the next few days. She stood at the kitchen entrance, a little flushed, her exhaustion still clear in the set of her shoulders.
“Do you have everything?” Christopher asked.
“Yes,” she replied, her tone a little more clipped than she intended.
“Are you sure?” he pressed, brows furrowing just slightly.
“Chris, yes,” she said, still with an edge. “I have everything I need for school, performing, lounging around—do you want to inspect?”
He held up his hands in a gesture of calm. “Okay, I trust you. Are you ready to head back?”
She nodded before turning towards her mother, giving her a brief hug. “I’ll be back Sunday, but I’ll see you at the lounge Saturday, right?”
“Yes, I’ll be there,” Mary promised. “Now go on, and Marianne... get some sleep.”
Once back at Christopher’s apartment, Marianne headed straight for the bathroom, drawn by the promise of a long, hot shower to wash away the day. He gave her all the time she needed, knowing how rare these moments of calm were for her. Settling into bed, he turned on a documentary to fill the quiet.
When she finally emerged, wearing a soft, oversized sleepshirt, she slid in beside him, seeking the warmth of his body. She curled close, the exhaustion she’d carried for weeks finally settling as she melted against him.
Christopher rose briefly to brush his teeth. When he returned, she was already fast asleep, limbs relaxed and sprawled across the bed. He eased in carefully, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. She stirred, nuzzled closer, and murmured a grateful “thank you” before drifting fully into the rest she so desperately needed.
The weekend with Christopher had given Marianne the boost she needed to power through the final stretch of the school year. With the whirlwind of lesson plans, grading, and staff meetings behind her, she could finally breathe, even knowing the fall term would return in a few months.
One evening, she found herself alone and took the opportunity to catch up on a show she’d recently fallen for. A pint of ice cream rested in her lap, the spoon dipping in absentmindedly as she sank into the cushions, letting the drama unfold around her. But the stillness was short-lived when she heard the soft creak of the door as someone came home.
“Hello?” came the unmistakable sound of Elinor’s voice.
“I’m back here, Ellie,” Marianne called, taking another spoonful of ice cream.
Elinor emerged from the hallway and stepped into the family room. Marianne glanced up as her sister entered, setting the ice cream aside.
“You’re not with Christopher tonight?” Elinor asked, curious.
“No, not tonight. He’s got clients to wine and dine,” Marianne replied, offering her the pint. “Want some?”
Elinor hesitated, her smile widening. “Maybe later.”
Marianne arched a brow, giving her a playful side glance. “What’s with that smile? You’re up to something.”
Without a word, Elinor held out her left hand.
Marianne’s eyes dropped to the ring, and her hand flew to her chest. “Is that…?” she breathed, trailing off before her other hand clapped over her mouth. “Oh my god, Ellie! Edward proposed?”
“Yes!” Elinor laughed, nodding. “Can you believe it?”
Marianne took her sister’s hand, her breath catching as she studied the ring. The round diamond glinted in the light, flanked by two deep blue sapphires that reminded her of the sea. The band curved delicately, like the branches of a tree.
It was beautiful, but what struck her more was the way Elinor’s fingers trembled slightly, how her smile was full of joy and certainty.
“Took him long enough!” Marianne exclaimed, jumping up to wrap her arms around her sister in a warm, tight hug. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you! The ring… it’s gorgeous! Now tell me everything! How did he do it? Where? Did you cry? I need to know it all!”
Elinor smiled, emotion gathering in her eyes as she sank back into the moment. “It was actually very romantic,” she said. “We were having dinner at his family’s estate, and suddenly, he suggested we take a walk around the grounds. I was distracted by some work meeting coming up so I didn’t suspect a thing. We ended up by the lake, and I commented on how beautiful the moonlight looked reflecting on the water. The next thing I knew, he was on one knee…”
“Oh, Ellie! That’s wonderful!” Marianne gasped. “I didn’t know Edward had something so romantic in him!”
“I know!” Elinor replied as a few tears sprang from her eyes. “I still can’t believe it myself. His mother insists on throwing an engagement party in July. You and Christopher are, of course, invited. Please say you’ll come.”
“Of course we will!” Marianne said without hesitation. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I just hope Christopher isn’t too caught up with work. He’s got a lot on his plate with the rebrand, as you know.”
“Don’t remind me,” Elinor said with a tired laugh as she wiped her cheeks. “It’s been a challenge, but once it’s done, it will be good for both of us.” She paused, her eyes flicking over to her sister. “How are things going with you two, though?”
Marianne took a slow breath, her thoughts settling on the ebb and flow of her relationship. “It’s good, just… a little rocky lately. Work’s been nonstop for both of us. But now that the school year is over, I’ll have more time. I’m hoping we can get back on track and find our rhythm again.”
“And what about beyond that?” Elinor pressed gently. “You’ve been together for over a year now, do you ever wonder where it’s going?”
Marianne raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if we’re getting married or something?”
“Not exactly,” Elinor said with a soft smile. “But have you thought about it?”
Marianne considered it for a moment. It had crossed her mind a few times, but she was quick to push the thoughts aside before she got too carried away. “Sometimes, but I still think it’s too soon for us. I’m only twenty-five, marriage and a family aren’t exactly on my radar just yet.”
“You may only be twenty-five,” Elinor said carefully. “But Christopher’s in his forties now. You should at least talk about it and make sure you’re on the same page. You don’t want him hoping for something you’re not ready to give, or worse, realizing too late that it’s something you never wanted.”
Marianne didn’t answer right away, but she knew Elinor was right. She and Christopher hadn’t really talked about the future—at least, not like this. They loved each other; she had no doubts about that. Things between them had always felt natural and easy, like they were moving forward without needing to define every step.
Still, she wasn’t sure exactly what Christopher saw when he looked ahead, or if he even thought about the future in the same way she did. Maybe it was time to ask, because the last thing she wanted was to find out too late that they weren’t heading in the same direction.
The tent was massive, strung with twinkling lights that cast a soft glow over the guests below. Music hummed through the air, the bar fully stocked and staffed, while servers drifted through the crowd with silver trays of elegant hors d'oeuvres. Marianne couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the extravagance. The Ferrars had spared no expense for Edward and Elinor’s engagement party. It was the kind of celebration that made you feel sophisticated on the outside, but underneath, like you didn’t quite belong.
“This is quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” she whispered to Christopher as they made their way across the sprawling grounds of Edward’s family estate.
“It certainly is,” he replied, tugging at the collar of his light gray blazer. “It’s too hot for this. I’m going to grab some water.”
He quickly veered off toward the bar, leaving Marianne to search for her family on her own. She couldn’t blame him—it was sweltering, and the Ferrars' invitation had made it clear that men were required to wear jackets, no matter the weather. At least she was comfortable in her airy yellow dress, the cool fabric flowing around her knees, with the teardrop pearl necklace Christopher had given her for her birthday resting at her throat.
Marianne spotted her mother and Meg first, chatting quietly, a little withdrawn in the polished surroundings. Then Elinor and Edward appeared, arm in arm, gliding towards them with stylish ease. Elinor radiated beauty in a sleeveless, cream-colored floral jacquard dress. Edward, by contrast, looked far less at ease in his tan suit and light blue chambray shirt, the mid-July heat clearly taking its toll.
Without missing a beat, the younger Dashwood sisters and their mother embraced Elinor and Edward, showering them with congratulations and heartfelt wishes. Mary and Meg immediately turned their attention to Elinor’s ring, admiring it with awe and complimenting Edward for choosing something that perfectly reflected Elinor’s taste.
“Where’s Christopher?” Elinor asked, her eyes scanning the crowd.
“He just stepped over to the bar to grab some water,” Marianne replied. She turned toward Edward with a smirk. “Was the ‘jacket required’ dress code really necessary? In this heat?”
“Not at all,” Edward agreed, returning her smile with a slight wink. “But my mother—well, she has a way of making us all suffer for the sake of ‘standards.’ I’m convinced she’d happily give us all heatstroke just to keep up appearances at her events.”
“I’m almost there,” Christopher said as he returned to Marianne’s side, a bottle of water in hand for both of them. “Sorry, I should’ve brought more.”
“It’s fine,” Mary reassured him, grateful for the gesture. “Meg and I were about to head over anyway.”
“Mama,” Meg asked, her voice a touch daring. “Can I have a real drink?”
Mary shot her a sideways glance. “You wouldn’t even like the taste of a real drink at your age.”
Meg rolled her eyes, sighing in exaggerated defeat. “Whatever,” she muttered, knowing her mother would never give in as they walked off, leaving the adults to continue their conversation.
Christopher offered his congratulations to the happy couple, joining in as the four of them chatted about the upcoming wedding. Elinor didn’t have a set date yet but knew it would be a couple of years down the line, as Edward was still deep in the throes of his doctoral work, writing his dissertation. He hoped to finish by the end of the next spring semester.
“I know it’s a bit unconventional,” Elinor said thoughtfully, “but I can’t shake this vision of a winter wedding.”
“Oh, Ellie.” Marianne's eyes lit up. “That sounds so romantic, especially if it snowed.”
“I’d give anything for it to snow right now,” Christopher muttered, loosening the top button of his shirt in a futile attempt to cool down.
Edward, his forehead glistening with sweat that threatened to drip into his icy blue eyes, finally gave in to the suit’s discomfort. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said with a resigned chuckle, shimmying off his jacket. “Appearances be damned. Wearing a jacket in this heat is absurd. I don’t care what my mother thinks. Christopher, you can stop pretending, too.”
“Thank god,” Christopher grinned, following suit and slipping off his jacket with a sigh of relief.
As more guests gathered around the happy couple, offering congratulations and discussing wedding plans, the oppressive heat of the summer evening slowly began to ease, making the air a little more bearable. Then, someone casually remarked that the wedding would mark the start of "the rest of their lives." The words, though innocent enough, landed unexpectedly hard for Christopher, hitting a little too close to home and leaving him feeling momentarily detached from the joy of the evening.
With an excuse about not wanting to monopolize all of Elinor and Edward's time, Christopher gently steered Marianne away to the bar. He pushed the intrusive thoughts aside, determined to enjoy the party for her sake, at least for now.
Dinner arrived, and lively conversation and laughter filled the air, the clink of silverware and glasses mingling in the background. Once the plates were cleared, the toasts began. Edward stood first, raising his glass toward Elinor, his smile warm and sincere.
“I’ll keep this brief,” he said. “But I want to take a moment to say how incredibly lucky I am. Elinor has been my rock—steady, patient, and always understanding, even when I couldn’t find the courage to take the next step.”
He met her eyes, his expression softening. “I don’t think I’ve ever known someone who could make me feel both calm and excited at the same time, but she does. And through it all, she’s never given up on me. So here’s to the future we’ll build together. I couldn’t imagine a better partner in life than her.”
Elinor stood with a wide smile. “I can’t believe it’s been eight years since Edward and I first met. He was shy, so I gave him my number to help him out… and then he ghosted me.” A ripple of laughter spread through the room as Edward mockingly shrank into himself.
“If it had been anyone else,” she went on, “I might have moved on. But Edward was worth the wait, and I can’t imagine loving anyone else the way I love him.”
The guests cheered as Edward rose to embrace Elinor, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. The toasts continued, each one filled with familiar sentiments of love, forever, and the beauty of commitment. Glasses clinked, smiles beamed, and well-wishes for a future of joy and support floated through the air. Words like “forever,” “new beginnings,” and “true love” were well-meaning, but for Christopher, they cut deep, sharpening the ache of everything he’d lost.
Finally, Marianne stood, raising her glass with a bright smile. “I don’t know what to say except—well, it’s about time!” she said, her excitement spilling over. “You two are perfect for each other, and I’m so happy for you both. It’s rare to find someone who makes you feel at home in every sense, and I’m so glad you’ve found that in each other. To love, and to the future ahead!”
She sat back down, then noticed Christopher. His complexion had drained, and he sat too still for someone who’d been enjoying the party moments before. She placed a comforting hand on his knee. “Is everything okay?”
Christopher quickly masked his unease with a smile. “Yes, just something on my mind about the rebrand. Figured it’d be easier to clear it up now with your brother, rather than waiting for Monday.”
Marianne raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. “Okay. I think I saw him head inside,” she said, offering a small, reassuring smile.
He leaned over and kissed her quickly. “I won’t be long,” he said before standing and walking away. But instead of heading towards Dashwood, he simply needed a moment away from the laughter, the toasts, and the well-meaning words that only seemed to dig deeper. He needed to clear his head.
Marianne stayed behind to mingle with guests a little longer before excusing herself to use the restroom. As she made her way back through the expansive house, she passed her brother and Fanny, but Christopher was nowhere to be found.
“John,” she asked, approaching him. “Has Christopher come by to speak with you?”
“No, dear, he hasn’t,” John replied, looking up with mild confusion. “Why do you ask?”
“Just that he mentioned needing to talk to you about the account,” Marianne explained. “It’s fine, I’ll find him.”
After a quick look around the common areas, she stepped out into the cooler night air and headed toward the tent, but the spot was empty. Frowning, she walked around the grounds, hoping to spot him. Just as she was about to give up, she saw the small lake on the north edge of the property. There, sitting on a bench by the water’s edge, was Christopher.
“Hey,” she said softly, careful not to startle him. “Are you alright?”
He looked up, blinking as he registered her presence. “Yeah, sorry,” he said, voice more distant than usual. “I just needed some air.”
Marianne sat beside him, her gaze gentle but searching. “Chris,” she said, “I know you didn’t have any urgent business with my brother. Tell me what’s really going on. We agreed we wouldn’t keep things from each other.”
He exhaled slowly, a long, weary sigh escaping as his shoulders slumped. “I know. It’s just… this party… it’s lovely, truly. I’m happy for Elinor and Edward, but it’s harder than I expected. Seeing them… just hit me in ways I didn’t anticipate. It’s not easy sometimes.”
Marianne’s stomach dropped. She gently took his hand, her fingers curling around his. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “If I’d known you weren’t up for this, I wouldn’t have pushed.”
He managed a tired smile, but his eyes stayed distant. “You didn’t push me, Marianne. I wanted to come. It’s just… the memories. They catch me off guard sometimes, when I least expect it.”
Her heart ached for him, but she kept her voice steady and leaned in a little closer. “I meant it when I said you don’t have to carry this alone. You never have to shut me out. Whatever you’re feeling, you can tell me.”
He pulled her in, his arm sliding around her. His grip tightened just enough to let her feel the tension he’d been holding. “I know. I just… I don’t want to be a burden.”
Her gaze softened, but her words came without hesitation. “Christopher, what you’ve been through—your past—isn’t a burden. And neither are you.”
There was a long pause. When Christopher finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost tentative.
“I don’t know how you do it, Marianne. You understand me in ways I don’t even know how to explain. And somehow, that makes all this… a little easier to carry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put into words how much that means to me.”
She turned toward him and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “You know,” she said, “you do the same for me. When I get overwhelmed and everything feels too much, you don’t try to fix it. You let me feel what I need to feel. But you also help me come back, helping me see the bigger picture.”
Christopher smiled at her, but he still seemed lost in thought. Marianne watched him, the question that had been on her mind for a while finally slipping out.
“Have you ever thought about it before?” she asked, not out of uncertainty but genuine curiosity. “About getting married, I mean?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted, taking a deep breath. “I’ve never really let myself consider it. After everything that happened… I guess I didn’t know if I wanted to, or even if I could. And I never got far enough in a relationship since then to think about it seriously.”
He paused, then looked at her, carefully choosing his next words. “But now… with you? It’s different. It doesn’t feel so out of reach. It’s just… a lot to think about right now.”
After a quiet moment, she offered him a small smile. “I understand. It is a lot to think about. And, if I’m being honest, I’m not ready to consider it just yet, either.”
His shoulders eased at her response. “So, we’re on the same page then? You’re not expecting me to ruin your sister’s moment and steal her thunder with our own announcement, are you?”
“Heavens no!” she ginned, gently swatting his arm. “I could never!”
He smiled back, but Marianne could tell it didn’t fully reach his eyes.
“Chris,” she said gently. “Tell me what else is bothering you. I can tell there’s more.”
He let out a soft laugh as more tension loosening from his body. “I didn’t realize I was so easy to read,” he teased. But then his tone shifted, the playfulness giving way to something more earnest.
“This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I know things feel easier right now with summer giving us more time together. But... I keep wondering how it’ll be once the school year starts. I can’t help thinking it’s going to get harder to make time for each other again.”
Marianne’s gaze softened, and she nodded. “I’ve thought about that too.”
He looked at her, eyes hopeful. “So, what do you think about moving in with me? Not right away, but maybe before you start teaching again? It could help, right?”
Marianne pulled back slightly, studying his face. His eyes were open, earnest, full of that steady determination she’d come to admire.
A slow smile spread across her lips, warmth blooming in her chest. “Really? You want me to move in?”
He nodded, his gaze never wavering. “Yes. It doesn’t have to be right away, but… will you think about it?”
Marianne didn’t need to think twice. She smiled brightly, her heart full. “Yes. I’d love to move in with you.”
The distant hum of the party faded behind them, leaving only the gentle breeze and the steady rhythm of the lake. He pulled her closer as she rested her head on his shoulder, and for the first time all evening, he felt fully present. There was no pressure between them or timelines to navigate. Just the relief of knowing they wanted the same thing—something stable and real they could build together without living up to others’ expectations. And more than anything, they wanted each other.
Notes:
Thank you for reading! If you are enjoying the story, comments and kudos are always appreciated and truly give me the motivation to keep going. 😊
Chapter 16: Now
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
Marianne sat on the back patio of her home, legs stretched out in front of her, soaking in the unseasonably warm late October sunshine. Lucky lay sprawled on the paving bricks beside her, rolling onto his back, basking in the warmth of the stones before the inevitable chill of late autumn arrived to take it all away.
Only a few days had passed since her dinner with Willoughby, but Marianne couldn’t stop thinking about it, or the conflicted feelings that followed. She’d genuinely had a nice time, but there was this underlying pressure to feel something deeper, something more certain.
Her mind drifted to those early dates with Christopher—the nervous excitement, the way conversation flowed so easily, like they’d known each other for years. And that kiss on their second date. She could still feel the electricity in it, the certainty in his touch, how it had grounded her in something real. A moment that hadn’t faded, not even now.
There was something else troubling her, this constant pull of longing. She missed him deeply, even though she understood why they’d split, and why she had to walk away. In the weeks since she’d asked for space, after hearing the truth from him at last, she found herself thinking about him more than she expected. His absence clung to her, a constant reminder of what was gone.
A buzz from her phone cut through her reverie. A text from Elinor lit up the screen.
Hey! it read. This weather is nuts! You feel up to some ice cream before it’s too cold again?
I know! Marianne replied. I’d love some ice cream!
Great, I’ll pick you up. Be there in 20 mins!
Can’t wait!
Marianne coaxed Lucky back inside, then went upstairs to change, swapping her lounge clothes for jeans and a soft T-shirt. Back downstairs, she waited by the window, watching the street in case Elinor arrived early. As soon as she saw her sister pull into the driveway, she grabbed her bag and rushed outside without a second thought. The idea of getting out of the house, even for something as small as ice cream, was enough to lift her mood.
“Couldn’t wait, huh?” Elinor said, laughing as Marianne settled into her small SUV.
“You have no idea,” Marianne said, grinning. “Where are we going?”
“Well, there’s this new spot a little farther out I’ve been wanting to try. It’s a bit of a drive, if that’s okay?”
“Sure. More time with you sounds perfect.”
The drive passed in easy conversation. Elinor talked about her new role at work, including details Marianne didn’t remember hearing before.
“So you don’t really design anymore?” Marianne asked, curious.
“Sometimes, to get the ball rolling,” Elinor explained. “But now I help shape the whole campaign, including strategy and messaging. I still care about the visuals, but my job now is more about the bigger picture.”
“Sounds like a lot of responsibility,” Marianne said. “Are you… happy with it?”
“It is,” Elinor admitted. “But it’s been good for me. Challenging in the right ways. I feel like I’m finally being trusted with more, and that’s important.”
Marianne smiled warmly. “I’m glad. Really. I hope I can go back to teaching one day. But right now… I don’t even know what my life is supposed to look like.”
Elinor reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “You don’t have to know yet. You just have to heal. And when you’re ready, we’ll be there—me, Mama, Meg… everyone who loves you. You’re not doing this alone.”
Elinor pulled up alongside the quaint little ice cream stand once they arrived and parked the car. Marianne stepped out and gave the place a curious once-over.
“Ellie,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “This is it? It’s practically a shack. There’s nowhere to sit inside.”
“I know,” Elinor replied, unfazed. “But some clients at work keep going on about it. Besides, it’s a nice day. Let’s sit at one of the picnic tables.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Marianne said, eyeing the wooden picnic tables with oversized umbrellas flapping gently in the breeze.
They placed their orders and, once armed with their sundaes, found a table a little farther from the stand and the road.
“Oh wow,” Marianne said after her first bite of caramel apple pie sundae. “Okay, this is unreal. I get the hype now. How’s yours?”
“I’ll just say it’s a good thing this place is far,” Elinor replied, savoring a spoonful of her s’mores sundae. “Otherwise, I’d be here every week.”
They both laughed and slipped into easy conversation. But after a bit of gentle prodding from Elinor, and repeated assurances from Marianne that she was “fine,” it became clear to her sister that something else was going on.
“Marianne,” Elinor said softly, “you’ve never been good at hiding what you’re feeling. Just tell me. What’s really going on?”
Marianne let out a slow sigh, her shoulders sinking just slightly. “Well… for starters, I talked to Christopher a couple weeks ago. I asked him for the truth—what really happened between us.” She paused, looking up. “Did you know any of it?”
Elinor shook her head, her expression tightening just a little. “Not everything. I think… like Mama, I only got fragments. You said he didn’t want marriage or children, but you wouldn’t explain. Just that he must not have loved you anymore.”
She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “We tried to tell you that it didn't sound like him, but… you weren’t in a place to hear it.”
“I thought that?” Marianne asked quietly. “He told me he still loves me… the first time he came to the hospital.”
“I can’t say for sure what you were thinking back then,” Elinor said. “That was a hard time for all of us. You were hurting, and I think you didn’t want to hear anything that didn’t match how you felt in that moment.
“But whatever Christopher told you now… I believe him. He’s always been honest with you. And if he said he still loves you, I’m sure that’s true.”
Marianne nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on her sundae as if it might offer some answers. "It’s hard, Ellie. Because I think I still love him, too. I know I miss him. I can feel that much.
"But I can’t understand why I left. I can’t remember what I was feeling back then. And I can’t remember what I felt when I met Willoughby either."
“Have you told Christopher this?” Elinor asked. “And how do you feel about Willoughby now? After spending some time with him.”
Marianne dropped her gaze and shook her head slightly. “No, I haven’t told him, and I don’t know if I should,” she said. “As for Willoughby, I did agree to go to dinner with him the other night, and while I had a nice time, I just didn’t feel anything.”
Elinor leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean, exactly?”
Marianne let out a deep sigh, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her sundae cup. “I mean, he was nice and charming, and while I could understand why I could have fallen for him at one point... I just didn’t at that moment. I even… I kissed him, just to see what it was like… and I felt nothing.”
Elinor’s brow furrowed, as she struggled to find the right words. “You kissed him?” she asked, trying not to sound too judgmental. "Do you think that was the best idea?"
“I just had to know, Ellie,” Marianne said.
She hesitated, feeling the familiar tug of wanting to help but also not wanting to push Marianne away. “I just… I know you’ve been through a lot. And I don’t want you to make decisions you might regret. It’s okay to take your time.”
“I think I already know the answer, but… I must’ve slept with him, right?” Marianne asked, her voice strained. “It’s not about whether I did. I can accept that. What I’m having a hard time with is not remembering something so personal. It makes me feel like I’ve been erased from my own life.”
Elinor exhaled slowly. “Honestly, Marianne,” she said carefully. “I don’t know. You never told me. But, given how quickly things progressed with you two, I’m sure you must have.”
She hesitated, choosing her words with care. “I remember you telling me about your first time with Christopher, and that was just a couple of months after you started dating. You and Willoughby were engaged after only three months, so… it seems likely that it happened much sooner.”
“I didn’t tell you?” Marianne asked, her confusion deepening. “I tell you everything…”
Elinor gave her a somber look. “I know but… you didn’t this time. Once you started seeing him, things got tense between us. Even with Mama and Meg.”
Marianne looked down, her fingers curling around her spoon. “There’s something you said in the hospital, right after I woke up. I didn’t understand it then, but it stuck with me.”
She looked back up. “The nurse was trying to get you to leave, and you said, ‘I haven’t been able to see her properly in months.’ What did you mean by that?”
Finishing the last few bites of her ice cream, Elinor set her spoon down and took a breath. “Marianne, before I go any further, I need to say something first,” she said gently. “I’m here for you, no matter what. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. That hasn’t changed.”
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the table for a moment before meeting Marianne’s eyes again. “But… I didn’t like you and Willoughby together. Mama and Meg tried to make the best of it for your sake, but I felt he was wrong for you.”
She gave a small, regretful shake of her head. “And when I tried to say that, you wouldn’t listen. You shut me out.” Her voice wavered slightly. “At one point, you told me if I couldn’t be happy for you, then you didn’t want me in your life anymore.”
“Elinor… I…” Marianne began, but the words caught in her throat.
“Marianne, he changed you,” Elinor said with a little more conviction. “You became someone else. I know things were hard after you and Christopher split, but you were still you . After Willoughby… you weren’t. We all saw it. Even John did.”
“John?” Marianne’s brow knit. “Our brother? Since when does he care who I date?”
Elinor paused, resting her chin in her hand, the response forming on her lips before she chose another route. “He noticed the change in you too,” she said, carefully pivoting her thoughts. “I know you two aren’t especially close, but he does care. We all did.”
Marianne looked down at her sundae, the last few bites melting into soup. “I… I just didn’t know any of this.” She put her head in her hands, trying to think her way through the tangle of emotions swirling inside her.
“Hey, I meant what I said earlier,” Elinor said. “I’ll support you, no matter what you decide. If, after all this, you still want to marry Willoughby, I’ll stand up next to you. If you want to try again with Christopher, I’ll be there every step of the way.”
She added with a light smile, “And if you decide to swear off men entirely and die an old maid, I’ll leave Edward and we’ll live out our golden years together.”
Marianne looked at her sister with doubt. “You’d really leave Edward for me?”
“No,” Elinor laughed. “But I’d make sure we get a house with an in-law suite just for you.”
“Ellie!” Marianne exclaimed, now laughing with her sister. “I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that, for everyone’s sake.”
“It won’t,” Elinor assured her. “I know you’ll find your path. Ready to head back?”
“Yeah, I think so. Thanks for the ice cream, for listening… for everything.”
Elinor stood and gave her sister’s hand a soft squeeze. “I’m always here for you.”
“I know,” Marianne nodded softly. “I do.”
The pair climbed back into Elinor’s car and began the drive home. Marianne leaned against the window, her gaze distant, watching the scenery blur past as music played softly from Elinor’s playlist. She sang along to the familiar songs, her voice instinctively finding the melody, though every so often a note caught in her throat or wavered with strain.
She winced, scrunching her nose. “My voice sounds awful, doesn’t it?”
“Marianne, you’re too hard on yourself,” Elinor said. “You just need to get back into practice. But I still think you sound lovely.”
Marianne sighed. “Maybe you’re right. It’s just been hard playing while my shoulder was healing. And with my foot, I couldn’t press the pedals properly. It threw everything off.”
“You’ll get it back,” Elinor assured her. “You always do. You’ve never let something stop you for long.”
Marianne offered a faint smile. “Thanks, Ellie. I hope you’re right.”
The next song began with a soft, slow piano, soon joined by a gentle acoustic guitar. Marianne paused, drawing in the lyrics as they started.
If you need a friend
Don't look to a stranger
You know in the end
I'll always be there
“Oh,” she murmured, her attention fully caught. She tilted her head slightly, tuning into something just beneath the surface of the melody.
“Marianne,” Elinor said, glancing over at her for a second before returning her eyes to the road. “What is it?”
Marianne was quiet for a moment, her eyes drifting closed. Images flashed behind her lids—twinkling lights danced off glassware, the soft, icy blue fabric of her dress brushing against white linens. Her hand, hers for certain, reached out to clasp another as they watched a couple sway across the dance floor.
“You and Edward… this was the song you danced to at your wedding, wasn’t it?” she asked, hoping she was right.
“Yes! You remember?”
“I do!” Marianne gasped, her breath catching with excitement—only to lurch forward as Elinor jerked the car to the shoulder, hitting the brakes hard.
“Elinor! What are you doing?”
“I can’t concentrate on driving right now!” Elinor exclaimed, wide-eyed, as cars zipped past them. “Tell me what you remember!”
“Well okay,” Marianne said, half-laughing at her sister’s urgency. “I remember the song. It’s a cover of something older, right? I remember thinking the lyrics were perfect for you and Edward.”
The words tumbled out in a rush. “Christopher was sitting next to me at our table, and I took his hand and told him how fitting the lyrics were for you two.”
“Can you remember anything else from that day?” Elinor asked, reaching over to take her sister’s hand, hoping it would help ground her.
Marianne closed her eyes, focusing on the slow influx of images. First Elinor and Edward dancing, the soft shimmer of Elinor’s dress, the glow of lights strung across the ceiling. She heard music in the background, layered with gentle laughter and the soft clink of glasses.
Then something else came—familiar arms around her, gentle swaying, the comfort of being held by someone she loved.
“I think I remember dancing… with Christopher,” she said, smiling. “He’s usually not into it, but I finally convinced him. After that he just kept pulling me back out for every slow song.”
“I remember that too,” Elinor said, giggling. “That’s when we got all those pictures I showed you.”
Marianne leaned back in her seat and let out a soft, happy sigh. “First there was me getting Lucky from the shelter, and now this. Ellie, you don’t know how much this means to me, getting these few memories back.”
“I do,” Elinor said, her eyes glistening as she squeezed Marianne’s hand. “And I’m so, so glad you’re starting to come back to yourself.”
Marianne glanced around the familiar halls of the school she once taught at, her footsteps soft against the floor. It felt strange to be back in these spaces, knowing she was no longer a part of them. The classroom she had poured so much into was now someone else’s, the desk she once sat at now just a fixture in another’s routine. It was hard to shake the feeling of loss that had woven itself into every facet of her life.
“Here we are,” said Alice, the school’s music teacher whom Marianne had befriended years ago. She flipped on the lights of the music room, illuminating the space filled with instruments, gently worn chairs, and padded soundproofing panels. “Take a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the piano.
“Alice,” she said, moving towards the bench, “I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here. I’ve tried playing at home, but something’s off. I know it’s not right, but I can’t pinpoint what. My family is no help, they just keep telling me I sound wonderful no matter what.”
“I’m just glad you asked me to help,” Alice said, smiling. “It’s great to see you again, truly. We’ve all missed you around here, especially your students. This place hasn’t felt quite the same without you.”
“I can’t believe I left,” Marianne muttered, then quickly brushed the sentiment aside. “I’d ask myself what I was thinking, but then again, I wouldn’t even remember.”
Alice’s gaze softened. “It was a shock to all of us, but I’m not here to judge, Marianne. I’m here because I want to help you get back a part of your life you love. You deserve to have that again.”
Marianne sat at the piano bench, tracing the familiar pattern of black and white keys. She pressed her fingertips to them, not to play, but to feel. “My hands still remember what to do,” she said quietly. “But somehow, the music doesn’t sound like me anymore.”
“How about you start with something simple, so I can get a feel for where you are,” Alice suggested. “Some scales or a song you’re comfortable with.”
Marianne nodded and took a breath, letting her fingers settle over the keys. She started to play slowly at first, just scales to ease herself in. Her timing was off in places, a few notes clumsy under her touch, but she kept going despite the missteps. She glanced at Alice, who sat nearby, watching quietly, her expression open and kind.
“Well,” Marianne said, turning slightly on the bench. “I know it wasn’t great. I’m hoping you can tell me why.”
Alice tilted her head. “I have a theory, but I need to hear you sing something to be sure.”
She chose a song she’d sung countless times before, one she used to play without even thinking. As the first notes left her lips, she tried not to judge herself too harshly. Her tone wavered, breath control unsteady, but she kept going, focusing on how it felt rather than how it sounded. This wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about understanding what wasn’t working.
When the last note finally faded, Marianne slowly lifted her hands from the keys and let them rest in her lap. She turned to Alice, waiting for her assessment. Her friend was quiet for a moment—not because she had nothing to say, but because she was carefully choosing how to say it.
“Your tone’s still strong,” Alice said after a moment. “Honestly, Marianne, your voice is there. You haven’t lost your talent. But I get why it doesn’t feel like it used to.”
Marianne tilted her head. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Alice stood and moved a little closer to the piano. “It’s subtle, something your family wouldn’t pick up on. But I think you’re holding tension in your shoulders. Just enough to throw things off. Which one did you injure?”
“The left. I’m right-handed, so I figured it wasn’t a big deal.”
“That makes sense,” Alice said gently. “But even small changes shift your balance. It affects how your hands sit, and more importantly, how you breathe.”
Marianne looked puzzled. “How I breathe?”
“You’re breathing higher than you used to,” Alice explained. “Up here,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “Before, you used to breathe deeper—down in your belly. That gave your singing more ease and control. You’re bracing a little without even realizing it.”
Marianne let out a slow breath and rolled her shoulders with a little sigh. “I thought I was past all that. I did the physical therapy, and I’m not in pain anymore.”
Alice nodded, her tone warm but serious. “Pain’s one thing, but your body can still hold on to bad habits without you realizing it. Even tiny changes can throw off your whole rhythm, especially when playing and singing rely so much on how you move.”
Marianne let that sink in, glancing back at the keys. “So… where do I start?”
Alice gave an encouraging smile. “We take it slow. First, let’s work on your posture. Come with me to the mirror over there.”
Marianne followed, studying her reflection closely. She tilted her head this way and that. “I don’t see anything wrong.”
Alice stepped beside her, gentle but focused. “From the front, it’s hard to tell, but look at your arms. See how your left one hangs a little closer to your body?”
Marianne glanced down, surprised. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.”
Alice nodded. “Now turn left, so we can check the right side.”
Marianne shifted, turning her body toward the mirror.
“Now turn the other way.”
“Wait a sec—” Marianne said, turning once more, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the difference. “My left shoulder… it’s a little higher, and pushed forward.”
“Exactly,” Alice said with a bright smile. “Now, sing a line from that song—just like you’re standing now. Let’s hear how it feels.”
Marianne took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and sang softly, her voice carrying through the quiet room.
“Great,” Alice said with a smile when Marianne finished. “Now, let’s try a small adjustment. Just relax your left shoulder and let it drop down.”
Marianne eased the tension, feeling a brief twinge that quickly faded as her shoulder settled.
“That’s better,” Alice said, stepping closer and placing a gentle hand on Marianne’s shoulder. “Now, just pull it back a little… right there. Perfect. Hold that for a moment and take a look. Then breathe.”
Marianne took a slow, deep breath and let it out. The difference surprised her, and she chuckled softly, taking another breath just to be sure.
“Wow,” she said, glancing at Alice. “It feels like I can actually breathe deeper.”
“Ready to give singing another go?” Alice asked, her eyes encouraging.
Marianne nodded and sang the same line again, her voice clearer, freer with the new posture. When she finished, she gasped softly.
“Oh my God…” she breathed, eyes wide. “It felt normal. Effortless. Like it used to. Alice, you’re a genius.”
“Hardly,” Alice said with a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Now, let’s see how you do at the piano.”
They walked slowly back across the room. Marianne’s fingers brushed lightly over the keys as she settled onto the bench, a small hopeful smile playing on her lips.
Her friend stood nearby, watching with a kind, patient gaze. “Okay, start by sitting how you usually do. Take a breath, relax… let that left side drop.”
Marianne shifted, tilting slightly, feeling the tension ease away bit by bit.
“Good,” Alice said, nodding encouragingly. “Now bring it back just a little and hold it for me. When you’re ready, let’s hear you play.”
Closing her eyes, Marianne took a deep breath and focused on how her body felt. She memorized how she sat, where her shoulders were, how full her lungs felt as they expanded. Once she’d locked the posture into place, committing it to memory, she began to play.
She barely reached the second verse before the emotion caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected it to feel this different—this right. Just a small shift, and suddenly everything worked again. Her hands moved with ease, her breath rising without strain, her voice steady and sure. The melody didn’t fight her anymore; it opened up with ease, like something rediscovered rather than relearned.
When the song ended, she let her hands fall still, hovering just above the keys, trembling slightly. For a long moment, she didn’t move. The quiet settled around her, and she let it sink in. Let herself feel the return of something she thought was gone for good.
“I thought I’d lost this,” she said, more to herself than to Alice. “Not just the sound... the feeling of it.”
Alice looked up, her eyes soft. “I think it’s back.”
Alice had Marianne repeat a few more piano and vocal exercises, this time with the corrected posture, until the positioning felt natural. Once she was satisfied Marianne could hold it on her own, she gave a small nod and stepped back.
Marianne spun around on the bench to face her, her smile wide. “I can’t believe a few centimeters of adjustment was all I needed. Alice, thank you. This means everything to me. You helped me open a door that had been closed for too long.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Alice said with a smile, waving it off. “I’m just glad I could help. It’s what I do.” She paused, then added, a little more quietly, “But honestly… I’ve always wondered why you didn’t take music further. You know, professionally, or even teaching it.”
Marianne let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Performing at the lounge was good enough for me back then. But teaching or doing music full-time? That never really appealed to me. Touring, being away from my family just wasn’t something I wanted.”
Alice tilted her head, surprised. “But you’re so—”
Marianne gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “I know. Somehow it was always there, but I never really stopped to think about it. I took piano lessons when I was little, but by the time I was twelve, I’d already outpaced my teacher. And singing just sort of happened with no lessons or formal training.”
She stretched, catching herself slouching and adjusted her posture with a wry smile. “What about you? Did you ever want to perform?”
Alice let out a long breath and gave a little laugh. “I think I’m the opposite of you,” she said. “I did want it. The lights, the stage, all of it. And I worked hard—studied theory, took lessons, tried every path I could. But by the end of university, I knew. I didn’t have that edge or raw talent you need to really make it.”
Marianne gave a sheepish snicker. “God, I must’ve sounded like an ass just now. Going on about how easy it was for me, and then I barely do anything with it.”
Alice gave her a comforting smile. “No, I don’t think that. We all have our reasons for what we do,” she assured her. “The industry… it’s cutthroat, honestly. You need the right breaks, the right connections and timing. I could’ve kept chasing it, but I think I would’ve ended up resenting the music.”
She looked over at Marianne, not with envy, but with ease. “Teaching gave me a way to keep loving it. To help others discover what it means to them. And that’s been more fulfilling than I ever expected.”
Marianne gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. “That’s exactly how I feel about English literature,” she confessed. “I love peeling back the layers of a sentence or a metaphor, uncovering what it's really trying to say. Uncovering the politics, history and other little things hiding underneath. I loved it. I still do.”
She paused for a beat, her fingers drifting across the piano bench. “And I wanted to share it. Not just the stories, but the way they teach us how to look at the world and think critically. How to understand human behavior better and be more empathetic to others.”
“Do you think you’ll ever come back to it?” Alice asked, hopefully. “We’d love to have you back. Of course I miss you, but so does the rest of the staff. Even the students.”
“The students miss me?” Marianne raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“I’m serious,” Alice insisted. “No one likes Mr. Pratt. The students say he drones on with little passion or insight into anything he teaches. They also complain that his breath smells like stale coffee and honestly, they’re not wrong.”
Marianne burst into a surprised snort. “I always kept mints in my desk drawer for that exact reason,” she said with a laugh. “Poor guy. He probably won’t last, huh?”
“Probably not,” Alice said. “They were only going to offer him a one-year contract, but I heard he made a bit of a scene, so they gave him two. I think at that point, they didn’t have many other options.”
“Sounds like another mess I made,” Marianne said, sighing heavily. “I would love to come back, but I know I can’t right now. I don’t have medical clearance for much yet. And I’d need to take a few classes and get re-certified. That’ll take time.”
“Well,” Alice said brightly, “I doubt he’ll be around after those two years. I can ask around, and meanwhile, you’d have plenty of time to rest, recover, and focus on renewing your certification.”
Marianne thought for a moment. Could this even be a possibility? She didn’t know exactly why she left, but deep in her heart she knew she wanted to come back, and she’d be willing to do whatever it took to get there.
“Alice, I want to do it,” she said firmly. “The past few months have been so uncertain, but this… I want this. I need it.”
Alice broke into a wide grin. “Then you’ll get it. I’m sure of it. And I’ll help you however I can.”
Marianne grinned back at her, the tension she’d carried for so long finally beginning to loosen. After months of uncertainty and confusion, she finally had a sense of purpose. She was ready to begin rebuilding her life.
Notes:
This is probably my least favorite chapter so far, but I needed to slow the present pace a bit to let the past catch up. Also, I felt Marianne deserved a little break from the men in her life.
The song Marianne recognized from Elinor's wedding is "The Promise" by When In Rome, although an acoustic cover was used for their dance, not the 80s electronic pop version.
Chapter 17: Then
Notes:
Again, thank you to everyone who's left kudos and comments so far. I can't stress enough how much I enjoy them, and how much they motivate me to keep going.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
“Christopher, is this really necessary?” Marianne asked as he gently covered her eyes with both hands.
“Yes,” he said, grinning. “I want it to be a surprise. So no peeking.”
“I couldn’t peek through your massive hands even if I wanted to,” she said, laughing. “But why are you doing this in the elevator? Where is this surprise?”
“Just play along,” he coaxed. “We’re almost there.”
The elevator slowed to a stop, and the familiar chime sounded as the doors slid open to Christopher’s penthouse, a space Marianne had started calling home over the past few weeks.
When he’d asked her to move in six weeks ago, she’d said yes without hesitation. But when it came time to pack her things, she hadn’t expected saying goodbye to her childhood home would hit her so hard.
Aside from her years at university, she had lived in that house since she was five. Every corner held something familiar—memories of her father watching TV from his special chair, traces of late-night talks with Elinor, childhood piano practice, her mother’s voice calling her in for dinner.
Her mother had cried as they loaded the last of her things into Christopher’s car. It was the same when Elinor moved in with Edward, but after some time the ache had softened. And now, bit by bit, Marianne was learning how to find her footing in this new place, with this man who felt more and more like home.
They stepped off the elevator and into the small vestibule. Christopher carefully unlocked the door, managing it one-handed while keeping the other over her eyes. Once inside, he stood behind her again, both hands shielding her vision as he led her through the gallery and to the right, stopping in the doorway of one of the spare bedrooms.
“Can I look yet?” she asked impatiently.
“Yes… wait, not yet. Keep your eyes closed,” he said, slipping past her into the room. “I want to see your face when you see it.”
“Chris!” she groaned.
“Okay,” he said. “Now you can open them.”
Marianne did as she was told, and in the center of the now mostly empty room stood a gleaming digital piano, a giant red bow sitting proudly on top.
“Oh my gosh, Christopher,” she gasped, moving toward it like she wasn’t sure it was real. “What is all this?”
“I wanted to get you something special,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Something to help you feel more at home here.”
Marianne ran her fingers along the sleek black finish of the piano, her breath catching the moment she spotted the brand and model. A delighted squeal escaped her lips.
“Chris! This is too much!” she exclaimed, her hands flying to her mouth. “This is one of the best models. They’re so expensive!”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said as he stepped into the room. “Seeing you like this? That’s worth it to me. So… safe to say you approve?”
“I love it,” she breathed, still a little stunned. “I can’t believe you did this. It’s so generous. I don’t even know how to thank you.”
He came up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You don’t need to thank me. But how about turning it on and giving it a try? Play something for me.”
She turned in his arms and kissed him, slow and sweet. “I do though. Thank you, Christopher. I’ll play whatever you want.”
“You can pick,” he told her. “I love everything you play.”
They took a moment to make sure the piano was plugged in and powered on. Marianne sat at the bench and played a few test notes. After a moment, she patted the space beside her, inviting Christopher to join.
Once he was settled, she let her hands fall into place like she’d done a hundred times before. The first notes came quietly, steady and unhurried, filling the room with their familiar sound. The melody slipped through her fingers like it already knew the way.
Christopher didn’t say a word. He just sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, watching her hands glide over the keys.
She closed her eyes and swayed gently, her body following the rhythm instinctively. Her hands moved like they trusted the keys to catch them. She played less from memory, more from instinct, letting the music take over.
Sitting this close, seeing her like this, Christopher was completely taken. The way she poured herself into something so simple, a moment meant only for him, told him everything. This was the Marianne he loved most.
And in that moment, watching her lose herself in the music, he knew.
Asking her to move in hadn’t been impulsive or bold. It was simply the next step in something that had always felt inevitable.
Marianne sat at the kitchen island, her feet dangling as she rested her chin in her hands, elbows spread across the counter. She watched Christopher at the stove, sautéing garlic and onions in a generous amount of butter, the rich scent already filling the air.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” she asked. “It’s my family who’s coming over, after all.”
Marianne was finally beginning to feel truly settled with Christopher. He’d given her free rein to decorate the spare bedroom exactly how she wanted, turning it into a cozy creative nook with her piano as the centerpiece.
Throughout the penthouse, she’d added her own touches—her favorite books neatly arranged on the shelves, framed photos of the two of them tucked into corners, and a few pieces of Elinor’s artwork hanging on the walls.
That evening, she invited her family and Edward over for dinner, eager to show them not just where she was living, but how much this new life was starting to feel like her own.
“No, I’ve got everything under control,” he said smoothly, turning around with a smirk already forming. “Besides, I haven’t forgotten what happened the last time I let you cook in here.”
“Chris,” Marianne said, playfully rolling her eyes. “That was over a year ago. And that birthday dinner was the only time you let me use the kitchen.”
“I know,” he said, his grin widening. “Why do you think I insisted on going out for my last one?”
“You said you liked it! Christopher Brandon, did you lie to me?” she asked, mock indignation in her voice.
“Of course not,” he replied. “I did like it. I still think about it. But the state of my kitchen afterward…” He shook his head with exaggerated drama. “I had to clean it before the housekeeper came, just so she wouldn’t judge me.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s too bad though. I had been cooking at home more lately. I’ve gotten better at staying organized. But I guess you’ll never know, since you’re afraid I’ll defile your precious kitchen.”
“Marianne,” he said, setting the spatula down and wiping his hands on a towel before turning towards her. “I’m just teasing you. I don’t want you to think of this as my kitchen or my home. It’s yours now too. I’m only insisting on doing this so that you have more time to spend with your family when they arrive.”
He reached across the island and took her hands in his. She softened at the gesture, knowing his words had come from the heart.
“But,” he added, “if you’re looking for something to do, you can put out the snacks and pick a couple bottles of wine. I got some flavored seltzers for Meg too.”
“Oh, she’ll love you for that,” Marianne said with a hint of sarcasm. “I think she’s still sore that my mother wouldn’t let her have a drink at Elinor’s engagement party.”
“It’s better I end up on your sister’s bad side than your mother’s,” he replied, turning back to the stove. “Still… I feel a little bad for taking you away.”
“Meg knows it’s a lost cause on the drinking age thing, but she can’t stop her from having champagne at Elinor’s wedding. She’ll be of age by then.”
She paused, then added with a teasing smile, “And don’t worry about my mother. She likes you. Maybe even a tiny bit more than Edward.”
“I have a hard time believing that,” he said, but before he could say more, his phone buzzed softly on the counter. He picked it up and glanced at the message from the concierge:
Dashwood party here for Ms. Marianne .
He typed up a quick reply to let them up before turning back to her. “Well… looks like we’re about to find out.”
Marianne let out a delighted shriek and hopped down from the stool, hurrying through the gallery to the front door. She flung it open and waited, hands clasped in anticipation, as the elevator neared. The soft hum grew louder, and with a gentle ding, the doors slid open.
“Welcome!” she beamed, rushing forward to wrap her mother and sisters in a warm group hug. “Edward, don’t be shy,” she added over her shoulder. “You get in here too!”
“If you insist,” he said with a laugh, stepping into the embrace.
When they finally pulled apart, her mother paused in the vestibule, her eyes sweeping the space. She was visibly struck by the splendor of it.
“This place is stunning,” she said, glancing around. “I can’t believe my daughter lives in a penthouse.”
“Mama, we’re not even inside yet,” Marianne said, giving her mother a pointed look. “And try not to say things like that around Christopher. I don’t want him to feel awkward.”
“My lips are sealed,” Mary replied, miming a zipper across her mouth.
Marianne led them through the doorway, and as they stepped into the open space beyond, her mother let out a soft gasp at the sweeping view before her. Marianne caught the reaction and gave her a look, part amusement, part warning, before leading them toward the kitchen where Christopher waited.
“Hey everyone,” Christopher said cheerfully as they filed in. “Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes. Hopefully parking wasn’t too much of a hassle.”
“Not at all,” Elinor chimed in. “I made Edward drive us all since he’s a whiz at parallel parking.”
“One of my few talents,” Edward added with a grin. “Possibly my only useful one.”
Meg sauntered over to the stove, craning her neck for a better look. “Marianne,” she said, inhaling the fragrant air. “You didn’t mention Christopher could cook, too. I think you need to follow Edward’s lead and put a ring on it already,” she added with a mischievous grin.
“Meg!” Marianne shrieked. “What did I say about making Christopher feel uncomfortable?”
“You said that to Mama,” Meg shot back, folding her arms.
“Well, I meant it for everyone. Especially you,” Marianne muttered, exasperated.
She adored her younger sister, most of the time, but Meg had a deeply irritating gift for pushing buttons with surgical precision.
“Marianne,” Christopher said, his voice cutting through the tension. “Meg didn’t mean anything by it. It doesn’t bother me. I know she was joking.”
Marianne glared at her younger sister, letting out a slight huff. “Fine. I need wine though. Anyone else?”
“Yes, please!” Meg piped up immediately.
“In your dreams,” Marianne said, fishing out two cans of seltzer and holding them up. “Lemon or blackberry?”
“Ugh, fine,” Meg sighed, slumping like she’d just been grounded. “I’ll start with lemon, I guess.”
Pulling out a bottle each of red and white, Marianne poured the rest of her guests their preferred wine. They sat around the island, chatting away while sipping their drinks and nibbling away at the array of meats, cheeses, nuts, and olives from the charcuterie board.
“So, Ellie,” Marianne said, taking a sip of her sauvignon blanc, “have you settled anything yet with the wedding? I know it’s still early.”
“Elinor asked me to be a bridesmaid!” Meg blurted out, then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, her voice muffled in her hands.
“Geez, Meg.” Elinor raised an eyebrow, but her tone was more amused than annoyed. “You’re in rare form tonight.”
“Well, Mama said she didn’t want me on my phone the whole time,” she shot back, shrugging. “So this is what you get.”
Marianne rolled her eyes at her younger sister. Turning to Elinor, she asked, “You sure that’s a good idea? She might think it would be cute to ‘object’ to your wedding on the grounds that you’re too much of a perfect couple.”
“I’m not that bad,” Meg groaned, tipping her head back. “I do know when to stop.”
Elinor smiled. “I know you wouldn’t do anything like that.”
She turned toward Marianne, her expression warming. “I was going to wait until after dinner to ask you, but since Meg couldn’t help herself, I guess the time is now. Marianne, I’d like for you to be my maid of honor.”
“Really Ellie?” Marianne gasped. Without a second’s hesitation, she leapt from her stool and threw her arms around her sister. “Of course I’ll be your maid of honor!”
They held each other tightly, Marianne blinking fast as the sting of happy tears crept in. Warm, girlish laughter bubbled up between them as they started trading quickfire ideas about dresses, venues, and the kind of flowers Elinor hated.
“Did you hear that, Christopher?” Marianne called out to where he stood near the stove with her mother, beaming. “I’m going to be Ellie’s maid of honor!”
“I did,” he called back with a grin. “Pretty sure the whole building did too.”
“Well, now that you’ve accepted,” Edward chimed in, reaching across the counter to snag an olive from the board, “I have an important job for you, Marianne.”
She arched a brow at him. “Edward, maid of honor is still a bridesmaid,” she teased. “Are you telling me you’re the bride in this situation?”
“Very funny,” he said, laughing. “I’m just hoping you can keep your sister calm and level-headed. Don’t let her become a bridezilla. I still have flashbacks from Fanny’s wedding.”
A chorus of groans rippled through the room at the mention of that wedding.
The Dashwood sisters had once sulked at not being included in their half-brother’s bridal party, until they realized they’d been spared a slow descent into chaos. Fanny’s obsessive quest for perfection, enabled by her and Edward’s mother, had turned the planning process into a full-blown siege. It was rumored that her own maid of honor had nearly cracked under the pressure and the two have barely spoken since.
“I’m not going to turn into Fanny,” Elinor promised. “But I will need someone in my corner to help me deal with Mrs. Ferrars.”
“I can deal with her,” Mary said firmly as she rejoined her daughters. “She doesn’t intimidate me, and I won’t let her intimidate you either, Elinor.”
“Nor will I,” Edward added. “Believe it or not, I know exactly what to say to get her to back off. If I tell her she won’t get any grandchildren from me, it shuts her right up.”
“I’m going to remember that,” Elinor said with a laugh. “If I find myself stuck alone with her, I’ll threaten the same thing.”
Laughter bubbled around the room, the tension quickly dissolved by shared tales of old grievances. After a few more jokes at Edward’s family’s expense, Christopher finally called out that dinner was ready.
Everyone migrated to the dining table that looked out over the terrace and toward the city lights beyond. Marianne stayed behind just a moment to help Christopher place platters of beef tenderloin in a garlic herb butter, roasted baby potatoes, sautéed asparagus with shallots, and a simple salad.
“Christopher, this is amazing,” Mary said after a few bites. “Did Marianne help you?”
“No, Mama,” Marianne jumped in quickly. “I’m not allowed to use the kitchen anymore since I set off the smoke alarm cooking for Christopher’s birthday last year.” She held up a finger for emphasis. “Not this year. Last year.”
“Christopher,” Mary said, lifting an eyebrow as she turned to him. “I love my daughter dearly, but sometimes she does have a flair for the dramatic. Is this true?”
“Well,” Christopher said, taking a sip of his wine like a man treading into dangerous waters, “I never said she was banned from the kitchen… but I also never accept her offers to help.”
“I see,” Mary replied, giving him a knowing, sideways glance.
“Mama!” Marianne exclaimed, half groaning. “Are you taking his side? Tell him I used to cook at home, and I wasn’t that messy.”
“That, I can agree with,” Mary said, nodding. “But whatever messes you did make, you didn’t always clean up completely.”
“Thanks a lot, Mama,” Marianne muttered with a dramatic sigh. Turning back to Christopher, she added, “See? I’m not as bad as that one time. ”
“Alright,” he said, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’ll give you another chance.”
“Thank you,” she said with mock solemnity. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
The conversation picked back up with ease, drifting from wedding plans to travel stories and shared memories that sparked bursts of laughter around the table. After the last of the plates were cleared, Marianne brought out bowls of fresh berries, slices of pound cake, and whipped cream for dessert.
Once everyone had finished eating, Christopher shooed Marianne away from the kitchen with a kiss on her temple. “I’ll clean up,” he said, stacking plates. “You’ve got company.”
Seizing the moment, she clapped her hands lightly. “Alright, who wants the grand tour?”
The group stirred with agreeable sounds as they got up from the table.
Elinor made a beeline for the den, pausing in front of the oversized television. “Okay, this is ridiculous,” she said, already grinning. “Movie nights are moving here.”
“You’ll have to get in line behind Meg,” Marianne called after her.
But Meg was nowhere near the TV. She stood in the doorway of the library, eyes wide as she took in the floor-to-ceiling shelves. “How many books do you own ?” she asked, not looking away.
“Almost enough to open a secondhand bookstore,” Marianne said with a smirk.
On the terrace, Edward leaned against the railing, taking in the view with a wistful sigh. “Our place doesn’t even have a fire escape.”
And in the primary suite, Mary stepped into the bathroom and came to a halt. “Good Lord,” she breathed, hand to her chest as she stared at the deep soaking tub. “I’d trade my soul for one of these. With a lock on the door.”
Once the tour was complete and the kitchen tidied, everyone settled into the living room. Despite his earlier teasing, Marianne had quickly forgiven Christopher, curling up beside him on one end of the couch. Elinor and Edward took the other end, while Mary and Meg each claimed one of the chairs by the windows.
“Thank you for the lovely evening and delicious food, Christopher,” Mary said. “I’ll admit I was a little hesitant when Marianne told me she was moving in with you. But now that I’ve seen her here… I don’t think I could have let her go to anyone else. She seems truly happy.”
“Thank you, Mary. It was a pleasure having you all,” he said, wrapping an arm around Marianne and drawing her closer. “I love Marianne. Having her here has brought a lot of happiness into my life.”
“I can see that,” Mary said smiling, taking a final sip of her wine. “I’m really happy for you both.”
The conversation flowed easily again, but soon it was time for their guests to head home. After a round of lingering goodbyes and promises to do this again soon, they disappeared behind the elevator doors.
Back inside, Marianne found Christopher and wrapped her arms around him in an affectionate hug.
“Thank you,” she murmured into his chest. “I know it was a bit chaotic, but I really appreciate you being such a good sport about everything.”
He pulled back slightly, hands resting on her waist, eyes soft. “It was a lot,” he admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But I loved every second of it.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised. “It wasn’t too much?”
“Not at all.” His voice was quieter now. “I didn’t grow up with this. Family gatherings weren’t… warm. And if my brother showed up, my father would just mutter about what a disappointment he was.”
Her expression softened. Despite all the noise, teasing, and interruptions that came with her sisters, especially Meg, she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
“I haven’t had anything like this since—” He stopped abruptly, the rest of the sentence caught in his throat.
“Since what?” Marianne pressed gently, searching his face.
He hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just been a while.”
“Chris,” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “You can say it. That you haven’t had this since Eliza. It’s okay.”
His eyes locked on hers. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course not,” she said, cupping his face in her hands. “What sort of person—someone who claimed to love you—could ever be bothered by that?”
Christopher exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. His hand found hers, their fingers intertwining slowly, like he was still adjusting to this closeness.
“I just didn’t think I’d ever have this again,” he said quietly. “Not just the laughter and the chaos, but everything. The feeling that I can be open with someone else. That I don’t have to forget her.”
Marianne’s expression softened. She reached up, her thumb tracing gently along his cheekbone as she held his gaze.
“Christopher,” she said softly, “I’d never expect you to forget her. Nor would I want you to.”
He leaned into her touch, searching for words that wouldn’t come. He hadn’t expected to love like this again, and certainly hadn’t expected to be understood like this. But Marianne, somehow, had made both possible.
The glow of her laptop screen cast a soft light across her face as Marianne scrolled through yet another student essay. She sighed, leaning back against the pillows propped behind her, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Determined to get a head start on grading so she could reclaim her weekend, she’d hoped for anything to spark her interest. Instead, her English Literature class had somehow turned in the most uninspired batch of essays she’d ever seen.
She thought she was doing them a favor, assigning a paper on how unreliable narrators shape tone and structure in the gothic novel they’d been studying. But apparently, she’d overestimated them. Rather than diving into ambiguity or narrative misdirection, most had turned in flat, meandering plot summaries.
Christopher then emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and comfortable in a dark gray T-shirt and red plaid pajama pants. Marianne chuckled upon seeing him in those scratchy long pants. It was only early October, still too warm in her opinion.
He crawled in beside her, kissed her cheek, then reached for the mystery novel he’d been working through all week. As he settled against the pillows, he grabbed his reading glasses from the bedside table and slid them on.
Marianne blinked, caught a little off guard. Out of the corner of her eye, she could just make them out. Somehow she’d forgotten about his need for the rectangular tortoiseshell frames, having only seen them once, during a video call.
But now here he was in the flesh, just inches from her, one arm propped behind his head, the other holding his book, wearing the glasses. Those damn glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose, making him look like an academic daydream.
She tried to focus on the essays, but her attention kept drifting. The light from his bedside lamp glinted off the frames, making his eyes seem even more intense.
There was no denying it. The sight of him in the glasses was definitely doing things to her.
With a soft click, she shut her laptop and slid closer to him. He didn’t notice at first, too absorbed in his book. She inched nearer, her heart picking up speed, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to his jawline.
Thinking she just wanted a proper goodnight kiss, he turned and met her lips with a warm, affectionate one before calmly returning to his book.
But that wasn’t what she had in mind.
She let her lips trail lower, along the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck, her breath warm against his skin. Her hands found his chest, fingers spreading across the steady thrum of his heartbeat. When she reached his earlobe, she gave it a playful nip, followed by a teasing tug with her teeth.
Christopher let out a soft chuckle, setting his book aside. “Marianne,” he said, a grin forming at his lips. “Is there something I can help you with?”
She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “Do you have any idea how ridiculously sexy you are in those glasses?”
Her hand slid down his chest, pausing briefly at the waistband of his pajama pants before drifting lower, fingers trailing along the inside of his thigh. She felt him tense, his breath catching just slightly.
“I can’t say the thought’s ever crossed my mind,” he murmured in a low voice. “But I hope you’re going to show me.”
She then slid one leg over him, straddling his lap, leaning forward to give him a searing kiss. He wasted no time responding, his mouth opening as her tongue slid eagerly against his own. He loved when she took charge like this, letting her confidence and curiosity guide the moment. Her energy was magnetic, pulling him in with each movement and purposeful touch.
His hands soon found their way under her camisole, sliding up her waist to her breasts, his thumbs gently brushing against her nipples. She let out a low hiss as she pulled his shirt over his head, knocking his glasses askew.
He reached up to take them off, but she stopped him, lips brushing his ear again.
“Oh no,” she murmured playfully. “Those are staying on.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Really,” she said, trailing kisses down his chest and stomach.
“Alright everyone,” Elinor said, settling into the seat at the head of the medium-sized conference room at Dashwood Creative. “I’ve just called in the food order, it should be here in about forty-five minutes. I know it’s another late night, but we’re so close. Hang in there.”
After months of meetings, design sprints, presentations, and revisions, the final branding toolkit for VeriSphere was nearly ready to present. Elinor and her team had spent the past six months developing logo lockups, selecting fonts, refining a color palette, while the copy team shaped the brand’s voice and tone. The final polish was all that remained, and though Elinor managed to thrive under the pressure, the rest of the team was clearly ready to be done.
“I don’t know about anyone else,” said Tim, a production artist, leaning back in his chair, “but I won’t miss the daily check-in emails Elinor forwards from ‘The Colonel.’”
A wave of disgruntled noises erupted around the table.
“Some of them were timestamped at 6:00 AM,” Ben, the motion designer, complained. “Who does that?”
“Remember when he didn’t like that swatch of red we chose and then picked the one right next to it?” Priya, the UI/UX designer, added.
The complaints continued, ranging from his overuse of phrases like “rigorous approach,” sometimes twice per call, to his habit of signing off emails with just his initials. Elinor might’ve laughed if they were talking about anyone else, but hearing the team speak so blasphemously about her sister’s boyfriend was starting to irritate her.
“Okay, guys,” she said, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Before we get back to the task at hand, I’ll have you know there’s more to Mr. Brandon than what you see on the surface. He’s actually a very kind person.”
Skeptical murmurs rippled through the room. In hindsight, Elinor should’ve let it go, but for some reason, she wanted her team to understand him better.
“He is,” she insisted. “He treats my sister really well. He’s so good to her.”
“Yeah,” Martha said with a dry laugh. “That’s because she’s sleeping with him.”
“I’d sleep with him,” Priya said without a shred of shame. “And he wouldn't even have to be nice to me either."
Several sideways glances followed. Elinor’s mouth felt like it had hit the floor. Undeterred, Priya added, “What? He’s hot,” she said, as if stating an obvious fact. “He can take a more rigorous approach with me anytime.”
Elinor buried her face in her hands, wishing she could go back in time and spare herself from this conversation and hearing Priya’s most private desires.
“Guys,” she said with a little more force. “C’mon. Let’s tone it down before HR gets wind of this conversation.”
After a few more jabs at both Christopher and Priya’s expense, the food finally arrived, much to Elinor’s relief. Grateful for the sudden hush that came with full mouths, she took a deep breath and grabbed another eggroll from the pile of Chinese food boxes, silently counting the minutes until she could retreat to her office.
In forty-eight hours, she’d have to stand in front of Christopher, hear him say “rigorous approach” while keeping a straight face, and pretend she hadn’t been mentally ambushed by Priya’s fantasy—which, thanks to her own loose tongue, now featured her sister in the lead role.
The illuminated buildings and city lights streaked past as Marianne sat in the passenger seat of Christopher’s car, en route to this year’s VeriSphere holiday party. Both the weather and her spirits were kinder this year—no freezing rain, no pounding headache, no talk of leaving early. The car was warm, the quiet between them easy. Marianne caught Christopher’s smile from the corner of her eye. They both remembered last year, but neither of them needed to say a word about it.
“Are you anxious about unveiling the new look at the party?” Marianne asked.
Christopher and his business partner, John Middleton, would be presenting VeriSphere’s new branding internally to the employees attending. Everyone who RSVP’d yes to the event was required to sign a lengthy NDA, ensuring the rebrand remained under wraps until its public launch in January.
“A little, but I’m really happy with how everything turned out,” he assured her. “Your sister and her team did a fantastic job.”
“I’m so glad you invited her and Edward this year,” Marianne said wistfully. “But my brother and Fanny too? I had enough of them at Dashwood’s party. I can’t decide if Fanny’s worse than Mrs. Jennings.”
Christopher chuckled. “You and I both know Mrs. Jennings is the lesser of two evils,” he said. “I saw her last week. She said she can’t wait to see you.”
Marianne groaned. “Then I’ll take my chances with Fanny. She’ll make one obligatory snide comment and then ignore me for the rest of the night.”
Reaching over, she placed a hand on his arm. “But, I’m glad I’ll get to hear your speech this time. I still regret missing it last year.”
He glanced over at her, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “There’s something you should know about my speech. I’ll need my glasses to read it. Think you can behave yourself while I have them on?”
“Chris!” she squawked, swatting his arm playfully. “That was only a couple of times.” She couldn’t help it if he looked damn good in those glasses.
“I’m pretty sure it was more than a couple,” he teased.
“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”
“Oh, I’m not saying that at all,” he said softly, pulling up to the valet.
As soon as Marianne and Christopher stepped into the venue, John Middleton swooped in to whisk his business partner away for some last-minute logistics ahead of the big reveal. Marianne had barely taken five more steps before Mrs. Jennings barreled toward her, nearly knocking her off balance in the process.
“Oh, Marianne!” she cried, pulling her into a hug so forceful that the boning in the corset-style bodice of her deep navy gown dug sharply into her ribs.
“Hello, Mrs. Jennings,” Marianne said with a wince, momentarily unsure whether the pain came from the dress or the affection.
“You look stunning,” she told her with the sincerity of someone who meant it—and also couldn’t wait to meddle. “What a lovely wife you’ll make for Christopher.”
Marianne’s eyebrows shot up. “Harriet, we’re not engaged.”
“But you’ve moved in,” she said, as if stating the weather. “We all know what comes next. A proposal, marriage, babies. Though, you could always start with the babies,” she added with a cheeky wink.
Marianne opened her mouth, but no words came. Once again, Mrs. Jennings had demonstrated her gift for weaponized inappropriateness. Fortunately, Elinor appeared at that exact moment. Unfortunately, she was with Fanny.
“Oh, thank God you’re here,” Marianne said, hugging her sister. She turned to her sister-in-law. “Hello, Fanny,” she added politely.
Fanny offered only a tight smile in return.
“Marianne, you must introduce me to your friends,” Mrs. Jennings chimed in, reappearing with uncanny timing and wedging herself between them.
“Of course,” Marianne said, gesturing. “This is my older sister, Elinor. And this is Fanny, my brother’s wife. Mrs. Jennings is John Middleton’s mother-in-law.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Elinor said graciously.
Fanny merely gave Mrs. Jennings a once-over and remained silent.
“I see,” Mrs. Jennings replied with a cheerful smile. Turning to Elinor, she added, “And have you brought along a special lad tonight? If not, I do know—”
“My sister is engaged,” Marianne interjected, a little too quickly. “Where are Edward and John, anyway?”
“They’re checking the coats,” Fanny answered, her gaze already wandering the room in search of more interesting company.
“Now those earrings are something,” Mrs. Jennings said, stepping toward Fanny for a better look. Fanny barely contained the instinctive eye-roll.
While Mrs. Jennings became thoroughly distracted by Fanny’s jewelry, Marianne seized the opportunity to steer Elinor away and out of earshot.
“Well, she’s… interesting,” Elinor said once they were safely out of Mrs. Jennings’ orbit.
“Don’t get me started,” Marianne muttered. “Christopher insists she means well, but that woman needs a mute button.”
“Where is he, anyway?” Elinor asked.
“John Middleton whisked him off the second we got here. Some last-minute hiccup to deal with,” she explained. Her eyes swept over Elinor’s striking dress. “Ellie, this is gorgeous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in such a bold color.”
Elinor gave her a knowing wink. “There’s a reason I picked it. And a reason I asked you to wear that shade of blue.”
“Ooh, a secret!” Marianne said, raising her eyebrows. “In that case, I say we find Edward and get a drink before Mrs. Jennings tracks us down again.”
“What about Fanny?” Elinor asked, wryly amused. “You’re leaving her to fend for herself?”
“To hell with Fanny,” Marianne replied, not bothering to lower her voice. “Besides,” she added, glancing over her shoulder, “she seems perfectly content showing off her gaudy jewelry. I wouldn’t dream of depriving her.”
Giggling, the sisters slipped deeper into the crowd in search of a drink. As they walked, Marianne couldn’t help but glance back just in time to catch Fanny’s cold glare from across the room, still trapped in Mrs. Jennings’ unrelenting monologue.
“Well, this is an interesting setup,” Marianne said to her sister as they took their seats.
The long rectangular table was positioned at the front of the ballroom, just below and slightly off to the side of the stage. All eight chairs were arranged along one side of the table, facing outward—giving them a clear view of both the stage and the room full of guests. It was a clever configuration for the evening’s speakers and honorees, but it left Marianne feeling oddly exposed, like she was dining on a very elegant panel discussion.
Marianne smoothed her dress as she sat down and glanced out at the crowd. “Feels like we’re on display.”
“There’s a reason for it,” Elinor replied, smiling.
“Can you stop being so coy and just tell me already?” Marianne asked, her voice edged with playful exasperation.
“I can’t,” Elinor said with a wink. “Your boyfriend has bound me to secrecy.”
“Seriously? He made you sell out your own sister?” Marianne scoffed.
Elinor chuckled. “If you saw the size of the checks he’s been writing to Dashwood lately, you’d understand.”
Marianne made a soft hmph as Edward appeared beside them, balancing a large plate of hors d'oeuvres.
“Edward, what are you doing with all that?” she asked. “Dinner’s being served in, like, twenty minutes.”
“Marianne,” Edward said, popping a mini bruschetta into his mouth, “everyone knows cocktail hour finger foods are the best. Honestly,” he added, turning to Elinor, “I’d love for our wedding to be finger foods only.”
Marianne turned to her sister, raising a skeptical brow.
“Don’t get me started,” Elinor said dryly.
“Let me guess,” Marianne said to Edward. “My sister shut that down real quick.”
“She did,” he admitted with a hint of defeat. “So did my mother. And Fanny.”
“That’s because it was a stupid idea,” Fanny said, slipping into her seat. “Really, Edward? You think it’s appropriate to serve an entire wedding menu of mini quiches and meatballs on toothpicks?”
“It’s not the worst idea,” Marianne said. “It certainly rates above a choreographed waltz.”
Fanny narrowed her eyes at her but said nothing.
Soon, the rest of their table joined them. Fanny alternated between polite small talk with Mary Middleton and rolling her eyes in her husband’s direction. John Middleton was talking animatedly, laughing about something while Christopher looked slightly pale in comparison.
“Everything okay?” Marianne asked him once he sat down next to her.
“Yes,” he assured her. “Now it is. But when we got here, the video’s sound was out of sync. It wasn’t on our end—it was the venue’s sound system. Loose wiring, apparently.”
“Sounds like a headache,” Marianne said, resting a hand on his knee.
“It was. John thought it was funny,” he added, nodding toward his business partner. “Laughed it off like it was some badly dubbed movie.”
“I’m sure it’s going to be great,” she said, reassuring him. “I’m excited to see how it all came together.”
He smiled and slipped his arm around her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.
“I’ll be grateful when it’s all over and finally public in a few months.”
Dinner was soon served, though Christopher and John Middleton barely had time to eat before the event staff arrived to usher them backstage. Marianne didn’t mind; she had Elinor beside her, which was more than enough company.
When the lights dimmed, John Middleton stepped onstage, the spotlight catching his round, stout frame. He opened with a warm, enthusiastic speech, thanking everyone for their hard work and highlighting the year’s continued growth. He didn’t have the exact numbers handy, he admitted with a grin, but promised that their favorite CFO would be up shortly to cover that part.
Then the video began, music pulsing through the ballroom. Images of VeriSphere’s early days as a scrappy, ambitious startup flashed across the screen. Marianne couldn’t stop smiling at the sight of Christopher behind towering stacks of financial reports, younger but already wearing that same serious expression.
The montage followed the two founders as they turned big ideas and careful strategy into a company built from the ground up. A few high-profile clients appeared, along with photos of standout employees and moments from the past year.
The tone shifted as VeriSphere’s current branding faded in, a soft blue and gray wordmark that suddenly felt dated. As the music built, the old logo transformed into something new. The letters V and S curved into the shape of a sphere and were paired with clean, modern text. The color scheme transformed to navy and a bold, reddish-orange.
Marianne gave Elinor a gentle nudge with her elbow, finally understanding the significance of the colors they were wearing.
A collective gasp swept through the room, quickly followed by applause, then cheers and whistles. The energy remained even after the video ended.
John Middleton returned to the stage and invited Christopher to join him. As he stepped into the light in his perfectly tailored dark suit, Marianne instantly regretted the headache that had sent her home early the year before. He looked downright irresistible up there.
After a few words of thanks to John and the team, Christopher reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his glasses, and began his speech.
He began with the numbers from the most recent full quarter, followed by an update on where things currently stood. Everything was on track with projections. Then came the forecast for the coming year. It was slightly more ambitious than usual, he admitted, but with good reason. The new branding, he explained, was expected to drive visibility, boost awareness, and build long-term loyalty.
He ended by thanking everyone for their continued hard work and dedication, then invited John Middleton back to the stage so they could close out the formal portion of the evening.
“Now,” John said, stepping forward with his usual charisma, “before we release you back to the festivities, we have one more thank you to make. That wonderful video showcasing the new and improved VeriSphere? That wouldn't have happened without two very special guests joining us tonight.”
Marianne smiled at Elinor, now certain of what was coming. Elinor grinned and gave Edward’s hand a quick squeeze.
“Let’s have a warm round of applause for John Dashwood, CEO of Dashwood Creative Group,” John Middleton announced.
Their brother stood and offered a modest bow. Fanny, caught in the glow of the spotlight beside him, instantly shifted from indifferent to delighted—her expression smoothing into a pleased smile as if this moment belonged to her, too.
“But,” John continued, “none of this would have been possible without the creative vision and meticulous leadership of Elinor Dashwood. Please stand up, my dear.”
Elinor rose to a wave of applause, the kind that filled the whole room and didn’t seem to stop. One by one, the guests rose with it, until the whole ballroom was on its feet. Marianne wrapped her sister in a tight, proud hug, then stepped aside to let Edward pull her in for a kiss, drawing even more cheers from the room.
Marianne’s gaze shifted back to the stage. Christopher was still there, his glasses still on. He caught her looking and offered the smallest of smiles, and possibly a wink. She smiled back, her heart filling with warmth.
As much as she wanted the night to go on forever for Elinor’s sake, deep down she was already counting the minutes until she and Christopher could slip away and she could have him, and those glasses, all to herself.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! I didn't plan on this when I first wrote the chapter, but I've placed a tiny hint about the theme of the Elinor-centered story I've been working on in the background. 😊
If anyone has a guess, I'd love to hear it!
Chapter 18: Now
Notes:
Welcome to chapter 18, which marks the halfway point of the story! I hope you've been enjoying the story thus far!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
The slow, rhythmic rattle of the heater in Dr. Morton’s office was the only sound as Christopher sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the far wall. To say he wasn’t having the best day would be generous. A reckless taxi driver had nearly clipped the front of his car that morning. An intern, juggling too many coffee orders, had tripped and spilled them over an expensive printer. Then, when he finally reached his office, he realized he’d left his reading glasses at home, guaranteeing a day of squinting and a headache sure to follow.
By the time his therapy appointment pinged on his calendar, whatever motivation he had to examine the state of his mental health had already burned out.
“Christopher, you’re awfully quiet today,” Dr. Morton said, glancing up from her notepad. “Even more than usual. Care to share what’s on your mind?”
He gave a half shrug. “Just a hectic day,” he said flatly, before reciting the morning’s parade of frustrations.
She nodded slowly, jotting down a few notes before focusing her attention on him again. “Sounds like the kind of day where everything piles on, one thing after another. I know I’ve had a few days like that recently. But I’m wondering, is it just the day you had? Or is there something else beneath it all?”
Christopher let out a long exhale. He’d come to learn in the nearly six months of seeing his therapist, there was no getting around when things weighed heavily on his mind. She had a keen ability to get him to open up, no matter how much he wished to suppress it.
"Marianne asked me why we ended our relationship.”
“And what did you choose to share with her?” she encouraged, leaning forward.
“I told her the truth,” he said simply. “I’ve always been honest with her, even when I knew it would be painful.”
“How did she react?” Dr. Morton asked, urging him to continue.
He was silent for a moment, unsure how to explain. “Not how I expected at all.”
“Tell me what you expected, and then how she responded,” she guided him without pressing.
“Well… Marianne isn’t shy about speaking her mind,” Christopher began. “And I don’t mean that she’s rude or confrontational. Far from it. She just values honesty, from herself and others.” He paused, the edges of a faint smile ghosting his lips. “It’s one of the reasons I fell for her. All of her emotions were genuine.
“So when I told her we ended our relationship because I couldn’t commit to her in the way she needed…” He trailed off, replaying the turmoil of that moment.
He had braced himself for tears, for resentment, for the kind of hurt that left no room for forgiveness. But she hadn't flinched. She'd listened, quietly and without judgment, and in the soft way she looked at him, he saw something he wasn’t prepared for. Grace.
“I expected something more intense—anger, betrayal, maybe even anguish,” he confessed, finally meeting Dr. Morton’s gaze. “But instead, she was calm. Understanding. Even… empathetic.”
She scribbled a few more notes down before she spoke. “It sounds like she took it well,” she observed, crossing her ankles slightly. “Why does her reaction surprise you so much?”
Christopher let out a huff as he leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Because… because I hurt her so much. When she left, it was… bitter and messy. We both said some awful things to each other. I probably deserved it, but she didn’t.”
“You say you deserved the hurtful things she said then,” Dr. Morton repeated gently. “And now, you believe you deserved her anger once again. While it’s healthy to take responsibility for your part in a relationship, it becomes damaging when you take on more blame than is yours to carry.”
She paused, letting the words settle before continuing.
“And I don’t just mean with Marianne. I’m also talking about Eliza’s death… and even your mother’s.”
“That’s why I’m here. Partially, at least,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I know that if I didn’t finally address my grief over losing Eliza, and stop blaming myself for things that were outside of my control, I’d never be able to have another meaningful relationship. Whether with Marianne… or someone else.”
Dr. Morton nodded. “You told me early on that your goal wasn’t to win Marianne back, but to heal. Does that still feel true to you?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but it took him a few moments to gather his thoughts. “It does,” he said finally. “I may have felt differently at times, but now… I think I only want to be able to forgive myself.”
“Do you also think,” she asked softly, “that you want Marianne to forgive you as well?”
“That’s a fair enough assumption,” he replied. “But yes, I hope she can forgive me someday and I can be in her life again, in whatever way she needs.”
She nodded slowly. “And how have things been between you since that conversation?”
Christopher’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. He shifted in his seat, fixing his eyes somewhere near the floor.
“She asked for space. After I told her everything, I brought her home and she told me she needed time to process it.”
Dr. Morton tilted her head. “And how have you responded to that?”
“I’ve respected it,” he said without hesitation. “I haven’t reached out. Haven’t tried to see her or call her, as much as I want to.”
“I’m sure that’s been difficult,” she said. “But it’s important that you respect her boundaries, especially now.”
There was a beat of silence before Christopher spoke again.
“It’s been extremely difficult. After we split, I tried to talk to her. I wanted to explain what I was feeling, to give her the truth. But she shut me out completely.”
He paused, his expression tight as the old wounds surfaced. “She refused to see me. Wouldn’t take my calls. I even tried going through her sister, but nothing worked. It was like she had erased me overnight.”
He shifted in his seat, and for a moment, he didn’t look at Dr. Morton at all. “I saw her once, though… outside this little coffee shop we both used to love. I wasn’t expecting it. I just looked up and there she was. I thought maybe that was my chance… that I could finally talk to her, explain myself and make things right.
“But she ran,” he said, the words catching slightly in his throat. “She looked right at me… and she ran. Like she thought I might hurt her. Like I was something to be afraid of.”
He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. “That moment wrecked me, it almost completely broke me. It hurt more than when she left. A few weeks later, I went to see her sing… just to be near her again. But that night I almost did something I would have regretted, and that’s what pushed me here. I realized I couldn’t live like that—carrying around all that guilt without ever facing it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t see or hear from her after that. Not until after the accident. When she asked to see me in the hospital, I thought maybe... maybe I’d been given a second chance. Even if she didn’t remember everything, just seeing her smile and hearing her voice again was enough.”
His voice dropped even softer. “So when she told me she needed space a couple weeks ago, it hurt. Of course it did. But it also brought back the fear that I was being shut out again. Every day I don’t hear from her makes me worry I might not get back in.”
Dr. Morton nodded. “By giving her the space she asked for, you’re showing that you respect her boundaries, and that you’re someone she can trust. That kind of respect is essential in rebuilding any relationship. Not just for her, but for you, too.”
Christopher nodded slowly but didn’t answer. He knew she was right. He did want to be someone Marianne could trust again, and when she was ready, he'd be waiting on the other side.
Marianne sat at the old upright piano in the living room, adjusting her posture and relaxing her shoulders the way Alice had shown her. The stiffness that used to set in after only a few minutes was gone now. She rested her fingers on the keys, took a slow breath, and began to play.
The notes came softly and hesitant at first, but soon they blended into a fluid, steady rhythm, each one connecting effortlessly with the next. Not just in sound, but in spirit. Her hands moved with ease, less by memory and more by instinct. The music filled the room, and with it came a growing sense of certainty. She wasn’t forcing it anymore. She was reclaiming something that had never truly left her.
Her spine lifted just a little more. With her eyes closed, she began to sing.
Her voice wavered at first, as if uncertain it deserved to be heard, but she didn’t stop. As the verse unfolded, something in her loosened. Her breath steadied. Her tone settled. The hesitation thinned into something more grounded, more her.
She didn’t hear the front door click open, didn’t notice her mother step into the hallway and pause. Mary stood still at the entry to the living room, her breath catching as she watched her daughter, once so fragile and uncertain, sitting tall at the piano, her hands steady and her posture strong. For the first time in months, she looked like herself again.
Marianne held the final note just long enough for the sound to fill the room and settle into the walls. When she turned, she found her mother watching. Mary didn’t say a word, but her eyes had already spoken.
“Mama?” Marianne asked, startled by the shimmer in her mother’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, sweetheart,” Mary said, dabbing at her cheeks. “That was beautiful. I see what you meant before… you really do sound like yourself again.”
Marianne’s face lit up with a wide smile. “Really? You think so? Like before?”
Mary nodded. “I always thought you sounded lovely, even when you didn’t believe it. But yes, something was missing for a while. Whatever it was, it’s back. What changed?”
Marianne gave a soft laugh. “My posture, actually. My shoulder injury threw everything off. Alice helped me fix it.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mary said. “But the song choice—why that one? It’s old. From my university days. Beautiful, yes, but… a little revealing , wouldn’t you say?”
Marianne tilted her head. “What do you mean? I just wanted to try something with a wide vocal range. Figured an ‘80s power ballad was as good a test as any.”
“You sure you’re not secretly looking for someone to ‘save you’?” her mother teased. “You know, an old boyfriend dedicated that song to me on the radio after I broke up with him.”
“Mama!” Marianne gasped, her eyes wide. “I didn’t know you were such a heartbreaker!”
“I wasn’t! Not really,” Mary laughed. “He deserved his heartbreak. I found him at a party, pressed up against a wall with my best friend.”
Marianne made a face. “That’s awful!” She gave a small laugh, but the image stayed lodged in her mind. It shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did, like a thread tugging loose in a sweater. “Anyway, no, I didn’t choose the song for any secret reason. No more than usual.”
Mary sat down beside her on the piano bench. “I won’t pry if you don’t want me to,” she said gently. “But I’ve noticed you haven’t seen or spoken to Christopher since the two of you talked a few weeks ago. Is everything all right there?”
Marianne let out a slow breath. “I asked him for space so I could process everything,” she said. “And he’s respected that. But… I’ve been thinking about calling. Just to see how he’s doing.”
“So what’s stopping you?” Mary asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” Marianne admitted. “It’s not just one thing. Now that I understand why we broke up, part of me wonders if I gave up too fast, or if I should’ve tried harder to understand where he was coming from. But then I think… maybe he should’ve fought harder too. It’s so confusing. And with John in the picture on top of all that, it’s just a mess.”
“Marianne,” her mother said gently, pulling her into a soft embrace. “I don’t think anyone expects you to have all the answers right now. But I do think it’s important that you reach out to him. You may not know exactly what to say, but sometimes just checking in is enough. He’s been through a lot too, and I’m sure it would mean the world to him just to hear from you. And it’s clear you still care.”
“I think you’re right, Mama,” Marianne admitted, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I think I’ve had enough space.”
Mary squeezed her daughter a little tighter. “I’m glad to hear it,” she murmured. “Now, what do you feel like for dinner?”
Marianne thought for a moment, a wide grin slowly spreading across her face. “It’s been so long since I’ve made my famous ‘Quiche Marianne.’”
“What on earth is that?” Mary asked, her voice full of amused surprise as she turned toward her.
“You’ll see,” Marianne replied with a grin. “It’s good. But we’ll need to go to the store first.”
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, her laptop propped up on a pillow, Marianne scrolled endlessly through her old university’s professional development listings. The more she read, the more her frustration mounted.
She still couldn’t remember what had happened that spring, and it wasn’t her fault. The email reminder she found to enroll by March had been a jarring discovery. She’d made a plan. A clear, responsible plan. And yet here she was, weeks away from her teaching license expiring, with nothing completed and no memory of why she hadn’t followed through.
Now, the fall enrollment period had long passed. And spring wasn’t looking much better. Her alma mater, three hours away by car, offered only a handful of online courses and most required in-person attendance. Her neurologist still hadn’t cleared her to drive, and even if he had, a commute like that would be a stretch.
She leaned back against the wall, her eyes closing as a deep, defeated sigh escaped her. She knew, deep down, that it would take effort to catch up on the development hours she’d missed, but in the grand scheme of everything that had happened since the start of the year, it all felt overwhelming. The thought of facing one more daunting task made her ache for something to finally be easy.
“Hello?” Elinor’s voice cut through the thick cloud of self-doubt from downstairs. “Anyone home?”
“Up here, Ellie,” Marianne called back, the sound of two sets of footsteps pounding up the stairs quickly following.
Elinor and Edward appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. Marianne gave them a tired smile and clicked her laptop shut.
“What are you up to?” Elinor asked.
“Not much,” Marianne said with a sigh. “Just trying to figure out my teaching license situation. What about you two?”
“We were just in the neighborhood,” Edward said. “Neither of us felt like cooking, so we thought we’d stop by and see if you wanted to go out.”
“That sounds great,” Marianne replied, her mood lifting a little. “Mama should be home in about thirty minutes. And I’ll take any excuse to stop thinking about how much of a pain it’s going to be to get reinstated.”
“Reinstated?” Elinor asked, surprised. “Don’t you just have to renew it every five years?”
“Normally, yes,” Marianne said. “But that’s only if you don’t let it expire. With everything that happened this year… mine’s about to lapse, so now I’ll have to go through the full reinstatement process.”
“That sounds like a headache,” Elinor said with a sympathetic wince.
“It is,” Marianne replied, frustration creeping into her voice. “Not only do I need more professional development hours, but I have to retake the exam, get another background check, and maybe even have my old school vouch for me. I remember how much work it took to get certified after finishing my degree, and how relieved I was when it was over. All that effort… and now I have to start over, and I don’t even remember why I let it lapse.”
She let out a breath, shaking her head. “It’s just hard to accept.”
Elinor sat beside her on the bed, placing a reassuring hand on her knee. “I’m sorry. Is there any way we can help?”
“I don’t know,” Marianne admitted. “Even if I’m ready to try again, my old university doesn’t offer many online options. And I can’t exactly commute three hours when I haven’t even been cleared to drive.”
“Maybe I could be of some assistance,” Edward offered from the doorway. “I do happen to work at a university, you know.”
“Really?” Marianne asked, her eyes lighting up, until she remembered. “Wait. Isn’t that my old school’s rival?”
Edward grinned. “Possibly. But it’s nearby, and we offer plenty of online and hybrid courses. If you’re open to it, I could talk to a few colleagues and maybe even arrange a tour.”
“You’d really do that for me?” Marianne asked.
“Of course I would,” Edward said gently. “I want to see you get your life back, just as much as Elinor does. I’d be happy to help.”
“Thank you, Edward,” she said softly. “I’d be grateful for anything you can do.”
As the three of them made their way downstairs to wait for their mother, Marianne felt a calming wave of gratitude settle over her. No matter how uncertain the path ahead, she wasn’t walking it alone.
A few days later, Marianne learned that Edward had kept his word. He’d spoken to his colleagues in the university’s School of Education, gathered details on some spring semester courses she could take online, and arranged for her to visit the campus that afternoon.
She waited in the living room, sitting sideways on the piano bench like she always did when her nerves had nowhere to go. It wasn’t long before she heard a car pull into the driveway. She stood up at once and headed straight outside.
“Hey,” she said brightly as she slid into the passenger seat of Edward’s car. “Thank you for doing this. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he replied, grinning. “We’re family now.”
Marianne gave him a look. “Weren’t we technically family already? Since John and Fanny’s wedding… what, twelve years ago?”
“I don’t think marriage laws stretch quite that far,” Edward laughed. “But that was when I first met your sister. I knew even then she was someone special.”
Normally, a line like that would’ve been the death of Marianne. She lived for those kinds of earnest declarations, but lately her threshold for romance was embarrassingly low. She managed a smile, but only because Edward meant well and she was too tired to roll her eyes.
“You sure took your time asking her out.,” she said with a teasing edge. “You talked and danced with her almost the whole night, and then disappeared for over a year. She didn’t hear from you again until she ran into you… with someone else.”
Edward lowered his head in mock shame. It was true, he had been utterly charmed by Elinor the night they met at his sister’s wedding years ago, but the timing had been less than ideal. He’d just gone on a date with another woman, Lucy Steele, a few nights earlier. She’d been lovely, polite, and quick-witted in conversation, but Edward had left that date thinking she wasn’t particularly interested in seeing him again.
But the moment he’d seen Elinor across the reception hall, everything had shifted. He’d forgotten Lucy within minutes. Elinor’s confidence, her wit, and the way she carried herself had caught him off guard. He stayed by her side the entire evening, talking, laughing, dancing—finding any excuse to stay near her. When the night ended, he’d fumbled through an attempt to ask for her number, barely managing a full sentence. Elinor, ever gracious, had smiled and written it down for him before he could finish.
He’d meant to call Elinor within a few days. But the very next afternoon, to his surprise, Lucy reached out, asking to see him again. He’d wanted to say no and tell her that he’d met someone else. Somehow, despite his best intentions, he agreed to another date. And another.
Lucy had a strange hold on him. At first, he still thought about Elinor, toyed with the idea of reaching out. But as the weeks dragged on, the window seemed to close. Surely Elinor had forgotten him by now. Surely she’d moved on.
A year and a half passed before he saw her again. And yes, Lucy was by his side. Elinor had been kind, if a little cool, but Edward could see it in her eyes that she’d waited and had been hurt.
It was nearly another year before they met again. By then, Edward was single. Six months after that awkward reunion, Lucy’s mask finally cracked. She was having an affair and during the bitter fallout, she admitted she’d only stayed with him because of his family’s wealth.
Edward had taken the breakup and her betrayal hard. In the aftermath, he threw himself into his academic work, ultimately deciding to pursue a doctorate in religious studies, focusing on its impact on culture and society. But by the time he crossed paths with Elinor this time, his confidence had started to waver. The doctoral program was grueling, and he wasn’t sure he had the stamina or focus to endure the years of coursework, research, and dissertation writing still ahead of him.
He struggled to make decent small talk, so she invited him out for coffee. He’d said yes instantly. Before long, they were tucked into a quiet corner of a café, talking like no time had passed. Whether it was politeness or genuine interest, Elinor’s curiosity about his work and his choice of study gave him the confidence he hadn’t felt in months. But even then, he couldn’t bring himself to do more. The betrayal he’d gone through was still too raw, and despite how much he liked her, he wasn’t ready to risk his heart again.
So Elinor kept reaching out—inviting him to coffee, to the movies, sometimes dinner. Their time together always felt easy and familiar, but each goodbye left her more confused. She couldn’t understand why he never took things further. One night, fed up with his hesitation, she kissed him. A fierce kiss that stole the breath from his lungs and left him blinking in stunned silence.
Then she pulled away, simply said goodnight, and didn’t call again.
It drove him wild. Days passed, then weeks, and still no word from her. The silence became unbearable. He wanted to call, but that kiss had scrambled his sense of direction. What did she want from him? What did he want from her?
He finally saw her out with friends and couldn’t take it anymore. He walked straight up to her and asked if they could talk. She agreed, finding a quiet corner where he spilled everything. He apologized for never calling her after the wedding, for staying loyal to Lucy when he shouldn’t have, for dragging her through weeks of ambiguity. He told her he liked her. Maybe even loved her. And that if she gave him a chance, he’d prove he was worth it.
Elinor hadn’t expected the flood of emotion, but his honesty disarmed her. She threw her arms around him and kissed him again, softer this time, but no less full of feeling. From that moment on, they were together. Things moved slowly at first, but she was patient. She always had been. And gradually, their quiet connection grew into the steady, enduring love they now shared.
“I know,” Edward said quietly, running his hand through his hair. “I hated myself for not calling her after Fanny and John’s wedding. Things worked out, sure, but I still wonder what might’ve happened if I’d been honest with Lucy and just picked up the phone.”
Marianne sighed deeply. “You know, Edward,” she said carefully, “there was a time I’d have scoffed at you and told you never to be afraid to say what you really feel, especially about love. But now... I get it. It’s complicated.”
He smiled sympathetically. “I can’t tell you what’s right for you. But I do know it’s okay not to have all the answers. Just don’t shut the door on someone unless you’re sure you don’t want to open it again.”
Marianne smiled. “I know,” she admitted. “You really do know what to say sometimes. The vows you wrote for Elinor... they were the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard—”
She stopped abruptly, her hands flying to her mouth as a small, surprised squeal escaped.
“Marianne? What’s wrong?” Edward asked, startled.
“It happened again!” she exclaimed. “Edward, I remember the wedding! I only had scattered memories from the reception before, but now I can see the ceremony!”
She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes as vivid flashes came into focus: giggling with Elinor and Meg as they got their hair and makeup done; standing at the altar with Meg; exchanging smiles with Christopher who sat in the second row, unable to take his eyes off her; and seeing Edward cry when Elinor walked in on her mother’s arm.
“You really didn’t stutter through your vows,” she said with a laugh.
“I surprised even myself,” Edward replied with a wink. “One of my proudest achievements. Right after marrying your sister.”
Marianne beamed. “I’m so happy. Every time something comes back, even the tiniest fragment, it feels like I’m reclaiming a piece of myself.”
“I’m really happy for you,” he said warmly. “I hate to ruin the mood, but... we’re here.”
She glanced out the window and noticed the city skyline had given way to smaller brick buildings nestled among mature trees and winding walkways. Edward slowed the car, driving around the perimeter of the campus to give her a feel for it.
“It feels like treason to say it,” she murmured, taking in the view, “but it’s a beautiful campus.”
There were still a few bright leaves clinging to the trees—shades of gold, crimson, and flame dancing in the autumn light.
“Here’s where my office is,” he said, pulling up beside a stately stone building and sliding into a perfect parallel park.
Inside, he showed her his office, which was a complete disaster. The surface of his desk was buried beneath teetering piles of books, scattered papers, and a cold half-finished mug of coffee. Marianne laughed, and Edward only shrugged with a sheepish smile.
From there, they took a short walk across the campus green, where winding stone paths cut through wide lawns still dotted with the last of the autumn leaves. The trees were nearly bare now, but the crisp air and gentle hush made the whole place feel serene.
They arrived at the School of Education buildings, where Edward introduced her to a few of his colleagues. The group had an engaging conversation about her goals, and they offered thoughtful advice that left her feeling encouraged.
Next, Edward brought her to the university library. He helped her access the course archive and walked her through the catalog of online offerings and the enrollment process. It would still be a lot of work, but the anxiety she’d felt earlier in the week had eased. Now, for the first time, it felt manageable.
They ended the visit with a short stroll around the campus, during which Edward pointed out all the best coffee spots, quick lunch options, and quiet corners perfect for studying between classes.
“And,” he added as they walked back toward his car, once the informal tour had wrapped, “as long as I’m not actively teaching or giving a lecture, you’re always welcome to drop by my office. Anytime.”
“Thank you, Edward.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “For everything. It really means a lot that you went to all this trouble to help me.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” he replied with a smile. “I told you, you’re family now.”
The hot water from the shower slightly scalded his skin, but Christopher made no attempt to lower the temperature. Sundays used to be his favorite day of the week—a slow, easy day where he and Marianne could relax together without a care in the world. But now, they were something else entirely. He no longer woke up to the warmth of her body beside him, her messy morning curls spilling over the pillows. The promise of a good day, whether they went out on an adventure or stayed inside had left when she did.
Now Sundays were grueling, transformed into a day of self-imposed punishment. He had finished his six-mile run with a new personal best, but it wasn’t enough. Back at his building’s gym, he went straight to the weights, lifting until his muscles burned, chasing exhaustion more than any real progress.
He stood in the shower, letting the water cascade over him, willing it to ease the tension in his body. Deep down, he hoped it might also wash away the guilt that still clung to him, but it never did.
When the water began to cool, he finally rinsed off, dried himself, and pulled on clean joggers and a T-shirt. He padded into the den and turned on the TV. With the remote in hand, he scrolled aimlessly through the guide, searching for something to distract him.
Just as he leaned back against the sofa, settling on international motorsports, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. With a sigh, he reached for it and glanced at the screen. Finally, there was a message from Marianne.
Hi , it read. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Do you feel like talking?
He took a deep breath, trying to stifle the sudden rush of emotion before typing out his reply.
Marianne stared down at her phone screen, her index finger absentmindedly tapping the back of it. Her messaging app was open, a new message to Christopher started, but she hesitated before hitting send.
Hi. I think we should talk.
No, that wasn’t right. It was too cold and clinical, reading like the beginning of a breakup speech, and they were well beyond that. Deleting it, she tried again.
Hey, how’s it going? I miss you. Can we talk?
Her thumb hovered over the send icon once again, but at the last minute, it shifted to the delete button instead. That one, she decided, seemed too forward.
Laying back against her pillows, she let out a frustrated sigh and dropped her phone onto the bed. Why was this so hard? They’d spent nearly four years together. She felt she knew everything about him. Well, not everything, she reminded herself. She didn’t know the extent of his guilt or grief. Not until it was too late.
She shook her head, brushing the intrusive thought aside. That wasn’t the point of this message. She just wanted to check in. To let him know she was thinking about him.
That was it. Just be open and honest.
She picked up her phone again and finally typed what felt like the right balance.
Hi. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Do you feel like talking?
She didn’t let herself dwell on it before tapping send. She set the phone aside, afraid that if she stared at the screen too long, nothing would happen.
The first few seconds were agonizing, but soon the familiar chime of an incoming message filled the space. She picked it up and read his reply.
Me too. I’d love to talk. Want to give me a call?
She didn’t bother to type a response. Instead, she pressed the call icon without a second thought.
“Hi, Marianne,” Christopher said, his warm, deep voice easing the last of her doubt.
“Hi,” she breathed. She paused, searching for something simple to say. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been alright,” he told her, calm but a little guarded. “Work’s keeping me busy, like usual.”
“Chris,” she began, drawing a slow breath, “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner.”
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “Just as long as you don’t…” He trailed off, then added, “I’m just glad you finally called.”
She didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched a moment too long. He spoke again, low and steady, nudging her forward.
“So tell me. What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve had some more memories come back,” she said quietly. “I remember us dancing at Elinor’s wedding.”
“That’s wonderful,” he told her, his voice softening. “Their wedding was beautiful. I’m glad you’ve gotten that back.”
“Not all of it,” she admitted. “I remember the song they danced to, which made me remember all the dancing we did that night. And then, the other day while with Edward, parts of the ceremony came back. Little bits from earlier that day, too.”
“We did do a lot of dancing that night,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s the last time I remember feeling… truly happy.”
“I don’t remember you ever being thrilled about dancing,” she said with a small smile. “I tried to get you out on the floor, and you wouldn’t budge. But once I did, you didn’t want to sit down.”
“I know,” he said, the smile clear in his voice. “I liked that song.” He paused, the warmth in his tone giving way to something more thoughtful. “I think later on, I needed to keep you close. Maybe I knew, somewhere deep down, that things weren’t going to last. And I just… wanted to live in the moment as long as I could.”
“Chris, I’m sorry—” she began, her voice barely a whisper.
“Marianne,” he interrupted gently, not unkindly. “You don’t have to apologize for something you don’t remember. I don’t want you to carry that. Guilt is a terrible thing to hold on to.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But I still hurt you, and I don’t get a pass on that just because I can’t remember. We don’t have to talk about it now if you’d rather not.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he assured her. “It’s just… it wouldn’t be fair to you when you can’t even defend yourself.”
She paused, considering. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Tell me what else you remember from that night,” he asked gently, steering them back toward safer ground.
“Well,” she said slowly, “other than a few fragments from getting ready, the ceremony and us dancing… there’s not much except Meg mentioned something about you helping her after she drank too much.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, poor Meg. But I can’t completely blame her. I think she caught the bartender’s eye. He must’ve thought making her ridiculously strong drinks would impress her. I had a word with him once she was okay.”
“You didn’t!” she exclaimed. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing too serious,” he assured her. “I just reminded him that the young woman he’d been serving was the bride’s youngest sister. And while she was of age, whatever intentions he had weren’t going to pan out in his favor. I kept it diplomatic, even though he probably deserved worse.”
Marianne dissolved into laughter, picturing the poor bartender enduring one of Christopher’s signature calm-but-firm reprimands, delivered in that steady, unshakable tone he must have perfected during his time in the military. The image was too good not to savor.
From there, their conversation flowed easily, a gentle rhythm emerging between them. They traded small updates—Christopher’s work was still busy, with his company thriving long after the success of its rebrand, which had earned them write-ups in industry publications and helped cement their reputation.
Marianne spoke of her frustrations with playing and singing, and how she’d finally worked past them. She also described her decision to return to teaching, sharing details of her day with Edward and the thoughtful advice he’d offered.
Eventually, their words dwindled into a comfortable silence.
“Marianne,” he said quietly, “I’d like to see you, if that’s alright. Would you want to get coffee sometime?”
Her smile came without hesitation. “Of course. I’d love that.”
Notes:
Thank you to everyone who’s been faithfully reading up to this point! I’ve just finished writing chapter 23, which seemed to take me forever. I’m not exactly looking forward to the next few chapters after that, as they will mean treading some treacherous waters, but they are necessary. Enjoy these lighter chapters while they last!
Chapter 19: Then
Notes:
I hope everyone survived the brief site outage earlier this week! I took the angst and emotional turmoil I was feeling and channeled it into writing Chapter 24, which you’ll get to see in about 5–6 weeks.
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy Chapter 19!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
Christopher paced the length of VeriSphere’s glass-walled boardroom, too restless to sit. At the table, John Middleton leaned back with his usual confidence, chatting with the CTO, who was scrolling through diagnostics on a tablet. The marketing director hovered near her laptop, monitoring the company chat for pings. From another location, the web developer was feeding her real-time updates. Everything was green.
On the screen at the far end of the room, Elinor appeared calm and composed, dialed in to watch her design go live. He wished he could match her composure. But his pulse was pounding like they were launching a rocket, not just a rebrand.
“Everything looks good on my end,” Simon, the CTO, said, tapping through screens. “No errors on the staging site, traffic monitors are armed for when we go live.”
“Rachel?” Christopher turned to the marketing director. “What are the developers saying?”
She rolled her eyes. “They’re arguing over whether final-revised.css or final-FINAL.css is the real final file.”
Christopher flexed his wrists. “That’s what they’re doing right now?”
“That’s what they’re always doing.”
“Rachel, I need a real answer,” Christopher said, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Or I’ll cancel bonuses this year.”
She straightened. “On it.”
“Oh, lighten up, Brandon. Unclench already,” Middleton called from across the room, wearing the same grin he always wore when Christopher got tense before a launch. “We both know you’d never pull bonuses. Why do you get like this every time the servers so much as hiccup?”
Christopher didn’t look away from the windows. “Because the last time they hiccuped, shared files disappeared for three hours, the support queue tripled, and one of our biggest clients threatened to pull their contract.”
“And we pulled through just fine,” Middleton said breezily. “I think I’m going to start sneaking you some of Mary’s ‘stress vitamins’ or her weighted blanket, whichever one she’s not using.”
“Please don’t drug my sister’s boyfriend,” Elinor deadpanned without looking into the camera.
Christopher tried to stifle his laugh, but it slipped out anyway. Middleton had always known exactly which buttons to push, and now, somehow, Elinor was getting in on the act too.
“I’ve got an update!” Rachel called out, still typing furiously. “final-FINAL.css is the final file! They’re pushing it now… should be live in about five minutes.”
Christopher let out a long sigh. “Simon, one of your goals for Q2 is implementing a logical, numbered naming convention.”
“You and I both know it would never stick,” Simon said. “Those engineers, while brilliant, don’t take well to constraints.”
“You really want to allocate budget on that nonsense?” Middleton asked with a laugh. “Everything works. No one cares what it’s named.”
Christopher finally turned away from the windows. “There’s nothing wrong with taking a more rigorous approach to version control. I’ve been saying it for months.”
From the safety of her office at Dashwood Creative, Elinor slid a sticky note from her notebook and made a neat tick mark. One rigorous approach down. The over/under for the call was three. Two more, and she’d owe her team lunch.
“Guys,” Rachel cut in. “We’re live!”
Around the table, clicks and shortcut commands fired in quick succession.
“Homepage is clean,” Middleton confirmed.
“No broken links,” Rachel said. “Load times are solid.”
“About page held formatting this time,” Simon added. “Thank God.”
“It’s up on my end,” Elinor said. “If I can see it from here, the rest of the internet probably can too.”
Christopher nodded, satisfied. “Good work. Next, the onboarding flow needs that same rigorous approach.”
Elinor could barely suppress a groan as she pulled out the sticky note once more and made a second tick mark. She didn’t mind footing the bill for lunch. The real punishment that awaited her was the smug commentary waiting just beyond the confines of her office.
Christopher shrugged out of his coat as he stepped inside his home. The scent of something warm, buttery and inviting hit him within seconds. He hung up his coat, dropped his keys into the bowl by the door and made his way to the kitchen.
Only then did he notice the faint sound of piano chords drifting in from down the hall.
He paused at the threshold, half-bracing himself for chaos. When Marianne cooked, the kitchen sometimes ended up looking like a testing site. She’d gotten better since the first time, but there were still nights when they spent more time cleaning up than eating.
To his surprise, everything was spotless. Not a dish or utensil out of place.
He inhaled again—bacon, roasted tomatoes, and something sweet like caramelized onions. It smelled incredible. He was tempted to crack open the oven, but thought better of it. No need to ruin whatever magic she had in progress.
So instead he followed the music.
He stood quietly in the doorway to her little office, just watching. She wasn’t singing, just playing a soft, meandering melody that settled into the space like it had been meant for it all along. Her curls were pinned up in that way she did when she didn’t care, secured with a knotted headband, while wearing leggings and one of his old sweatshirts, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. He’d never seen anything more beautiful.
She must have sensed him then, because she stopped and turned on the bench, her whole face lighting up.
“Chris!” she said, leaping up to throw her arms around him as if it had been days, not just hours, since they’d seen each other.
“Hello to you too,” he said, a little taken aback by her exuberance.
“How’d the transition go?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “Well, I know it went well, I talked to Elinor already, but I want to hear it from you too.”
“It went well,” he told her, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Everything’s live and it looks fantastic. Elinor and the team did a great job.”
“I’m so happy for you,” she said, returning his kiss with a tender one on his lips. “You must be so relieved that it’s done.”
“You have no idea,” he replied. “It was a little tense today, but it’s over.”
He pulled back from her a bit before continuing, “Now tell me, what is that amazing smell coming from the kitchen?”
“That,” she said with a smirk. “Is a quiche Marianne .”
“A quiche Marianne ?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “And what exactly is that?”
“Well, you’ve heard of quiche Lorraine,” she replied. “This is like that, but with extra fillings. And since I invented it, it’s quiche Marianne.”
He chuckled. “You know quiche Lorraine is named after the region in France, not just after some lady, right?”
“I know that!” she said, playfully swatting his arm. “But Marianne is an important symbol in France too, you know, so it works.”
“Fair point,” he teased. “I can’t wait to try it, but I need to shower first. I’m sure the stress from today made me sweat through every layer of this suit.”
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, already unbuttoning his shirt.
“What about the quiche?” he asked as he ran his hands down her sides.
“It still needs twenty minutes in there,” she told him, leading him out of the room.
He paused in the doorway. “Is that… enough time?”
“Christopher. You’re really going to look me in the eye and claim twenty minutes isn’t enough time… for both of us?”
“Another fair point,” he said with a grin, letting her lead him down the hall.
“I can tell already that I won’t like this one,” Edward’s mother observed in her signature critical tone. “Rustic is just another word for messy and low budget.”
Josephine Ferrars was not an easy woman to get along with, let alone love. Edward didn’t have a choice in the matter; she was his mother, after all. Elinor, on the other hand, did have a choice. And the more time she spent with her future mother-in-law, the more she found herself questioning it.
A full day of wedding venue tours had been planned. After months of searching, Elinor and Edward—along with his mother—had finally narrowed the list to three. The first stop was a charming stone estate with winding gravel paths and bare-limbed trees lining the walkways, just waiting to be strung with lights. Marianne and their mother were tagging along, ready to offer moral support, honest opinions, and a buffer when needed.
“Now, Mother,” Edward said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Keep an open mind. You might be surprised by what catches your eye.”
“I still don’t understand why you don’t just have the wedding on the grounds,” Josephine said bluntly. “It has the ambiance .”
“Josephine,” Elinor said, keeping her voice even, “we want a winter wedding. Your estate made for a lovely engagement party last summer, but it wouldn’t be practical to host an outdoor event in December.”
“Oh, right,” she said, waving a hand. “A winter wedding. How very... unconventional .”
“If I may,” Mary interjected, offering her daughter a reassuring glance, “you have to remember, it’s their wedding. It’s about what they want.”
“There’s no harm in having an opinion, Mary,” Josephine said as they neared the entrance. “I am making a generous contribution, after all. I’d simply like to ensure it’s not being wasted.”
Marianne suddenly got the feeling that her first official act as Elinor’s maid of honor would be to clock Mrs. Ferrars, then pretend she’d tripped and the woman had simply been in the way. She made a move to speak, but her mother gave her a look that clearly said not now .
Once inside, Marianne, Elinor, and Mary gasped. The entrance hall opened onto a vaulted ballroom, all warm stone walls and exposed wooden beams that soared overhead like the ribs of a ship.
“Oh, Ellie,” Marianne whispered, pressing a hand to her heart. “It’s so romantic.”
“It really is,” Mary said, glancing at her daughter with misty eyes. “What do you think, my dear?”
Elinor was still turning slowly in place, taking it all in. “It’s amazing so far. Edward?”
But before he could speak, Josephine cut in. “Too small,” she said crisply. “Once you cram in all the tables, there won’t be any room left to dance.”
Marianne shot her a look piercing enough to draw blood but held her tongue.
The venue’s event coordinator arrived then to begin the tour, offering cheerful welcomes and practical details. Elinor stayed quiet, still captivated by the soft light filtering through leaded windows and the idea of music echoing through the old stone walls. Yet even as she pictured the night unfolding here, a pang of resignation cut through.
As much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, Josephine wasn’t wrong. The ballroom was beautiful, but it would be tight. And Mrs. Ferrars didn’t do intimate guest lists.
The second venue was one Mrs. Ferrars had been especially eager to see. It wasn’t hard to understand why once the five of them stepped inside. They’d barely taken three steps before Marianne came to a full stop.
The place was blinding. White floors and walls with a coffered ceiling painted the same glaring shade. The only color came from the frieze near the crown molding, painted with cherubs reclining on clouds, and the gold-trimmed faux Corinthian columns that looked as if they had been stolen from a discount palace.
“Edward, darling,” his mother said with a wide smile. “Just say the word and I’ll write the deposit check now.”
“I don’t know, Mother,” he said, trying to hide his discomfort. “It’s a lot of… white.”
“It’s elegant and classy,” she assured him. “And there’s plenty of space.”
“I think I agree with Edward,” Elinor said. “It certainly is elegant, but I’m not sure it’s us .”
“Oh, nonsense. It’s perfect,” Josephine insisted. “Certainly better than that shed with fairy lights.”
“I think it’s hideous,” Marianne blurted out. “It’s tasteless, soulless and just downright wrong for my sister’s wedding!”
Josephine snapped her head around and shot her a look, but Marianne held her chin high.
“Marianne, while there’s no harm in having an opinion,” Mary said, using Josephine’s own words against her, “you don’t need to be so blunt.”
“Sorry, Mama,” Marianne muttered. “I’m sure this would be a lovely venue for someone else. Just not Elinor and Edward.”
Josephine rolled her eyes contemptuously as they began the tour of the rest of the space. The more that Elinor and Marianne saw of the place, the more they despised it. Every room seemed to follow the same overwrought theme consisting of glossy white tile floors, faux-gilded sconces and enough crystal chandeliers to upstage Versailles.
Mrs. Ferrars was outvoted four to one; this venue was not it. They took a break for lunch afterward, an over-the-top champagne affair that Mrs. Ferrars insisted on footing the bill for, if only to remind everyone that she could. Marianne took just a few sips, having always found the bubbly liquid gave her a headache. Elinor, by contrast, downed her first glass in a single gulp, clearly hoping the alcohol might dull the tension clinging to her shoulders.
As they pulled into the drive of the final venue, spirits were low. Edward sat at the wheel of his mother’s luxury SUV, Josephine beside him in the passenger seat. The Dashwoods filled the back two rows in silence, the only sound being the GPS chirping out directions into the quiet. The atmosphere inside was colder than the crisp February air outside.
The manor house and its grounds were beautiful, no doubt, but what lifted Elinor’s spirits immediately was the sight of the stunning conservatory extending from the south end of the building. The large panes of glass framed by wrought iron supports painted green to blend with the landscape called out to her like none of the other spaces had.
Before they could go any further, a friendly woman greeted them and led the group inside the manor house. The entrance hall alone might have sealed the deal. It was both elegant and charming, with a checkered stone floor underfoot, a towering floral arrangement sat in an antique urn, and a sweeping staircase with a carved banister that wound gracefully up to the guest rooms.
She brought them upstairs first, showing them the ample guest rooms. The bridal suite was tucked away at one end of the house, and there were plenty of other rooms for the wedding party and several more guests to stay overnight.
Back downstairs, the planner led them through the event spaces. The reception lounge, the cocktail area, even the caterer’s kitchen and restrooms were all perfect. Finally, they reached the expansive conservatory. With nearly 360-degree views of the grounds and sky above, it took Elinor’s breath away. Once decorated with lights and flowers, it would be the perfect spot.
“Ellie,” Marianne said dreamily, eyes wide. “This is it, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” Elinor replied softly, a smile spreading across her face. “Edward, please tell me you love it.”
“I’d marry you in an abandoned railcar if that’s what you wanted,” he said, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “But this place is amazing.”
“It’s perfect,” Mary chimed in. “And did you see the clawfoot tubs in the guest rooms?”
The four of them laughed, but Josephine scanned the room with an overly critical eye.
“Mother?” Edward prompted. “You haven’t said a word since we arrived. I know you’re not shy about expressing your opinions, so let’s hear it.”
“Well,” she said, folding her arms, “it’s certainly not my first choice, but I can’t say there’s anything glaringly wrong with it.”
“I’ll translate,” Edward chuckled to the group. “She likes it enough not to give us too much grief when we make the deposit.”
Elinor turned to Edward, a relieved laugh escaping her lips as she threw her arms around him. Overcome with emotion, she started crying big, happy tears. Marianne and Mary were instantly at her side, offering comfort and congratulations, assuring her she’d have the most beautiful wedding.
Still blinded by joy, Elinor pulled Josephine into a hug—one that, to her surprise, was reciprocated.
“Alright,” Josephine said, smoothing her cashmere sweater where Elinor had crumpled it. “Let’s all calm down and see what else this place has to offer.”
The planner gave them a moment before launching into the next steps including scheduling a tasting with the caterer, setting up a second visit with the florist, outlining deposit deadlines and paperwork. Elinor barely registered any of it. All she could think was that she’d found the place. After all the searching, the tension and near misses, this was it.
The rounded-banquette tables in the rear of the Dorset Lounge were designed for a more private experience. Slightly elevated and set back from the main floor, they offered an unobstructed view of the stage, but with just enough dim lighting to keep the performers in focus while leaving the patrons comfortably tucked in the shadows.
Willoughby considered these tables the perfect place to endure whatever performance his date for the evening, Sofia Grey, had dragged him to. She’d insisted on seeing this singer—Melanie? Miriam? No, Marianne —claiming she was something incredible, not to be missed.
He’d rolled his eyes the moment she suggested it. A piano lounge uptown was the last place he wanted to spend a night; it just wasn’t his scene. But Sofia had said everyone in her circles was talking about this girl, and she had to see what made her so special. Willoughby figured if he humored her just this once, she’d owe him later.
They slid into their seats and ordered drinks while he took in more of the surroundings. The place was elegant, but the crowd wasn’t exactly his scene. Most of the women held a posture that made it clear they’d paid for their own drinks. He preferred a bit more wide-eyed gratitude. The men were mostly older, easily a decade beyond his twenty-nine, and they were well-dressed, relaxed, and confident. No one here was trying too hard. Which, annoyingly, made him feel like the one out of place.
“Isn’t this place great?” Sofia asked, placing a hand on his arm. “Better than those loud, overcrowded clubs.”
“Sure is,” he lied smoothly. He had no problem playing along tonight.
“I can’t wait to see Marianne,” she said, sipping her lychee martini. “I’ve watched some videos and she’s amazing. Want to see one?”
“No thanks,” he said dryly. “I’d rather experience what’s coming firsthand.”
Sofia shrugged, her eyes drifting back to her phone as if the entire place had vanished. The ambient chatter softened, the house lights dimmed, and the stage lights glowed warmly. The host stepped into the spotlight, clearing his throat to introduce the first performer. Someone who was decidedly not named Marianne.
“Well, where is she?” Willoughby asked, a trace of irritation slipping into his voice.
“They have opening acts,” Sofia replied offhandedly. “She’s the headliner, so she’s last to perform.”
“Great,” he muttered under his breath, taking a sip of his negroni. Not only did he not want to be here, but now he’d be stuck longer than he’d planned.
The opening acts began, and while the singers were technically good, none of them stirred anything worth remembering. Both women looked overly done with perfectly styled hair, figure-hugging dresses, makeup that seemed almost painted on. The women in the audience listened half-heartedly, more caught up in their own conversations than the music. The men paid a bit more attention, no doubt drawn by the performers’ obvious sex appeal.
All except one. Willoughby noticed a man seated alone at a front-and-center table. From where he sat he could see the man’s posture was relaxed, but his gaze seemed distant, like the music was nothing more than background noise. He nursed a whiskey slowly, completely detached from the show, only offering polite applause after each number.
It was unsettling, seeing someone so close to the spotlight yet so utterly indifferent.
What the hell was his deal?
Before he could dwell on it any longer, the host returned to the stage to announce a brief intermission before their esteemed headliner— Miss Marianne, as he grandly called her—would take the stage.
After a quick stop at the men’s room and a detour to the bar for another round, Willoughby slid back into the booth
“John, what do you think so far?” Sofia asked, glancing up from her phone.
“It’s… interesting,” he said carefully.
She let out a small, annoyed sigh. “You’re not having a good time, are you?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “But you know, Sofia, this isn’t really my scene. Everyone here’s at least ten years older than me.”
Sofia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and I bet they make ten times more than you do too.”
He glared at her but said nothing, swirling the last inch of his second drink. He didn’t want the night to end in another argument, though sometimes arguments did lead to more interesting makeup sessions. Still, the money jab stung. He’d been doing just fine until losing that account a few years ago. Hard to climb the ladder when some jackass kicks a rung out from under you.
“I think it’s time,” Sofia said, her sour mood evaporating as the lights dimmed.
The host returned to the stage, told a few tired jokes, and finally introduced the elusive woman Sofia had been raving about all evening. The stage went dark for a beat. Then the lights came up again, and there she was.
A vision he wouldn’t be able to forget if his life depended on it.
Marianne was breathtaking, no doubt. Indescribably gorgeous. Most striking of all, she looked entirely natural—her flowing dress, her minimal makeup, her cascading curls all contributing to an unbothered elegance. And she was young. Younger than the crowd by several years, maybe even younger than he was. But that wasn’t what rattled him.
What did unsettle him was the vague, persistent sense that he’d seen her before.
But where?
She wasn’t one of his exes. He’d remember, even the forgettable ones. No, this was something else, and the feeling gnawed at him.
As the applause roared, he caught sight of that same man from earlier, the one who’d sat detached through the openers. Now he was on his feet, clapping harder than anyone. And then she smiled directly at him and blew him a kiss.
What the hell?
Marianne took her seat at the piano, adjusted the microphone, and began to speak.
“Thank you all for another warm welcome,” she said with a breathless little laugh. “Everyone having a good time?”
The crowd responded with cheers and whistles.
“Glad to hear it,” she went on, her tone light. “Well, it’s the third Wednesday of the month, and we all know what that means. Dedication night.”
More applause, more whistles.
“But before we begin,” she continued, drawing out the words like a tease, “I have a dedication of my own. Because it just so happens to be a very special someone’s birthday.”
The audience reacted again with some cheers and curious giggles.
“I promised him I wouldn’t sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ We all know he’s a little shy,” she added, pausing for effect as a ripple of knowing chuckles moved through the room. “But, he never said I couldn’t sing a song that mentions ‘happy birthday’ in the lyrics.”
She threw a quick wink toward the man at the front confirming, in Willoughby’s mind, what he’d already suspected. They were together. No question now.
She placed her hands on the keys and began to play.
Mine, immaculate dream made breath and skin
I've been waiting for you
Signed with a home tattoo
"Happy birthday to you" was created for you
The crowd cheered at the first hint of “Happy Birthday” in the lyrics, but Willoughby barely heard them. His eyes were fixed on her with utter fascination, and not just because of her beauty. Lust barely touched what he felt. Desire came closer, but even that felt too shallow to capture what stirred inside him. She held them all in the palm of her hand, every last person in the room. Some eyes held awe; others, a kind of longing Willoughby couldn’t place. Did they want her, or want to be her? Maybe a bit of both.
But why did she look so familiar?
The thought kept intruding as she sang a few more dedications, each delivered with the same alluring charm. Then she announced a short break before the final round and stepped toward the edge of the stage. The man in the front row stood to meet her as she leaned down to kiss his cheek, taking the bottle of water. They exchanged a few words, smiling and laughing with an ease that didn’t seem rehearsed. Then she passed the still half-full bottle back to him, and he returned to his seat.
Willoughby got a better look at him this time. He moved with the quiet authority of a man who belonged. He was tall, confident, well-dressed, with a calm assurance that didn’t need permission. But what stood out even more was his age. Not ancient or anything, but definitely older than her by ten years or more. She, on the other hand, looked barely old enough to order the drink he held.
He tried to shake the thoughts away. Maybe the man was just some wealthy patron, well-connected enough to cover Marianne’s rent in exchange for a few public kisses and occasional companionship—
“ John! ” Sofia’s voice cut through his reverie like a whip. “I’ve been talking to you for a full minute, and you’ve said nothing! What the hell?”
“What? Sorry,” he muttered, forcing his attention back to his date. “Say that again?”
“I was saying I think Marianne lives up to all the hype,” she snapped, clearly annoyed. “But judging by the way you’re staring like she’s prey, you must think so too.”
“I was just thinking about something,” he replied, trying to be casual but missing the mark.
“About what? Her?” Sofia said bitterly, nodding toward the stage. “Like you’d ever have a chance.”
“Sofia,” he said smoothly, letting his voice drop into velvet tones, “jealousy has always been a terrible look on you.”
“Please. I’m not jealous,” she shot back. “She’s cute, and can sing, but she’s no match for me.”
“No, she’s definitely not,” he agreed, the words hanging just vague enough to mean whatever she wanted.
It worked. Sofia softened, inching closer, her hand settling on his knee. She slowly moved it teasingly higher as Marianne returned to the stage to finish her set.
“My next dedication is for a newly engaged couple, Jess and Mark!” she announced with her easy smile. “I’m helping my sister plan her wedding, and a little advice for the groom… it’s Jess’ wedding, not your mother’s.”
A woman he assumed to be Jess, stood and gave Marianne a standing ovation, drawing laughter and applause from the room.
But it was the way she said my sister that pulled Willoughby back to another night.
“I’m here celebrating my sister’s promotion and discussing the wonderful date I had with one of her firm’s clients…”
Just like that, the poised performer disappeared. In her place was the woman who’d brushed him off with a clipped response and a knowing smile. The woman who hadn’t given him a second thought.
He remembered now. It had been just over two years ago, and somehow it still stung. Women rarely rejected him, and when they did, he never thought about them again. But her rejection had landed differently. No apology, no invitation to keep trying, no room for misinterpretation. It had driven him mad for weeks, until eventually she slipped from his mind.
Until now.
He studied her more closely, eyes flicking between Marianne and the man in the front. Was that the client she’d mentioned that night? The one she thought worth brushing him off for? It didn’t add up. Too much time had passed. Surely someone so young and beautiful would have long grown bored of him by now.
But what if it was him? Still in her orbit, close enough to draw a kiss and a smile. That was harder to explain. Harder to accept.
He pushed the thought aside and turned toward Sofia. She was still watching the stage, gently swaying to the music as Marianne sang. No more dwelling, he was determined to focus on his date. The night was far from over, after all.
He slid closer, draping an arm over her shoulder as Marianne moved through two more songs. She kept up the same charm, tossing out witty observations tied to each dedication and earning the same warmth and applause she’d opened with.
“It’s that time again,” Marianne said, her smile widening. “The last dedication of the night is upon us. This one is rather… interesting.”
Sofia turned to him, eyes bright with anticipation. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“This one goes out to John, from Sofia. No occasion, the note read… she wants the song to speak for itself,” Marianne added with a sly grin. “Well, John, I think Sofia is trying to tell you something. And judging by her song choice, maybe everyone in the room, too.”
Laughter and whistles rippled through the crowd as Willoughby stiffened.
“What did you do?” he muttered.
“Oh, relax, John,” she whispered back as the opening notes played. “It’s just for fun.”
The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you
It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do
I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you
And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you
He knew the song, but never paid much attention to it. But the way Marianne sang it now, low and aching, was evocative. Haunting. Whatever annoyance he’d felt at Sofia’s pointed dedication faded, replaced by something far more dangerous.
Infatuation.
No, I don’t wanna fall in love
No, I don’t wanna fall in love
With you, with you
Her gaze drifted across the room, but he was certain it lingered a moment too long in his direction. Sofia might have made the request, but in his mind, Marianne was singing to him. Only him. It was as if she spoke directly to him, the rest of the audience fading away.
He couldn’t look away as her fingers moved with practiced ease over the keys, her dress clinging in all the right places. It was maddening, just enough to taunt the imagination.
What a wicked game to play to make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do to let me dream of you
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt with way
What a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you
With each note, each verse, his tenuous grip on reality slipped further. She was no longer just a beautiful woman who’d once brushed him off, or a performer charming a roomful of strangers. She had become something else entirely, an object of desire, maybe even a challenge to conquer. What a wicked game, indeed.
The crowd’s final applause broke the trance, a thunderous standing ovation. He found himself clapping too, unwillingly conceding that she deserved every bit of praise. She took a modest bow, then stepped to the edge of the stage, where the same man waited and kissed her on the lips this time.
It shouldn’t have bothered him. But it did. What right did he have to someone like her? The question burned deep, but he forced himself to look away. He still had Sofia after all—still had the night ahead to reclaim the upper hand. With that thought, he turned to lead her out.
“She was incredible!” she said once they were outside, a faint breeze teasing the warm mid-June air. “The way she performed my dedication was otherworldly. Maybe I should take up singing!”
“Sure,” he said on autopilot, biting back a sneer. They both knew she couldn’t hit a note in tune if her life depended on it.
She prattled on with her usual nonsense for the rest of the night, but his mind had long since drifted elsewhere. He didn’t try to pull it back, didn’t even feel guilty about it. Later in his bed, as Sofia circled her hips on top of him, her dark eyes and hair blurred and faded, replaced by flashes of blue eyes and golden curls that ignited something fierce within him. Though he was attentive, moving beneath Sofia’s weight, his mind was clearly chasing someone else.
“So, this is where all the magic happens, huh?” Christopher asked, glancing around Marianne’s classroom.
He took in the orderly desks and bright posters on the walls. For a moment, an old aching grief stirred. This was where his child should have been, learning and growing. Before it could drag him under, he forced his focus back to Marianne.
“You make it sound so glamorous,” she said with a dry laugh, unaware of the brief turmoil behind his eyes. “In reality, while I’m up here pouring my heart into classic literature, my students are mostly just trying to check their phones without getting caught.”
Christopher raised his eyebrows as he took in the interactive whiteboard. “Well, I would’ve paid attention if you were my teacher.”
Marianne gave him a skeptical look, but a faint blush warmed her cheeks. “You wouldn’t have been trying to sneak glances at your phone?”
“Nope,” he said with a grin. “We didn’t have phones when I was in school. Maybe two kids had pagers.”
Marianne couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. “Pagers! Oh my God, you are old!”
“I know,” he said, laughing along. “I’ve been trying to tell you that these past two-and-a-half years.”
“I’d have liked to know what you were like back then,” she said softly.
He chuckled. “Well, I was the same height, but could barely tip the scales at 140 pounds fully clothed and soaking wet. I wore a lot of flannels and band T-shirts, and the hairline was a little more forward.”
“Oh no,” she giggled. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you now. Besides, you should’ve seen my hair as a teen. I straightened it to death. Totally fried it, but that was the style.”
“I think your hair is beautiful,” he said, twirling a curl around his finger. “I’d never want you to feel you had to change it.”
She smiled, touched by his sincerity. “We should probably head to the auditorium lobby,” she said, glancing at her watch. “The event’s about to start.”
“After you,” he said, letting her lead him through the maze of hallways and stairwells.
The PTO at the school where Marianne taught English literature was hosting a fall fundraiser to support the arts. Known for its exceptional theater productions, the drama department hoped to raise enough for a new upright piano, while the art department aimed to buy a new kiln.
When they reached the auditorium lobby, they were met with an inviting spread of hors d’oeuvres, silent auction tables, and a charming display of student artwork. Marianne brought over two drinks and handed one to Christopher with a smile.
Christopher was genuinely looking forward to the event and the chance to finally see Marianne’s professional world, after she’d accompanied him to countless business dinners and industry parties.
They meandered through the space at an easy pace, pausing to greet a few of her colleagues and admire the donated items lined up for the silent auction.
Further back, a painting caught Christopher’s eye. A forest of tall pines rising out of mist, all cool greens and blue-grays, the kind of scene you could almost smell if you stared long enough. He didn’t know much about art, but something about it spoke to him. He pictured it above the fireplace in his living room, where the wall had sat bare since he moved in. Scanning the bid sheet, he picked up the pen and wrote his name with a number that felt just high enough to be serious.
After a few more minutes of mingling with Marianne’s colleagues and a handful of parents, the group was ushered into the auditorium for brief remarks from the PTO president and the school principal. A short video followed, highlighting the importance of the arts program through clips from student plays, concerts, and gallery showcases.
“And now,” announced Kim Bates, the PTO president, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for… our silent auction winners!”
Cheers and applause filled the auditorium as she rattled off prize after prize, naming each highest bidder and their winning amount. Golf outings, spa packages and gift baskets all drew generous bids. But one item captured the room’s attention.
“I’ve saved this one for last,” Kim said with a teasing smile. “Not only was it the top bid for the forest painting, it was the highest bid of the night!”
Marianne glanced at Christopher, unaware he had any interest in the piece. She was only curious to hear the number. He leaned forward, uncertain if his offer had been enough.
“The winning bidder is Christopher Brandon, with a generous bid of $1,500!” she announced. “Please stand up!”
Marianne’s eyes went wide as Christopher rose, offering a polite smile and a modest wave while the room applauded.
“Chris!” she whispered. “What did you do?”
“I liked the painting, so I placed a bid,” he said casually. “Is something wrong?”
“Well… no,” she said, still blinking in surprise. “I just… fifteen hundred? I think they were hoping for maybe five hundred.”
“I didn’t want to miss out over a couple hundred bucks, so I just wrote a number down,” he said, not quite understanding why she looked so thrown. “Marianne, what is it?”
“Nothing,” she said with a quick shake of her head. “I just don’t think anyone expected such a generous bid, that’s all.”
“I really like that painting,” he said as they stood to head back to the lobby. “And it’s for a good cause.”
“I know,” she said, her smile warm now. “Thank you for supporting us.”
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before excusing herself to the ladies’ room. Christopher was just reaching for another seltzer when Kim, the PTO president who’d announced his win approached him.
“Well, there he is,” she said brightly. “Our generous philanthropist! That bid is going to go such a long way.”
Christopher offered a polite smile. “Happy to help.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before. It’s always lovely when the fathers turn out,” she added with a bubbly laugh. “Maybe I know your wife?”
“Oh, I’m not married, or—”
“Ah, another single parent!” she said, lighting up. “That’s wonderful. It’s so hard these days, juggling everything on your own.”
“Ma’am, please—”
“Kim,” she interrupted quickly, touching his arm. “Call me Kim.”
“Kim,” he said, with just enough edge to make the correction land. “I’m not a parent either. I’m here as a guest of one of the teachers.”
“Well, lucky for her you weren’t up for auction tonight,” she purred, her eyes gleaming. “Because I would’ve made a very generous bid on you, and I don’t back down easily.”
Marianne then returned to Christopher’s side, looping her arm through his. “Hi, Kim,” she said warmly.
Kim’s smile tightened, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. She didn’t know Marianne well, but she knew enough—too young, too inexperienced to be with someone like Christopher. That’s how it always was, she thought bitterly, the thought tasting like a challenge.
“Honestly, Miss Dashwood,” she said flippantly, voice laced with bitterness, “give the rest of us a chance for once.” Without another word, she spun on her heel and strode away, muttering under her breath about her ex-husband’s affair.
Marianne blinked, stunned. “What was that all about?”
Christopher gave a tight smile. “I think she got the wrong idea about me. Nothing serious, but we should probably head out.”
Marianne hesitated. “Wait… was she trying to hit on you?”
“I’ll explain everything in the car,” he said quickly, steering them away from the growing tension.
He gathered the payment and shipping details for the painting and led Marianne toward the exit.
Once on the road, Marianne glanced over, arching an eyebrow. “So,” she said softly, “what happened with Kim back there?”
Christopher sighed, running a hand through his hair but keeping his eyes fixed on the street ahead. “Yeah, she was definitely flirting,” he admitted. “Thought I was a parent at first, but when I told her I was with a teacher, she didn’t back down.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “Not the first time with her,” she said. “Alice has some stories. I think she’s taking her divorce pretty hard. But what did she mean by ‘give the rest of us a chance’ ?”
Christopher hesitated, choosing his words with care. “I think she meant she feels you’re too young to be with me.”
Marianne scoffed, opening her mouth to argue, but no words came. She simply stared out the window, quiet.
“Marianne,” Christopher said gently, after a moment, “you know I don’t agree with her.”
She drew in a slow breath. “I know, Chris. But… do you ever wonder if it still makes sense? That maybe you’d be better off with someone like her? Someone your own age?”
“No,” he said firmly, squeezing her hand. “Never. She might match me on paper, but she’s not you. You’ve brought more joy and meaning into my life than I ever thought I’d feel again. I would never give that up just to make other people more comfortable.”
She let out a tiny laugh, barely more than a breath. “That’s a hard one to argue with.”
He hesitated, then spoke quietly. “I have those fears too, you know. Sometimes I wonder if you’ll wake up and realize you’d be better off with someone who matches your energy. Someone younger and more exciting, who can give you things I can’t.”
“Chris… what more could I possibly want?” she asked, emotion softening every word. “You’ve already given me everything that matters. I’m not interested in what anyone else could offer.”
A pause settled between them before she continued, her tone lightening just slightly. “But seriously? You’ve never thought about other women… or even glanced twice at someone attractive?”
He chuckled softly. “I’m not blind,” he admitted. “But none of them matter like you do.”
“I just… I’ve never seen it, right in front of me like that,” she said softly. “Other women going after you.”
“I see it too, you know,” he said, glancing over with a faint smile. “You get plenty of attention at the lounge.”
She raised an eyebrow. “From who?”
“Marianne,” he said, amused. “You can’t be that oblivious. Men—and occasionally women—talk about you all the time. What they think you’re like… what they wish they could do if they had the chance.”
Her mouth fell open. She’d noticed the glances before, but hearing that people really did see her that way unsettled her more than she expected. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Dead serious. But it doesn’t bother me. I get it. You’re magnetic. It’s human nature to look, but I’m the one who gets to go home with you. And that’s what matters.”
She settled back into her seat, visibly eased. “You promise you’ll always come home to me?”
He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Yes. Always. And when I get you home, I’ll remind you exactly why no one else even comes close.”
She turned to the window, trying to hide the smile that had overtaken her. The streetlights blurred past as the earlier tension slipped away, replaced by the warmth of his hand in hers and the unmistakable conviction in his voice.
Notes:
This chapter, like the past couple of “Then” chapters, covers a lot of time. It starts in January and ends in October. To give you a sense of where we are in that timeline: it’s about two years since the past chapters began, but we’re still about two years from the present timeline.
The songs Marianne performed were “Come Undone” by Duran Duran (for Christopher’s birthday dedication) and “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak (for Willoughby’s dedication from Sofia Grey). “Wicked Game” was supposedly written by Isaak about a late-night encounter with a woman he knew was no good for him. Marianne’s observation about Sofia’s song choice was a little on the nose (and boy do I wish she’d remember those lyrics in about two years). Since we still have quite a few past chapters before Willoughby shows up, I thought inserting him here and getting inside his head a bit would be interesting to explore, even though what I wrote creeps me out. 😜
Chapter 20: Now
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
“Lucky, no!” Marianne called, half-laughing as she tried to wrangle her cat. “Christopher’s legs are not a scratching post!”
Christopher froze in the entryway of her home, clearly unsure how to escape with minimal collateral damage. Marianne rushed over and carefully unhooked Lucky’s claws from his dark jeans.
“I’m sorry,” she said, ushering the cat into the other room. “He gets too excited sometimes. I hope he didn’t scratch you or snag your pants.”
Christopher chuckled, bending down to take a closer look. “I’m fine, and I think my pants are too. These are old anyway.”
“Okay,” she said, crouching to inspect the fabric, but found nothing. “Let me grab my coat and we can go.”
When Christopher suggested they meet for coffee the other day, Marianne couldn't wait. She wasn’t sure where her excitement came from, and she didn’t question it too closely.
They stepped outside and followed the little cobblestone path to his car. To her surprise, he opened the door for her, just like he always had. She smiled, touched by the memory and his sweetness.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked once they pulled out of the driveway. “I’m not very familiar with this neighborhood.”
“Oh, there’s really nothing good around here,” she said with a shrug. “It’s all mega-chains.”
“That’s ok,” he said. “We’ll go to the city then.”
Marianne hesitated for a bit. “Chris, would it be weird if we went to that place we like on Whitwell?” she asked. “I can’t remember the last time I went. They always had the best pastries.”
Christopher swallowed hard and took a breath before answering. The truth was he missed that place, their place. He’d only been there a handful of times since their split because they had the best pour-over coffee. The place had always felt like theirs though, and being here with her again, it was impossible not to feel the past tug at him.
“No, we can go there, if you want,” he finally said. The smile she gave him in return was worth any discomfort he’d feel being there.
He helped her out of the car once they arrived, but Marianne suddenly froze outside the shop. Her brow furrowed slightly as she turned, looking off toward the street, as if trying to bring something into focus that kept slipping away.
“Marianne?” Christopher asked, bracing himself. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “I thought I remembered something, but it disappeared almost as soon as it came into view.”
“It’s gone?” he asked. “Whatever you saw?”
“I think so,” she said quietly. “Usually when something comes back, it keeps going. It settles in. But this was just a flash, and then it was gone. It was so strange.”
“You still want to go in?” he asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Of course,” she said, leaning to peer through the glass. “I think they have bear claws today.”
He smiled, opening the door for her, and they stepped inside, heading straight for the display case. After placing their order, she led him to their favorite table near the window. For a few minutes, they wordlessly sat watching the pedestrians pass by outside.
“How have you been feeling?” Christopher finally asked her.
“Pretty good, overall,” she said between bites of her bear claw. “I have a follow-up with my neurologist next Monday. They’ll let me know if everything’s… back to normal. At least, physically.”
“That’s great,” he said. “And how are you handling everything else?”
I think I’m starting to accept things as they are," she said, leaning back. "I know I may never remember everything, but I’m thankful for what has come back.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “Have you remembered anything else you haven’t told me about yet?”
“Nothing eventful,” she said. “But the other night, my mother made lasagna, and the smell brought back a memory of us all eating the same meal at her house, just before Elinor’s wedding. So I’ve been getting little things like that.”
He chuckled. “Ah yes, I remember that night. Elinor was trying to keep it together, but I could tell she’d had enough of the wedding planning process.”
“I know! Poor Edward. He’d try to reassure her when something didn’t pan out like she’d envisioned, and she’d give him that look…” She laughed. “See? It happened again. I didn’t really remember how stressed she was toward the end until now. Wow, she wasn’t just stressed, she was completely crazy.”
“She made you crazy too,” he said, smiling. He watched her for a moment before continuing. “Do you ever worry… about the harder memories coming back too?”
Marianne paused, her fingers grazing the rim of her coffee cup. “Sometimes. But since we’ve talked about why we broke up, I’m not afraid of those memories anymore. I just wish I could remember how I felt, so I could make peace with it.”
He nodded slowly. “We were both upset... angry, even. But looking back, I don’t hold anything you said or did against you. And neither should you. We’ll work through all that when the time comes.”
“You’ve been so patient with me through all of this,” she said, placing her hand over his. “I don’t think I’ve asked nearly enough how you’re doing.”
He gave her hand a warm squeeze. “I still care about you, Marianne. I’ve been doing better lately... just taking everything one day at a time.”
She looked down at their joined hands, her thumb lightly brushing across his. He still cared about her. Deep down, she’d known it and had felt it in a dozen subtle ways since the hospital. But hearing him say it now, plainly and without expectation, brought all the feelings she still carried for him to the surface.
She wasn’t sure what it meant just yet. But the regret that had ached in her chest for weeks gave way to something gentler. Something closer to hope.
They stayed a while longer, drifting into lighter topics—how things were going at the company, Meg’s visit home for the weekend, and the birthday party for one of John Middleton’s children that Christopher had been quietly dreading. Their laughter came easily, and before long, the sky outside had dimmed and it was time to take Marianne home.
The drive was quiet in the best way, filled with the same warmth as the coffee shop. Marianne found herself thinking about their first date there, how neither of them had wanted it to end. That feeling remained as he pulled into her driveway.
“Thank you, Christopher,” she said after a pause. “It was really nice spending time with you again. I hope we can do this again sometime.”
“I’d like that,” he said.
She leaned over to give him a hug, one he returned without hesitation. They stayed there for a long moment, holding each other, neither ready to let go. When they finally did, their eyes didn’t stray. Marianne’s hand rose instinctively, brushing his jaw.
He didn’t flinch or move away. He just looked at her.
She felt something shift. The way she leaned in. The slight tilt of his head. And without stopping to question it, she closed the space between them and kissed him.
His hand found the crook of her neck as the kiss deepened, gently. They didn’t want it to end. But still, they pulled apart.
“Marianne,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her hand.
He reached for it, folding it into his own. “You don’t have to be.”
Her eyes softened, grateful for his understanding. With a final squeeze of his hand, she stepped out of the car, the smile on her face as wide as the one she’d worn when he kissed her goodnight here, all those years ago.
Annamaria just wiped her cake-covered hands on my new pants, Christopher’s text read. Why did I agree to this?
Marianne giggled at her phone, unable to help herself. Christopher was stuck at John Middleton’s house for his daughter Annamaria’s eighth birthday party. Judging from his texts, it seemed to be a glittery, sugar-fueled storm of chaos if ever there was one. The girl probably didn’t know the meaning of the word no , and certainly saw nothing wrong with using someone’s pants as a napkin.
Because you’re a good friend, she texted back.
They were covered in chocolate frosting. Imagine what that looks like.
A loud snort escaped Marianne—louder than she meant. Her sisters turned to look at her immediately.
“Who are you texting?” Meg asked, already leaning forward to peek over her shoulder.
Marianne quickly texted she’d talk to him later before shoving her phone aside. “No one,” she said, aiming for nonchalance, but the grin tugging at her mouth gave her away.
Meg raised an eyebrow. “That’s what everyone says. Spill.”
Marianne felt that familiar mix of affection and exasperation toward her younger sister. Meg was home from university for the weekend, giving the Dashwood sisters a rare chance to all be in the same place. Edward, well aware he was outnumbered, had wisely retreated to the kitchen to help his mother-in-law with dinner.
“Fine. It’s Christopher,” Marianne admitted, cheeks flushing. “He’s stuck at the Middleton birthday party. Apparently their eight-year-old thinks his pants are the perfect napkin for cake hands.”
Meg wrinkled her nose. “Sounds like a nightmare.”
“Meg,” Elinor called as she entered with a glass of wine, “don’t pretend you weren’t a menace at that age.”
“It’s because you two were too old and cool to play with me,” Meg replied. “What was I supposed to do? Entertain myself?”
“She’s got a point,” Marianne said. “You and I were always off in our own world.”
“Sorry, Meg,” Elinor said with a grin. “We should’ve tried harder.”
“Well, we’re adults now,” Meg said. “Normally, I’d milk the guilt trip, but I want to hear more about this Christopher situation.”
“Oh yes,” Elinor added, turning to Marianne. “Let’s circle back to that.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “It’s not that deep. We just grabbed coffee a few days ago to catch up.”
“Then why are you redder than a tomato?” Meg asked. “Seriously, you look like Elinor when she forgets sunscreen.”
“Hey!” Elinor swatted at her with a nearby pillow.
Marianne took a breath. Her sisters knew her too well; there was no point in hiding anything.
“Well…” she said slowly. “When he dropped me off… we sort of kissed.”
“What?” Elinor nearly spilled her wine.
“Marianne!” Meg gasped. “‘Sort of kissed?’ What does that even mean?”
Marianne held up her hands. “Okay, okay. I can answer both of you at once. We kissed. A real kiss. Happy?”
“I’m going to need more than that,” Meg said.
Elinor nodded. “I’m with Meg.”
Marianne exhaled. “I just wanted to, okay? I’ve missed him. It’s been hard… I’m not asking for sympathy or anything. I think I’m just finally being honest with myself.”
Elinor’s expression softened as she looked at Marianne. She tried to imagine waking up one day to find everything she believed about her life shattered. The thought of being told she and Edward were no longer together—with no memory of why, after everything they had been through—would be crushing. And yet, despite it all, Marianne seemed to be holding herself together remarkably well.
“What did he do?” Elinor asked.
“He didn’t stop me, which was a relief,” Marianne said, blowing an errant curl out of her eyes. “I apologized afterward, but he told me I didn’t need to be sorry. And that was it.”
“Oh my God, please tell me you’re getting back together!” Meg practically squealed.
“Meg,” Elinor said softly, “you know relationships aren’t that simple.”
“Ellie’s right. It’s not a fairy tale. A kiss doesn’t magically fix everything.”
“Yeah,” Elinor said, her tone light but thoughtful as she took a sip of wine. “Tell that to John Willoughby.”
Marianne let out a weary little laugh. “Fair.”
“Wait—what happened?” Meg pressed. “You never told me how that dinner went.”
Marianne looked down, cheeks warming. “I kissed him too.”
“Marianne!” Meg gasped. “Why?”
“Meg, it’s complicated.” she said with a huff. “I kissed John to see if it would spark a memory or something. But it didn’t.”
Elinor’s brow knit faintly, but she kept her voice gentle. “Have you seen him since?”
She shook her head. “No, but we’ve talked a few times. He says work’s been crazy, even on weekends. Honestly, though, I’m kind of relieved. I still don’t feel anything for him.”
For a long moment, none of them spoke, the usual rhythm of their banter was stalled by Marianne’s uncertainty. Elinor watched her sister carefully. She hadn’t crumbled, but she hadn’t healed either. For the past three months, in addition to having to heal physically, she was caught between grieving a relationship she didn’t remember losing and trying to move forward with a life she wasn’t sure was hers.
No wonder she looked tired.
Eager to shift the focus and ease the tension, Marianne turned to Meg. “So, what’s the story with the boy from your creative writing class?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you mean Emmet? We were paired up to write a short story with a twist ending. I invited him over to my dorm to brainstorm, and guess what happened?”
The elder Dashwood sisters leaned in expectantly.
“My roommate, Emma, came home, and he couldn’t stop staring at her! Then, when she left again, he asked if she was single. I panicked and said she was! They ended up going to the movies together the other night. Can you believe it?”
“Emmet and Emma?” Marianne asked with a giggle.
Meg scoffed. “It’s stupid, right? But they think it’s adorable.”
Elinor gave Meg a pained smile. “I’m sorry, Meg. I know how that feels. It stings.”
“What stings?” Edward asked, stepping into the room.
“Sweetheart, this is girl talk,” Elinor said with a grin. “You don’t want to know.”
Edward raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I’m somewhat of an expert on the subject. I used to eavesdrop when Fanny had her friends over all the time.”
The sisters exchanged looks—equal parts shock, mortification, and hilarity. Elinor drained her wine glass. Marianne’s jaw nearly hit the floor, while Meg dissolved into giggles.
“What’s the matter?” Edward asked, clearly confused.
“You spied on Fanny?” Elinor said incredulously.
Regaining her composure, Marianne said dryly, “I have no words.”
“Yeah, Edward, that’s a little creepy,” Meg added.
Edward shrugged, a sheepish grin playing on his lips. “Hey, I was just trying to figure out what all the giggling was about. Thought I could pick up a few tricks on how to talk to girls I liked. Clearly, it didn’t work.”
The sisters continued to stare at him with dubious expressions.
He held up his hands defensively. “Oh, don’t look at me like I was watching them get changed or something. I’m not a pervert.”
“Whatever you say, Dr. Ferrars ,” Elinor said with a playful grin. “But if you must know, we were talking about a boy Meg likes… who instead likes one of her roommates. I was empathizing.”
Edward nodded, not quite catching the subtext.
“You know,” Elinor continued, “because I know what it’s like to have feelings for someone who ignored you for someone else.”
“Oh… I see how it is,” he said dryly. “I think I’ll retreat back to the kitchen before this turns into a therapy session.”
Edward gave a half-smile and started toward the kitchen, clearly glad to escape the conversation.
“Can you get me a refill while you’re there?” Elinor asked, holding out her glass.
“Of course, dear. Anyone else?”
“Yes, please,” Marianne said.
Meg wrinkled her nose. “Nope.”
“Really Meg?” Elinor asked. “There was a time you couldn’t wait to be of age.”
She shrugged, flashing Marianne a look. “It’s just not for me I guess.”
“What was that look about?” Elinor asked, eyeing Marianne.
“You’ll have to ask Meg. At the moment, I only have second hand knowledge of the situation.”
Meg leaned back against the cushions in exasperation. “I guess I can finally come clean. Ellie, I had a little too much to drink at your wedding and I almost threw up in the hallway.”
Elinor’s eyes went wide. “ What? Why am I just finding out about this?”
“Because I knew you’d react exactly like that!” Meg said, making an elaborate gesture.
Elinor gave a long exhale. “Well, let’s hear it.”
Edward returned with wine for his wife and Marianne. “Hear what?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Meg said. “I didn’t know my limit, I drank too much and didn’t know what to do. Christopher found me slumped over in the hallway and helped get me to one of those private restrooms. Then he called Marianne in so it wouldn’t be weird if someone saw us walking out together. The end.”
Edward set down the glasses and gave a small smile. “Honestly, it’s not really a successful wedding unless someone ends up praying to the porcelain gods.”
“Really Edward?” Elinor said, shooting her husband a look. She then realized there was no point in getting further upset over something that happened nearly a year ago and didn’t affect her wedding day.
Marianne went to take a sip of her wine but froze. “Wait a second… he called me? From the restroom?”
“Yes,” Meg said. “He tried texting first, but you didn’t reply.”
Marianne leaned back, the wine forgotten. “That’s so weird. The other day, I had a flash of something like that… a phone ringing at the reception. It was him. But before I could make sense of it, it was gone.” She shook her head slightly, bewildered. “I thought it was just nonsense so I brushed it aside. I mean, why would he call me when we were at the same party?”
She paused for a minute, focusing on a point just beyond her feet. “I think I can remember some of that now. He told me to come to the restroom, that it was important, but wouldn’t explain further. I honestly had no idea what I was going to walk in on.”
“Just me puking,” Meg said at her own expense. “But once it was out of my system and you two got me some water and crackers, I actually felt a lot better. Seriously though, I owe him for that. It could’ve been so much worse, in so many ways. I wanted to thank him properly, but then you two broke up so suddenly, I never got the chance.”
Marianne twirled the stem of her wine glass, watching the pale gold liquid catch the light. Around her, Meg, Elinor, and Edward traded other wedding day stories and laughter, their voices fading into the background as Marianne’s thoughts drifted away.
She was still back in that restroom with a pale and trembling Meg, Christopher’s strong arms steadying her. The gentle way he spoke to her, promising her she’d be okay. The supportive kindness in his eyes.
Her thoughts shifted to later that night, when they were dancing. Not out of obligation or show, but because they shared something real. She could still feel the echo of his hand at her waist, the hush between them as the rest of the world blurred around the edges.
And then—three weeks. That’s all it took.
She knew the reasons. Christopher had told her everything. And she’d listened, nodded, said she understood. But knowing why didn’t answer what haunted her more: how.
How something so steady had slipped through her fingers without warning. How love could hold you so fiercely, then vanish before you realized you were grasping at emptiness.
Marianne sat at the piano, fingers hovering over the keys. She closed her eyes, ready to begin, when her phone buzzed on top of the instrument. She glanced at the screen, saw the name, and chose to ignore it.
Her hands moved effortlessly now, the weeks of practice showing. She was nearly at the bridge, her favorite part of the piece, when the phone buzzed again. She groaned, regretting not leaving it in another room. Reluctantly, she stopped playing and checked the screen. Same name.
With a sigh, she lifted her hands and answered.
“Hi, John.”
“Hey,” Willoughby said, his voice easy. “Are you busy or something?”
“Just playing the piano,” she said, moving to one of the armchairs.
“Oh, sorry,” he replied. “It finally calmed down around the office, so I thought I’d call. See if you want to get dinner next week.”
She hesitated. She had told him he could take her out again, but now something about the idea felt…off. It had only been a few days since she’d met Christopher for coffee—and shared that kiss.
A vague guilt curled in her chest. It was ridiculous, really. She wasn’t in a relationship with either of them. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being unfair.
“Does Friday next week work for you?” he asked, pulling her back to the present.
Before she realized it, the words tumbled out. “Yes, that sounds great.”
He chuckled. “Now, I’m a man of my word. You get to pick the place.”
“Giuliana's,” she said automatically. “I want to go to Giuliana's.”
“Italian, huh?” He teased. “I guess I’ll have to hit the gym pretty hard beforehand… and maybe the day after, too. But it’ll be worth it.”
“You don’t have to punish yourself for one meal,” she laughed.
“I don’t consider it a punishment,” he said smoothly. “The only punishment I’ve endured lately is not having you by my side.”
Marianne froze. The line wasn’t subtle, or even particularly clever, but it was confident and unmistakably direct. Did that sort of thing used to work on her? She didn’t think so. Not on the version of herself she remembered—the one who craved sincerity, not spectacle.
“I think you give me too much credit,” she said, her voice quieter than before.
“I think you don’t give yourself enough,” he said, without missing a beat. “I mean it, Marianne. I miss you. A lot.”
When she didn’t answer right away, he spoke again, his voice gentler. “I’m not trying to push you or make you feel guilty. I just wanted to be honest with you.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. And she meant it. If there was one thing she still trusted herself to value, it was honesty.
“Good,” he said, sounding relieved. “I’d love to keep talking, but I’ve got a client call in five minutes. I can’t wait to see you next Friday.”
She hesitated, unsure how to untangle the tangled mess of her feelings. "I’m sorry I’m not quite where you are, but… it’ll be nice to have dinner with you."
“It’s okay,” he said after a beat. “I know you’re trying. I’ll see you next week.”
Marianne leaned back in the chair as they ended the call. She meant what she said, even if she couldn’t match his sentiment. It was clear he missed what they’d had. How could he not? She knew what that felt like. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure if she missed him in the same way. All she knew was that she didn’t want to hurt him, and she didn’t want to lie.
She stood up, intending to return to the piano, but the desire to play had faded. Instead, she drifted over to the bookcase, letting her fingers trace the worn spines of the classics she'd taught in her classroom over the years.
She paused at one title.
1984.
She took it down, running her fingers over the scuffed cover. It had been one of her staples for guiding students through themes of manipulated truth, rewritten history, and control through language and fear. She was just about to slide it back onto the shelf when it hit her.
"Oh, you're an English literature teacher? That sounds so fascinating. What are some books you're teaching?"
"This year I’m covering both American and British literature. The Scarlet Letter, Fahrenheit 451, Pride and Prejudice, 1984..."
"1984? That’s one of my all-time favorites."
She remembered him.
It wasn’t an earth-shattering moment, but it was an easy, getting-to-know-you kind of conversation shared over lunch. Just two people trading pieces of themselves, one small moment at the very beginning of something.
She could see his soft brown eyes, the way they held her gaze throughout the entire conversation. She could hear his voice as they discussed the classics she was teaching. She could feel her smile pull at the corners of her mouth as he complimented her passion for literature. A smile similar to the one that was forming now.
The memory wasn’t much—simple, harmless, even sweet. But to her surprise, it felt like a lifeline. After months of doubt and confusion, a piece of the fog finally lifted. Finally, something about him was real.
Notes:
Thank you for reading! As I'm sorting through my outline and working out the scenes for the remaining chapters, I get the feeling that I'm trying to cram too much in a few spots. I may have to extend this story by two chapters to allow these spots to breathe. Would that be the worst thing though? 😉
Chapter 21: Then
Notes:
Another past chapter that encompasses several months. This time, the first scene is December, while the final scene is about the next October, 10 months later. This is the last chapter that will have a significant time jump like this. The upcoming past chapters may only span a day, a few weeks or 1-2 months moving forward.
Chapter Text
Then
“Happy birthday!” Elinor grinned as Marianne slid into the passenger seat and pressed a neatly wrapped box into her lap.
Marianne glanced down at the gift, bewildered. “Thanks, Ellie… but my birthday was a month ago. And you already gave me that gift card.”
Elinor shrugged, a little sheepish. “That was a panic gift. This one just wasn’t ready in time.”
Marianne turned the box over in her hands, smiling. “Well, if this was the real plan, you didn’t have to get me anything else.”
“Right… so, can I have that card back?” Elinor teased, raising an eyebrow.
Marianne chuckled, shaking her head. “Nope. Spent it the next day. On bath bombs.”
Elinor laughed. “Bath bombs? Seriously?”
Marianne sighed dramatically. “It was a rough week. Normally my students are just your average handful of little shits. But that week? I could’ve used them as fertilizer.”
“I don’t envy you,” Elinor said, still laughing. “So… are you going to open the box or just keep petting it?”
“Yes, yes,” Marianne said, grinning as she peeled back the wrapping paper with exaggerated care. Inside the box, nestled in folds of tissue, was a leather tote bag in a warm chestnut brown.
“This is beautiful,” she said, running her fingers across the smooth, supple leather.
“Did you see this?” Elinor asked, turning the bag over to reveal a small floral design with Marianne’s initials embossed into the leather. “This is why it didn’t arrive on time.”
“Ellie, it’s perfect,” Marianne said, a smile tugging at her lips as she traced the delicate monogram. “It’s so much nicer than my ancient bag. My students won’t make fun of me anymore.”
She paused, her smile faltering just a little. “It’s silly, but part of me wonders… what if I get married and my initials change?”
Elinor raised an eyebrow. “Do you have something you’re trying to tell me? Should I have gotten a ‘B’ monogrammed instead of a ‘D’?”
Marianne let out a soft laugh, more wistful than amused. “No, no news. No discussions, really. It’s okay though. I’m happy. And I love this bag.”
“Really?” Elinor asked, her voice gentle but curious. “You aren’t just saying that?”
“I’m not unhappy, not at all. But sometimes I wonder about us,” Marianne admitted. “Little moments where I think about where we’re headed. You were twenty-seven when you got engaged… I can’t help but wonder if it’ll be the same for me.”
“Marianne,” Elinor said kindly, “trust me, you don’t want the same trajectory Edward and I had. Remember, I was nineteen when we met, and it took years before we dated and got here. You and Christopher are just shy of three years. Everyone moves at their own pace. Don’t compare your timeline to anyone else’s. It’s a quick way to stress yourself out.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Marianne said. “Hey, we should get going. Isn’t your appointment in ten minutes?”
“Oh, damn,” Elinor said, glancing at her phone. “Mama and Meg are already there. We’ll be a little late, but not by much.”
She put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb outside Marianne’s building. They were headed to Elinor’s third and hopefully final dress appointment. The last two had left her discouraged and increasingly annoyed.
The first shop had been full of trendy gowns that looked more suited for a red carpet than a wedding aisle. There were high slits, plunging necklines, and baffling cutouts in places no one could explain. Some of them, Elinor had muttered, felt more appropriate for the wedding night.
The second shop had been better, at least visually. The dresses were gorgeous, the kind that could make you pause just to appreciate the craftsmanship. But the price tags were outrageous. A few came close to what she and Edward had set aside for their entire honeymoon. He’d offered to ask his mother to contribute, but Elinor had shut that down before he could finish the sentence. She would sooner walk down the aisle in an old dog blanket tied with twine than let Mrs. Ferrars have a say in her dress.
Elinor pulled into the parking lot of the third shop with cautious optimism. The quaint boutique sat in a standalone building a few miles across town, far removed from the flashier shops she’d already visited. The gowns on display in the front window were tasteful and elegant, exactly her style.
Inside, their mother and sister were already chatting with the owner, flutes in hand and smiles on their faces. The bubbly liquid in Meg’s glass looked suspiciously like champagne.
Elinor raised an eyebrow as the shop owner, a cheerful middle-aged woman named Dawn, offered her a glass. She accepted gladly. Marianne, on the other hand, politely declined with a wave of her hand.
“What’s in the glass, Meg?” she asked, eyeing her younger sister.
Meg rolled her eyes, already bracing for the question. “Relax. It’s just ginger ale. Still waiting for my big moment. Come March, though? All bets are off.”
“I’ll take some ginger ale too,” Marianne said. “Trust me, Meg, we’re better off. I don’t know how Mama and Elinor can stand champagne.”
Dawn chuckled softly and led them back to the bridal salon. She’d already pulled several dresses for Elinor based on their earlier phone consultation, but invited the women to browse the racks for any others they wanted to see.
Elinor told her mother and sisters to each choose one gown they really liked, but not to tell her which they picked. She didn’t want to be influenced by anyone’s opinion.
Dawn led her toward the dressing room, and just before she shut the door behind her, Elinor turned to the group and gave a small, dry salute, as if heading into battle.
“I really hope she finds something here,” Marianne said, sipping her ginger ale.
“I think the third time will be the charm,” Mary replied, her voice confident.
A few minutes later, the dressing room door creaked open, and Elinor stepped out in a strapless white ball gown, the full tulle skirt billowing slightly as she moved toward the mirrored platform. She climbed up, gave a slow spin, and took in the reflection.
The room held its breath. Then Elinor let out a loud, exasperated sigh.
“Nope,” she said flatly, pointing to her chest. “I don’t have enough going on here to keep this up all night. I need straps.”
The Dashwoods offered sympathetic smiles and polite encouragement, but she wasn’t buying it. The gown was objectively lovely, just not on her.
Next came a sleeveless column dress, but the minimalist silhouette fell flat. It skimmed over her figure without shape or structure, just a long stretch of fabric and disappointment. A mermaid gown, a fit-and-flare, and a sleek sheath followed in quick succession, each met with a collective shake of the head or a muttered “maybe for someone else.”
“Is this the last one?” Meg asked, peeking at the remaining dresses on the rack. “What happens if this one doesn’t work?”
“We get to do this all over again another Saturday,” Mary said with a sigh.
Meg groaned and flopped back in her chair, one hand thrown dramatically over her face. “Remind me to elope.”
Finally, the dressing room door opened once more, and Elinor stepped out wearing the biggest smile her family had seen all day.
She was dressed in an ivory lace gown with an A-line silhouette, a deep V neckline, and long sleeves that draped gently off her shoulders and down her arms. The skirt flowed softly around her, pooling into a modest chapel-length train.
She stepped onto the platform and gave a graceful turn, stopping to face her family.
“Well?” she asked hopefully. “What do you think of this one?”
Marianne was the first to speak. “That’s the one, isn’t it?”
“Oh, my girl,” Mary said, her voice catching. “You look like an angel.”
Meg glanced between them before speaking. “What do you think, Elinor? Do you like it?”
Elinor looked at her reflection again, taking in the way the gown hugged and softened her frame in all the right ways. “I think I love it,” she said. “I think Edward will too.”
With a sudden burst of energy, Meg jumped up and wrapped her sister in a hug. “It was mine!” she exclaimed. “That’s the dress I picked!”
The rest of the family joined her on the platform, offering hugs and admiring the dress up close. Elinor finally dared to glance at the price tag and felt a wave of relief that it was within her budget. Dawn returned a moment later with a warm smile and heartfelt congratulations. She noted the style of the gown, took Elinor’s measurements to confirm the order, and collected the deposit.
As Dawn stepped away to finalize the paperwork, Elinor stood for a moment longer in front of the mirror, smoothing her hands over the lace. The dress felt like her—classic, understated, and undoubtedly elegant.
“I can’t believe you found it,” Marianne said, still studying the intricate embroidery on the sleeves.
“I’m just glad it wasn’t a battle this time,” Elinor said, catching her mother’s eye in the mirror. “No tears, no drama.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Meg said. “We still have to survive the rest of the planning.”
Meg’s last words at the dress boutique were a clear warning in disguise. As soon as the calendar flipped to January, Marianne found herself pulled into Elinor’s whirlwind of wedding preparations, called on at least one or two weekends every month. At first, it was exciting tasting catering menus, meeting DJs and photographers, and sorting through guest lists. Marianne was happy to offer her opinions and be a steady source of support for her sister.
But as the weeks slipped into months, the demands of being a bridesmaid piled up alongside her teaching job and performing twice a week at the lounge. By mid-March, Marianne was running on fumes. One evening, after a particularly draining floral arrangement meeting, she came home to find Christopher had carefully set the table with flowers, candles, and a warm meal waiting.
“Mmmm,” she breathed, stepping into the kitchen. “This smells amazing, Chris. But what’s with the flowers and candles?”
He turned from the stove with a smirk, an eyebrow lifting. “You don’t know?”
Marianne blinked, confused. “Know what?”
Christopher chuckled, shaking his head. “Your sister’s got you working overtime, hasn’t she?”
He rinsed his hands and dried them quickly, stepping around the counter to pull her into a hug. “Happy anniversary,” he murmured against her ear.
Marianne pulled back, eyes wide. “What? No… already?”
She fumbled for her phone, she checked the date and stared. Sure enough it was the anniversary of their first coffee date three years ago. The numbers swam until they blurred. A tear hit the screen before she even realized it, followed by another.
“Oh my God, Chris,” she said, voice catching as more tears came. “I forgot. I completely forgot.”
“Hey,” he said gently, concern in his voice. “Marianne… why are you crying?”
“Because… I’m exhausted, Elinor’s driving me crazy, my brain’s mush, and I hate crying like this,” she managed, pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes, frustrated. “I didn’t mean to forget.”
He pulled her in again, steady as ever, his hand moving slowly across her back. “I know,” he said. “You’ve been doing so much. It’s okay.”
He could still feel her trembling, even as the sobs began to quiet. He gently lifted her chin so she would look at him.
“Marianne,” he said softly, “don’t be so hard on yourself. Why don’t you sit down and relax while I finish dinner? Then we’ll eat. After that, you can take a long bath with one of those fizzy things you like and I won’t say a word if the tub ends up stained pink.”
A small laugh escaped her, and she nodded, still teary but finally settling.
Christopher always knew how to steady her when the ground slipped beneath her. His quiet patience became essential as early spring melted into summer, and Elinor’s wedding to-do list exploded. Relentless didn’t begin to cover it. If there was a task to delegate, Marianne got it.
Meg tried to help once her academic year let out by offering to wrangle RSVPs or brainstorm bachelorette ideas, but it became clear within a few weekends that planning wasn’t her strong suit.
Bridesmaid dress fittings. Shower themes. Bachelorette logistics. Boxes of invitations needing hand-stuffing and sealing. One by one, Marianne’s weekends disappeared into a blur of errands and checklists in the name of making Elinor’s wedding perfect.
By mid-June, the school year had barely ended when Marianne found herself at Elinor’s dining table, forehead pressed to the wood in defeat.
“Marianne, focus,” Elinor said, holding up two sample napkins for her bridal shower in nearly identical shades of orange. “Terra cotta or sanguine?”
Marianne lifted her head just enough to squint. “Ellie, they’re the same. They’re both orange.”
“The same?” Elinor dropped the napkins on the table with a scoff. “Are you colorblind? Terra cotta is brighter. Sanguine has a red undertone. It’s like saying C and G are the same notes.”
“Please,” Marianne shot back. “Don’t pretend your tone-deaf ears know what either note sounds like.”
“And what have I had the pleasure of walking in on?” Edward asked, setting down his briefcase as he came into the dining room. He’d recently earned his PhD and had jumped at the chance to teach summer courses, not just to help with wedding expenses, but also to get a little distance from Elinor’s wedding chaos.
“Edward, I’m sorry,” Marianne said, lifting her head from the table. “I’m failing you. I haven’t been able to stop Elinor from turning into a full-blown bridezilla.”
“Hey!” Elinor lobbed a napkin at her. “We only have six months and eight days left and a terrifying amount to do.”
Marianne blinked. “Wait, six months and eight…?” Her voice trailed off as the math hit her. “Oh God. It’s the 20th?”
“It is,” Edward said, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong?”
“No… everything’s fine,” Marianne said, with a pointed look. “Except your fiancée has been monopolizing all my free time, and I forgot to make dinner reservations for my boyfriend’s birthday tomorrow.”
Elinor’s arms crossed immediately. “That’s my fault?”
“A little bit,” Marianne shot back.
Elinor scoffed. “Then make them now.”
Marianne let out a sharp breath. “The place he likes—the one he’s been talking about for months—books up so far in advance. This is just perfect. First I forgot our anniversary, now this. This wedding is going to ruin our relationship.”
Elinor rolled her eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
Marianne shot her sister a look, but before she could say anything, Edward intervened.
“Okay,” he said, raising his hands. “We’re all a little tense. Let’s take a breath. I’m going to pour us all some wine. Marianne, what’s the name of the restaurant Christopher likes? I’ll try my luck getting a reservation.”
“The Greyhound Room,” she muttered, still seething.
Edward gave a low whistle. “Wow. That’s going to be nearly impossible, but…I’ll give it a go.”
“Thank you, Dr. Ferrars,” she said with a tired smile. “Good luck.”
She glanced over at Elinor, who had gone uncharacteristically quiet, fingers nervously fidgeting with the napkins as if they might hold the answers to every wedding detail.
“Ellie, just go with the sanguine,” Marianne said, her voice softer now. “The redder color will be nicer for a fall-themed shower.”
Elinor paused, then sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve been leaning on you.” She smoothed the napkins flat with the side of her hand, still avoiding Marianne’s eyes. “Josephine and Fanny have been weighing in on everything, and I guess I’m just trying to hold on to some piece of this wedding that still feels like mine.”
Marianne stood and placed a hand gently on her sister’s shoulder. “I’m happy to help,” she said, “but I think it’s starting to wear me out a little. Maybe we could get Mama and Meg to pitch in? I know Meg can’t plan for shit, but she’s got beautiful handwriting. I bet she’d love addressing the envelopes with all those fancy pens she’s always showing off.”
Elinor let out a quiet chuckle. “You’re right. I should start delegating more, and let you do the same if you need to.”
Just then, Edward walked back in, grinning from ear to ear. “I did it!” he announced triumphantly.
Marianne’s eyes went wide. “What? How?”
He gave a modest shrug. “I just pretended to be Christopher Brandon, hotshot co-founder of VeriSphere—and poof. A table for two magically opened up.”
“You pretended to be Christopher?” she asked, half-laughing.
“Yeah,” he said casually. “Just lowered my voice an octave. Shockingly easy. Maybe acting is my true calling…”
Elinor didn’t even bother hiding her eye roll. “I highly doubt that.”
Marianne burst into laughter and rushed over to hug him. “Oh, thank you, Edward. I owe you.”
He leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper, “Just keep her happy. If she’s happy, I’m less likely to end up on the couch.”
“You almost forgot?” Christopher asked, stifling a laugh as he looked down at Marianne, curled beside him in bed, her fingers lazily tracing circles on his bare chest.
“Chris, don’t laugh! I feel awful,” she groaned, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “You have no idea what Elinor’s been like these last few months. She’s basically a drill sergeant.”
“A drill sergeant?” he repeated, eyebrows lifting. “Is she making you wake up at five and run laps until you black out?”
Marianne gave an exasperated sigh. “Okay, fine. I can’t make military metaphors with you. But she’s losing her mind and dragging me down with her.”
He pulled her closer, his fingers tracing slow, gentle lines along the curve of her back. “What can I do to help?”
“Trust me, you don’t want any part of this wedding madness,” she murmured.
“I meant what can I do to help you,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s summer. You should be relaxing, not unraveling.”
Marianne sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. “I don’t think there’s much to be done. I think I’m just stuck like this until the year ends.”
It pained Christopher to see her so tightly wound and always stretched thin. Her days had become a constant juggle of obligations, leaving little time for herself or for them.
Slowly, her body relaxed against his, her breathing deepening as sleep took hold. He lay still for a while, stroking her hair, letting the quiet settle around them. And as he watched her sleep, an idea began to form. A small, but meaningful way to carve out peace in the middle of all this chaos.
Three weeks later, his plan was in motion. He’d arranged to take a few weekdays off, and had planted a helpful little seed with Elinor, claiming he needed a fresh batch of splash screens for the site, due the following Monday. He knew the request would keep her and her team buried in design revisions all week, too busy to flood Marianne with questions about menus, invitations, or the politics of table runner colors.
Thanks to his partner, John Middleton, they had access to his beach house in a quiet resort town just a few hours away. Three days and nights, just the two of them, without wedding talk or stress. Just time to unwind and breathe.
He didn’t want to tell her in advance; the surprise was half the gift. So he waited until the morning of their escape. When Marianne finally wandered into the kitchen, hair tousled and eyes still bleary, she paused at the sight of him sitting at the island with his laptop and a cup of coffee.
“Oh,” she mumbled, pouring herself a cup. “Working from home today?”
“Nope,” he said, glancing up with a grin. “Took the week off.”
She smiled, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “So I’ll actually get to see you for more than five minutes? Well, until about four o’clock, when the daily text barrage starts.”
He shook his head. “Not this time. That won’t be a problem.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, biting into a piece of toast.
“After you finish eating, go pack a bag,” he said. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Her eyes widened as he told her what he’d arranged—what he’d orchestrated behind the scenes to carve out space just for them.
“You lied to my sister so I could have a few days away from her insanity?” she said, half-dazed, half-delighted.
He nodded, watching her closely. “Yeah. Did I overstep?”
She let out a stunned laugh, then pulled him in, arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “No, exactly the opposite,” she whispered. “Thank you… I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” he said. “Now let’s go pack.”
Three days at the beach house, and away from Elinor, were exactly what Marianne needed to unwind. Instead of debating floral arrangements, she and Christopher debated ice cream flavors. Instead of being pulled in five directions by group texts, she was pulled gently toward the shoreline by his hand. Instead of losing sleep over wedding drama, she found herself drifting off in a hammock beside him, a half-finished novel resting in her lap.
Their days were slow and sun-drenched, filled with boardwalk snacks, seashell collecting, and stolen kisses in the shade. Evenings brought wading through the surf, lighthearted arcade competitions, and lingering glasses of wine by a crackling bonfire. At night, the steady pulse of the ocean gave way to something quieter and far more intimate—fingers tracing bare skin against cool, crisp sheets, playful giggles mixed with breathy moans between deep kisses, and the simple, aching pleasure of being completely alone and unrushed.
When they got home, Marianne finally felt like herself again. Christopher noticed too, and silently hoped this newfound calm would last. Those few days away had done her good. So, when Elinor texted big news a few weeks later—right as Marianne was at the store picking up snacks for their monthly movie night—she was ready.
Ellie, no! she typed back, No wedding talk tonight. Just movies and regular girl talk.
It’s not about the wedding, Elinor replied. It’s about work. Both mine and Christopher’s.
Well, now she was curious.
I’ll be home in 30. Don’t keep me waiting.
Marianne had barely stepped through the door when her phone buzzed with a text from the building’s concierge. Your guest has arrived. She shot back a quick reply giving the okay to send Elinor up.
Moments later, the elevator doors slid open and Elinor stepped out, beaming.
“Well? Did Christopher tell you yet?” she asked, skipping the usual hello.
“No,” Marianne said, arching a brow. “He said he had some stuff to wrap up at the office and was heading straight to the gym downstairs after. I think he’s still scarred from that sheet mask you brought over last time and needed some distance.”
Elinor laughed. “Okay, in my defense, I didn’t know it was going to turn green and start foaming like that. I scared myself a little too.”
Marianne smirked. “Alright, spill it. What’s this big news?”
“Hang on, let me pull it up,” Elinor said, already tapping through her phone. “Look, VeriSphere made it into Creative License’s ‘Top 10 Most Transformative Visual Rebrands.’ We’re number three!”
“Ellie! That’s amazing!” Marianne beamed and her smile was genuine. “But I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s a very prestigious design and branding publication,” she explained. “They used to print a monthly magazine, but they're almost exclusively online now. It’s a very big deal for both Dashwood Creative and VeriSphere. Getting on that list almost always leads to more exposure and business.”
“Well, congratulations are in order then!” Marianne said, pulling out a bottle of wine.
Later in the evening, as the soft glow of the TV flickered across the room, the two sisters relaxed on the couch. Christopher stood hesitantly at the landing above the den, peeking cautiously through the entryway.
“Is it safe to come in?” he asked, a playful edge in his voice.
“Yes,” Marianne said, turning her head with a smirk. “We don’t have any weird stuff on our face.”
“Did she tell you?” he asked Marianne as he stepped down into the room and settled beside her.
“Yes,” she said, placing a hand on his knee. “That’s so exciting.”
“I know,” he replied. “But I really can’t take any of the credit. It’s all Elinor’s work. I just signed the checks, so to speak.”
Elinor took a slow sip of wine, her eyes playful. “Well, you did keep us all in line... with your rigorous approach .” Her voice was light, but her grin gave her away.
Marianne glanced between them. “What does that mean?”
“I have no idea,” Christopher said as he stood, already halfway up the steps. “And I’m positive I don’t want to.”
“I’ll tell you later,” Elinor whispered to Marianne.
“Do I want to know?” she asked.
Elinor dissolved into giggles. “Probably not.”
Marianne laughed and leaned back against the couch. She still had no clue what the joke was, but for now, it didn’t matter. It felt good just to have her sister relaxed, silly, and fully present once again. She knew it wouldn’t last. The wedding storm would roll back in soon enough.
Marianne sat in her office, adjusting the volume on her laptop.
“Chris?” she said, leaning closer. “I can see you, but I can’t hear you. Can you hear me?”
His mouth moved in response, but no sound came through. With a sigh, she grabbed her phone and texted him. He attempted the video call again. This time, the audio worked, but the video kept freezing. After a few choppy exchanges, Christopher sent a message saying the hotel’s Wi-Fi was terrible and it was late where he was. He was going to bed.
Elinor had been right; the VeriSphere rebrand had made waves. The recognition from a top creative trade publication brought a flood of new attention and extra travel with it. Marianne hadn’t expected success to pull Christopher so far away, so often.
He’d be gone three days on this trip, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. The day he got home, she’d be heading out herself. Her school had enrolled her in a two-day workshop several hours away. She just hoped the Wi-Fi at her hotel was better than wherever he was now.
Marianne’s trip may have been short, but the schedule was relentless. From early breakfast panels to late-night networking mixers, the organizers crammed a week’s worth of activity into just two days. She barely had a moment to herself, let alone time to connect with Christopher.
They managed a quick video call the first night. Christopher had just gotten home from his own trip and looked exhausted—still in his dress shirt, tie loosened, eyes heavy with jet lag.
“Hey,” he said, offering a soft smile. “You look nice.”
She smiled back, angling her camera to avoid the mess of papers and handouts piled on the bed. “Thanks. I’ve got about ten minutes before dinner. How was your meeting?”
“Long,” he said with a yawn. “But promising. I think they’re finally ready to ditch their old system and switch to ours.”
“That’s huge,” she said. They exchanged a few more words, both fighting to stay connected despite the miles and exhaustion. Then a chime on her phone reminded her it was time to head downstairs.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” she said, though they both knew tomorrow would be just as overwhelming.
It was. The next day blurred past with keynote speeches, breakout sessions, and awkward small talk over boxed wine.
By the time Marianne got home, all she wanted was sleep. Christopher was already gone again, flying out for another round of meetings with potential clients interested in their software.
She barely set down her suitcase before her phone buzzed with a flood of texts about “just a few tiny changes” to the bachelorette spa weekend. Marianne groaned and collapsed onto her bed, wishing she could close her eyes and wake to it all being over.
When her phone rang, she almost ignored it, assuming it was Elinor with more plans. But it was Christopher.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m finally in my room. Did you get home okay?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I’m home. I just wish I’d gotten to see you, even for a couple hours.”
“I know,” he said. “John moved our flight up last minute. It’s a short trip this time, only a few days.”
“Yeah, but by the time you’re back, I’ll be gone for Elinor’s bachelorette weekend.” She flopped onto her side. “I swear, I turned my phone on when we landed and already had twelve messages from her.”
Christopher chuckled softly. He sympathized, but lately it felt like Marianne was quick to blow Elinor’s antics out of proportion.
“It’s almost over,” he said. “Just two more months.”
“I know,” she said. “I love my sister, but right now the only thing getting me through this is knowing that someday I’ll be the bride and can unleash the same hell on her.”
There was a pause.
“That sounds... terrifying,” Christopher finally said flatly.
“Chris?” she asked, catching the shift in his tone. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “I think the jet lag’s finally catching up to me.”
“Okay,” she said gently, deciding to let it go. “I’ll let you get some rest, then. I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said.
Despite everything weighing on her, Marianne ended up enjoying the weekend more than she expected. The massages were blissful, the food far better than resort fare had any right to be, and even Fanny, invited only at Edward’s insistence, managed to behave herself and genuinely praise the spa’s amenities. Best of all, Elinor, Marianne, and Meg shared a rare stretch of uninterrupted time together, laughing in their robes and whispering through facials, not unlike the carefree sleepovers of their childhood.
When Marianne finally returned home, the whirlwind of work, travel, and wedding prep behind her, Christopher was in the living room curled up on the couch with a book, the fire casting a warm glow beside him.
Dropping her bags, she hurried down the few steps and practically collapsed onto the couch into his arms.
She wrapped herself around him, whispering into his neck, “I missed you so much.”
“Me too,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“I don’t want to do that again,” she murmured. “All that time apart.”
“Me neither. And we won’t,” he promised. “No more travel for the rest of the year, and nothing scheduled for the first quarter either. Once the wedding’s over, everything will go back to normal.”
She leaned back just enough to study his face, brushing a strand of hair from his brow. “I hope you’re right.”
Chapter 22: Now
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
Marianne sat stiffly in the chair across from the empty desk, her knee bouncing in time with the ticking clock on the wall. Every few seconds, she glanced at the closed door, waiting for it to open and reveal Dr. Lawson with her MRI results.
Today, she’d find out if her brain had fully healed, or if she’d still be grounded from driving, commuting and doing nearly anything alone.
“Sweetheart,” her mother said softly, resting a hand on her knee to still it. “No need to be so nervous.”
“Sorry, Mama,” Marianne murmured, willing her leg to still. “I just… I really want to know if I’m okay. If the scan’s clear, I can drive again. Take the bus. Just have some freedom back.”
Mary gave her a kind smile, her thumb brushing gently along Marianne’s knuckles. “You know I don’t mind driving you.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “But I mind. I can’t keep treating you like my own personal chauffeur.”
She sat back in her chair, took a deep breath to relax, but the sound of the office door opening startled her.
“Good morning,” Dr. Jameson said cheerfully as he stepped inside. “Sorry, have you been waiting long?”
Marianne gave him a small, nervous smile, while her mother quickly assured him, “Not long at all.”
“Let’s get right to it,” he said as he dimmed the lights.
Once the room was darkened, he turned on the two screens behind him. Just like last time, he clicked through files on his computer until the images appeared. One scan Marianne recognized was the MRI from late September. The second was her most recent, taken just last week. She saw the difference immediately.
“The new image looks clear,” Marianne said quickly. “I mean… I don’t see the spot anymore.”
Dr. Jameson smiled and gave a small nod. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve gone through each layer, and there’s no evidence of lasting trauma. The contusion we saw before has fully resolved.”
Mary reached for her daughter’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Does that mean she’s healed?”
“Functionally, yes,” he said, smiling before turning to Marianne. “There’s no longer any structural damage, and you haven’t had any new dizziness or confusion. Based on that, I’m going to clear you for independent transit; you can use buses and trains again. For driving, I recommend starting out with someone else in the car. After a couple of weeks, as long as you’re symptom-free, you’ll be fine to drive on your own again.”
Marianne let out a big sigh of relief. “Really? There won’t be any lasting issues?”
“We may never know for sure,” he said gently, “but based on what I see and how you’re feeling now, I don’t expect any long-term problems. If you notice anything unusual like persistent headaches, memory trouble, confusion, or mood changes, let me know right away, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Doctor.”
“I’d like to schedule a follow-up in a couple of months just to check in and make sure we’re on the right track,” he added. “Overall, though, you’ve done really well.”
Mary thanked the doctor before they left his office, then followed the nurse to the front desk to schedule Marianne’s follow-up two months from now. As they stepped back into the hallway, Marianne felt the tension that had gripped her all morning finally begin to ease, the weight she’d been carrying lifting from her shoulders.
Once the appointment was set, they made their way to the car.
“I’ve got a long shift on Thursday,” Mary said as she unlocked the doors. “Why don’t we celebrate both your recovery and your birthday a little early?”
“Oh yes!” Marianne said, her eyes lighting up. “Can we go to that café in the next town over?”
“You mean Sweet Spinster Pies?”
“Yes! I haven’t been in ages. I never can decide between the Dutch apple and the chocolate ganache tart.”
“Why don’t you get both?” her mother offered. “We’re celebrating two things, after all.”
“Great idea,” Marianne said, grinning. “Mama, can I drive?”
Mary smiled, handing her the keys without hesitation. “Of course, dear.”
“What do you mean you don’t have any birthday plans?” Meg practically shouted through the phone.
Marianne let out an exasperated laugh. “It means exactly that, Meg,” she said. “Mama’s working a ten-hour shift, you have classes all day, I’m technically not in a relationship... My only hope is Elinor, and she said she’d stop by after work.”
“That’s a bummer,” Meg huffed. “So what’s new, other than the fact that you’re boring and have no friends?”
Marianne laughed, unable to help herself. “Thanks a lot!”
“Hey, I just call it like I see it,” Meg said, giving a dramatic shrug on screen.
“Well,” Marianne said, brightening a little, “in case Mama hasn’t told you yet, my latest scan is clear. I’m officially healed.”
Meg’s eyes went wide. “Wait—really? No, Mama didn’t tell me that! I swear, I’m always the last to know anything. That’s amazing, Marianne. How do you feel?”
Marianne leaned back against the pillows on her bed, a soft smile spreading across her face. “I feel pretty good, Meg,” she said honestly. “The doctors don’t expect any lasting effects. It’s just… nice to have this part behind me.”
“Good for you,” Meg said. “I’m glad you’re feeling like yourself again. So… how’s everything else?”
“I pretty much remember all of Elinor’s wedding now. It actually feels like I was really there,” Marianne said. She hesitated. “And I also…” Her voice trailed off.
Meg leaned a little closer to the screen. “What’s wrong?”
“I had a memory of John Willoughby.” Marianne’s expression shifted, her brow furrowing slightly. “It’s not clear, but I remember him asking me about teaching. I think we were on a date. Or something close to one.”
Meg wrinkled her nose. “Well, took long enough.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “Why does everyone act like they don’t like him?”
“It’s not that we don’t like him,” Meg said. “It’s like I told you before, we just think someone else is a better fit for you.”
“Here we go again,” Marianne muttered with a sigh.
“Maybe it’s just because we never really got to know him,” Meg continued. “You only brought him home a couple of times… and you never invited us over.”
“Really?” Marianne asked. She hadn’t known that. And if that was true, it raised some nagging question in her mind. Why hadn’t she brought him around more? Why hadn’t they hosted family dinners or visits? She didn’t remember any of it. The thought didn’t come with any clear emotion besides a faint ache of curiosity pressing into the empty spaces.
“Yeah, really,” Meg said. “Mama and I didn’t know what to make of him. Everything happened so fast. Your engagement and moving in—it felt like he was pulling you away.”
“I didn’t know anyone felt that way,” she said softly. “At least… I don’t think I knew.”
“Mama and I just wanted you to be happy,” Meg said. “It was hard seeing you so withdrawn.”
“Meg,” Marianne said softly, “be honest with me. What did you think of John?”
Meg drew a breath, her expression growing serious. “On the surface, he seemed nice. He was polite to Mama and me. Took you out to dinner all the time, bought you expensive things. You looked happy… but there were nights Mama thought she heard you crying in your room—”
“What?” Marianne’s voice caught.
“She never knew for sure,” Meg added quickly. “And you never talked about it. I think she just assumed you were still hurting over Christopher.”
Marianne went still. Willoughby had only ever painted a picture of happiness between them. What Meg said didn’t add up, but she believed her sister.
Before she could respond, a second call lit up her screen.
“Well, speak of the devil,” she said. “Christopher’s trying to call me. I’ll text him that I’m talking to you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” Meg replied. “I have to get to class soon anyway— shit! I should’ve left five minutes ago! Okay, I’ve gotta go. Have fun talking to Christopher. Happy birthday! I love you!”
“Love you too,” Marianne said, laughing as Meg’s face vanished from the screen.
She took a steadying breath and accepted Christopher’s call.
“Hi, Christopher,” she said, her tone more eager than she expected.
“Happy birthday, Marianne,” he said softly.
“Oh, thank you. That was sweet of you to call.”
“It’s the least I could do. It’s weird not being with you today. I guess I just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you.”
Marianne hesitated. “You’re too kind. It’s weird not being with you today too.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad on your birthday.”
“Chris, don’t be sorry. I’m really glad you called,” she assured him. “Actually, I have some good news.”
“Oh right, your appointment,” he said. “That was the other reason I wanted to call. How did it go?”
“Great,” she said, smiling. “The results look good. The doctor doesn’t foresee any long-term effects.”
“That’s really good news,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “You’ve been through so much. You deserve some peace after everything.”
“Thank you,” she said, sinking deeper into the bed. “It finally feels like I can start moving forward.”
“I hope you do,” he said quietly.
She hesitated as the familiar ache of longing swelled like a tide she could no longer hold back. She missed him. She’d only recently admitted it to herself and said it aloud to her family. But saying it to him when his voice was warm and right there and she still didn’t know where they stood was something else entirely.
She opened her mouth, willing the words to form, but instead managed only, “How have you been? Did your pants survive the birthday party?”
He chuckled, his voice much lighter. “They did. Took them to the cleaners the following Monday. I’ve never seen someone look more relieved when I said it was chocolate frosting.”
A laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. “You poor thing.”
“I was reminded of a valuable lesson,” he said, still smiling. “Don’t wear light-colored pants around children.”
She let the silence stretch, her smile softening. “I’ve missed this. Just talking to you.”
His voice dropped slightly. “Yeah. Me too.”
“You can call me, you know,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be my birthday. We can just talk like we used to.”
She twisted the edge of the blanket around her fingers, waiting for his reply.
“I know,” he said after a pause. “I just didn’t want to push you if you’re still sorting things out.”
“I meant what I said at the coffee shop,” she told him. “I’d like us to talk more. See each other more.”
“Hello? Where’s the birthday girl?” Elinor’s voice rang out from downstairs.
Marianne smiled faintly. “Oh, Elinor’s here. No one else is home, and she didn’t want me to spend the day alone.”
“She’s right. You shouldn’t be alone,” he said. “Do you have big plans tonight?”
“Yes,” she said with a small laugh. “Takeout, my biggest pair of joggers, and a movie marathon on the sofa.”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Well, I won’t keep you. Enjoy the rest of your birthday. I’ll talk to you soon. I promise.”
“Thank you, Christopher.” She ended the call, her smile lingering for a moment longer than she intended.
Elinor appeared in the doorway a beat later. “Ah, there you are. Happy birthday!”
“Thanks, Ellie!” Marianne said, scooting off the bed.
“So, what are we thinking for takeout? Chinese? Thai? Pizza?”
“All of the above,” Marianne replied, grinning.
Elinor rolled her eyes. “You can decide after you open your present. It’s waiting downstairs.”
As she turned towards the doorway, her phone buzzed softly in her hand. She glanced down to see John Willoughby’s name light up. Her thumb hovered over the screen but she didn’t answer. After a pause, she sighed, a faint twinge of guilt settling in, then tossed the phone onto the bed. She’d call him back later.
The next morning, Marianne sat back in the padded chair of Dr. Richards’ office, a space that had become familiar over the course of her long road to recovery. For weeks, the sessions had felt like a chore, especially when she couldn’t see any real progress. But today was different. With more memories returning and a clean bill of health from her neurologist, she found herself actually eager to share her progress.
“How are you feeling today, Marianne?” Dr. Richards asked, reaching for her pen and notebook.
“Good,” Marianne said, crossing her feet at the ankles. “I had an appointment with my neurologist on Monday. He said my latest scan doesn’t show any lasting trauma.”
“That’s excellent news,” Dr. Richards said, smiling as she jotted a note. “From a neurological standpoint, that’s a huge milestone. Even if everything else hasn’t fallen into place yet, that kind of progress is no small thing. How did that make you feel?”
Marianne shifted in her seat, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s a relief, definitely. Knowing I won’t have any permanent complications… that’s big. It would’ve been so hard if I couldn’t go back to teaching or performing.”
“It’s so important to reconnect with the parts of life that made us feel like ourselves before the injury,” Dr. Richards said. “Did you ever find yourself thinking about what you’d do if returning to teaching or performing wasn’t an option?”
Marianne shook her head slowly. “No… I didn’t. I didn’t even know I’d left teaching or performing until I was already home. Finding that out was hard, especially knowing it was my decision. I still don’t remember why I stepped away, but I’ve always known I had to go back. Like something in me was still holding onto it.”
“You seem very determined,” Dr. Richards said. “It might sound cliché, but a patient’s drive can be one of the strongest predictors of long-term recovery. Sometimes even more than therapy itself.”
A brief smile pulled at Marianne’s lips as Dr. Richards jotted something in her notebook.
“Is there anything else you’d like to talk about today?” she asked. “Any new memories or shifts in mood you’ve noticed?”
“I wouldn’t say my mood has changed much,” Marianne replied. “But I have gotten a few more memories back since our last session. I can remember nearly all of my sister’s wedding now.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dr. Richards said, looking up. “I know that has been a painful gap for you.”
“It was,” Marianne admitted. “But now it feels like I was actually there. I even remember some of the moments leading up to it… though I’m sure my sister wishes I didn’t. She swore she wouldn’t become a bridezilla, but she definitely lost that battle.”
Dr. Richards chuckled. “It must feel good to have that part of your life return.”
“It really does,” Marianne said with a nod. She paused, her smile faltering. “I also remembered something about John… the man who’s my fiancé, technically.”
“How do you feel about that?” Dr. Richards asked. “I know you’ve had a lot of uncertainty about him.”
Marianne took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t know. On one hand, it’s a relief to have a nice memory of him; I wish more would come back. But on the other hand… it’s complicated. There’s this small but persistent part of me that wants nothing to do with him. And I hate feeling that way.”
“Marianne, I assure you, these kinds of conflicted emotions are perfectly normal,” Dr. Richards said gently, folding her hands in front of her.
“It doesn’t feel normal,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “Not for me. I loved what I had with Christopher. I couldn’t even imagine feeling something like that with anyone else. And now…”
Marianne stopped, uncertain if she should admit anything more. She glanced up. Dr. Richards’s expression was impassive, but there was empathy in her eyes. She leaned forward slightly and tilted her head, urging her to continue.
“I kissed them both,” Marianne said at last, her voice low. “I kissed John about a month ago, after he took me to dinner. I guess I wanted to see if I’d feel or remember something. But I didn’t.”
She sat back, her eyes drifting to a spot on the far wall. “And Christopher… that was last week. We met for coffee, just to catch up. I kissed him because I wanted to. Because I missed him.”
She finally met Dr. Richards’s gaze. “So yeah, ‘conflicted emotions’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what to do about either of them.”
Dr. Richards set her notepad aside and leaned in, her voice calm and steady. “I can’t give you romantic advice like a general therapist might,” she said, “but I can speak to what’s happening internally.”
She paused, watching Marianne’s expression closely.
“It’s normal to feel disoriented as you try to stitch together two parts of your life. You’re remembering who you used to be, but you’ve also had to develop new values and responses. That push and pull can be confusing, but it doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”
Marianne didn’t say anything right away, so Dr. Richards added, more gently, “Your feelings aren’t betraying who you are. They’re part of how you find your way back.”
Marianne sat with that for a moment, letting the silence stretch just long enough to bring some clarity.
“Sometimes,” she said finally, her voice quieter, “I don’t think I give myself enough credit. For everything I’ve been through. I’ve come a long way from waking up in the hospital, scared and disoriented.”
Dr. Richards smiled, her voice soft. “That’s not something everyone can say.”
The city lights glowed softly against the windows as Marianne sat back and took a breath. Her nose wrinkled as the stale smell of the bus drifted around her, but she didn’t let it bother her. What mattered more was the simple fact that she was heading out on her own for the first time since the accident.
Her mother had offered to drive her, reminding her she didn’t need to push herself too soon. But Marianne had declined. She wanted this small step, this piece of her life back, even if it was something as ordinary as riding a bus through town.
As the bus slowed to a stop, she gathered her bag and stepped out onto the sidewalk, spotting Willoughby immediately. He stood just a few feet away, a bouquet of red roses in hand, waiting with a hopeful smile.
“Happy belated birthday, Marianne,” he said, holding the flowers out to her. “I wish I could have taken you out yesterday.”
She managed a smile at the gesture, though part of her wished she could find a gracious way to tell him that roses had never been her favorite. “Thank you, John,” she said instead, brushing the thought aside. “They’re lovely. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to make it up to you,” he replied. “For being too busy to take you out yesterday.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “My sister came over and we had a movie marathon. It was just what I needed.”
Willoughby held out his arm, and after a brief hesitation, she slipped her hand through it. She reminded herself that she was still committed to giving him a chance, no matter how tangled her feelings had felt that morning.
They walked the few remaining blocks to the restaurant in companionable, if slightly awkward, silence, exchanging only a handful of pleasantries along the way.
Inside, they were seated quickly, their coats taken, and their wine orders placed.
“You look nice,” Willoughby said once the server had stepped away.
Marianne glanced down at her sage green sweater dress, smoothing the fabric over her knees with a small smile. “Oh, thank you. It was actually a birthday gift from Elinor. I’d mentioned it once, just in passing, and she remembered. Said it was about time I wore something other than joggers and t-shirts.”
“The color is lovely,” he said. “It brings out your eyes. I’m glad you wore it for me.”
She shrugged lightly. “I figured tonight was as good an excuse as any. I haven’t really gone out in the past three months, except for doctor’s appointments.”
“How has all of that been going?” he asked, glancing up from the menu.
“I had another scan last week,” she said, feeling like she’d delivered the same update a dozen times already. “Everything came back clear. No long-term damage.”
He let out a slow breath. “That’s a relief.”
She gave a small nod. “It is.” Her fingers traced the edge of the tablecloth for a moment. “I also remembered my sister’s wedding.”
There was a pause. Then, deciding not to hold back, she went on. “And I remembered something about you.”
Willoughby pushed the menu aside, leaning in with interest. “You did? What was it?”
She hesitated, the memory fragile and uncertain. “It happened after we talked over the weekend. I was looking through my bookshelf and something just clicked. I remembered us having a conversation about the books I was teaching. You said your favorite one was 1984 .”
He smiled and gently reached for her hands. “I remember that night. It was the second time I took you out to dinner. We’d finally moved past the awkward small talk stage.”
Marianne tilted her head in confusion. “Dinner? I could’ve sworn we were out to lunch.”
She closed her eyes, searching for the thread of the memory, but nothing else came. Just the faintest echo of familiarity. Then it quickly faded.
He chuckled. “No, it was definitely dinner. We went to a little seafood restaurant.”
She gave a small, sheepish smile. “That’s strange. Maybe I’ll have to ask my neuropsychologist if it’s normal to remember a detail wrong.”
Before either could say anything more, the server returned with their wine and took their dinner orders.
After the menus were cleared and she took a small, thoughtful sip, Marianne set her glass down and looked at him.
“I can’t believe I’ve never asked this before, but how did we meet?” she asked softly.
He leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowing slightly as they locked with hers, his expression touched with that familiar, confident glint. “Well, I was jogging in the park and I saw you sitting alone on a bench. You looked pretty upset, so I sat down and told you that someone as beautiful as you had no business sitting alone, crying.”
Marianne let out a snort. “And that actually worked?”
Willoughby laughed with her. “I almost apologized and walked away for saying something so cheesy, but then you started apologizing to me. So I stayed. Told you some terrible jokes until you laughed, and before I knew it, you gave me your number. We had lunch a few days later, and… well, things just clicked.”
She took another sip of her wine, considering the story. It sounded sweet. Almost too sweet, but a few details gave her pause. Why had she been alone in the park? What had upset her so much that she’d been crying in public? A few possibilities came to mind, but before she could chase them down, their server returned with their food.
They settled into lighter conversation between bites of food as Willoughby took the lead, recounting stories from their past dates—ones Marianne didn’t remember but found entertaining all the same. She was especially amused by his story about a romantic picnic he had planned, only for it to be completely overtaken by a swarm of ants.
“They were everywhere!” he said, eyes wide with mock horror. “All over the food, crawling up my leg. I’m not even sure who screamed louder, me or you. We ended up eating in the car with the windows rolled up like we were hiding from them.”
Marianne tried to keep a straight face, but the mental image was too much. She dissolved into laughter, clutching her napkin as tears formed at the corners of her eyes. It felt good to be silly and light, for a change.
But as she wiped her eyes and looked up again, she froze.
The hostess was leading someone through the dining room, headed straight past their table. In an instant, the laughter faded. Any other time, she might have been thrilled to see him, but not while sitting across from someone else, trying to remember who she used to be.
Their eyes met, and his face lit up with recognition. He slowed as he neared their table, offering a warm, unmistakable smile.
“Christopher,” she said, her breath catching slightly.
“Hi, Marianne,” he said warmly. His eyes then flashed to Willoughby, and his expression dropped slightly. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to intrude.”
“Oh no, it’s fine,” Marianne assured him, trying to recover. “Christopher, this is John Willoughby. John, this is Christopher Brandon.”
The two men politely nodded as they shook hands, but Willoughby took extra time studying the man in front of him.
“Brandon, you say?” Willoughby asked, brow lifting in curiosity. “Have we met before?”
“Not in person,” Christopher replied, his voice even, clipped at the edges. “But I believe we’ve spoken on the phone a few times in business circles, many years ago.”
“Yes, I remember now.” Willoughby’s tone cooled as his smile turned sharp. “It’s nice to finally have a face to the name.”
Marianne could feel the tension between the two men. Not wanting to endure another second of it, she tried to change the subject.
“What brings you here tonight?” she asked, glancing up at Christopher.
“John Middleton and I are meeting with some new investors,” he explained, forcing another smile for her. He checked his watch before continuing, “I should head to my table. It’s great to see you Marianne, and a pleasure finally meeting you, Mr. Willoughby.”
“The same to you, Mr. Brandon,” Willoughby replied coolly.
With a quick nod to Willoughby and a warm smile to Marianne, Christopher walked off, following the hostess to his table.
“How do you know Brandon?” Willoughby asked once Christopher was out of sight.
Marianne took a deep breath. “John… that’s Christopher. My ex.”
Willoughby frowned slightly, staring at her like he was piecing something together. “Christopher. C. Brandon. Christopher Brandon,” he muttered under his breath. “What are the odds?”
“John, what’s the matter?” Marianne asked. “How do you know him again?”
He drained the rest of his wine glass. “I used to work on his account about five years ago. Everything was fine until one day he threw a fit over some minor billing discrepancy.”
Marianne sat back in her seat but said nothing. She faintly remembered Christopher mentioning something about this, shortly after she came home from the hospital. She hadn’t pressed then, but maybe she should have.
Instead, she gave a nervous chuckle. “He’s with my brother’s agency now. My sister’s done a lot of work for him. At first, she thought he was uptight about budgets and timelines, but beyond that… he’s a good person.”
“He almost cost me my job, Marianne,” Willoughby said bitterly, his jaw tightening. “Over nothing. He came after us with lawyers, practically showboating over a few thousand dollars. When he left us, the higher-ups blamed me. I got demoted to a different department with less responsibility. It took years to dig myself out of that hole.”
“John, I don’t think he would’ve purposely—”
“And you, Marianne,” he cut in, quieter now. “You were barely holding it together when we met. If he handled a simple business mistake so coldly with no care for consequences, I don’t even want to picture how he handled you.”
The server returned to clear their plates and offered dessert, but Marianne quickly declined. Her appetite was gone; she suddenly needed the evening to end as quickly as possible.
Silence settled between them for several minutes before Willoughby finally spoke.
“Marianne,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“John, please,” she cut in, keeping her voice calm. “I’d rather we not talk about it anymore. I don’t know what happened between the two of you years ago, and you don’t know what happened between us in our relationship. So I think it’s best that we don’t discuss it further.”
“You’re right,” he said softly. “I overstepped. I just… you know how much I care about you. It’s hard not to react when someone who once hurt me might have hurt you too.”
“I don’t have all the answers about him yet,” she said, looking down at her hands. “But until I do—or unless I bring it up—he’s off limits, okay?”
“Okay,” he said as the server returned with the check.
Marianne reached for her purse, intending to pay for her meal, but Willoughby was quicker. He handed over his credit card before she had the chance.
“John, I can pay for mine,” she said.
“I know the evening took a turn,” he replied. “And I sincerely apologize for that. Let me at least do this for your birthday.”
“Alright,” she said quietly.
Once the bill was settled, they stood to leave. As they stepped away from the table, Marianne glanced over her shoulder. Christopher sat with John Middleton and another couple several tables away, the four of them deep in conversation and laughter. He looked up for just a moment and caught her eye, offering a small, familiar smile.
She smiled back softly before she felt the gentle but unmistakable pressure of Willoughby’s hand on her back, guiding her towards the exit.
Notes:
This chapter is the present, so Marianne's birthday here is her 29th. The birthday that was mentioned in Chapter 21 was her 27th, as it was the past. In the next chapter, another birthday will be implied, and that is her 28th. It's a little confusing with the dual timeline, but both timelines will slow down moving forward.
Chapter 23: Then
Notes:
While the last few "Then" chapters each spanned several months, this one is only one day. It's a very special day though. It's also my longest chapter so far. I needed a lot more space for all the emotional shifts that happen. I hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
“Marianne, wake up. It’s six o’clock,” Christopher coaxed in a low voice.
“Go away,” she mumbled into her pillow. “It’s too early.”
He chuckled, brushing his fingers lightly along her arm. “You told me last night to wake you at six. No matter what.”
She rolled away from him, tugging the covers over her head. “I changed my mind.”.
“You also promised not to give me a hard time.” He peeled the blanket back just enough to press a kiss to her shoulder.
“I lied,” she muttered through the covers.
“Marianne.” His voice was still gentle, but growing more firm. “It’s Elinor’s wedding day. You need time to shower, dress, and get down to breakfast by seven. If you’re late, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
With a dramatic sigh, Marianne flung the covers off her face. “Fine. I’m getting up.”
She sat up, leaning against the headboard of the sleigh bed in a guest room at the manor where Elinor’s wedding would be held. The room, dimly lit by the single lamp on Christopher’s side of the bed, was charming in an old-fashioned sort of way, but a bit too formal for her taste. A dark, patterned wallpaper framed the bed, the rest of the walls painted in a softer shade that caught the warm edge of the lamplight. Near the window, a small table and two chairs sat waiting for morning tea, and an oversized armchair slouched near a cold stone fireplace that clearly hadn’t been lit in years.
Marianne had tried to rest, but the excitement from the rehearsal dinner the night before along with the unfamiliar room, lumpy mattress, and the steady ticking of the grandfather clock kept her tossing and turning well into the night. It felt as if she’d gotten only a few restless hours before Christopher began gently nudging her awake.
She shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder for a brief moment before the day began. It felt like only a second had passed before he was nudging her again.
“Hey,” he said softly. “It’s 6:20 now. You really have to get up.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, kicking off the covers and hoping the chill in the room might shock her into alertness. “When this is over, I want a full week at your country house where I can sleep until noon.”
“Whatever you need. You just have today left.”
With a sigh, Marianne finally gathered the will to swing her legs over the side of the bed and shuffle toward the small adjoining bathroom. She brushed her teeth, finger-combed through her curls just enough to tame the worst of the tangles, then clipped it all up out of the way. Stepping into the shower, she let the warm water drum over her shoulders until she felt halfway human again.
When she emerged wrapped in a fluffy robe and slippers, the room was still warm with steam, a faint trace of lavender soap hanging in the air. Christopher was seated in the armchair near the fireplace, one ankle crossed over the other, a book open in his lap and reading glasses perched low on his nose.
He looked up as she entered, removing his glasses with one hand and offering a soft smile.
“What?” she asked, pausing at the look on his face.
“Nothing,” he said, setting the book aside and rising to meet her. “Only that you’re absolutely beautiful. I don’t think I say that enough.”
“Chris,” she said, laughing as she walked toward him. “You need to put your glasses back on. My hair’s a mess the salon’s going to have to make sense of, and I’m wearing a robe that should’ve been retired five years ago.”
“If I’d known that, I would’ve gotten you a new one for your birthday. Or Christmas,” he said, placing a kiss against her neck.
“I’m not trading those earrings or that rare first edition you got me,” she said, shivering at the warm press of his lips on her still-damp skin. “And we don’t have time for that. I have to be downstairs in ten minutes, so you better save it for tonight.”
“I plan on it,” he said with a smirk. “I know you wouldn’t dare disrupt Elinor’s timeline. She’d never forgive you.”
“Nor you,” she added, slipping out of her robe and into soft loungewear. “Especially if she found out why I was late.”
“Fair enough. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience,” he said, stealing one more kiss before stepping back. “I’ll see you at one for pictures.”
“Don’t be late,” she called after him, grinning.
“What? Elinor, I can’t hear you.” Marianne’s voice was slightly muffled, her head tilted back into the deep curve of the shampoo basin, water rushing around her ears.
“I said, ‘Have you seen where my water bottle is?’” Elinor repeated, louder now, practically leaning into the bowl alongside her.
“How could I see anything while my head is here?” Marianne asked, lifting her hands theatrically.
“I don’t know,” Elinor muttered, flustered, scanning the nearby counter. “I swear it was right here… oh—there it is!”
“Ellie, relax,” Marianne said as her stylist slowly raised the chair upright, water still dripping from the ends of her hair. “The day is here. Enjoy the moment.”
Elinor let out a deep sigh, brushing a few flyaways from her forehead. “Marianne, don’t get married. It’s not worth all the stress.”
Marianne raised an eyebrow as the stylist began working on her hair. “Are you saying you don’t want to go through with this? After everything?”
“No!” Elinor laughed, easing into the now-vacant shampoo chair. “I mean don’t do this whole big wedding. It’s a pain.”
“It’ll be worth it when it’s over,” Marianne said with certainty. “You’ll be glad you did it exactly like this.”
Elinor smiled up at the ceiling as water began to rush around her ears. “I hope so,” she murmured.
Over the next couple of hours, Elinor, Meg, and their mother took turns getting their hair styled with smooth blowouts and loose waves. Marianne’s curls stayed untouched for the most part, still damp as the stylist’s assistant carefully diffused them to keep their natural shape.
“Ellie, your hair turned out lovely,” Marianne said, admiring her sister’s soft waves pinned high on her head with tiny flowers tucked into the twists.
“Thank you,” Elinor replied with an affectionate smile. “I’ve always envied you for having such thick, gorgeous curls, but I’m really happy with how this turned out.”
“Oh, you don’t want all this,” Marianne said giggling, giving her hair a playful shake. “It gets everywhere. Christopher’s constantly finding stray hairs and trying to stick them back on my head. He was horrified the day he had to clear a giant hair clog from the drain.”
Their giggles were interrupted by the arrival of lunch. As they ate, conversation turned to the chaos of the past few months. Between bites and sips of tea, the women traded stories, their laughter bubbling up easily. Marianne couldn’t resist teasing Elinor about her most bridezilla-like moments, earning a few eye rolls and well-earned chuckles.
Before long, the trays were cleared away and the makeup artists returned to set up again. The Dashwood women took turns in the chairs as brushes swept over their cheeks, soft shimmer was blended onto eyelids, and lipstick shades were debated and applied. Elinor’s photographer moved quietly around the room, snapping candid photos of laughter and the occasional half-finished face.
Marianne studied her reflection in the mirror, pleased with the final result. She’d kept her makeup as natural as possible, save for a touch more definition around her eyes. Her hair was left mostly loose, except for a beaded clip holding it back on one side.
She and Meg helped each other into their bridesmaids’ dresses, soft ice blue gowns with sweetheart necklines, delicate lace tops, and flowing chiffon skirts.
“Marianne, don’t zip up my hair!” Meg cried, sweeping the loose waves out of the way.
“Well, you’re not exactly trying to keep it clear of the zipper,” Marianne said with a huff.
Mary then stepped out from one of the dressing rooms in her elegant dusty blue gown, just a few shades darker than her daughters’ bridesmaid dresses.
“Oh, Mama,” Marianne said. “You look so beautiful.”
“Thank you, my love,” she said, smiling. “We’re all going to freeze out there, aren’t we?”
“Probably,” Meg said. “Why did we pick dresses without sleeves?”
Before anyone could answer, Elinor emerged from her dressing room in her wedding gown, ivory lace cascading from her shoulders to the floor.
“Oh, Elinor,” their mother breathed, eyes beginning to glisten. “You’re gorgeous. How I wish your father were here to see you.”
“I know Mama, but please don’t cry,” Elinor said, crossing the room to hug her. “You’ll make me cry, and then Marianne and Meg will follow, and all our makeup will be ruined.”
“Too late,” Marianne said, already wiping her eyes.
They posed for a few more photos with the photographer before she slipped out to check the conditions on the stone patio, where the first look would take place. A few minutes later, the wedding coordinator poked her head through the door to let them know it was time.
Meg glanced through the gauzy curtains, which offered a view of the expansive patio outside. “Oh, I see him! I see Edward out there!”
Elinor let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, thank goodness.”
Marianne gasped. “Elinor, for shame! You really thought Edward would run off like a thief in the night?”
Elinor shook her head. “Of course not. I’ve just been bracing for something to go wrong.”
Marianne stepped in front of her. “Do you want a moment? Or should we walk with you?”
Elinor paused, then gave a small smile. “No. I’m ready.”
“You look wonderful,” Christopher said when he finally saw Marianne in her dress, her hair and makeup perfectly done.
“Thank you,” she replied, kissing his cheek. “A vast improvement over this morning, right?”
He chuckled. “Don’t put me on the spot. You were beautiful then, and you’re beautiful now.”
“You look amazing too,” Marianne said, running her hands along his deep navy three-piece suit. His shirt and pocket square matched the soft ice blue of her gown, while his slate-blue tie brought out his eyes.
They settled near the window of the cozy lounge reserved for the bridal party and close family. Marianne was grateful for the warm retreat away from the bustle of the manor’s main hall as well as the frigid December air.
“How’s Elinor holding up?” Christopher asked.
“She’s good,” Marianne said, smoothing her skirt to avoid wrinkles before sitting. “She’s still nervous, thinking something might go wrong, but overall, she seems calm.”
They chatted for a few more minutes before Meg appeared, summoning them for their turn to brave the weather for winter wedding photos.
“Pray for me,” Marianne said with a grin as she stood and joined her sister.
They stepped out one of the side doors onto the stone patio, the winter chill hitting them immediately. Frost clung to the trees, and a light dusting of snow covered the ground. It was beautiful, but freezing.
“I don’t like this, Marianne,” Meg muttered between takes. “Who thought standing out in the cold was a good idea?”
“I know, Meg,” Marianne said. “Why didn’t we at least bring our coats?”
“Or pick dresses with sleeves like Mama and Elinor,” Meg added, teeth starting to chatter.
Marianne wrapped an arm around her sister, trying to warm her, but it was no use. Just as she was about to head back inside, she spotted Christopher approaching, coats in hand.
“Christopher, you’re a lifesaver!” Meg said gratefully, slipping into her wool coat.
“Thank you. It was sweet of you to bring these,” Marianne added.
“It was no trouble,” he assured them. “I couldn’t stand watching you two huddled together while they fiddled with the reflector panels.”
Marianne smiled at him, but their comfort was short-lived. They were quickly ushered back in front of the camera, leaving their coats with Christopher. The routine repeated over the next thirty minutes as the sisters posed for photos, scrambled into their coats while the photographers reset, and shed them again when it was time to shoot.
Eventually, a staff member took the coats when Elinor requested Christopher join Marianne for the larger family shots, and a few just with the two of them.
“Chris, I’m going to get hypothermia,” she said, rubbing her arms.
“Come here,” he said, opening his suit jacket and enveloping it around her.
She sighed happily, warmth instantly spreading. “Think we could just get our pictures taken like this?”
“Probably not,” he chuckled. “I think they’re ready for just us now.”
They were led to the winter arbor where the smaller group photos were taking place. Bare branches twisted around the wooden arch, dusted with snow and sprigs of pine. Marianne was still freezing, but Christopher rubbed his hands up and down her arms as they took their places. The photographer snapped a few quick shots of them in different poses.
As she stood beside him, smiling for the camera, something shifted quietly within her. She had always loved Christopher—there had never been any doubt—but now, surrounded by her family, seeing Elinor and Edward so full of joy beneath the snow-laced arch, she felt something more taking shape. It was more than just love. It was also the realization that she wanted all of this for herself, and only with the man standing beside her.
“That was so nice of Christopher to bring our coats,” Meg said once they were back inside, warming up. “I really thought we were going to lose a finger.”
“I know,” Marianne said, joining her on the settee in the parlour. “He’s really special.”
Meg tilted her head, giving her a knowing smile. “What are you thinking about?”
Marianne raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say it like that?”
“You have this look,” Meg said. “I can’t quite describe it, but you look completely at peace. Like you just figured out one of life’s great mysteries.”
Marianne chuckled. “Is that what they’re teaching you to say at uni these days?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Come on, you know what I mean. What’s going on?”
Marianne took a breath. “Okay… maybe it’s all this wedding chaos getting to me, but I think I want this too. With Christopher.”
Meg’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah, I think I realized something. I don’t just love Christopher; I want all of this for us. I want a life where every day he looks at me the way he does now—steady, certain, like there’s no one else. And I want to be that person for him. Always.”
“Marianne,” Meg said, her smile stretching wide. “Are you telling me Christopher’s the one?”
She nodded. “I am.”
Meg threw her arms around her. “I’m so happy for you!”
“Easy, Meg,” Marianne said with a soft laugh, hugging her back. “This isn’t exactly the time or place. It’s Elinor’s day, so don’t say anything, okay?”
“I won’t,” Meg promised.
“What are you two whispering about over here?” Elinor asked, making her way over.
“Nothing,” Meg replied quickly.
Elinor shot her a doubtful look, but before she could press further, the wedding coordinator popped her head into the room.
“It’s time,” she said gently.
“Ellie, are you ready for this?” Marianne asked.
“Yes,” Elinor said, her voice a little shaky. “I can’t wait to say ‘I do.’”
Marianne and Meg stood at the entrance to the manor’s conservatory, waiting for their cue. Edward had just escorted his mother down the aisle. His best man and good friend from the university, Thomas, and his younger brother Robert, followed in step and took their places beside him at the altar.
The wedding coordinator gave them a small nod, signaling it was their turn. Linking arms, the younger Dashwood sisters began their practiced walk down the aisle. The conservatory had been transformed into a winter garden chapel with rows of guests seated among twinkling fairy lights, clusters of pine, and white winter blooms draped in soft ivory tulle.
The photographer moved swiftly, capturing them from every angle. As Marianne neared the front, she glanced left and met Christopher’s gaze. He sat in the second row, watching her with the same quiet adoration he’d worn all morning. She smiled softly at him, before offering the same expression to Edward, who looked dangerously close to losing his composure.
A moment later, the music shifted, drawing everyone’s gaze back to the aisle as Elinor appeared with their mother at her side. They began their slow procession forward, and Marianne and Meg exchanged a quiet, giddy smile. Elinor looked radiant and serene as she gracefully floated down the aisle. Marianne glanced over to see Edward discreetly wiping tears from his eyes, no longer able to hold them back.
Once Elinor reached the altar, she embraced their mother and passed her bouquet to Marianne before joining Edward, wiping away a few of his tears as she took his hands. Beside her, her sisters brushed at their own eyes while the officiant spoke of love, partnership, and the lifelong promise about to be made. Marianne glanced at Christopher once more, her smile tinged with longing. How she wished she could be beside him, holding his hand during this moment.
Elinor and Edward stepped forward to exchange their vows, each revealing the depth of their love in quiet, heartfelt words.
Edward’s voice remained steady as he confessed he’d never been good at expressing the depth of his feelings. But he’d known he loved Elinor since the day they met at another wedding, years ago. He apologized for letting that moment slip past them and thanked her for always seeing the best in him, even when he couldn’t. He promised never to take her love for granted or waste another moment of the life they were about to begin.
Elinor’s voice trembled slightly as she began, her eyes never leaving Edward’s. She told him the past was behind them. What mattered now was the life they were about to begin. Every day they’d shared had only deepened her certainty. And if she had to endure every hardship again to stand here with him, she would without hesitation because no one was more deserving of her heart than him.
They exchanged rings next, their hands trembling slightly as they slipped the simple bands onto each other’s fingers. The officiant pronounced them husband and wife with a wide, joyful smile. The kiss that followed was sweet and certain, answered by soft applause and a few choked-back tears.
Moments later, the newlyweds walked back down the aisle, arm in arm, as the winter sky bloomed above them with soft shades of red, pink, and violet.
Marianne took the arm of Edward’s best man, while Meg did the same with his brother, and together they made their way out of the conservatory and back toward the main house.
Elinor and Edward were already posing for photos near the conservatory before the last of the winter light slipped away. The rest of the wedding party joined them with warm hugs and congratulations before stepping into place, while the other guests were escorted to the cocktail lounge.
Once the session wrapped, Marianne made a beeline for the lounge, eager to find Christopher. She spotted him tucked in a corner with a glass of wine and a small plate of hors d’oeuvres, a polite exchange with her brother just ending.
“Christopher, wasn’t the ceremony beautiful?” Marianne asked, placing a hand over her heart.
“It really was,” he said. “Do you think all those sleepless nights were worth it?”
“Yes.” She swiped a mini crab cake from his plate. “Seeing my sister that happy made me forget everything else.”
“Oh, this is good,” she added around the bite. “I’m definitely getting food. I’m starving.”
She gave his arm a quick squeeze before slipping toward the tables, where small bites practically called her by name. Filling her plate with a little of everything, she moved toward the bar and found Meg already there, sipping from a glass.
“You can’t say anything,” Meg said before Marianne could speak. “I’ve been of age for months.”
“I know,” Marianne sighed. “Just… be careful not to overdo it.”
Marianne remembered how easy it was to go from tipsy to too much without realizing it.
“I won’t,” Meg said. “I know what I can handle.”
Marianne glanced at the glass of wine in her hand. “Okay. I’m going back to Christopher. Come join us?”
“I will in a bit,” Meg said.
Marianne gave her one last look, hesitant but trusting, before returning to Christopher. They picked at their food, chatting about the ceremony and how they’d finally have their free time back now that it was over. A few minutes later, Elinor and Edward entered the room, weaving through the crowd to greet and thank their guests.
“There you two are,” Elinor said, walking up to them.
“Ellie, everything was perfect,” Marianne said, beaming. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Congratulations,” Christopher added, giving her a quick hug and shaking Edward’s hand.
“Thank you. I still can’t believe we’re finally here, with no casualties,” Elinor added playfully, nudging Edward.
“Yes, I made it down the aisle and back without tripping on the runner,” Edward said with a grin. “I think I’ve kept my dignity throughout the whole process, as well as all of my hair. No promises about what happens on the dance floor, though.”
Marianne giggled and gave her sister a sympathetic look. Christopher tried to muffle a laugh with a cough but failed.
“Speaking of which,” Elinor said, turning to Edward, “we’re making our grand entrance soon. Sorry Christopher, I need to steal my sister again. I promise it’s the last time.”
“I can allow it once more,” he said with a wink.
“Have you seen Meg?” Elinor asked, glancing around.
“Last I saw, she was at the bar,” Marianne said.
They looked across the lounge to find Meg leaning lightly on the bar, laughing with one of the bartenders, a half-empty, brightly colored drink in hand.
“Still is,” Marianne said with a smirk. “And she’s got a friend.”
“Indeed she has,” Elinor said, giving a small shrug. “It’s been a long day. She deserves a little fun before we kick off the reception.”
Marianne watched Elinor and Edward swaying beneath the twinkling lights, their foreheads nearly touching as music from their first dance filling the room. The conservatory had been completely transformed for the reception. Round tables now circled the dance floor, numbered in gold script, while candlelight shimmered across glassware and winter greenery.
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say (I promise you)
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be (I promise you)
But if you wait around awhile, I’ll make you fall for me (I promise you)
I promise, I promise you I will
She reached for Christopher’s hand with one of hers, the other sliding lightly across his shoulder.
“This song is perfect for them,” Marianne said, listening to the lyrics.
“I remember the original version as a kid,” Christopher said. “My parents let my brother take me for ice cream during one of his good stretches, and it was playing on the radio.”
Marianne clasped his hand tighter and gave him a soft smile. “That sounds like a nice memory.”
“It was,” he said, leaning into her touch.
They sat in comfortable silence, content to watch Elinor and Edward dance as the music floated around them. When the song ended, the guests clapped and clinked their glasses and were rewarded with a sweet kiss.
The family dances followed. A photo of Henry Dashwood had been placed near the dance floor, and Elinor and their mother lit a candle in his honor before dancing together to one of his favorite songs.
Next came Edward and his mother. Marianne noticed Mrs. Ferrars dabbing at her eyes more than once during their number.
Soon, the music shifted to something more upbeat as the DJ invited all the guests onto the floor.
“Do you want to dance?” Marianne asked Christopher.
He gave her a pointed look. “I think I’ll sit this one out. I’m not much of a dancer.”
Marianne playfully rolled her eyes. “Really? Are you going to be like this all night?”
Christopher just shrugged, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Marianne figured she could wear him down with persistence, but before she could push further, Elinor and Meg swept her away.
The three sisters danced together in the most exaggerated, ridiculous way they could muster. Edward soon joined in, trying to groove along while the sisters dissolved into laughter at his exaggerated movements, like he’d pulled a muscle halfway through a twirl and just kept going.
After a few fast-paced numbers, the music slowed again. Marianne returned to Christopher and tried once more to coax him onto the floor, but he shook his head, saying he was just as content watching her dance.
With an exasperated huff, she grabbed Meg instead, and the two of them twirled and dipped each other dramatically, showing him the fun he was missing. Christopher laughed, shaking his head with amused affection.
After a few more songs, Meg said she was getting thirsty and headed for a drink. Marianne slipped back to their table and sank into her chair beside Christopher for a much-needed breather.
“You’re missing out,” she told him, taking a long sip of water.
“I’m perfectly content right here,” he said, resting an arm along the back of her chair.
“Chris, it’s basically a crime to refuse to dance with your girlfriend. Especially at a wedding.”
He chuckled. “Would I be the worst boyfriend in existence if I didn’t?”
“Yes,” she replied flatly. “In fact, if you don’t dance with me, I’ll just find someone else who will.”
“Oh, is that so?” he asked, clearly amused.
“It is,” she said playfully, glancing around the room. “Look, Edward’s younger brother Robert is sitting all alone. I bet he’d say yes.”
“Alright, alright,” he said as a new slow song began. “I’ll dance with you. But only because I actually like this song.”
Marianne’s smile widened. “Thank you!”
They made their way to the center of the floor. Marianne placed her hands on his shoulders while he settled his on her waist. They swayed gently to the music, never taking their eyes off each other. Marianne’s thoughts wandered, imagining herself in a white gown, a sparkling ring on her finger, and feeling the cool weight of the one she had placed on Christopher’s.
The song faded, and Marianne was content to return to her seat. But another slow number began, and Christopher didn’t let her go. He pulled her closer, clasping one of her hands as she rested her cheek against his chest, his chin brushing the top of her head. She closed her eyes, fully enraptured by his embrace and the steady, unwavering love she felt for him.
When the song ended, the DJ announced dinner service would begin shortly. Before returning to their table, Marianne looked up and gave Christopher a soft, tender kiss.
“See? Wasn’t that better than watching me?” she teased with a smile.
“So much better,” he murmured, stealing one more kiss before they left the dance floor.
Meg stood in front of the mirror in the ladies’ room, clutch in hand, carefully touching up her makeup. A faint sheen had gathered on her forehead, and her lipstick had already faded a little, but otherwise, she looked ready. Satisfied, she gave herself a quick nod.
She stepped out into the hallway and instinctively turned right, finding herself near the venue’s kitchen.
Nope. Wrong way. Of course.
Doubling back, she headed the other direction. A narrow corridor opened up to her left.
Main hall’s down there, right? Or straight ahead?
Meg wasn’t proud of her terrible sense of direction inside buildings. She’d lost count of how many times she’d been late to class because she couldn’t find the right door. With a soft sigh, she turned left and sure enough, voices and laughter grew louder.
The main hall was empty, but just beyond, the cocktail lounge buzzed with guests. Small bites in hand, glasses raised, laughter floating through the air.
Okay, so the restrooms are past the main hall, then a right turn , she reminded herself. They really should put up signs for people like me.
Scanning the room, she spotted Elinor and Edward, arm in arm and glowing as they greeted guests. Marianne was deep in conversation with Christopher, hand pressed to her chest like she was telling one of her signature stories. Their mother wore a polite smile, chatting with John and Fanny.
Meg hovered near the entrance, shifting her clutch from one hand to the other. She didn’t really feel like inserting herself anywhere; everyone already had their orbit. Elinor had said she could bring a plus-one, but it was three days after Christmas, and everyone she knew had other holiday plans.
Instead, she made her way to the bar, eyes drifting over the neat rows of bottles behind it. They all looked impressive but meant nothing to her. She’d been out for drinks with friends a few times at university, but they mostly stuck to cheap beer or vodka with juice—nothing like the polished labels lined up here. She had no idea what to order.
“What can I get for you?”
Meg looked up and nearly forgot how to answer. The bartender was smiling at her, dark wavy hair falling slightly into hazel eyes, his easy confidence making her stomach flutter. Ridiculously gorgeous.
“I’m not sure,” she said once she remembered how to speak. “Maybe... some wine?”
“Sure thing. White or red?”
“White?” It came out more like a question.
“You don’t sound very confident,” he teased with a grin.
“My sisters are always drinking the stuff,” she admitted. “But I don’t have a clue about it.”
“Here,” he said, pouring her a glass. “This one’s a little fruity, but not too sweet.”
Meg took a sip of the cool, pale gold liquid and puckered. “It’s good, but kind of sour. Like grapefruit… and maybe peach?”
“That’s right,” he said with a wink. “We’ve got ourselves a sommelier over here, don’t we?”
Meg let out a soft laugh, cheeks coloring. “A what?”
“A sommelier,” he repeated, grinning easily. “It’s just a fancy French word for a professional wine expert.”
“If you say so,” she said, returning his smile and taking another sip.
She fiddled with the base of her glass, feeling the wine soften her nerves.
“I’m Luca, by the way,” he said, mixing a drink for another guest. “Judging by how perfect you look, I’m guessing you’re a bridesmaid?”
Meg’s blush deepened. “I’m Meg. And yes, it’s my oldest sister Elinor’s wedding. My older sister Marianne is the maid of honor.”
She’d just taken another sip when she noticed Marianne approaching, plate of hors d'oeuvres in hand, walking straight toward her.
“Here she comes now.”
Meg caught the slight furrow of her sister’s brow, the quickening steps. Great. She could feel Luca watching still, and something inside her bristled. She didn’t want to look like a kid being scolded.
“You can’t say anything,” Meg blurted out, raising her chin a little. “I’ve been of age for months now.”
“I know,” Marianne said with a sigh, using that calm, careful teacher voice that always made her feel like a misbehaving student. “Just… be careful not to overdo it.”
“I won’t,” Meg assured her, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “I know what I can handle.”
“Okay,” Marianne said, her tone light but still edged with caution. “I’m going back to Christopher. Come join us?”
“I will in a bit,” Meg said.
She watched her sister walk away after ordering a drink, heels clicking softly against the floor. She’d join them eventually, but right now, lingering at the bar with Luca seemed far more appealing than tagging along like a third wheel.
“So that’s your sister?” Luca asked, pouring something bright for another guest. “Your family has really good genes.”
Meg turned toward him, one eyebrow lifted. “Yes, Marianne is so beautiful , isn’t she?” she said, a faint edge of sarcasm sharpening her tone. “She’s here with her boyfriend though.”
Luca raised his hands, palms out. “Whoa, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, smooth as syrup. “She’s pretty, but nothing compared to you.”
“Really?” Meg asked, finishing off the last of her wine, surprised at how quickly it went down.
“Really,” he said with another wink. “With that smile and those green eyes, you could have anyone you wanted.”
She tried to suppress it, but her smile widened. “I think for now, what I want is another drink,” she said, setting her empty glass on the bar.
“More wine?” Luca asked.
Meg shook her head. “No, I want to try something else, but I don’t know what.”
“I’ve got just the thing,” he said, reaching for a clean glass.
He added some ice, then turned to grab a few bottles from the shelves. Meg watched as he poured a bright red liquid, followed by juices and other ingredients, into a metal shaker. More ice went in, then he gave it a few exaggerated shakes that made her giggle.
With a flourish, he poured the mixture into a glass, added a splash of blue, topped it with club soda, and finished with a few frozen cranberries.
“Voilà,” he said with an easy grin. “My own creation. I call it a Winter Sunset.”
Meg took a moment to admire the drink—the swirl of reds, oranges, and pinks blending into hints of lavender.
“It’s so pretty,” she said, pulling out her phone. “I have to take a picture first.”
Luca watched her smile as she snapped a few shots from different angles. Then she tucked her phone away and took a sip.
“Wow,” she said, savoring the fruity cocktail. “It tastes like a vacation.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, leaning casually against the bar.
They chatted as Meg slowly sipped her drink. It was sweet, strong, and went down far too easily. Whatever trace of shyness she’d brought with her had vanished somewhere between the citrus and cranberry. She laughed and joked with Luca, swapping stories about growing up in their hometowns and the chaos of university life—bad dates, worse roommates, and everything in between.
Before long, Meg glanced down and noticed her glass was empty.
“Want another one?” Luca asked, already reaching for a clean glass.
She looked up, only then feeling a strange sensation in her arms. They weren’t heavy, exactly, but slightly detached.
Before she could answer, the wedding coordinator appeared beside her. “We’re lining up,” she said with a bright, hurried smile. “Time for the grand entrance.”
“I guess not right now,” Meg said, sliding off the barstool. “Duty calls.”
“Too bad,” Luca said, pouting just enough to send a flutter through her chest. “You’ll come back and see me later, won’t you?”
“For sure,” she replied, flashing a confident smile.
She stood and tried to focus on what lay ahead. The floor wasn’t moving, but its edges seemed to blur and soften, like the room was wrapped in a gentle haze. Her legs felt steady, yet each step was slower, as if she were moving through a thick, invisible foam. The sounds around her dulled just enough to make her heart beat a little louder in her ears. She took a deep breath, giving herself a moment to adjust, then headed toward the entrance of the conservatory.
Meg laughed as Marianne twirled her under one arm, then immediately dipped her in a clumsy flourish. They were both breathless, their hair starting to stick to their temples. She didn’t care that she was close to sweating through her dress; it felt good that Marianne wasn’t taking herself so seriously for a change and they could be silly together.
The song had started to wind down when Meg felt the dry tackiness build in the back of her throat. She needed water but frowned at the copper pitchers on the table. She’d had some earlier and couldn’t get past the weird, metallic taste. No, she needed actual, drinkable water.
“I need to get real water,” she told Marianne as the next slow song began. “The stuff on the table tastes weird. I’m going to check if the bar has bottles.”
“Okay,” Marianne said, her eyes already fixed back on their table. “I’m going to try my luck with Christopher again.”
The sisters parted. Once Meg stepped out of the conservatory, which had grown humid with all the dancing, she started feeling a little better. The air was cooler out here, and the floor didn’t seem to sway under her anymore. She still felt buzzy, but more in control now.
She took a seat at the bar and drew a deep breath. Luca was on her instantly, flashing that same easy grin.
“It’s about time you came back to see me,” he said, leaning in a little. “What are you having this time?”
“Do you have any bottled water?” she asked, hopeful. “The stuff at the table tastes weird.”
“I know what you mean. It’s the old pipes,” he said, reaching beneath the counter and pulling out a bottle. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” she said, twisting off the cap and taking several long gulps. The clean, cold water was a relief.
“No problem,” he said with a knowing smile, eyes watching her over the rim of the bar. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”
Meg pursed her lips. She did want to try something new, but she was having fun dancing with her sisters and wanted to get back out there.
“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “Maybe a little later.”
“You’re going to leave me already?” Luca asked with a mock pout.
Meg felt a new blush creep up her neck. “Well, maybe I could have one more.”
Luca’s grin widened. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”
He went to work, moving fluidly behind the bar as he grabbed a new set of bottles.
“This one’s a little different. A little bolder,” he said, tossing her a wink. “It’s got rum, but if it’s not your thing, I’ll make you something else.”
Meg rested her chin in her hand, watching as he muddled berries and mint with practiced flair. He added juice and rum to the shaker, along with a splash of something darker she didn’t quite catch. With a few smooth shakes, he poured it into a tall glass, topped it with soda, and garnished it with a sugared mint sprig and a single blackberry skewered on a toothpick.
“Here you go,” he said, sliding the glass toward her. “I call it a Spiced Berry Mojito. Pretty and a little dangerous.”
Meg raised her brows. “Do you mean the drink… or me?”
Luca tilted his head like he was weighing the options. “Why can’t it be both?”
Her face flushed with heat, so she took a sip to cool down. Instead, the warmth only spread deeper through her chest, even more than the dancing had. She leaned against the bar, laughter coming easier now, her cheeks turning a brighter pink.
They slipped into easy conversation again, this time even more teasing. Luca entertained her with stories of wedding mishaps—one involving a near-total collapse of the cake during setup. Meg’s sides started to ache from laughing so much. She apologized for losing control, but he just grinned and said he liked the sound of it.
Eventually, the music from the conservatory quieted, and the DJ faintly announced that dinner would be served.
“I should head back,” Meg said, finishing the last of her drink. “Can I get another bottle of water before I go?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Luca said, grabbing a bottle and handing it to her. “Will I see you again before the night’s over?”
Meg gave a small, polite smile as she took the bottle. “Maybe later. I’m going to head back to the table.”
“Well, save me your next drink,” he said with a wink.
She smiled as she slid off the stool, and there it was again—that strange feeling, like the floor beneath her wasn’t entirely solid. She took a deep breath and walked slowly back to her table, taking slow sips of water as if the motion might ground her.
She dropped into her seat with a soft thud. Luckily, no one else was around to see her. The room felt like it was swaying slightly, something new she didn’t know what to do with. An overwhelming urge to lay her head down swept over her, but she pushed it aside just as Marianne and Christopher arrived and took their seats beside her.
Meg sat up straighter and forced a small smile, relieved when they seemed too absorbed in their conversation to notice anything was off. Her mother joined them moments later, chatting cheerfully about how lovely the evening was. She tried to focus, taking more sips of water and nodding at what she hoped were the right moments.
Dinner was served shortly after, but she only picked at her salad and pasta, pushing pieces around her plate and taking the occasional half-hearted bite. Marianne turned to her a few times to chat about something, but nothing she said made any sense. Meg caught Christopher’s eye a few times, and something about the way he furrowed his brows at her gave her just enough focus to contribute.
“Are you alright, Meg?” he asked, looking between her and her plate. “You haven’t eaten much.”
“I’m fine,” she said dismissively. “I guess I filled up on too many finger foods earlier.” It was a lie, but it seemed to satisfy him enough that he slipped back into conversation with Marianne.
Plates were soon cleared, replaced by flutes of champagne. The DJ announced it was time for the toasts, starting with the maid of honor.
Somewhere nearby, Marianne’s voice broke through the fog. “Well, here goes nothing,” she said with a nervous laugh, rising from the table and making her way to the microphone.
Meg sat up a little straighter as her sister began to speak, but she couldn’t make out most of the words. Marianne might have been speaking a different language for all she knew, only catching snippets like “love,” “commitment,” and “incredible journey” here and there. Then, everyone started applauding and raising their glasses, so Meg did the same, barely registering the motion. She took a sip without thinking; it tasted lighter than the others, bright and fizzy, and surprisingly pleasant.
Marianne returned to her seat just as the best man stepped up to the microphone. His words made even less sense than her sister’s, but once again, Meg robotically raised her glass and took a drink at the appropriate time. A quick thank-you speech from Elinor and Edward followed, prompting a final raise of her glass, but when she went to tip it back, she was surprised to find it already empty.
Music filled the air again, a slow number prompting Christopher to lead Marianne out to the dance floor. Their mother excused herself, saying she was going to the ladies’ room and to grab another drink. Meg gave her a weak smile and nodded, taking another sip of her water.
The room was no longer gently swaying. It was spinning. She tried to focus on the dancing couples, but her head throbbed in protest. The pleasant warmth from earlier had curdled into something heavy and oppressive, as if the air itself had thickened. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, heat blooming beneath her skin.
I need some air, she thought.
She stood slowly, moving deliberately. The floor now seemed to shift beneath her feet, like walking on a floating dock tossed by choppy waves. Then the first sharp wave of nausea hit.
In a panic, she pressed forward into the hallway, too overwhelmed by the sick, rising feeling to notice much around her.
She tried to remember where the bathroom was, but nothing looked familiar. She had memorized the layout earlier from the lounge, but this wasn’t the way she’d come. She turned left instead of right, entering a dim, unfamiliar hallway lined with storage room doors.
Pressing a hand to the wall to steady herself, her stomach lurched again. Panic rose fast and hot in her chest. She didn’t want to be sick. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. But if she didn’t find the bathroom soon, she wouldn’t have a choice.
Then she heard soft footsteps, followed by a deep, familiar voice.
“Meg?”
She turned, blinking as his face came into focus.
“Christopher?”
His brow furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She opened her mouth to say something light or dismissive, but nothing came out. Instead, her lip trembled, and she gave a helpless shake of her head.
He didn’t hesitate. Stepping forward, he took her elbow gently, steadying her with one arm while catching her other hand.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.”
“Oh no, I love this song,” Marianne said as Christopher started to pull away. “Please stay and dance with me.”
Christopher chuckled as he separated from her. “You know I’d love nothing more than to stay here and dance with you,” he assured her. “But if I don’t get to the men’s room soon, I’m going to lose a kidney—or worse.”
“Fine,” she said dramatically. “I guess I can let you pee, but don’t be long.”
“Thank you,” he said with exaggerated relief, giving her forehead a kiss before heading out.
While weddings weren’t really his idea of a good time, Christopher was surprised by how much he was enjoying this one. Over the years, he’d had to make appearances here and there. The hardest one was when he stood as John Middleton’s best man, just a few years after what should’ve been his own. Since then, he’d grown used to the speeches, the dancing, the endless loop of love songs that all blurred together.
Tonight, though, he was completely at ease. Maybe it was the slower pacing, or the good food. But mostly, it was Marianne—her laughter and warmth cutting through the walls he usually brought to events like this. The fact that she’d coaxed him onto the dance floor more than once was no small feat.
Sometimes he couldn’t believe someone so beautiful and full of joy had ever looked twice at him. But she’d done more than that—she had loved him, trusted him, made space for his heart beside hers. Being here with her made everything feel lighter, like he could finally stop pretending and just be himself. Maybe enough time had finally passed and he could just let himself live in the moment.
Whatever it was, it felt unexpectedly real. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t counting the hours until he could go home.
He washed his hands, then grabbed extra paper towels to wipe some of the sheen that had formed across his forehead. Despite the cold outside, the temperature in the conservatory was enough to make anyone on the dancefloor more than a song or two to start to glisten.
He exited the men’s room, eager to head back to Marianne’s side after a quick stop for a glass of wine when he saw something ahead of him. The color of her dress caught his attention first, because it was identical to Marianne’s, but it wasn’t her. He moved closer, and there Meg stood, slumped against the wall with her back turned to him.
“Meg?”
She turned around to face him. Her skin was pale, a similar sheen to the one he just wiped away was all over her face, but the most telling sign were her eyes. They were glassy and unfocused.
“Christopher?” she choked out.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, but he knew right away she wasn’t.
She looked at him, mouth opening as if to speak, but shook her head instead. Her trembling lip told him they didn’t have much time. He moved quickly, bracing her elbow gently while taking her other hand.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said, carefully leading her down the hall.
“Christopher, I don’t feel well,” Meg managed, her voice small and strained.
“I know,” he said gently. “Just hang on a bit longer. We’re almost there.”
He guided her down the hallway to a private family restroom tucked just a couple doors past the main ones. As soon as they stepped inside, Meg pressed a hand to the wall, bracing herself as if sheer will might hold back what was already inevitable.
Without hesitation, Christopher slipped off his jacket and laid it carefully on the floor in front of the toilet.
“Your jacket will get dirty,” Meg said, her body twitching slightly as her stomach clenched.
“Better my jacket than your dress,” he replied, easing her down. “Besides, I’ve got at least two more layers before I’m indecent.”
She let out the barest laugh, more breath than sound, before the first wave overtook her. She doubled forward and wretched, her body shuddering as her stomach emptied.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice shaky and ashamed.
“Don’t be,” he said, rubbing slow circles on her back. “Just let it out. You’re okay.”
She threw up a few more times, heaving until every drop of alcohol not yet absorbed had been expelled from her stomach. When she finally leaned back against the wall, pale and shaky, Christopher reached over and flushed the toilet for her.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, clutching his hand, unable to come up with anything better.
“Meg, it’s okay,” he assured her. “We’ve all been there.”
“Even you?”
“Yes, even me.” He let out a short laugh as he stood. “When I was seventeen, I went to this party with my girlfriend. Her cousin was older and could get his hands on anything. I had no idea what I was doing. I drank too much, got sick, and when I got home, my father was still awake. I tried to play it cool, but he saw right through me. I got grounded for a month. No driving or hanging out with friends, and no phone calls.”
“Your father sounds strict,” she murmured.
Christopher went to the sink and dampened a few paper towels. “He had his reasons.”
She didn’t ask what they were. “Are you going to tell my mother? Or my sisters?”
“I won’t tell Elinor,” he promised. “She shouldn’t know any of this. And your mother? Only if you want me to. But I think we should bring Marianne in.”
“She’s going to be mad… and use that teacher voice she saves for when she really wants your attention.”
Christopher couldn’t help but laugh as he crouched down to gently wipe the sweat from her face and neck. “I know exactly the voice you mean. But don’t worry, I’ve got one of my own I can use to keep her calm.”
“Really? You’ll have to teach me,” she said, managing a faint smile. “But… do you have to get her?”
“Yes, I do,” he said. “Meg, think about it. It wouldn’t be a good look if someone sees us coming out of here together. I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea… especially about you.”
“I guess,” she sighed.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, I think so,” she said, though a little unsure. “I’m… kind of hungry. Is that weird?”
“No, that’s actually a good sign. But you’ll need to take it slow. We’ll find some crackers, get you water. Sound good?”
She nodded. He pulled out his phone and texted Marianne, telling her to come immediately. When there was no reply, he called. It took two attempts before she finally picked up.
“Chris, where are you?” she said on the other end.
“Family restroom. I need you here. Now,” he said, harsher than intended.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, softening his tone. “Please don’t ask questions. Just come.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
He crossed the small room and leaned against the wall, looking down at Meg.
“Still hanging in there?”
“Yeah,” she murmured, her eyes half-lidded. Then, almost dreamily, she added, “Christopher… when are you going to ask Marianne to marry you?”
What did she say?
Now it was his turn to feel faint. The warmth creeping up his neck had nothing to do with the stuffy, closed room.
“What?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level. “Why do you ask that?”
“She loves you, you know,” Meg said, her voice growing steadier.
He smiled, though it felt fragile on his face. “I know. I love her too. Very much.”
But even as the words left his mouth, something recoiled inside him. He felt their hollowness echo deep within, not because they weren’t true, but because they weren’t enough. He did love Marianne, more than he ever knew he could love someone. Yet he had loved deeply before, had already promised a life and future to Eliza. That promise had been torn away violently and without warning, and the wreckage it left behind was still buried deep inside him.
“But I mean she really loves you,” Meg pressed, cutting through the painful memories. “She wants to marry you. She said you’re the one.”
She wants to marry you.
The words struck him harder than they had any right to. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; Marianne was always clear about what she wanted, but hearing it out loud threw him off balance. He wasn't sure he could make that kind of promise again, not when part of him still felt tethered to one he'd already made. It would feel like a betrayal.
“She said that?” he asked, looking away, suddenly unsteady on his feet.
“Yes,” Meg said. “She told me today… right before the ceremony. She wants all of this. A future with just you.”
A soft knock at the door interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
“Christopher?” Marianne’s voice came through, muffled but unmistakably hers.
He took a steadying breath and crossed the room to let her in.
Marianne stared down at her phone in utter confusion. She had just gotten the most bizarre phone call from Christopher—to meet him in the family restroom of all places, with zero explanation. It wasn’t like him to be so short and vague; the urgency in his tone had unsettled her.
She shook her head and left the conservatory, weaving through the slight labyrinth of hallways until she reached the restroom. She braced herself, not having even the vaguest sense of what she’d find on the other side and knocked softly on the door.
“Christopher?”
The door clicked open, and Marianne was met with a sight even more bizarre than the phone call that brought her there. Christopher stood in the doorway, jacket off, his face pale and drained of color. On the floor behind him, seated on top of said jacket, was Meg, who somehow looked even worse.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Marianne asked, trying to make sense of the scene before her eyes shifted to her sister. “Meg? What did you do?”
Christopher quickly stepped aside and gently shut the door behind him, guiding Marianne a few paces away.
“Please. Take it easy on her,” he said, turning her face so she would meet his eyes. “She already feels awful. Don’t make it worse.”
“Is someone going to explain this to me?” she asked, impatience creeping into her voice.
“Meg had too much to drink,” he said. “I found her alone in the hallway, looking like she was going to pass out, so I brought her in here.”
“She got sick ?”
“I’m right here,” Meg called from across the room. “Yes, I got sick. But I’m better now.”
Marianne opened her mouth to speak, but one look from Christopher made her pause. He was right. If Meg felt even half as awful as she looked, there was no point in making it worse.
Instead, she took a steadying breath, crossed the room, and knelt carefully in front of her sister, gathering as much of her dress as she could onto Christopher’s jacket.
“I’m sorry, Meg. Are you okay?” she asked, her tone softening. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I’m okay,” Meg murmured. “Christopher helped me. He’s been with me the whole time. I just… had too much, I guess. I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”
“Do you remember what you drank?” Christopher asked, crouching beside them.
Meg closed her eyes, thinking. “A glass of wine. Then some fruity drink the bartender said he made up. Then we danced. After that I went to get some bottled water because the stuff at the table tasted weird. The bartender gave me the water, and then made me another fruity drink, but it was different. Then the champagne toast.”
“Do you remember anything else? What was in the drinks? Did you see him make them?”
“I’m not sure what was in them,” she said quietly. “He used a lot of different bottles each time. We were laughing… and flirting a little… I wasn’t really paying attention.”
Marianne and Christopher exchanged a look—sympathetic, but wary.
“Sounds like you had too much,” Marianne said gently. “And mixed too many kinds of alcohol.”
“Fruity drinks can be stronger than they taste,” Christopher added. “Don’t feel bad. That bartender shouldn’t have kept serving you.”
“I’m never drinking again,” Meg groaned. “Why do people do it?”
“That’s your choice,” he said. “But it doesn't have to be all or nothing. You just have to know your limit.”
Meg smiled weakly. “I guess you’re right, but right now, I don’t even want to see another drink.”
Marianne placed a comforting hand on her knee. “Do you think you’re ready to try standing up?”
Meg nodded and reached her arms out. Marianne and Christopher each took one and gently eased her up. Her legs still felt unstable, but Christopher kept a steady hold on her.
“You’re okay,” he said. “Just go slow.”
They guided her to the sink so she could rinse her mouth out. When she looked up and caught her reflection in the mirror, she winced. Beads of sweat clung to her forehead, her makeup was smeared, and her hair was tangled at the nape of her neck.
“I look awful,” she whispered.
Marianne gently smoothed her hair away from her face. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”
As she wiped away the worst of the smudged makeup, the gravity of it all finally caught up with her, and a few tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I feel so stupid,” she said, her voice cracking.
“Meg,” Christopher said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. Look at me. You’re not stupid. Remember what I told you earlier?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“It happens to the best of us,” he said. “You’ll be okay.”
“Will I?” she asked, voice small.
“Yes,” he said, calm and certain. “I promise you.”
Marianne pulled Meg into a gentle embrace. As she held her sister, she looked up at Christopher, hoping to convey her gratitude. She caught something heavier than the present moment in his expression.
Still, he stood steady, offering strength not just to Meg, but to her too. The way he cared for her without hesitation or needing anything in return only deepened what Marianne already knew. There was no doubt about what she’d confessed to Meg earlier.
But if even the faintest flicker had remained, this moment extinguished it. What she felt for him was sure, steady, and absolute. He was everything to her; nothing would convince her otherwise.
“Are you doing alright?” Marianne asked Meg as they slowly walked down the corridor together.
“I think so,” she answered.
They made their way back through the lobby, passing by the bar. Meg deliberately refused to look in that direction, cheeks still burning with embarrassment, but Marianne couldn’t help glancing over. Christopher stood with his back to them, leaning slightly over the bar, while the bartender held his hands up as if surrendering.
Marianne gently guided Meg back to their table just as the DJ announced it was time to cut the cake.
“Marianne, I don’t want to stand again,” Meg sighed, slumping against the back of her chair.
“We don’t have to,” she assured her, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “See? We’ve got a pretty good view from here. And look, Mama’s taking a ton of pictures on her phone.”
Christopher returned a moment later, his arms full with a couple small bags of pretzels, a package of soda crackers, a sports drink, a can of ginger ale, and several bottles of water.
“That’s quite the haul,” Marianne said with a small laugh as she opened the soda crackers and handed a few to Meg.
“I had a word with the guy,” Christopher said, nodding back toward the bar. “Once we came to an understanding, he was very eager to track this down for me.”
“Christopher, what did you say?” Marianne asked, helping Meg take small sips of the sports drink.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied evenly. “What’s done is done.”
Marianne decided to leave it alone. Whatever Christopher had told the bartender, she suspected it was calm, but probably not pleasant.
“How does that feel, Meg?” Christopher asked. “Do you still feel sick?”
Meg shook her head. “No, I’m feeling better. I didn’t know soda crackers could taste this good.”
Marianne and Christopher couldn’t help chuckling at that as they turned their attention to Elinor and Edward cutting their cake. Marianne was pleasantly surprised when they simply sliced the cake together and politely fed each other a small bite without any spectacle. Elinor, however, got a bit of frosting on her thumb, which she playfully dabbed onto Edward’s chin. Everyone laughed, then cheered when he pulled her in for a kiss, transferring some of the frosting back to her.
Soon, the cake was sliced and served to the guests, its sweet aromas filling the room. While Marianne and Christopher enjoyed their slices, Meg’s stomach was still too unsettled to want any. Instead, she nibbled on more crackers and a few pretzels between sips of ginger ale, hoping to soothe her stomach.
The music started up again, but the three of them stayed seated. Meg assured them she was feeling better and that they could leave her if they wanted to dance, but they stayed close. After a few songs, their mother returned for her cake.
“Well, I don’t know about you three,” she said once she finished, “but this wedding has reminded me I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m beat. I think I’m going to head upstairs.”
“Mama,” Meg said quietly, “is it okay if I come too?”
“Of course, dear. Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes,” Meg said quickly. “It was just a long day. I’m tired.”
“Okay. I’ll just say goodnight to everyone and be back in a bit.”
Mary got up to make her rounds. Marianne and Christopher turned their attention back to Meg.
“Do you want me to talk to her?” Christopher asked.
Meg shook her head. “No, but I think I should tell her. Marianne, do you think she’ll be mad?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Marianne assured her. “Remember when you just got your driving permit and backed into that pole? Mama wasn’t mad then, because you told her the truth right away.”
Meg then turned to Christopher. “Thanks for helping me,” she said, “and sorry you had to see me like that.”
“Meg, it’s okay, really,” he told her, “and if you’re ever in trouble like that again, you can come to me, always.”
“Okay.”
A few minutes later, Mary returned and suggested she and Meg say goodnight to Elinor and Edward together before heading upstairs. Meg gave Marianne and Christopher a quick hug before leaving with her mother.
“Poor thing,” Marianne sighed, “I wish I’d been gentler when I first saw her. She had no idea.”
Christopher scooted into the chair next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “I told her it happens to almost everyone.”
“I know,” she said, turning to him with an appreciative look. “Thank you for helping her. You don’t know how grateful I am that you found her before she got sick and everyone saw, or before someone else who… might not have had good intentions.”
“I only did what anyone respectable should do,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, “but that’s what makes you so wonderful. You didn’t just help her, you made sure she didn’t feel ashamed. I remember being her age, thinking I was invincible, but at the same time feeling like everyone was watching and judging me. You helped her more than you realize.”
She reached over and cupped her hand against his jaw. “You know, you’d really make an excellent father.”
Christopher smiled, though it felt as flimsy as ice in the spring. She meant it as a kindness, but the words still cut deep. So many ghosts still clung to that dream—Eliza and their lost baby, Beth, and even memories of his father’s strict, unbending nature. He wondered for a moment what their child might have been like now and what Beth, who’s the same age as Meg, had grown into. Marianne could never truly grasp how shattered that hope felt for him.
He wouldn’t burden her with it. Instead, he drew her closer and kissed her temple, trying to push the ache aside.
The music shifted, slowing, its gentle melody rising like a shield against his thoughts.
“Do you want to get back out there?” he asked.
“You know I do,” she replied, her grin as bright as ever.
He stood, took her hand, and led her into the swirl of dancers. As they stepped onto the floor, he vowed to himself that for the rest of the night, he’d set aside the pain of the past and the uncertainty of the future, and just be here with her. He pulled her close and kissed her softly, letting the music drown out everything else.
Crazy, how it, feels tonight.
Crazy, how you, make it all alright love.
You crush me, with the, things you do,
and I do, for you, anything too oh.
He drew back a little to look at her, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek. “Marianne,” he murmured, “you know I love you, right?”
She tilted her head, her peaceful expression breaking into a warm smile. “Of course I do. Why?”
He hesitated, then leaned down to kiss her again. “No reason. Just… promise you’ll remember that, no matter what.”
Her brows pulled together in mild confusion, but she didn’t question him, only pulled him closer, as if to anchor them both. “I will,” she promised, pressing her cheek to his. “I love you too.”
He longed to give her everything she wanted, everything she deserved, but that wasn’t something he could offer. He had already promised everything to Eliza, given her his word, and even though she was gone, that promise still felt binding.
He would be committed to Marianne for as long as she would have him, even if some parts of the future remained impossible to share. But he didn’t know how to tell her the rest; it would only hurt her. So he held her closer as they swayed to the music, tightening his embrace ever so slightly, as if she were the only thing tethering him to the ground.
It's crazy I'm thinking
Just knowing that the world is round
And here I'm dancing on the ground
Am I right side up or upside down?
Is this real, or am I dreaming?
Notes:
As I mentioned before in my notes for Chapter 16, the song Elinor and Edward dance to is "The Promise," which was first released by When in Rome in 1987 in the UK and in 1988 in the US (Christopher would have been seven or eight at the time.) However, that version is a little too fast for a wedding song, so I went looking for a slower, acoustic version. There's a cover by Sturgill Simpson produced in 2014, but I thought that version was too slow. I found a just right version by Max Scialdone which I think is perfect for a wedding.
The song Marianne and Christopher dance to at the end of the chapter is "Crush" by Dave Matthews Band, released in 1998.
Chapter 24: Now
Notes:
The next few chapters are rated 'E' for emotional. 😢 This one begins with the same restaurant scene from the end of Chapter 22, just told from a different POV.
Chapter Text
Now
The sounds of cars honking in the evening traffic would have driven Christopher mad on any other night, but tonight they barely registered. His thoughts refused to let go of the kiss. Even though it had happened more than a week ago, he still felt the spark of it, the way something familiar and warm had flared to life between them.
He wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t meant anything. It had affected him more than he wanted to admit. Being close to Marianne again, even just for a moment, had felt good. Like there was still something there, something worth holding onto. It stirred up a hope he’d spent months trying to bury. But more than that, it told him she still trusted him, even if she wasn’t sure what she wanted. And that trust meant everything.
But one stubborn question stuck in his mind. What did she want from him now?
A new message chimed on his phone before he could lose himself in that thought any further.
Brandon, where the hell are you? John Middleton’s message read. You’re never late.
Christopher rolled his eyes and glanced out the cab window at the traffic snarl ahead. Middleton lived in the Barton Hill Historic District, just seven miles from downtown, but it might as well have been a world away. Grand brick and stone homes sat on generous lots behind tall hedges and iron gates, their sidewalks shaded by rows of towering oaks. Traffic was never a problem in that part of town.
Stuck in traffic, like usual, he typed back. Be there in 10.
We could have been neighbors if you moved on that listing a block away!
He leaned back against the cab seat with a loud exhale. John Middleton was his oldest and most loyal friend, but sometimes his total lack of situational awareness was hard to take. The place he’d mentioned was a sprawling six-bedroom, five-bath home, complete with a guest house by the pool. The price tag alone was more than Christopher would ever spend, and all that space for one person felt pointless.
Instead of pointing out its absurdity, he let it go. Despite his quirks, Middleton had stood by him through some of the hardest chapters of his life, starting with university, just months after Christopher’s father died. They were often paired together for business projects—Middleton with his wild ideas, and Christopher keeping them grounded with structure and deadlines.
When Christopher lost Eliza and their baby in that terrible accident, Middleton was the only one who supported his decision to return to the military. He didn’t judge him. He understood it was something Christopher needed to do. But he made him promise he’d come home; that promise kept him going even when giving up would have been easier.
And when Marianne left almost a year ago, he was there again, offering support in his own way. His advice was usually wrapped in nonsense, but Christopher knew he always wanted to help, even if he wasn’t sure how.
The cab pulled up at the intersection near the restaurant. With a line of cars still inching ahead, he decided to walk the rest of the way. He paid the driver, added a tip, and stepped onto the sidewalk. The chill sharpened his senses as he walked inside, gave his name to the hostess, and let her lead him to his table.
The sound of familiar laughter caught him off guard. It was bright and clear, carrying more warmth and life than he’d expected to hear tonight. He turned his head toward it, and there Marianne was, caught mid-smile, just as radiant and playful as ever.
He found himself watching her as the hostess guided him through the space. Their path would lead him right past her table. When he glanced over, she was dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a napkin, still caught up in whatever had brought out that wonderful sound.
Her gaze lifted toward him, and the laughter instantly faded. A small smile tugged at his lips when their eyes met. As he approached, he slowed, signaling the hostess to pause for a moment.
“Christopher,” she said breathlessly.
“Hi, Marianne,” he replied warmly. His eyes flicked to the other side of the table, catching sight of who she was with.
“Forgive me,” he added, looking back at her. “I don’t mean to intrude.”
“Oh no, it’s fine,” she said quickly, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Christopher, this is John Willoughby. John, this is Christopher Brandon.”
Christopher nodded and extended his hand to Willoughby without hesitation. The grip was firm, almost too hard. He fought the urge to squeeze back tighter. Willoughby’s gaze roamed him up and down in a silent appraisal. It didn’t exactly unsettle Christopher, but it was unwelcome.
Finally, Willoughby spoke. “Brandon, you say? Have we met before?”
Yes, he thought, when you tried to pad your account with unauthorized charges and collect the commission.
“Not in person,” Christopher said aloud, keeping his tone even. “But I believe we’ve spoken on the phone a few times in business circles, many years ago.”
Months ago, he’d warned Marianne that Willoughby wasn’t the most trustworthy in business. But she’d still been recovering then, and he hadn’t wanted to burden her with more. That same instinct held now; there was no point calling him out, no matter how much he deserved it.
Willoughby’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I remember now. It’s nice to finally have a face to the name.”
Christopher noticed Marianne’s smile had faded. She glanced between the two men before speaking again.
“What brings you here tonight?” she asked, eyes lifting to meet his.
He focused on her, managing a controlled smile. “John Middleton and I are meeting with some new investors,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I should get to my table. It’s great to see you, Marianne, and a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Willoughby.”
He gave Willoughby a brief nod. The man returned it coolly. “The same to you, Mr. Brandon.”
He smiled at Marianne one last time before following the hostess to his table. The walk felt longer than it should have, each step a reminder that the journey was far from over. Just when he’d started to believe she may still love him and could forgive him, he had to face the possibility that her heart still belonged to someone else.
At his seat, John Middleton and a married couple who were interested in investing awaited him. The details of their business pitch drifted past, but Christopher barely registered the words.
Since their rebrand two years ago, the company had grown faster than either he or Middleton expected. More clients meant more pressure, and now the need for outside capital loomed over them. Christopher hated the idea of more outsiders gaining a stake in something he and John had built from the ground up. But he’d promised to keep an open mind.
As the conversation at his own table carried on, Christopher’s gaze kept drifting. From where he sat, he had a clear view of Willoughby across the dining room, while only the back of Marianne’s head was visible to him. They weren’t laughing anymore, and something about the way Willoughby leaned in toward her unsettled him. Christopher forced himself to turn back to the investors, reminding himself he had no right to interfere, but the unease held on.
He let the discussion wash over him, answering when needed but never fully present. After a while, he noticed movement at Marianne’s table as they began to rise and gather their things. She turned back toward him, their eyes meeting. He smiled, wishing to leave his dinner behind and go to her. She returned it with a warm, but fleeting one of her own. Then Willoughby placed a guiding hand at her back as he led her away, reminding Christopher that whatever hope he held was still out of reach.
Marianne sat at the dining room table, a large, richly stained walnut piece that had anchored countless holiday dinners throughout her childhood. Her laptop was open in front of her, keys clicking steadily as she filled out an application for an online professional development seminar at Edward’s university this coming spring.
Scrolling through the form, she paused when it asked for copies of her current teaching license and most recent university transcripts.
“Where on earth could those be?” she muttered, leaning back with a soft sigh.
She minimized the browser window and began clicking through folders on her hard drive. After a moment, one labeled School Docs caught her eye. Just as her cursor hovered over it, her gaze drifted up above to a different folder: Personal Misc.
She frowned slightly. What could be in there? Especially when another folder just above it was simply named Misc.
Curious, she clicked. Inside, she found a jumble of receipts, scanned greeting cards, and a few stray photos that had never been properly filed away. She was about to close the window when something at the bottom caught her eye—another folder, this one labeled only: Untitled.
Intrigued by what could be inside, she opened it, her breath catching in her throat. There were hundreds of photo thumbnails spilling across the screen showing everything from birthdays and holiday dinners to weekend trips and summer vacations. At the end there were even snapshots from Elinor’s wedding. Each one showed a piece of their life together, joyful and ordinary alike. And in every photo, Christopher was there.
She sat back, stunned, remembering the panic she felt about six weeks ago when she scrolled through her phone and couldn’t find a single photo of him. After all that fear and confusion, she now saw the truth. She hadn’t deleted them; she had only moved them.
A tiny, shaky laugh escaped her, more relief than amusement. She clicked through the pictures again, more slowly this time, letting herself linger on each one. She was grateful these memories were still hers to keep.
Happy, relieved tears welled in her eyes as photos she’d been certain were erased in a moment of hurt appeared right where she’d hidden them. She smiled, moving from one to the next, seeing herself and Christopher locked in tight embraces, laughing in small, unguarded moments. The memories reminded her how real and right their relationship had once been.
Her scrolling slowed at the final photo, a quick selfie taken the morning after Elinor’s wedding. She leaned against him with an open, happy smile. He smiled too, but there was something distant in his expression, a subtle strain in his eyes she hadn’t noticed before. Marianne paused, trying to place it. She remembered most of the wedding, though some pieces were still blurred around the edges.
The ease she’d felt moments before slipped away, replaced by a low ache. They had been so close, so happy. Seeing it all laid out now only made their ending feel more impossible to understand. She had admitted she missed him, but sitting here with these memories, she realized she missed the sense of belonging and knowing of each other even more.
She pushed back her chair and stood, thinking about grabbing her phone to reload some favorite photos. Then she glanced around the table and realized it was upstairs in her room. She started up the stairs but barely made it halfway before a strange feeling dropped through her stomach, leaving her unsteady and weightless.
Christopher, please stop! It’s too hard—I can’t do this anymore!
The words hit her like a physical blow, spoken in her own voice so vivid it felt as if she’d just shouted them aloud. Her knees weakened, and she sank heavily onto the steps, her breath coming quick and shallow. What was happening?
What would Eliza think of that?
Her voice again pierced through her before she could fully recover. Marianne shook her head, her heart racing. Did she really say that? It didn’t sound like her. Her hands were trembling now. She forced herself upright, clutching the banister, desperate to make it to her room.
Do you love a dead woman more than you love me?
The next phrase echoed so clearly she nearly staggered backward. A wave of sweat broke across her hairline, her skin clammy. She kept moving, one foot after the other, each step too heavy.
She crossed into her room and nearly collapsed onto the bed when another blow hit.
You should have died with them!
No. She couldn’t have said something that cruel, could she? The thought twisted through her like a blade. She curled forward, eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the flood of images crashing in. She saw herself pacing, yelling, throwing her hands wide in frustration, gripping a chair until her knuckles turned white.
Then his face flashed through her mind in broken, jagged pieces. His brows drawn in pain, eyes wide with shock, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched as if holding back a storm.
Marianne, please… I love you so much, but I just can’t…
His voice cracked through the haze, raw and pleading, as if he were right there in the room with her. She blinked, heart thudding wildly. What had she said to cause such pain?
Don’t you dare bring her up!
The words hit like a slap. She jerked back, pulling her knees to her chest, fingers digging into her skin. His tone was tense, defensive and strained, like he was fighting to keep control but losing. It wasn’t the Christopher she knew.
How could you possibly know what it feels like to lose everything?
Her breath caught. She hugged herself tighter, trembling now, sweat slick and cold against her skin. A dizzy haze crept in at the edges of her vision, a chill settling deep in her bones. This wasn’t just in her head anymore, her body was betraying her.
Sometimes I wish I did!
The slam of his fist on the table cracked through her like thunder. She flinched violently, chest tightening so fiercely it stole her breath. The weight of his despair, anger, and betrayal crashed over her like a wave, leaving her gasping and reeling.
Was it over? Was this flood of memories finally done? She lay there, breathing hard, bracing for more images or voices to crash through her mind. But for now, there was only silence. Her pulse slowed, her trembling eased, though she didn’t dare move, terrified it might all start up again.
As her thoughts steadied, the truth settled over her. It had to be their breakup, nothing else explained it. She replayed every jagged, painful detail that had returned. How could she have said such cruel things, especially to someone she loved so deeply? Had his grief been so heavy, so consuming, that she’d turned it against herself and lashed out with such brutal force?
The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled Marianne back from the crashing tide of memories. Her mother appeared in the doorway, still in her hospital scrubs after a long shift, and froze when she saw Marianne curled on the bed, arms wrapped around herself, eyes glassy with shock.
“Marianne, what’s wrong, dear?” Mary asked softly, rushing to her side and kneeling down.
Marianne swallowed hard, struggling to focus. “Mama… I think I’m remembering,” she managed, her voice small and breaking. “When I left Christopher.”
“Oh, sweetheart…” Mary’s voice softened as she sat on the bed and gently pulled her daughter’s head into her lap, brushing aside her sweat-damp curls.
Marianne tried to explain, her breath hitching, how she heard their voices in her mind and terrible words thrown at each other. The way he’d said he loved her but couldn’t move forward. How she had lashed out with something so cruel she could barely repeat it. She told her mother about the cold that overtook her, her pounding heart, how she felt like she was losing her grip on reality—like she was dying.
Her mother held her close, running a soothing hand up and down her arm. “You’re okay now,” she whispered. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
“I was so terrible to him,” Marianne’s voice cracked as sobs tore through her. “How do I even begin to say I’m sorry? How could he ever forgive me?”
Mary looked down at her daughter, gently lifting Marianne’s chin until their eyes met. “Marianne, what makes you think he hasn’t already forgiven you?”
Marianne sniffed. “What do you mean?”
“My love, ever since your sister told him about your accident, he’s been by your side,” Mary said softly. “Even if you couldn’t always see it. You remember how he came right away, even though you wouldn’t speak to him for months? And after you came home, he asked me about you almost every day because he was so worried. He didn’t want to overwhelm you. He still asks about you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Mary said, smoothing Marianne’s damp hair back from her forehead. “I can show you the texts if you want.”
“I believe you, Mama,” Marianne whispered, her sobs finally easing.
Mary smiled sadly. “Now, doesn’t that sound like a man who’s already forgiven you?”
Marianne nodded weakly. “I don’t deserve him.”
Mary pulled her closer, holding her like she had when she was a little girl. “Christopher is an exceptional man, no doubt. And he loves you. You love him, too. Despite everything that happened, I truly believe there’s enough love between you to find your way back.”
Marianne turned over her mother’s words in her mind. She thought back to Christopher’s first visit at the hospital, how gently he had comforted her, promising they would find a way through this together. She remembered the raw fear she’d had, asking him if she’d done something to make him stop loving her—and how he’d immediately, without hesitation, told her he still did.
Now, cradled in her mother’s arms, reliving every terrible moment of that breakup, Marianne understood something with absolute clarity. She still loved him too.
“Mama, I have to talk to him,” she murmured. “I have to tell him I’m sorry… and that I still love him.”
“You should, dear,” Mary agreed softly. “But give yourself a few days. You need to rest, and I want to call the doctor about what happened, just to be safe, all right?”
“Okay,” Marianne whispered, letting her eyes slip shut.
“I’m sorry, John, I’m just not up to seeing a movie tonight,” Marianne told Willoughby as she pulled the covers tighter around herself. Lucky, her cat, rested his chin on her lap, purring softly.
“Is everything okay?” he asked. “You sound a little down. I didn’t upset you the other night, did I?”
“John, no. It’s not that,” she said quietly. “I’ve just been feeling tired lately.”
“Marianne,” he pressed, “what’s really bothering you? You can tell me.”
She sighed, stroking Lucky’s fur. Part of her hesitated, but she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the truth forever.
“I’ve been remembering some difficult things,” she admitted. “When it happens, I don’t feel very well, and afterward I’m just… so exhausted.”
It had been five days since the first flood of memories about her breakup with Christopher. Two days later, another wave hit, just as intense emotionally, though the physical symptoms weren’t as severe. Still, they had drained almost all of her energy.
Yesterday, her mother had taken her to see her neurologist, just to be safe. He reassured them that while these physical reactions could feel frightening, they were consistent with an acute stress response triggered by recovering traumatic memories, and they weren’t dangerous. He was even encouraged that the second episode hadn’t been as severe, though he reminded them that exhaustion was normal.
As long as she didn’t develop new symptoms like fainting or confusion, he was comfortable letting her recover at home, but scheduled a follow-up in two weeks. He also advised her not to drive or use public transit alone for now, in case another episode struck and left her unfocused or panicked.
“That sounds intense,” he said quietly. “I could come over if you wanted. Maybe being alone isn’t the best idea.”
“That’s kind of you to offer,” she replied, shifting under the blankets. “I just don’t think that would be a good idea. Besides, my mother has traded some shifts so she’s around more.”
There was a brief silence on the other end, before his voice came back, more controlled. “Did you remember anything about me?”
“No,” she said, hugging Lucky a little closer. “They weren’t about you.”
“They were about him, weren’t they?” His tone tightened despite his effort to keep it casual.
“John, please,” Marianne said, her own voice rising with tension, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry, Marianne,” he said softly. “I just want to help, but I don’t know how.”
Marianne’s heart sank. The memories of how she had left Christopher and the devastation in his eyes when she told him she was leaving, made her pause. She had nearly broken herself closing the door on him. She couldn’t bear to do it again, not to someone who was trying for her, no matter how complicated things were.
“I know you are,” she said. “And that’s what makes this so hard. I appreciate you caring, I really do. I just think I need a little space to get my head straight, that’s all.”
“I told you before that I’d wait for you as long as it took,” Willoughby reminded her. “I meant it then, and I still mean it now.”
She smiled, bittersweet. “I know. Thank you for being patient with me, John. I promise I’ll call you next week when I’m feeling better.”
She ended the call soon after and set her phone on the nightstand. She meant it; she would call him when she was feeling better. She turned onto her side and closed her eyes, exhaustion from the past several days finally catching up.
But her mind refused to yield. She tossed and turned for almost an hour before realizing what she truly needed to do. Reaching for her phone again, she scrolled down to Christopher’s name and pressed the call icon.
“Marianne?” His deep voice came through, concerned. “Is everything okay?”
“Chris, I’m sorry,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I didn’t even look at the time. Did I wake you?”
“No,” he assured her. “I was just reading. You usually text first, that’s all. Are you okay?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I’m fine. I just… couldn’t sleep.”
“Why not?” he asked gently. “Is something on your mind?”
Marianne sighed. “Yeah. There’s a lot on my mind. Can we talk? In person, I mean?”
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation. “How about Saturday? We could get dinner if you’d like.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. “Saturday is good, but I don’t know if I want to go to a restaurant. Would it be okay if I just came over instead?”
“Yes, you’re always welcome over,” he said, clearly picking up on her unease. “But… is there anything you want to tell me now?”
She swallowed, knowing how well he could read her.
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I’ve been remembering some things… hard things. I’d rather tell you in person.”
“Okay,” he said, not pressing. “Do you want me to pick you up?”
“No, that’s okay. My mother has a hair appointment nearby at 4:30. I can ask her to drop me off before, if that works.”
“That works,” he said. “We can order in, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a small smile breaking through. “Thank you, Christopher.”
They chatted for a few more minutes before Marianne’s earlier exhaustion took a hold of her again. After saying goodnight, they ended the call and she set her phone on the nightstand. Lucky stood up and then curled up close to her, his purrs rattling softly beside her as she finally drifted off to sleep.
Christopher paced the small vestibule just outside the door to his penthouse restlessly. Normally, the ride from the lobby to the penthouse took less than a minute, but today it felt like hours. He finally was able to detect the low hum of its ascent as it slowed to the top. With a brief ding, the doors slid open, revealing Marianne.
“Hi,” he said warmly as he stepped closer to her.
She smiled widely at him and she closed the distance, reaching out to give him a hug. “Thank you for letting me come over.”
He held her a moment longer, her words landing with an unexpected sting. His home had been hers for almost three years and it pained him that she had been reduced to a visitor who felt she needed permission to come over.
He led her inside and helped her out of her coat and shoes before they made their way into the space.
“Do you mind if I use the bathroom?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he said gently. “You don’t need to ask. You can use the bathroom, get anything from the kitchen or even watch TV if you want without asking, okay?”
“Okay,” she said with a sheepish smile as she went down the hall.
He busied himself hanging up her coat, putting away her shoes, and picking through the refrigerator for something to drink. After several minutes, he realized that she hadn’t returned, so he went down the hall to make sure she was okay. He found her standing in the doorway to what used to be her own little office.
“Marianne? Is everything okay?”
She jerked slightly, momentarily startled. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t be in here…”
“Don’t be sorry,” he told her.
She turned to look up at him. “It’s strange being back. Part of me feels like no time has passed because I lost so much… but then I remember it’s been almost a year.”
She turned her gaze back into the room. “It looks just the same as I remember. You really haven’t changed a thing.”
He moved to stand behind her, looking into the room. “No… it didn’t feel right to move or get rid of anything, just in case.”
His voice trailed off as she turned around to look at him. He could tell she already knew what he was going to say, so he didn’t need to finish it.
“You’re welcome to have anything in here,” he told her softly. “It’s all yours.”
She turned back toward the room, her gaze drifting between the desk, the bookshelves, the small armchair, and finally the piano he’d bought her when she first moved in.
“I couldn’t,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t feel right. But… will you keep it for me?”
“Yes, for as long as you need me to.”
He led her back to the kitchen, where they sat together at the island with a glass of wine, chatting about easy things like his work and her looking forward to Meg’s winter break so she would have some company while her mother was at work.
“How’s she doing?” Christopher asked once he put the phone down after putting in their dinner order at the local Thai place.
“Good,” Marianne replied. “She’s in a bit of a tiff with her roommate though. Meg had a crush on the guy she’s been dating, so it’s been rough.”
He chuckled sympathetically, but he could understand how Meg felt in a way.
“We finally had to come clean to Elinor about what happened at her wedding,” Marianne continued.
“Oh really?” he said, pouring himself another glass of wine. “How did she take it?”
“She made that face,” she said laughing. “You know the one, where her eyes go wide and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline?”
Christopher laughed. “Yeah, I know the one.”
“She was about to say something, but luckily Edward appeared, made one of his impeccably-timed dry jokes and she ended up being more annoyed with him than us!”
His laughter grew louder as Marianne paused, taking a breath to regain composure. Once she’d settled down, she continued, “Meg told me she never got the chance to thank you properly… for helping her that night.”
“She doesn’t have to,” he assured her. “She owes me nothing.”
“I know, but I think she’d like to.”
Christopher paused. “I came over to see you when you got home from the hospital, before she went back to university. Why didn’t she come down to say something then?”
Marianne thought for a moment, remembering that day clearly. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Knowing Meg, if she was on the phone with one of her friends, there’d be no getting through to her for anything… but she may have wanted to give us privacy, or maybe the poor girl’s still embarrassed you held her hair back while she threw up.”
At that moment, Christopher’s phone buzzed, signaling their food had arrived. He let the building’s concierge know they could send the delivery person up.
“I get it, but I don’t want her to feel embarrassed around me,” he said, setting his phone aside.
“I’ll remind her when she comes home,” Marianne replied. “I’m sure I can convince her.”
A moment later, a soft knock signaled the delivery had been dropped off outside the door. Together they retrieved it, bringing the containers back to the kitchen and dividing everything up. It didn’t take long for Christopher to notice Marianne picking at her noodles after only a few bites.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did they make it too spicy?”
“No, not that,” she said, managing a weak smile. “I just haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”
She forced down a few more bites before setting her fork aside.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “I can put it away, and you can take it with you if you want.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “It’s always better the next day anyway.”
He offered to let her relax in the living room while he cleaned up. After putting the leftovers in the fridge and wiping down the counter, he joined her on the couch. Right away, he noticed how stiff she looked, her fingers nervously fidgeting at the sleeve of her sweater.
He sat close to her and placed a reassuring hand on her knee. “Marianne, what did you want to tell me?”
She looked up at him, her expression tightening with pain.
“Chris,” she began, drawing in a deep breath. “I had some memories return… of when I left…”
He took her hand gently. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”
She began to replay them, her voice trembling through each one. Christopher noticed the tension in her jaw, the way her eyes darted away when she reached a certain point. There was something she couldn’t bring herself to say.
“I… I don’t want it to be true,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. “I don’t want to believe I could say something so cruel.”
He tightened his grip on her hand. “You can tell me. I won’t be upset.” He gave a small, encouraging smile. “I told you we’d work through this when it was time.”
Her gaze lifted to his, tears tracing slow paths down her cheeks. “Christopher… did I really say I wished you had died… with Eliza and your baby?” Her sobs broke through before she could stop them.
He pulled her into his arms, his hand rubbing soothing circles up and down her back. “Shh… no, you didn’t say it like that.”
“Are you sure?” she choked out, sobbing.
“I’m sure,” he said. “I know you didn’t mean what you said.”
“I’m so sorry…”
He swallowed hard, his voice shaking. “I know. I’m sorry too.”
He held her tighter as she began to tremble, whispering soft words of comfort and assuring her it was okay to let it out. He knew this moment would come eventually—when the awful, ugly day they hit rock bottom would resurface. He had faced that pain many times, learning to forgive both her and himself along the way.
He lost track of how long they sat there, clinging to each other. Eventually, she began to settle, her breathing slowing as she relaxed against him. When she finally sat up and pulled away, her eyes were red and puffy. Strands of hair clung to her damp cheeks. He reached up and smoothed them back as gently as he could.
“Marianne, tell me,” he said softly. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Everything feels hopeless… I’m scared I’ve lost you.”
“You haven’t lost me,” he whispered back, cupping her jaw and brushing away a tear with his thumb. “I was never lost to you.”
“I miss you,” she confessed, gripping his free hand tight. “And… I still love you.”
His own resolve nearly broke at her words. Tears stung at his eyes, but he stayed strong for her.
“Me too,” he said. “I love you so much, Marianne. I never stopped. Not for a second.”
“What do we do now?” she asked. “Do we still have anything left?”
He squeezed her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. Of course there was something left, there always would be. But what came next? He didn’t have that answer. He wanted to pull her into his arms and promise her anything, but it wouldn’t be fair. Not to him, and not to her, not when so many pieces were still missing.
“I don’t know what we do next,” he said softly. “But there’s still something here. There always will be.”
She took a shaky breath, her eyes still brimming with tears. “Christopher… I miss you so much,” she whispered. “That’s why I kissed you. I needed to feel close to you again.”
His heart clenched. He remembered every detail of that kiss—the way she had looked at him, the feel of her hand on his jaw, the warmth of her lips, how it had made him hope again.
“Do you regret it?” she asked, her voice on the edge of breaking.
“No,” he answered instantly, brushing a loose curl from her eyes. “I don’t regret it at all. I loved it, but—”
“But what?” she cut in.
He drew a deep breath to steady himself. “I don’t think anything else should happen between us right now. Not like this.”
Her lower lip trembled again. “I don’t understand. Why can’t we try?”
The way she looked at him nearly broke him all over again. He hated seeing her so lost and scared, but he had to be honest.
“Because you haven’t completely healed yet,” he said as gently as he could. “You don’t have everything back yet. You don’t know how you feel about everything—”
“I know how I feel about you. I know I still love you.”
“I know you do,” he assured her. “But what about John Willoughby? How do you feel about him?”
Her tears came faster now. “I don’t know,” she choked out. “I barely know him. I can’t remember loving him…”
“Marianne, I wish we could,” he said, his voice on the verge of breaking. “It wouldn’t be right to try now. I loved that kiss—and, foolishly, ever since then I’ve hoped we could. But when I saw you with John… I realized I couldn’t ask anything from you right now. I can’t risk getting you back, only for you to wake up one day and remember that you still love him. I’m sorry, but I can’t…”
For a moment, Marianne just stared at him, wide-eyed, her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but nothing came. The words seemed caught somewhere deep in her throat, strangled by a fresh surge of tears. She tried to shake her head, as if to tell him he was wrong, that it didn’t have to be this way, but all that escaped were broken sobs. Before he could say another word or tell her he was sorry, she buried her face against his chest, her shoulders shaking with the force of her cries.
He fought with himself as he held her. Every part of him wanted to say it would be okay, that they could try—anything to ease her pain. There was a time he would have traded his soul for her to come back and tell him she still loved him and wanted him, and now that she had, he felt like the biggest fool in the world for turning her away. But he knew he had to, and it was the only thing that kept him grounded.
When he felt her sobs begin to ease, he loosened his grip and gently pulled back, meeting her eyes.
“Let me take you home, okay?” he whispered. “You need to rest.”
She nodded but didn’t move away from him. He helped her to her feet, then gently guided her into her shoes and coat. Before they left, he retrieved the leftover noodles from the fridge. Then he led her out the door and into the elevator, down to the garage and into his car.
He held her hand whenever he could during the drive. She stayed silent the whole way, staring blankly out the window. When he pulled into her driveway, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, so he stayed beside her until she was ready. Only then did she open her door, and he walked her up the stone path, steady at her side.
Inside, her mother looked up from her book as soon as they stepped in. The moment she saw Marianne’s tear-streaked face, she hurried toward her.
“Marianne,” she said softly, worried. “What happened?”
Marianne only shook her head and went straight upstairs. Mary turned back to Christopher, reading the same pain in his expression.
“She told me what she remembered,” he explained quietly.
Mary’s features softened as she looked toward the stairs. “Christopher, would you mind staying for a few minutes while I check on her?”
“Of course not,” he said.
He removed his coat and shoes before heading into the kitchen to put away her leftovers, then returned to the living room and sat down on the armchair facing the piano. He had no idea what Marianne might be telling her mother upstairs, or what to expect once she came back down. He only hoped Mary could see that he’d never want to hurt her daughter.
About twenty minutes later, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Mary joined him in the living room, taking a seat on the piano bench across from him.
“Is she okay?” he asked.
Mary nodded. “She’s okay. It’s just been a rough week since those memories returned. They’ve made her question herself a lot.”
“Mary, I don’t blame her for any of it,” he began, trying to make himself clear.
“I know you don’t,” she assured him quickly. “But she isn’t convinced. She feels ashamed about the things she remembers saying to you, and I think she believed that if you agreed to try again, it would prove you’d truly forgiven her.”
“I have forgiven her,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
Mary gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know you have. I’ve tried telling her, but Marianne has her own ideas about what she deserves. It’ll take time, but I know my daughter; she’ll forgive herself eventually.”
Christopher looked down at his feet, drawing a deep breath. “What can I do to help her?”
Mary considered for a moment. “If you don’t mind, I think you should go up to her. Just stay with her a while, so she doesn’t feel abandoned. But only if you’re comfortable with that.”
“Of course,” he said, looking up again. “I meant it when I said I’d do anything for her.”
“I know, dear,” she said with a soft smile as she stood. “You’ve always been so good to her.”
He rose then and made his way up the stairs to Marianne’s room. Slowly, he opened the door and found her in her pajamas, curled up beneath the blankets, eyes open and fixed on the far wall.
He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“You’re still here?” she whispered.
He nodded, smoothing his hand up and down her arm. “Yeah, I’m still here.”
“Chris,” she said weakly, her voice catching. “I don’t want you to leave me alone.”
“I won’t,” he promised, carefully peeling back the covers and slipping in beside her. “I’m right here.”
She curled close to him, her body going slack at last as sleep finally claimed her. Christopher held her close, taking in the soft scent of her hair, letting the steady rhythm of her breathing anchor him. It had been so long since he’d felt her this close, so heartbreakingly real and warm against him. Deep down, despite all the fear and doubt, he still dared to hope that someday, they’d find their way back.
Chapter 25: Then
Notes:
I'd like to start out by thanking everyone who has been reading, leaving comments and kudos, and bookmarking this story. It genuinely makes me happy and encourages me to keep going, even when the subject matter is difficult, like this chapter.
I apologize in advance for this one, but it's necessary for the story as a whole. This chapter is probably both the most anticipated and the most dreaded. It's also one of the reasons this fic is rated 'M'.
Good luck, everyone! 😭
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
The bitter January wind howled just beyond the windows outside, but its chill couldn’t reach Marianne. She curled up deeper into the couch with her fluffy blanket and cup of tea, scrolling through the digital proofs of Elinor’s wedding photos. Her smile grew wider as she looked at each shot, replaying the memories of that beautiful day. A little over a week had passed since, and while Elinor was now technically on her honeymoon, she couldn’t help sharing the link with Marianne after she received it.
She reached the end of the album and checked the time on her phone. It was after eight o’clock, and still Christopher hadn’t returned home yet. It had been like this since the start of the new year. He assured her it was just due to an uptick in business and wouldn’t last too much longer, but it still gave Marianne pause for concern.
She was just about to text him to try and see when he was coming home when she heard the door click open. She got up instinctively and went to greet him.
“Hi,” she said softly as she gave him a kiss. “Another busy day?”
“Yeah, sorry,” he said quietly.
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I made you a plate. It’s in the fridge if you want me to heat it up for you.”
“That’d be great,” he said as he removed his coat and shoes. “I’m just going to take a quick shower.”
She readied his dinner and set it out for him at the dining table. He returned about ten minutes later, dressed in comfortable clothes, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. She sat with him while he ate, trying to make light conversation, but he seemed distant.
“Chris, what’s wrong?” she finally asked, concerned.
“Nothing,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just a lot going on at work.”
She returned his smile with a pained one of her own. “Elinor sent me her wedding photo proofs,” she said, hoping something light would take his mind off of whatever was troubling him at work. “Do you want to see them?”
“Not right now,” he said, as her face fell. “I’m sorry, Marianne, I’m just exhausted.”
“Okay,” she said, dropping it.
She stood to walk away, but he took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze without saying anything further. She frowned slightly before going to the den, flipping on the TV to try to distract herself from the swirl of thoughts. Now that she thought about it, his distance had started after they got back from Elinor’s wedding. The more she turned it over in her mind, the more certain she was that it wasn’t just work. Something else was going on, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.
She absentmindedly watched TV for another thirty minutes before shutting it off and going to look for him. The door to the library was shut tight, and she nearly barged in, but something made her pause. Instead, she went to their bathroom, brushing her teeth and changing into her pajamas. When she came out, he was sitting up in bed, but quickly got up to do the same routine himself.
When he finally returned, he climbed into bed next to her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before turning away to face the wall. She reached out, resting her hand on his shoulder, and felt him tense under her touch. That was the final straw.
“Christopher,” she said firmly, her voice low but steady. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He sighed but didn’t face her. “I told you already. I’m just exhausted.”
She drew in a shaky breath, fighting to keep calm. “I know, but I can’t help but feel there’s something else. You’ve been like this since the wedding… you haven’t even touched me since then,” she confessed, her voice catching with the memory of a few nights ago and how he’d turned away from her touch with the same excuse. “Talk to me, please,” she pleaded. “Just tell me… whatever it is.”
He sat up slowly, staring at the far wall but not turning to look at her. She felt her stomach clench as an unwelcome and intrusive fear took root.
“Chris,” she whispered. “Is there someone else?”
His head whipped around. “No. God, no. Marianne, I’d never,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I love you… I just… I don’t want to get married.”
Her eyes went wide, her mouth opening but no words came. Where was this coming from? Why would he say that to her now?
“What?” she choked out. It was all she could manage.
He took her hand and gently squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
“I don’t…” Her lips parted, struggling for words. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”
He took a deep breath, sitting up straighter. “Meg told me what you said,” he told her quietly. “When I was helping her at the reception.”
Marianne’s heart sank. Oh God. She remembered exactly what she told Meg before the ceremony and how certain she was that Christopher was the one, how clearly she could see their future together. She felt so sure of him, so certain that he felt the same. She’d never imagined a private confession between sisters would come back to bite her like this.
“She told you,” Marianne repeated, stunned. “I asked her not to say anything…”
“Don’t take it out on her,” he said in a low voice.
“I wouldn’t,” she answered, trembling. “So what are you saying, Christopher? Is this it for us then?”
“No, of course not,” he insisted, squeezing her hand tighter, hurt flashing in his eyes. “I told you, I still love you. I still want to be with you. I just… I can’t get married. I can’t build a new family. Not after everything I lost.”
“I don't understand,” she said, eyes dropping to their entwined hands. “You say you still love me. Why can’t you marry me? Why can’t we build a future?”
He took a deep breath, sitting up a little straighter. “Because I promised Eliza I would marry her. I promised I’d never abandon her, or our baby. I can’t—can’t break that promise… it just doesn’t feel right.”
Marianne sat silent for a moment, pulling her hand away without even realizing it. His words blurred around her, distant and unreal. They sounded out of place in this room, in this bed, and from his mouth.
“Chris,” she said quietly. “I know you’d never abandon them. But… Eliza is gone. They both are. That promise doesn’t bind you anymore.”
He shook his head, eyes dark with remembered grief. “No. You don’t understand… She was so scared to tell me she was pregnant. Thought I’d leave her, just like Beth’s father did. He walked away, married someone else, had a whole new family like they never even existed.”
His voice started to tremble, but he pushed through. “I told her I wouldn’t do that. I swore I’d stay. That I’d marry her, raise our baby… Beth, too. That they’d have all of me. I can’t go back on that.”
“I know you'd never go back on your word,” she tried to reason, unable to fully grasp the depth of his grief. “They're gone... and I'm so sorry you went through that. But, you aren’t breaking that promise by living your life.”
“I already failed her once,” Christopher said, his voice low and hoarse. “I promised her I’d always treat Beth as my own, but her father came back and took her. He barely knew her. He left when she was only a few months old and barely saw her, while I was a part of her life every day I was with Eliza.”
“You couldn’t help that,” Marianne said. “Beth wasn’t legally yours. There was nothing you could do.”
She saw the way he winced at her words, and it broke her heart. She reached for his hand again, holding it with one of hers while her other hand rubbed gently along his arm. He only stared blankly at the wall ahead of them.
“I won’t let her down again,” he said at last. “I promised her. I can’t walk away from that now.”
“Christopher,” she said softly, her own voice beginning to waver. “You didn’t walk away. You didn’t leave her. What happened was a tragic accident, something no one should ever have to experience. You loved her; I know you still do, and that’s okay. That promise… you honored it with everything you had.”
He turned to face her again, tears welling in his eyes, making them shine in the dim light. “I’m sorry, Marianne. I just… I can’t let them go.”
She swallowed hard, a sharp ache blooming in her chest. “I know,” she whispered, even though every part of her rebelled against the words. How could she know? How could she ever truly understand? But she said it anyway. “I know.”
His shoulders trembled as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, breath shaky. “I love you so much,” he choked out, and kissed her desperately, pleading, as if he needed her forgiveness more than air. “I’m so sorry I’m hurting you.”
Marianne closed her eyes, letting him hold her, even though it felt like he was crushing something vital inside her. “I know you do,” she answered softly, the words tasting like ashes. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay. Nothing about this was okay. She pulled back from his embrace, settling a little distance away on the mattress, her hands folded in her lap like she might splinter apart if she moved. How was she supposed to make sense of this? Just days ago, she had felt so certain and sure of the life they would build together. And now it was gone. Ripped away by the very man she trusted to help her build it.
But she couldn’t say any of that. Not yet. He was too fragile, too broken, and she still loved him enough to protect him from her own heartbreak.
Finally, she raised her eyes to his, her voice raw and unsteady. “I love you too,” she breathed, “but I don’t know what to do with this.”
He closed his eyes, his shoulders shaking as if something deep inside him was cracking apart. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, the words barely holding together.
Her chest twisted so tightly she could hardly breathe. She reached for him, pulling him back into her arms, pressing his head to her shoulder. “Shh, Chris,” she said, her voice steady even though every part of her felt as fragile as glass. “I’m here. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
He clung to her then, like a drowning man would to a piece of driftwood as she smoothed her hand through his hair. For a moment, she let herself believe that was enough, that she could hold them both together if she just stayed strong. But the truth was something else entirely. This was slowly breaking her, piece by piece.
“Miss Dashwood?”
Marianne stared blankly ahead, unable to focus on anything. Her mind kept circling back to nine days ago, to Christopher’s confession. It replayed in her mind on a relentless loop. The distance after her sister’s wedding, his cold, fragile silence, and then the night when he finally broke and told her the truth. They would never marry, never start a family of their own.
She tried to be understanding, telling him that it was okay, but in the days since, her heart was slowly being crushed under the weight of it.
For him, though, letting it out seemed to change everything. It was as if unburdening himself had set him free, restoring some gentler part of who he used to be. He no longer worked late, no longer pulled away. Instead, he went out of his way to be affectionate—kissing her shoulder while she cooked, brushing her hair from her face when they lay in bed, reaching for her hand at every quiet moment.
She tried to meet him with the same warmth, but each gesture only deepened the ache of what she’d never have, making her pull further from him, breath by breath.
“ Miss Dashwood! ” The voice called out again, snapping Marianne from these dark thoughts.
Her gaze refocused, her classroom rushing back into view. A few giggles floated through the background. One of her students stood in front of her, wearing a confused yet slightly concerned look.
“Yes, Connor?” she said, trying to sound attentive. “I’m sorry. What do you need?”
“The bell rang like, five minutes ago. Are you going to start class?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s cool if you’re not feeling it today and we can just do whatever…”
She forced a tight smile. “Thank you, Connor, but no, we will be having class today. You may take your seat.”
She pushed aside her personal problems and began her lesson, slipping into the teaching persona she had perfected over the past four and a half years since she began. Despite the normal challenges of keeping her students engaged and focused on the literature she taught, she genuinely loved her work.
She managed to get through the rest of the morning with no further lapses. By lunchtime, she had a text from Elinor, who had returned from her honeymoon a few days before.
You busy tonight? it read.
No, why? Marianne replied.
I’m heading to Mama’s to see Meg before she goes back to uni. Come join us. Edward can’t make it, some department meeting, but you can bring Christopher if you want.
Sounds great, but Christopher’s out. Client dinner.
Too bad, but I guess it will just be us girls then! Pick you up at the school at 4?
Marianne sent back a thumbs-up emoji. She was about to put her phone away when she decided she should at least tell Christopher her evening plans.
Going to my mother’s for dinner to see Elinor and Meg before she goes back to uni. See you later tonight, she wrote.
His reply came swiftly. No worries. See you when you get home. Love you.
Her heart clenched. She wanted to type the same thing back, but put her phone down. That felt too cold. After a moment, she picked it back up and sent a simple heart emoji instead, then cleaned up the remnants of her lunch and returned to her classroom.
The rest of the school day disappeared in a breeze. Marianne remained at her desk, checking though emails, reviewing her lesson plan for the next day—anything to keep her mind occupied and away from her heartache.
Her phone finally buzzed a little after four. Elinor let her know that she was outside waiting. Marianne stood up and gathered her things, looking forward to the distraction and respite seeing her family would bring.
However, as soon as she got into her sister’s car, she was met with a big hug and squeals of delight as Elinor recounted her honeymoon. She and Edward opted to go to a tropical resort to escape the winter chill, and while Marianne put on a brave face, she soon realized hearing about her sister’s romantic honeymoon was not the sort of distraction she had in mind.
“Oh Marianne,” she said wistfully as she navigated the streets to their mother’s home. “You should have seen this adorable older couple we saw at the resort. They were probably in their seventies, maybe even older. They were wearing matching tropical print clothes, holding hands while the man walked with a cane.”
Marianne closed her eyes and took a deep breath to try and steady herself. Any other time she would have melted at the thought of love enduring through the years, but today she could barely hold herself together.
“That sounds lovely, Ellie,” she said flatly.
“I told Edward right then and there that I want that to be us in fifty years!”
Marianne gave her sister a pained smile. In fifty years she hoped Elinor would get her wish, but her? She wasn’t sure about anything. What would she and Christopher be to each other then? Would she be an old woman, still calling a ninety-four-year-old man her boyfriend? Or worse, would she be alone, Christopher having long left this world behind to reunite with Eliza and their baby?
“Is everything okay?” Elinor asked. “You seem quiet.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “My students are still in holiday break mode. I had to fight extra hard to keep them on task.”
She hated lying to her sister, or to anyone really, but she didn’t want to admit there was anything wrong. She didn’t want to say it out loud and make it real.
She thought she’d endured the worst of Elinor’s honeymoon recap during the car ride over, but as soon as they stepped inside the door, her mother and younger sister quickly enveloped Elinor in a hug, welcoming her back and demanding every detail.
“Well, I don’t want to know everything ,” Meg said, flashing a sly, knowing grin.
Marianne rolled her eyes and quietly slipped toward the kitchen. She didn’t want to know anything, but reminded herself to keep her emotions in check for their sake.
She opened the fridge and poked around until she found a bottle of wine tucked near the back. She pulled it out, grabbed four glasses from the cupboard, and cracked the bottle open.
“None for me,” Meg said, stepping into the kitchen behind her.
Right. Marianne stilled for a moment, the cap still in her hand. She remembered how compassionate Christopher had been to Meg during her worst, how grateful she was that he found her and cared for her. Always gentle and present.
“Still not fully recovered from the wedding?” she asked quietly.
Meg shook her head. “Nope. Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn.”
“Probably for the best,” Marianne murmured, putting the glass away and grabbing her a soda from the fridge.
“I should thank Christopher,” Meg said after a pause. “But I don’t know how. I wish he was here, so I’d have to get it over with.”
“Well, he’s busy tonight. But maybe next time you’re home, okay?” Marianne said. She held out one of the glasses. “Think you can carry this for me?”
Meg wrinkled her nose. “I’ll try.”
The pair joined Elinor and their mother in the family room as Elinor continued recounting her honeymoon, complete with photos. There were tons of selfies of her and Edward on the beach, sunsets over the water, hikes to hidden waterfalls. She smiled and gasped at what felt like the appropriate moments, but she was struggling. It hurt to see glimpses of a life she would never have.
When images of their honeymoon suite appeared complete with rose petals scattered across the bed, bath towels twisted into the shapes of various animals—Marianne had to excuse herself to the bathroom. It was too much.
She splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would snap her out of it. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her expression was lifeless and dull, as if wearing a mask she’d forgotten to take off. She lifted the corners of her mouth and tried to smile. It almost looked normal. If anyone saw her like this, they might not notice anything was wrong. But she noticed. She could feel every jagged edge of the heartache she was holding back.
It was a mistake coming here, she thought. She would’ve been better off at home. At least there, she could wallow in private. She might’ve even gone to bed early, avoiding Christopher altogether depending on how late his dinner ran.
With a deep breath, she returned downstairs to find her mother and sisters setting the table for dinner. She joined them once again, doing her best to go through the motions, wearing the smile she had practiced in the bathroom. The rest of inner was more of the same. Her mother had made one of her favorites—lemon-roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans, but Marianne could barely taste it.
Once the meal was over, she stayed behind to help her mother clean up while Elinor and Meg retreated back to the family room, huddled close together on the couch as Elinor brought up a second wave of pictures.
“Sweetheart, you can join your sisters,” her mother assured her. “I can finish up in here.”
Marianne would have given up her right arm at that moment to avoid looking at those photos again.
“No, it’s okay,” Marianne said. “I don’t mind.”
They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, clearing the table, rinsing plates, and loading them into the dishwasher. Marianne grappled with herself the whole time. She wanted to tell her mother everything, to lay it all bare and seek some sort of comfort, but shame still curled tight around her. So instead, she took a different route.
“Mama, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, dear,” Mary replied. “What’s on your mind?”
Marianne inhaled forcefully. There was no elegant way to say it, so she just blurted it out. “Did you ever feel like a replacement for Catherine?”
Mary froze mid-motion, the plate in her hand hovering just above the sink. Slowly, she turned to look at her daughter.
Marianne’s heart stuttered. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. Maybe this was too much.
“Marianne,” her mother said gently, “where is this coming from?”
“Sorry,” she said, dropping her head. “I don’t mean to pry.”
Mary dried off her hands and put her arm around her daughter. “No, it’s not that. You know you can talk to me about anything,” she said gently. “It’s just something you’ve never asked before. I’m just wondering why now.”
“Oh, no reason,” Marianne replied, keeping her tone light. “I overheard one of my colleagues talking about how they spent the holidays. They mentioned seeing their stepfather, and it just got me thinking.”
She hated lying again. But her mother seemed satisfied by the explanation. She led Marianne to the table, where they sat side by side. Mary took her daughter’s hand in both of hers and gave it a warm squeeze.
“No, I never felt like a replacement for Catherine,” Mary said. “Never as a wife, never as a mother to John.”
Marianne looked down at their joined hands, her throat tightening.
“Did you ever feel like he loved her more?” she asked quietly. “Like he would’ve given you up if he could’ve had her back?”
“Of course not,” Mary said without hesitation. “If I’d ever felt even a flicker of doubt, I wouldn’t have married him. I knew your father still loved Catherine. He never stopped, and I was okay with that. But he had enough room left for me, and for you girls. He loved all of his children the same.”
Marianne nodded slowly, swallowing the ache in her chest. Her father had lost his first wife and grieved deeply, yet still found enough love for her mother. Enough to build a new life, raise a family, and shape a future that included her.
But Christopher had made it clear he couldn’t do that. What did that say about her?
“How did Papa move on?” she asked quietly. “He didn’t feel like he was betraying her?”
“You remember we told you she was very sick,” Mary said gently. “And she knew she didn’t have much time. Your father told me she didn’t want John to grow up without a mother, nor did she want him to be alone. I think that helped him find peace with moving forward.”
“And you were okay with being his second love?” Marianne asked. “You didn’t feel like you had to live up to someone’s shadow?”
“Not for a second,” her mother said with certainty. “I loved your father very much, and I know he loved me. He suffered a loss no one should have to face, but through that, we built this beautiful family. I wouldn’t trade you girls to be someone’s one and only love. Not for anything.”
Marianne managed a faint smile, but her heart still felt heavy. Her mother had been loved for who she was, not to fill an empty space. She hadn’t felt the weight of someone else between her and the love they shared.
So if Christopher couldn’t love her without the past always in the way… maybe it wasn’t just because he was still broken. Maybe it was that she wasn’t enough.
Marianne and her mother talked for a bit longer before finishing cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. She then rejoined her sisters, humoring Elinor by looking through the photos again as the three of them sat close together, giggling through the album.
Elinor left soon after, citing an early day at the office, though Meg made an offhand comment that she was just eager to return home to her husband . Elinor flashed a smile at her, while Marianne suppressed a groan. After a round of hugs, Elinor was out the door.
Marianne stayed another hour, but eventually noticed how beat her mother and sister looked, both stifling yawns.
“I should probably head out,” she said after they yawned in rapid succession.
“Isn’t Christopher coming to pick you up?” her mother asked.
Marianne shook her head. “No, I’m just going to take the bus.”
Mary frowned. “At this hour? The bus stop is a fifteen-minute walk. Are you sure?”
A deep sigh escaped Marianne. “You’re exhausted, Mama. I’ve done it a million times. I’ll be fine. Besides, I like walking.”
“I could drive you,” Meg offered. “I like driving in the city. I don’t get nervous like you do.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “But I really have to go if I’m going to make it.”
“Okay,” Mary said. “But text me when you get to the stop, when you’re on the bus, and when you’re home.”
“I will,” she promised, giving them both a hug.
She quickly put on her shoes and coat, said another round of goodbyes, and slipped out the door. It was freezing, but she welcomed the cold and solitude before she had to face Christopher.
She’d just made it down the street when a fine mist began to fall. Hugging her coat tighter, she walked from the quiet residential neighborhood, across the main road, and up three blocks to the bus stop.
She had timed it well. The bus arrived only a few minutes after she did, and by then, the mist had turned into a steadier freezing rain. She shivered in her seat, damp but otherwise fine, firing off a quick text to her mother as promised.
The ride into the city was quiet. She stared blankly out the window as the buildings grew taller and the traffic busier. She wasn’t thinking anymore. She was too tired. For once, her mind had gone still. She was almost too relaxed, nearly missing her stop. She yanked the stop cord just in time and hopped off. Two more brisk blocks and she reached her building.
She gave a quick smile and wave to the night desk staff before stepping into the elevator. As it rose, she paused, bracing herself. She didn’t know how to face him. Not when his tenderness, once comforting, now only reminded her of what she’d never have. But even with the ache still raw, a part of her longed for it anyway, because she would always need him.
She held onto that as she stepped inside.
She heard the faint sound of the TV coming from the den as she crossed the threshold. After slipping off her shoes and coat, she made her way toward the cozy space.
She paused at the landing, noticing him asleep on the couch, his face relaxed in the soft glow of the screen. He looked at peace, like the turmoil of the past couple weeks had finally melted away. She desperately wished that it could for her too.
“Christopher,” she called gently. “I’m back.”
He stirred, blinking a few times before his eyes found hers. “Oh… hey,” he said groggily, reaching for his phone to check the time. “Didn’t realize it got so late.”
“Yeah,” she said, coming down the steps. “The bus was a little slow once it hit the city.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You took the bus at this hour?”
“Geez, you sound like my mother,” she said, trying to sound light. “Speaking of, I need to text her that I’m home.” She pulled out her phone and tapped out a quick message.
He got up, stretching, then cast a glance out the window. “You should’ve called me, Marianne. Especially in this weather.”
A sharp breath escaped her. “I was already on the bus when the rain started. I’m fine, okay? Nobody died.”
The words hung in the air for only a second, but it was enough. She saw it hit him—the sudden stiffness in his posture, the hurt that burned behind his eyes. The regret crushed her instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together. “I didn’t mean it like that… I wasn’t thinking.”
It had just slipped out. An ordinary phrase anyone might say in a moment of frustration, thrown out to dismiss worry or end a conversation. But not that phrase. Not to him . She hated herself for it the moment it left her mouth.
Stepping down the few stairs into the den, she moved closer and took his hands in hers. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t respond either, his fingers sitting limp in her grasp.
“Chris…” she said softly, pleading now. “I’m really sorry.”
Silence stretched between them. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his shoulders eased, and he gave her hands a gentle squeeze. The relief hit her hard. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. This time, he hugged her back tightly.
“I know,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “Let’s go to bed, okay?”
She nodded and leaned up to kiss him before heading toward their bedroom.
Later, lying in the dark, she pressed her back to his chest, letting him hold her as close as he wanted. His arms curled around her like always, but neither spoke. Even though their bodies touched, even with his warmth behind her, he still felt a million miles away.
A few nights later, they sat on opposite ends of the couch, the TV playing reruns of some lighthearted sitcom they used to watch together. Marianne barely looked up from her phone, and when she did, it was as if she were staring through the screen, not at it.
Christopher glanced over at her, trying to figure out what to do, how to reach her. She never sat this far away. Their quiet evenings at home usually meant her curled against his side, his arm around her, with soft words and stolen kisses shared between them. But now, it was like she wasn’t there at all.
He wanted to ask. Wanted to beg her to talk to him, to tell him what he’d done wrong, but he knew. Of course he knew. He’d hurt her. He just didn’t know how to make it right.
He slid across the couch, resting a tentative hand on her knee. She looked over at him, but like the TV, it felt like she was seeing right through him. He reached up with his other hand, gently brushing a curl from her eyes before leaning in to kiss her. She didn’t flinch, but she didn’t fully respond, either.
After a moment, she pulled back and spoke. “Chris, I’m going to head to bed.”
“Okay,” he said softly, his hand lingering at her jaw before letting it fall.
He watched her rise and go up the few steps to the landing before disappearing down the hall. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and sank back against the cushions. He knew he was asking too much of her—expecting her to carry the weight of what he’d confessed, while giving her nothing in return. She was trying, he could see that. Trying to accept it, trying to stay positive. But she was failing, and it was his fault.
Moments like the other night only confirmed it.
He’d seen the horror, the regret that flickered across her face the moment the words left her mouth. She hadn’t realized what they would mean to him until it was too late. And while he knew she would never say something like that to hurt him, the words still cut through him like a jagged blade.
Maybe this distance between them now wasn’t just pain or confusion. Maybe it was guilt —some belief that she’d broken something between them, but he couldn’t let her believe that. He would go to her and assure her that even though it had hurt, he understood that she hadn’t meant it. He’d tell her that he’d already forgiven her, and more than anything, that he still loved her.
After brushing his teeth and changing into pajamas, he slid quietly into bed beside her. She was lying on her side, facing away from him, but he could tell by the quick rise and fall of her breathing that she wasn’t yet asleep.
“Marianne?” he whispered, resting a hand on her arm, gentle as he could manage. She tensed beneath his touch, and his heart sank.
He was about to pull away when she moved. She turned to face him. The room was nearly dark, but he could still make out the soft outline of her features, lit faintly by the glow of the city lights slipping through the curtains.
What she did next caught him completely off guard.
She moved toward him suddenly, pressing her lips to his with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs. Before he could react, she climbed into his lap, straddling him with a raw, startling urgency.
He didn’t know what it meant or where it was coming from, only that something inside her had broken loose. So he let it happen.
He kissed her back, his tongue moving desperately against hers as the rest of his body responded with equal aching need. His hands rose quickly to her waist, then drifted down to rest at her hips. But she caught them before they could settle, grabbing his wrists and forcing them down, pinning them against the mattress.
Christopher could only stare up at her, his mind spinning. “Marianne, what’s—”
“Shh,” she cut in. “Just don’t talk.”
He froze, body rigid beneath her as she pulled his shirt off in one swift motion. When his hands were free again, he tried to touch her, but she shook her head, a firm warning in her eyes.
This wasn’t like her. Not that she didn’t enjoy taking the lead; she absolutely did. She had a way of driving him wild, doing everything he loved with a teasing confidence that left him undone. But there was always a lightness to it, a glint in her eye, a giggle she couldn’t quite suppress no matter how seductive she tried to be. That playfulness had always been part of what made it feel so intimate. But now… it was gone.
She made quick work of the rest of their clothes, her movements rough and hurried as she sank down onto him, taking him inside her with a strained gasp. Christopher’s breath hitched, his hands instinctively moving to her waist and then up to her breasts, but she grabbed them before he could touch her further.
Her grip was unyielding as she again shoved his wrists back down and pressed them hard against the mattress. He could feel the tension in her fingers, the way they dug into his skin. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but enough to pin him there, immobile. He didn’t resist, but confusion surged through him, tightening in his chest.
“Don’t,” she said again, her voice fierce, her eyes locked on his. “Don’t touch me.”
He stared up at her, his mind reeling. What the hell was happening? He wanted to say something, to try and figure out what had brought this on. But every time he opened his mouth, she silenced him with a look—jaw clenched, eyes blazing.
So he stayed quiet, letting her set the pace, letting her keep control.
Her body moved above his, her hips rolling in a rhythm that was quick and frantic, almost desperate. She didn’t look directly at him; her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
Christopher tried to keep up with her, his body responding to hers despite the confusion swirling in his mind. Marianne loosened her grip on one of his hands, and he instinctively reached up to graze the outside of her thigh. She instantly forced it back down, her nails digging into his skin.
“Stop,” she said, her voice tight. “Just… stop.”
He didn’t know if she meant stop touching her or stop trying to understand. Either way, he obeyed, his hands staying at his sides as she rode him, her movements gaining intensity, her breaths growing more erratic.
It didn’t take much longer. How could it? She was relentless, and he was too close, too overwhelmed and too desperate to feel something. He came with a stifled groan, his body arching beneath her, his hands clenching the sheets.
She hadn’t made a sound, not even an exhale, as her movements stilled the instant it was over. Then, without a word, she climbed off him, gathering her discarded pajamas from the floor before heading for the bathroom.
“Do you want me to—”
“No,” she said, not turning back. “I’m good.”
He heard the soft click of the lock, then the steady rhythm of water running through the silence. He lay there a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all.
When it was clear she wasn’t coming out anytime soon, he got up, gathered his clothes, and tapped lightly on the bathroom door.
“Marianne, are you alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she answered, her voice muffled by the water.
He didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push. Instead, he headed to the spare bathroom they barely used and stepped into the shower. He let the hot water scald his skin, hoping it would wash away the confusion still clinging to him.
He lost track of time. When the water began to turn cold, he forced himself to move, to lather and rinse and dry off.
When he returned to their bedroom, Marianne was already in bed, the covers pulled to her chin. Her breathing was slow and deep. If she was asleep, he didn’t have the heart to wake her. So he let her be.
He climbed in beside her, lying still for a long time. He stared at her back, wondering how to even begin to process what had happened. He couldn’t pretend anymore, not about what he felt or what she needed. He didn’t have the energy or the courage to push her tonight. Instead he turned away, his body mirroring hers as he stared out the window.
The early morning darkness began to shift, muted pinks and oranges bleeding slowly across the skyline as the sun climbed behind the buildings. Marianne sat curled on the couch in the living room, her cheek pressed to the cushion, a cup of bitter coffee cradled in her hands. She watched the light change without really seeing it, only aware of the way it crept over the glass and spread across the floor.
She had been awake for hours. Sleep had come for her quickly at first, but it didn’t last. Somewhere in the blur between midnight and dawn, she’d begun to toss and turn, her body restless with everything she didn’t want to feel. Eventually, she gave up trying and slipped out to the living room, hoping the silence might still her thoughts.
She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there. Seconds bled into minutes, minutes into hours. The faint clink of a mug in the kitchen punctuated the quiet before the soft tread of his steps resumed, drawing closer. When the couch dipped beside her, she didn’t look up.
“Good morning,” Christopher said softly.
“Morning,” she replied, her eyes still fixed on the window, her body angled away from him.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Not after last night. The shame sat heavy on her, pressing down until she could hardly breathe. She loved him, and it hurt to see him carrying the same pain she was. When he reached for her last night, she didn’t want to pull away again, so she kissed him.
But when he kissed her back with that same aching tenderness and touched her like he still meant every part of it, she couldn’t let it in. She wasn’t ready for that kind of closeness, not when she still felt closed off and undeserving of it. The kindness in his touch made something in her recoil. So she shut it out. She went through the motions, giving what she thought he needed, unable to take anything for herself.
“You’re up early,” he said after a moment.
She lifted the mug to her lips, letting the warmth settle in her hands before answering. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He set his mug down on the coffee table with a soft clink, then placed a hand gently on her back. “Marianne?”
“Hmm?” she murmured, still gazing out the window.
He reached over and took the mug from her hands, setting it beside his. “Can you look at me?”
She turned slowly, her eyes drifting toward the stitching on his shirt, anywhere but his face until he reached up and tilted her chin, gently tilting her face towards his. She saw his eyes then—steady, not pained, only full of careful concern. His thumb brushed her cheek before his hand dropped away.
“What happened last night?” he asked softly.
Marianne didn’t know how to answer. She just stared at him, noticing how dull his slate eyes looked, like something essential had been drained from them. They shifted slightly, still searching her face.
“Marianne, talk to me, please.” His voice was low, pleading.
She took a slow breath. “You didn’t like it?”
A flash of anguish crossed his face, so quick she almost missed it.
“It’s not that,” he said. “It just wasn’t like you. It didn’t feel right.”
Breaking that promise… it just doesn’t feel right.
It just wasn’t like you. It didn’t feel right.
The words blended together, echoing in her head. Shame crept in first, tightening its cold grip around her chest. Of course nothing felt right. She’d made it not feel right.
For a moment, she thought she might try to apologize, to explain herself. She could still feel the way she gripped his wrists, the way she refused any tenderness or affection from him. But when she looked up at him, she thought she saw his expression had changed. He seemed to be looking at her like she’d done something wrong. Like her touch had crossed some invisible line.
So that was it. He didn’t want to marry her, and now he didn’t seem to want her in that way anymore. Not when he already had someone perfect and untouchable frozen in time. It didn’t matter what she did or said. None of it would ever be enough, because she wasn’t and could never be Eliza.
She shook her head, looking away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We have to,” he said gently. “You know we do. I’m just trying to understand.”
She whipped her head back around to him.
“No Chris, help me understand,” she said, her voice calm, deliberate. “Why was it okay to fuck me when it didn’t feel right, but you won’t marry me for the same reason?”
He stared at her, as if he couldn’t process what she just said. “What? I don’t…”
Her mouth twisted. “What would Eliza think of that?” she spat bitterly.
He looked at her as if he’d just been slapped. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His face crumpled just slightly, as if he were bracing for impact.
“Marianne,” he then said in a low voice. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” She challenged him.
He blinked, looked away, as his jaw tensed and his breath began to pick up.
“Don’t you dare bring her up!” he snapped.
“Really, Chris? You brought her into this!”
Christopher’s shoulders tensed, his fingers digging into the cushions at his sides. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, so now we care about fairness?” she threw her hands in the air, the heat rising in her voice. “Was it fair when you shut me out, was it fair all the times you told me you had moved on, and is it fair that I’ve done nothing but love you and be supportive for almost four years and will have nothing to show for it?”
He shook his head, stunned. “I never meant… Marianne, please … I love you so much, but I just can’t…”
She stood up and crossed the room, folding her arms around herself as if it was the only thing keeping her together.
“Why not? Do you love a dead woman more than you love me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said tersely, but the hurt was already there in his eyes. “Of course not, but—”
“But what?” she cut him off, her voice breaking. “What’s wrong with me? Why am I not enough?”
He closed the distance between them, taking her hands in his. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, his voice softening. “I still want you.”
She shook her head, fury giving way to devastation. “But not all of me. Not the parts that matter.”
She pulled her hands from his and climbed the steps to the kitchen. Back and forth she paced, trying to summon the words that might finally break through. But how do you fight for someone so broken? How could she scale the walls he built when she never even knew how high they reached, or how deep they ran?
She stopped, turned to face him.
“You know,” she said, her voice steadier now. “If my father had the same outlook you do, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t exist. He lost his first wife… but he found a way to move forward with my mother. Why can’t you move forward with me?”
He moved up to the same level as her, leaning against the kitchen island, scrubbing his hands through his hair. For a second, he didn’t say anything. His shoulders dropped, like the fight had gone out of him. Maybe she’d finally said something that got through.
But then he shook his head, eyes closing for a breath. “It’s not the same… it’s not that simple.”
“How is it not the same?” she asked. She didn’t shout, but the force behind her words was evident. “He lost someone he loved, Christopher, but he still chose to live after that. He chose to love my mother and give her a marriage and a family. Is Eliza and your baby the only future you ever wanted?”
He turned away, like he couldn’t bear to look at her. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice strained. “How could you possibly know what it feels like to lose everything?”
“I can understand!” she shouted, her composure cracking. She gripped the edge of one of the stools, her knuckles turning white. “Because I lost you. I lost you the day you decided grief mattered more than we did!”
He stepped closer again, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry… but I can’t…”
“Can’t what?” Her voice cracked open, disbelief spilling out. She flinched away from his touch and sank into one of the dining chairs, burying her face in her hands. “Can’t choose me? Can’t let go? Can’t imagine a life where I’m enough?”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed, eyes flicking toward the window, then down. Finally, he moved to sit beside her. Slowly, like he wasn’t sure he had the right, he reached for her hand and traced circles across her back with the other.
“You are enough,” he said quietly, his voice breaking around the words.
She turned to face him, shaking her head before the tears spilled down. “I don't believe you. I’m not enough . I never will be.”
“That’s not true,” he whispered, fighting to keep his voice from unraveling. “I want you… for the rest of my life.”
He said it like a vow. Like it should have been enough, but it wasn’t.
“It’s not a life!” she choked out through relentless sobs. “It’s like you died with them! Maybe you should have!”
The loud crack of his fist slamming against the table startled her. She looked up and saw flashes of hurt and anger behind his eyes.
“Sometimes I wish I did!” he yelled, rising up and going back to the kitchen, pacing back and forth. He ran both hands through his hair, then turned back to her, something dark and bitter in his voice now.
“You think this is easy for me? You think I want to hurt you?” He took a step forward, eyes burning. “Have you even thought about how much I’m hurting? How much it fucking kills me that I can’t give you what you want?”
She backed away, regretting her own words as they came crashing down. “Chris, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry—”
“God Marianne, just stop,” he cut in, turning from her. He leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes like he could wipe it all away. “Maybe you were never in love with the real me. Maybe you only loved the idealized version of me that gave you what you wanted.”
The words landed like a blow. Marianne had never hidden her heart from him, had never loved him incompletely. She had loved him, wholly, unguardedly and with all the devotion she knew how to give. Her love hadn’t failed them. It was his silence and the way he kept her at arm’s length, always insisting he was fine whenever his grief surfaced, until it finally broke open and revealed he wasn’t.
“If you really think that,” she said softly, almost to herself. “What are we even doing here, Christopher?”
She watched him from across the room, his hands splayed against the counter before he dug his fingers into the smooth surface like he needed something to hold onto. He didn’t answer; he just drew in a long, strained breath.
Stepping back from the table, she wiped at the tears still streaking her cheeks. “So this is it, then? No marriage. No family. No future.”
Still nothing. Just a flicker of pain crossing his face, gone as quickly as it came. She swallowed hard, hands trembling at her sides when the harsh realization hit. The silence between them was louder than anything they’d shouted.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
She left him in the kitchen, walking down the hall to their bedroom. In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face, the shock grounding her enough to keep moving. Without thinking, she gathered her toothbrush, then rifled through drawers for her makeup bag, face creams, and other toiletries before returning to the bedroom.
In the closet, she changed out of her pajamas and packed as many clothes and shoes as her large overnight bag would allow. She checked her nightstand, then crossed the hall to her office to collect the last of her essentials.
As she stepped back into the hallway, she saw Christopher still in the kitchen with his elbows on the island, his head buried in his hands. She turned left toward the foyer, went to the front closet, and began pulling on her shoes and coat. When she set the overnight bag down beside her, he finally looked up.
“Marianne,” he said, his voice uneven. “What are you doing?”
She took a deep breath, swallowing hard as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Christopher. I can’t stay right now.”
He was at her side in an instant, hesitating for a moment before cupping his hands against her face, brushing away the tears.
“Please… don’t go,” he whispered, barely holding himself together. “Don’t do this.”
“I have to,” she said, her voice cracking. “I can’t stay and keep hoping for something you’ll never give me. Not anymore.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, eyes glassy with tears. “Don’t leave. We can fix this.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to cling to the part of her that still believed love alone could be enough. But she couldn’t afford hope unless it was real.
“Will you change your mind?” she asked quietly. “About marriage? About a family?”
Tears spilled down his cheeks as he shook his head. “I’m sorry… I can’t…”
Her chest collapsed around the sob that broke free. “Then I can’t stay.”
She bent to grab her bag, clutching the handle with trembling fingers, and walked toward the door. At the threshold, she paused. Her hand rested against the doorknob, and for a moment, she couldn’t move. She didn’t want this to be the last thing she remembered—the silence, the stillness, the way everything unraveled in what seemed like a matter of minutes.
So she turned her head back towards him.
He was still standing there behind her, his face pale, his expression hollow, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. He didn’t move or say anything. He just looked at her like he already knew he’d lost her.
The sight nearly crushed her, but she turned back around, opened the door and stepped into the vestibule. She pressed the elevator button, while behind her, the door clicked shut and with it, something inside her broke into a million pieces.
Notes:
I told you I was sorry. I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, even if you just want to yell at me.
On a lighter note, next week, Chapter 26 will be much more positive.
Chapter 26: Now
Notes:
Here's Chapter 26! As promised, it's a nice reprieve after Chapter 25.
A big thank you to those who've been leaving kudos and comments, especially on the last chapter! 😘
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
A warm, steady presence beside her pulled Marianne from sleep. She didn’t move right away, wanting to hold onto the peace that came with waking next to him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so soundly, or woken to the comfort of someone beside her.
With a slow breath, she stretched and shifted toward him. Her movement stirred him, and Christopher’s eyes fluttered open, bleary but soft with recognition.
“Good morning,” she said quietly.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Good morning.”
The sight of him curled beside her in the narrow bed made her laugh under her breath. He was still in yesterday’s clothes, feet dangling awkwardly off the edge, his hair in a million different directions.
“You don’t look comfortable,” she said, smiling. “You didn’t have to stay all night like that.”
“It’s okay,” he said, stretching with a wince as he sat up a little straighter. “I actually slept pretty well.”
She hesitated, then said honestly, “I’m glad you stayed.”
He looked at her for a beat. “Me too.”
His posture shifted, just slightly—like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, or what space was his to claim. Marianne noticed, and reached down to take one of his hands in hers.
“Thank you,” she said. “For last night. For staying.”
He opened his arms and pulled her close. “You don’t need to thank me,” he murmured. “I meant it when I said I’m here for you.”
“I know,” she said, her fingers idly twisting the hem of his shirt. “But why? I mean… how can you still want to help me after everything?”
He looked down at her, brushing his thumb along her forearm. “Because I still care about you,” he said. “I wish you’d believe me.”
She hesitated, eyes searching his. “I’m trying to, but the things I said…”
“Marianne…” His hand stilled over hers. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. But when I told you I didn’t want to get married, and why, you weren’t. You tried to be okay with it for my sake, but you were miserable. You said what you did because you were hurting… not because you’re a bad person.”
Her throat tightened. “You didn’t hate me at the time?”
“Of course not,” he said softly. “I was angry, sure, but I didn’t hate you.” He let out a breath, as if remembering it all. “I’ve forgiven you, and you should forgive yourself too.”
She dropped her gaze. “I don’t know how… or if I can right now.”
A beat passed before she looked up again. “How did you?”
“Well… I’ve been talking to someone,” he said, eyes flicking to the ceiling before returning to hers. “A therapist.”
“Really?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter. “Since when?”
“A little over six months,” he replied. “She’s helped me a lot.”
Marianne pushed herself up onto one elbow, watching him more closely now. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I should have tried harder.”
He turned toward her, brow furrowed, voice gentle. “Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t just because of our breakup. I should have done this years ago.”
A pause stretched between them as he gathered his thoughts.
“My parents’ deaths, losing Eliza and our baby… I had so much buried grief I couldn’t let go of,” he continued. “And I hurt you. I lost you because of it.”
Marianne’s chest tightened. She reached for his hand again, their fingers threading together. “I could have tried to understand it better.”
He shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “We couldn’t have fixed this on our own.”
She looked down at their joined hands. “I know you said yesterday that nothing else should happen between us for now… and I think you’re right. But,” she hesitated, a small laugh escaping her, “can we at least be friends? As cheesy as that sounds.”
A warm smile spread across his face. “I’d love that,” he said. “I want to be in your life again somehow. It was so hard when you…”
“When I what?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
He took a breath. “When you left, I tried calling. Texting. I even talked to your mother. But you wouldn’t respond. And then, one day… you told me to stop trying. So I did.”
“Chris, I’m so—”
“No,” he said gently, cutting her off. “No more apologizing. We’re both sorry for what happened, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed softly.
They sat in silence for a few moments, hands still clasped, before Christopher stretched and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
“I think I should get going,” he said.
“Can I get you anything before you go?” she asked. “Coffee? Breakfast?”
“Coffee would be great.” He stood, offering her a hand to help her up. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit, after I make myself presentable,” he said with a smirk, running his hands through his hair.
Marianne giggled before grabbing her robe and slippers. She eased them on and padded downstairs to the kitchen. There, she measured out the coffee and water carefully before starting the machine. A few minutes later, she heard Christopher’s footsteps on the stairs. When he appeared in the doorway, his clothes were smoothed out and his hair somewhat tamed.
He took a seat at the small kitchen table while Marianne rummaged through the fridge.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?” she asked.
“No, I’m good.”
“Oh—my noodles!” she said suddenly. “Thank you for remembering them. I’m going to eat them later… and maybe cold.”
She heard him chuckle as she finally found the cream for her coffee, then pulled out the bread and jam she’d been hunting for. Once the toast was ready and the coffee finished brewing, she joined him at the table.
“Is the coffee okay?” she asked after he took a sip.
“Perfect,” he said.
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how you can drink it black.”
He shrugged with a smile. “I don’t know how you like all that junk in it.”
She shot him a playful look of disdain, then giggled. After that, they fell into easy conversation over their coffee, chatting about weekend plans, the upcoming holidays, and Meg’s return home for her semester break.
“You should stop by while she’s home,” Marianne said. “I think she’d be thrilled to see you, and to give you your long overdue thanks.”
“I’d like that,” he said sincerely, draining his cup.
He stood and placed his mug in the dishwasher as they made their way to the front of the house. Once his coat and shoes were on, he turned toward her and took her hands.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“I’m sure,” she said, nodding. “Thank you again. For everything.”
He pulled her into a warm hug, resting his chin on her head. “Remember, I’m always here if you need me.”
“I know,” she said as she pulled back. She hesitated, then reached for his hand again. “And Chris?”
He looked down at her. “Yeah?”
“I love you. I just wanted you to know that, not… for anything to change. I just do.”
His eyes softened. “I love you too.”
He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand one last time before stepping out the front door.
Dr. Morton took her usual place in her chair across from Christopher, her pen and notebook resting on her lap.
“It’s good to see you again, Christopher,” she said warmly. “How have things been since we last talked? Anything in particular you’d like to start with?”
Christopher smiled faintly as he shifted in his seat. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like he was showing up empty-handed.
“It’s been an eventful couple of weeks, no doubt.”
Dr. Morton gave a light nod as she jotted something down. “Good eventful?”
“I think so,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting it, but… Marianne reached out to me. Finally.”
Her expression remained steady, encouraging. “How did that go? I know it was something that concerned you last time.”
He took a deep breath, rubbing his palms slowly against the fabric of his pants. The moment still felt surreal, like his mind was still catching up to it.
“It was good,” he said finally. “She said she’d been thinking about me and wanted to check in. A few days later we met for coffee.”
“How did it feel, reconnecting after she asked for space?”
“I think at first, I was just… relieved,” he said, lifting his gaze. “I wasn’t sure when, or even if she’d reach out. Seeing her again was different than when I visited after her accident. Back then, she still hadn’t remembered much. But now… she’s starting to seem like her old self.”
Dr. Morton gave a small nod as she jotted something down. “You said she hadn’t remembered much then. Has something changed since?”
He nodded. “Yeah… she remembers now,” he said quietly. “How we ended.”
“Was that something you were prepared for?” she asked.
He ran his hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck. “No… I always knew she’d remember one day. I wanted her to, in fact. I didn’t want her to go through life always questioning this, or anything else she’s lost. But a part of me dreaded it. I didn’t know how she’d react once she remembered.”
Dr. Morton leaned closer. “That’s a significant shift,” she said, her voice even. “How did it feel hearing her memory of it, not just revisiting your own?”
“It was harder than I expected,” he said, leaning back. “She was extremely upset and cried a lot. I could barely hold it together myself, to be honest.”
“Was she upset with you?” she asked, urging him to continue.
He shook his head. “That’s the strange thing. Again, she responded exactly the opposite of what I thought. She was apologizing to me… telling me she didn’t mean any of it, that she still loved me. At one point, she even asked if we could get back together.”
His therapist nodded thoughtfully, keeping her expression steady. “And how did that land with you when she asked that, especially in such an emotional state?”
Christopher hesitated, looking down at his hands. “I wanted to say yes,” he admitted. “God, I wanted to. I still love her. I miss her too… more than I can explain. A few weeks ago, after we met for coffee and I took her home, she kissed me, and it brought so many feelings flooding back. Both good and bad ones.”
Dr. Morton watched him carefully, giving him the space to continue when he was ready.
“But I didn’t say yes,” he continued. “It wouldn’t have been right.”
“What made you hesitate?” she asked gently. “What held you back?”
He exhaled slowly. “I don’t think she’s ready. She’s still healing… she still isn’t sure what she wants.”
“Do you know that for sure, or is that more of a feeling you have?”
“A little of both,” he admitted. “I think part of her was panicking, overwhelmed by what she remembered, and desperate to fix it somehow. Asking to get back together felt like her way of making it all okay again. But, she’s still unsure about how she feels about her fiancé.”
He paused for a moment before adding, “I saw them together… having dinner a few days before we talked.”
Dr. Morton’s brow lifted slightly. “Tell me about that.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. My business partner and I were meeting some investors, and we all ended up at the same restaurant. The hostess led me right past her table. She was laughing at something… and it made me think of all the times she laughed for me. I just wanted to stop and say hello.”
He pressed his lips together. “When I got there, I saw she was having dinner with him—which is fine, of course. But it made me realize… I shouldn’t expect anything from her right now. It’s not fair to either of us, especially when she’s admitted she doesn’t even remember what she felt for him, and I don’t think she’s sure what she feels now, either.”
“How would that make you feel? If she chose him?” she pressed.
He leaned back and stared at the far wall. “I want her to be happy,” he said. “If she chooses him now, I think I could live with it. But if we were to try again, and she one day remembers she loves him… I don’t think I could survive losing her again.”
He focused his gaze back on Dr. Morton. “It would destroy me.”
She leaned back in her chair, resting her pen across the page. “Let’s sit with that feeling for a moment. You wanted to say yes… there’s a part of you that is still very much in love with her. But you gave me two reasons that held you back. Imagine neither of those hurdles existed, but everything else still did. What would that look like now?”
He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Let’s say Marianne chose you without hesitation,” Dr. Morton said. “She doesn’t choose you out of guilt. She’s sure she doesn’t love her fiancé. What would it look like to try again with her now?”
Christopher looked down at his hands. “I don’t know,” he said. “Back then, she left because I wasn’t willing to consider any of it. She wanted marriage, a family… and I couldn’t bend. I was too buried in everything I hadn’t dealt with—my parents, Eliza, the baby. I couldn’t move forward with so much grief holding me back.”
“And now?” she asked.
He swallowed and looked up. “Now I think I’ve come further… Before, the door was shut, dead-bolted, and padlocked. Nothing was getting through. But now, there’s a crack in it. Just enough for a little light. But…”
He hesitated while Dr. Morton leaned forward, silently urging him to continue.
“I don’t know where she stands now,” he continued. “What if she still wants those things? What if we try again and I fail her all over?”
“That’s an important question,” she said softly. “Because while love is powerful, it isn’t always enough. You’ve done a lot of work to understand yourself, to process your grief… but it’s also okay to acknowledge your limits. It’s okay to ask yourself whether you can give her what she needs now, or if the same patterns would return.”
He didn’t respond immediately.
“I don’t want to go through what we did again,” he said at last. “If I step back into this, it has to be different. I need to be sure I can give her more this time… not just love, but something real. Something lasting.”
Marianne stared down at the name in her contacts list. She had promised him she’d call when she was feeling better.
She still had a few hours before her mother would drive her to her neuropsychologist appointment, and restlessness had started to creep in. The days since her memories returned and she talked to Christopher had brought some relief, but the thought of unpacking it all again left her uneasy.
She kept staring at Willoughby’s name, thinking a quick conversation might be a good distraction. After a moment’s hesitation, she tapped the screen.
“Hey,” he said easily when he picked up. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to call.”
“I’ve been meaning to,” she said. “I’m still a little worn out.”
“Are you feeling any better?” he asked.
She let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Once I talked through it and made sense of what happened, it got easier.”
She could feel Willoughby’s prolonged silence on the other end before he finally spoke up. “What’s it like?” he asked quietly. “I mean, how do you know you can trust what you remember?”
Marianne thought for a moment. “I just talk it out with whoever was involved,” she explained. “Then they’ll tell me what they remember of it. But for things where no one was around… I guess I can’t know for sure, but I’m learning to trust myself more.”
“Do you remember things incorrectly a lot?”
“Sometimes,” she said quietly. “It’s usually not a drastic change. It could be a small detail or how I said something. Memories are subjective though, for everyone. But I trust my family and…” She stopped herself, swallowing hard. “I know they’d tell me the truth.”
“I can’t even imagine,” he said after a pause. “Not knowing what’s real… constantly having to question everything. It must be incredibly difficult.”
Marianne leaned back on the couch, absently playing with the edge of a cushion. “It has been,” she admitted.
“Marianne, can I be honest with you?”
“Of course,” she said. “You should always be honest with me.”
He chuckled nervously. “Fair enough. I guess at first, I was very hurt and confused when you told me you couldn’t remember us,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “It felt like I wasn’t important enough… like I didn’t mean enough to you. Like I could disappear, and it wouldn’t matter.”
“John… I’m sorry—”
“No,” he cut in. “You don’t have to apologize. I understand now. It’s not your fault. You can’t help it. It must be so hard for you. I know you’re trying your best. I know you’d never intentionally hurt anyone.”
Marianne was quiet for a long moment, her fingers twirling the end of a lock of hair as she let his words settle.
She tried to imagine what it would feel like to love someone deeply, only to have them look at you with no trace or recognition. At first, she couldn’t quite get there. She didn’t remember loving Willoughby, couldn’t grasp at the ache of loss he seemed to carry.
But then she pictured Christopher.
What if the roles were reversed? What if he couldn’t remember her—not their long talks, the way they used to make each other laugh, or their most intimate moments? What if he’d forgotten everything they’d shared, and she was the only one left who remembered?
Her heart ached just thinking about it, but she knew she wouldn’t give up. She’d hold on tightly to any scrap of hope. She’d keep showing up, trying to get him to come back no matter what.
And if she would fight that hard for Christopher… how could she fault Willoughby for doing the same with her?
“I think I should though,” she said. “Apologize at least. I guess I haven’t put much thought into how this is affecting anyone else… especially you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he assured her. “I know this is out of your control. I just… I won’t give up on us. I guess I still believe you’ll remember.”
“I just wish it didn’t feel like I was constantly hurting someone,” she said. “That’s the worst part.”
“How about we make a deal?” he suggested. “I’ll stop acting like I’m nursing a broken heart if you stop apologizing for things you can’t help. That way, we’re even.”
A smile spread slowly across her face. “That sounds like a fair compromise.”
They talked for another hour, letting the conversation wander into easier territory, until Marianne’s mother tapped gently on the door to remind her about her appointment. Willoughby wished her luck and said they’d talk soon, maybe to make plans if she was up for it.
On the ride over, Marianne kept turning pieces of their conversation over in her mind. Some of it weighed more heavily than she’d expected. She turned to her mother.
“Mama,” she said softly. “How have you been handling all of this? I mean… are you worrying about me a lot? Does it bother you that you have to take care of me like I’m a child?”
Mary shook her head. “Marianne, I’ll never stop caring for you or your sisters, no matter what,” she said, reaching over to give her arm a reassuring squeeze. “I do worry about you a bit more these days, yes, but it’s not a burden. It’s just part of being your mother. Even if we all lived to be a hundred, I’d still worry about you the same way I did when you were a little girl.”
“I just wish I’d get back to normal soon,” she said. “Just so everyone wouldn’t have to worry about me so much anymore.”
“My love, there’s no timeline for your recovery,” her mother assured her. “And anyone who can’t be patient with you while you heal, Marianne, was never meant to stay in your life.”
Marianne smiled at her mother, then turned her attention back to the road. If there was anyone who needed to be more patient with her, it was herself.
The session began as usual, but when her neuropsychologist asked her to recount her recent memories and the symptoms that came with them, Marianne hesitated. What had once played in her mind with near cinematic clarity now felt dimmed, as if someone had turned down the brightness and blurred the edges. She could still recall the larger picture of what happened, the emotions, the aftermath… but the precise words and details had started to fade.
“I don’t understand,” Marianne said to Dr. Richards. “I remember it happening, but I can’t recall the details as clearly. At the time, it almost felt like a movie playing in my head. It was so vivid, but now it’s like I’m watching it underwater.”
Dr. Richards nodded as she made quick notes in her notepad. “That’s not unusual at all,” she said, looking up. “Your brain is now treating them as it would any memory.”
“But why does it feel like they’re slipping away?” she asked, her voice tinged with panic. “I only just got them back. I don’t want to lose them again.”
“I wouldn’t say they’re slipping away,” she explained carefully. “They’re being filed away. When something is new, especially if it’s emotional or intense, it plays vividly in your mind. But over time, even the strongest memories start to dull. That’s just how the brain works.”
She paused, giving Marianne a moment to take it in.
“Remember, you and your ex split almost a year ago. Seven months later, you had your accident and lost those memories. I’d wager that even right before the accident, they’d already started to fade in intensity. When they returned as flashbacks, your brain lit them up almost like a flare, so you’d notice. But now that they’ve settled, they’ve gone back to their place in the timeline of your life. That doesn’t mean you’re forgetting. It just means your brain is no longer treating them like an emergency.”
Marianne knitted her brows. “I think I understand,” she said quietly. “But when I think about my sister’s wedding, those memories feel much clearer. And that was only a few weeks before I left Christopher.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” Dr. Richards said gently. “Your sister’s wedding was joyful and shared. You probably looked at photos, watched videos, talked about it with your family. You relived the day a few times over. That kind of repetition helps lock those memories in place.
“But those few weeks afterward, when things started to unravel with your ex… that was painful and private. You likely didn’t talk about it much—maybe not even with your family. You may have deflected concern or avoided thinking about it altogether. So while the emotions were intense, the memory didn’t get the same reinforcement.”
“Some of what I remembered about our breakup was wrong,” Marianne said. “I thought I said something in a certain way, but what my ex told me wasn’t as harsh as I remember. Is that normal?”
“Yes,” Dr. Richards assured her. “Very normal. Memory isn’t a perfect recording, like a video is. It’s a story your brain recreates each time you recall it, but details can shift depending on the emotions involved. The main events are usually reliable, but details like tone, wording, or sequence can change slightly.”
Marianne looked down at her hands, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater. Even though the breakup had hurt badly, it was still part of her story, and she didn’t want to lose it again. Now that she had the memories back, she wanted to hold onto them as clearly and truthfully as possible, not let them blur or distort with time.
“What can I do?” she asked. “I want to hold onto these memories, even the difficult ones. How do I make sure they stay?”
“The best thing you can do with both the memories you’ve recovered and any new ones that emerge is journaling,” Dr. Richards said. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy—just jot down whatever you remember, even if it’s only fragments. You can also use voice memos or sketches, if that feels more natural to you. The goal is to re-engage with the memory so it doesn’t fade further.”
Marianne smiled. “I think I can manage that,” she said. “My younger sister’s coming home from uni for her semester break soon. She lives for that sort of thing. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to help me get started.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” her therapist said. “You're very fortunate to have such a strong support system at home. Your mother, your sisters and even your ex all seem to care about you a lot. That can make a real difference in recovery. Not everyone has that.”
“I know,” Marianne said. “I’m extremely grateful for them.”
“Meg, what is all this stuff?” Marianne asked as her younger sister offloaded a pile of supplies into their shopping cart.
Meg gave her a look like she’d grown two heads. “It’s for your journal,” she said, matter-of-fact.
When Marianne told her about her latest therapy session and Dr. Richards’ suggestion to start journaling, Meg’s eyes lit up like the city’s plaza Christmas tree. She practically demanded they drop everything and drive to the giant arts and crafts store in the next town over.
Marianne gave her a skeptical look. “Do I really need all this?” she asked, sorting through the pile of colored pens, sticker sheets, washi tape, and tiny bottles of ink. “I just need a notebook. And one pen.”
Meg raised her eyebrows. “You don’t need all that lacy underwear either, but it’s still nice to have. Just in case, right?”
Marianne’s cheeks burned. Her sister had a point, albeit an extremely embarrassing one. Meg had returned home a few days earlier for her semester break and needed to borrow a pair of leggings. While rifling through Marianne’s drawers, she’d stumbled upon the one filled with lingerie… and was both amused and horrified by the discovery.
“That stuff was expensive,” she muttered. “I’m not throwing it out just because I’m single.”
Meg snorted. “Didn’t say you should. But whether it’s fancy pens or fancy bras, it’s always nice to have options.”
Marianne internally groaned but chose not to press further. The middle of Creative Endeavors, the sprawling arts and crafts emporium, hardly seemed like the place to question how much firsthand experience her baby sister had with both fine pens and lingerie.
“Let’s get back on task,” Marianne said. “I doubt I’ll use half this stuff, but I can give it a try. Now I just need to find a journal I like.”
“Two aisles over,” Meg said, tugging the front of the cart.
Marianne followed her and stopped short at the sight in front of her. The shelves were packed with every kind of notebook and journal she could imagine. There were basic spiral-bound ones that looked like school supplies, hardcovers in every color of the rainbow, embossed leather that looked like they belonged in a gentleman’s study, and embroidered fabric-bound journals that looked like they came from a cottage window seat.
Marianne picked up a classic leather-bound one, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Christopher’s library. She flipped through the pages and frowned.
“There’s no lines?” she asked, perplexed. “Just a dot grid.”
“That’s for bullet journaling,” Meg said, already pulling out her phone. “It’s kind of fun. You can lay it out however you want, but some people go overboard. Here, look at this.”
Meg held out her phone, showing Marianne a handful of bullet journal layouts. Marianne had to admit, they looked interesting and even beautiful, but they all seemed to require a decent amount of drawing ability, which she decidedly lacked.
“I don’t know, Meg,” she said. “This looks like something Ellie would love, but I can’t draw to save my life.”
“No worries. Remember, there are options ,” Meg said with a wink. She grabbed a couple of mood journals from the shelf and handed them over. “Check these out. They’ve got prompts, mood trackers, little boxes for listing goals. They practically journal for you.”
Marianne flipped through one of them. At first, the idea of prompts seemed a helpful way to ease herself in, but the more pages she turned, the more boxed-in it felt.
“All the pages are the same,” she said, frowning. “And I’m not sure I can pin down my complicated feelings by circling one of five smiley faces.”
“Okay, okay,” Meg said, plucking the journal back. “Too much structure. What if we go with something classic? Just a regular lined one, but one that lays flat so you can write wherever you’re comfortable?”
“Yes, that sounds reasonable,” Marianne said.
Meg led her to the section with lined journals and showed her how to tell if they would lay flat. Once she knew what to look for, Marianne scanned the shelves until her eyes settled on one that seemed to speak directly to her. It was bound in soft white linen, embroidered with delicate flowers in varying shades of violet and lavender. Near the top, the words A Journey Within were embossed in gold across the cover.
She picked it up, flipped through the simple lined pages, and tested how it lay open. It rested flat in her hands with ease.
“This is it, Meg,” she said, holding it up.
Meg took it from her, turning it over for inspection. Once satisfied, she handed it back with a nod. “It’s beautiful. It’ll be perfect for you.”
The pair browsed a little longer before heading to the checkout with their supplies. Along with the journal and pens for Marianne, Meg picked up a few things for herself, plus some small gifts for her roommates to bring back after the break.
“Brr, it’s freezing out here,” Meg complained as they stepped outside, loading their purchases into the all-weather sport wagon that had miraculously survived all three Dashwood sisters with nothing more than a few minor scratches. “Can we stop for some hot chocolate or something?”
“Sure,” Marianne said with a grin. “I know the perfect place, if you don’t mind going into the city.”
“I don’t mind at all. I bet you want me to drive, though, don’t you?”
“Could you? I don’t even like driving in the city on a good day, but if I had a flashback or something…” She trailed off. “It’d be a disaster.”
“Not a problem,” Meg said, taking the keys from her. “Where is it?”
“It’s on the north end—only a few blocks from my old school,” Marianne said as she climbed into the passenger seat.
“Oh, I know where that is,” Meg said, starting the car. “I don’t know why you don’t like driving in the city. It’s fun.”
Marianne scoffed. “It’s not fun at all. There’s too many cars, everyone’s honking for no reason, and parking is a nightmare.”
Meg shrugged. “It’s really not that big of a deal. Honestly, you can be so dramatic sometimes.”
Marianne tried to shoot her sister a look of disdain, but they both burst into giggles. Meg pulled out of the Creative Endeavors parking lot and headed for the expressway into the city.
Marianne had to admit she was impressed by how calm Meg stayed once they started hitting denser traffic. She navigated it like a pro and didn’t even flinch when someone cut her off to make their exit.
A few miles later, after they’d exited the expressway, Marianne directed her to the coffee shop. Meg found a space almost immediately and parallel parked in one smooth motion.
“Have you been getting parking lessons from Edward or something?” Marianne asked with a smirk.
Meg grinned. “Nope. But remember when I got my permit and backed into a pole the very next day in Mama’s car?”
“Vividly.”
“Well, it was completely mortifying,” Meg said. “So I decided I was never going to let something like that happen again. I started really paying attention and actually learning how to maneuver and park properly. Plus, all that traveling I did with friends? Navigating unfamiliar streets without you, Elinor, or Mama to bail me out? It helped. Gave me way more confidence.”
“That’s great, Meg,” Marianne said with a smile. “You’ll have to give me some pointers someday.”
They got out of the car and started walking up the block toward the coffee shop, chatting and giggling. But just a few yards from the entrance, Marianne suddenly stopped in her tracks. A strange, sinking feeling washed over her, like a chill without wind.
“Marianne?” Meg asked, pausing beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I don’t know,” Marianne said, shaking her head slowly. “It’s like déjà vu or something. Really strong. The same thing happened a few weeks ago when I was here with Christopher.”
“Are you okay?”
Marianne nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wish I knew what it meant.”
Meg slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Do you think something happened here? Something you’re trying to remember?”
“Maybe,” Marianne said with a shrug. “I can’t imagine what, though. But I’m fine. I promise. Let’s go in.”
As they stepped into the coffee shop, the uneasy feeling faded as quickly as it had come. But the nagging question of what it could mean pressed at the back of Marianne’s mind for the rest of the day.
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the easier tone because next week, with Chapter 27... 😭
Chapter 27: Then
Notes:
Here's Chapter 27, and like Chapter 25... my condolences. 😢
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Then
Everything exhausted Marianne lately. Nights left her restless, her eyes swollen when she woke in her small childhood bed. The forty-five-minute bus ride drained her before the day had even begun. Teaching, performing at the lounge, pretending to hold herself together around family and colleagues—each demand only heightening her turmoil.
But nothing wore her down like the calls she wouldn’t answer and the messages she wouldn’t read, all from the one person she wasn’t ready to hear from.
It had been two weeks since she left Christopher, two painful weeks since their ugly fight and the truth had been laid bare. There was no future for them, no meaningful path forward. Most days blurred together, thick with tears she often couldn’t hold back and a loneliness so deep that not even her mother or her sisters could pull her out.
The only time she had looked back was one afternoon when her mother picked her up from work, and together they returned to the penthouse while he was still at the office to gather the rest of her clothes and personal items. Anything that felt like them stayed behind.
The front desk staff gave her a sympathetic look when she left her key and elevator fob behind, which nearly broke her resolve. But, despite the heaviness in her heart, she let them go without ceremony.
Her phone chimed with a new message, snapping her back to the present. A glance told her it was from him. With a sigh, she set the phone face down. What could he possibly have to say? He’d made his choice, forcing her to make hers.
She pulled her laptop out of the bag Elinor had given her for her birthday last year, running her fingers over the monogrammed MD on the front. She felt foolish for ever questioning Elinor’s decision to use her initials, just in case they changed. Now it was perfectly clear that she’d be carrying the name Dashwood indefinitely.
Pushing the painful thoughts aside, she opened her laptop to lose herself in her work. She had quizzes to grade, lesson plans to update, and feedback emails from her students to respond to. Her phone chimed a few more times, but she didn’t flinch. She stayed focused, losing track of the minutes and hours that passed.
A soft knock at the door finally broke her concentration. She looked up to find her mother peeking in.
“Dinner’s ready, sweetheart,” Mary said softly.
“Thanks, Mama,” Marianne replied flatly. “But you don’t have to keep cooking for me. I’m not very hungry anyway.”
Mary entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Marianne,” she said in a firm but gentle tone, “I know it’s been hard for you, but you need to eat something.”
“Mama,” Marianne said, a little more forcefully, “I’m fine. I’ll eat something later. Just not right now.”
Mary nodded and placed a comforting hand on her daughter’s knee. “My dear, I know you’re not ready yet, but you can talk to me. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Marianne looked up from her screen to meet her mother’s eyes and saw the same pain reflected there. But what could she say? How could she explain that Christopher chose to grieve a ghost rather than move forward with her? What did that say about her? She wasn’t ready to face the shame or risk her mother’s pity by admitting there might be something fundamentally wrong with her.
“I know,” Marianne said with a deep sigh. “It’s just—”
Her phone buzzed, cutting off her words. She already knew what she’d see when she looked at the screen, but glanced at it anyway.
“God, just stop!” she cried, seeing Christopher’s name glowing back at her. She tossed the phone onto the floor with a dull thud and sank back against her pillows.
Her mother gave her a sympathetic look, stood, and retrieved the phone, peeking at the missed call.
“Have you spoken to him since you came home?” Mary asked gently, sitting back down on the bed and placing the phone beside her daughter.
“Not since I told him we were coming to get my things,” Marianne said, looking down as she bit her lip, struggling to hold back tears. “I don’t have anything else to say.”
“Marianne,” her mother started. “You were together for nearly four years. I know you told me you left because he didn’t want marriage or a family, but I don’t believe that decision came out of thin air. Now, you don’t have to share anything else with me if you don’t want to, but you should at least talk to him.”
And say what? she thought bitterly. Beg him to change his mind? To love her enough to commit?
It wouldn’t matter. She knew he wouldn’t change, not really. And even if by some miracle he did, it wouldn’t be genuine. It would only be a reaction to her absence. And the last thing she wanted was for commitment to feel like a guilt offering.
“What’s the point?” Marianne muttered, staring at the wall. “We already said everything that matters.”
Mary was quiet for a moment. She certainly felt her daughter’s pain, and her heart ached just as much. But deep down, she also knew Christopher was a good man who had treated her daughter well. No matter what had happened between them, it didn’t sit right with her that Marianne had cut him out of her life so completely.
“Sweetheart,” Mary said softly. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to him. No one is forcing you. But I still think you should. You don’t owe him forgiveness, or a second chance. But you do owe him closure.”
“Mama, I don’t want—”
“The closure isn’t just for him,” she said, gently handing her the phone. “It’s for you too.”
Reluctantly, Marianne nodded and took her phone. “Okay,” she murmured. “I’ll call him.”
Mary stood up and headed for the door. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” she said before slipping out and softly closing the door behind her.
Marianne looked down at her phone, seeing all the missed calls, unread messages, and voicemails from Christopher. She couldn’t bear to read or listen to any of them. No, she would just call him one last time. For closure.
She stared at his name for a second before taking a deep breath and pressing her thumb down on it. He picked up on the first ring.
“Marianne?” he said hoarsely. He sounded as bad as she felt… almost like he didn’t believe it was her on the other end.
“Christopher, what do you want?” she choked out, trying her best to keep the tears away. She didn’t want to cry again now.
“I just want to talk…” He trailed off.
Her hands trembled as she tried to figure out what to say. Hearing his deep voice after so long, hearing her own pain echoed back was almost too much. She fought off every urge to say she was sorry. To say she missed him. Because she did, desperately. But she couldn’t afford to want something he wasn’t willing to give.
“Okay,” she whispered. “So talk. I’m listening.”
“I don’t know what to do,” he said quietly. “I keep thinking about what I should’ve said. What I should’ve done differently.”
He let out a shaky breath, and she could almost picture him hunched over on the other end, just as hollow as she felt.
“I miss you, Marianne. I miss everything—”
“Chris, don’t,” she said, voice breaking as tears pooled in her eyes.
She couldn’t bear to hear those words from him now. Because she missed him too, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him the way he had hurt her.
“I just don’t know how to make sense of this without you,” he said.
She closed her eyes as the first tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m sorry… but what do you want me to do?”
There was a beat of silence, so quiet she thought maybe the call had dropped. Then he whispered, “I don’t know. I just want you to come back.”
She shook her head as more tears fell, even though she knew he couldn’t see any of it.
“I think about you all the time,” he said softly. “I wake up reaching for you, but you’re not there.”
A sob broke through as she pressed a hand to her eyes. This was why she hadn't wanted to talk to him. Not because she didn’t care, but because she did. Too much.
“I know I don’t deserve you. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. But I don’t want to lose you. I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”
Tears blurred her vision. The pain of hearing him completely broken, apologetic, and still wanting her was far worse than silence.
“I don’t know how to fix it either.” The words came out ragged and uneven.
“Can we try?” he asked.
Could they even fix it? Should they try? She didn’t want to lose him either, but deep down, she knew there was only one path they could take to try and repair what had been broken.
“I need to know,” she said. “Can you change your mind?”
There was a pause. Not silence exactly, just his uneven breathing on the other end. She could picture him sitting alone in the apartment, the weight of everything crushing him.
“Marianne,” he said finally. “I love you so much, but…”
It felt like a boulder dropped on her chest. That wasn’t an answer. That wasn’t what she needed.
“Christopher, please stop!” she burst out.
“I miss you so much I can’t—”
“It’s too hard!” Her voice cracked under fresh tears. “I can’t do this anymore!”
“What can I do?” he pleaded. “Tell me. What do you want?”
Her thoughts swirled as fast as the tears falling. There was nothing he could do, or was willing to do. The last flicker of hope she’d been clinging to had just gone out.
“I want you to leave me alone!” she sobbed, pulling the phone from her ear.
She could still hear his voice pleading on the other end, but she couldn’t take it anymore. Her tears hit the screen as she pressed the button to end the call.
She dropped the phone on the bed and grabbed a pillow, clutching it like a lifeline as more sobs came. She didn’t know how long she lay there. Time didn’t matter anymore.
Eventually, the familiar chime of a new message broke through the haze. She wanted to ignore it. But something pulled at her.
Christopher’s message was a simple promise she’d carry with her, even if she never answered:
I’ll leave you alone now. But remember, if you ever need me, I’ll always be here for you.
“Brandon, pick up,” John Middleton’s voice crackled through the phone’s speaker. “I know you’re in your office.”
Christopher stopped typing and reached over to pick up the receiver. “What is it that’s so important you couldn’t just ping me?”
“You always ignore my pings,” Middleton pointed out.
“Your pings are never important,” Christopher countered.
“The shareholders are asking about the Q2 projections,” Middleton said. “They said you aren’t responding to their emails.”
Christopher leaned back in his chair and let out a deep exhale. “I already told them last week the reports would be finalized tomorrow by three o’clock.”
There was silence on the other end, followed by the click of the line disconnecting. Christopher shook his head and went back to working on the reports. He wasn’t surprised when, less than a minute later, his business partner burst into his office.
Christopher didn’t even look up. “I always deliver when I say I will. They can wait.”
Middleton studied him for a beat. “Yeah, but they’re not used to radio silence from you.”
“They’ll have to get used to it.” His tone came out a little harsher than intended.
He hadn’t meant for it to come out so blunt, but he was tired of the shareholders breathing down his neck. Stopping his work to answer their daily check-in emails wasn’t going to deliver the reports any faster.
Middleton sat in one of the chairs across from his desk and gave him a pointed look.
“Brandon, what’s going on?” he asked, softening his tone. “I’ve known you long enough to know that tone is too rigid, even for you.”
“It’s nothing,” Christopher muttered, still typing.
“I also know you well enough to see through your bullshit,” Middleton said, settling in to wait.
Christopher’s fingers stilled. He looked away from the screen and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t told anyone yet, not even Middleton, his oldest and most trusted friend. Saying it out loud would make it real. But keeping it in hadn’t made it hurt any less.
“Marianne left me a few weeks ago,” he finally said.
“Oh… shit,” Middleton said softly. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
Christopher shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing I can fix. I can’t give her what she wants, and honestly, I can’t even blame her.”
Middleton stared at him, waiting for more. When it didn’t come, he said, “Well… whatever she wants, just let her have it.”
Christopher exhaled slowly. “It’s not that simple.”
Middleton didn’t miss a beat. “Sure it is. It’s called compromise. You know once, Mary wanted these shoes for her birthday—God, they were hideous and expensive. I made one small comment about it and wound up in the doghouse for three days. Eventually I came to my senses and figured… she gave me four beautiful children; the least I could do was not question her fashion sense. You’ve got to give in a little to keep women happy.”
Christopher sat back in his chair. “I’m much obliged for your counsel,” he said dryly.
“Oh, come off it, Brandon,” his friend shot back. “I’m only trying to help.”
Christopher ran a hand through his hair, then gave Middleton a pained look. He was right, he was trying to help. But this wasn’t the kind of problem he could throw money at and make go away. If it were, he’d bankrupt himself without hesitation to get Marianne back.
“I know,” he said quietly. “It’s just not the kind of problem I can solve with a new pair of shoes.”
“It’s an analogy,” Middleton said with an exhausted sigh. “What I’m trying to say is make it work, or at least meet her in the middle. What does she want? More date nights? To move closer to her family? A dog?”
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Middleton’s words on the surface were utter nonsense, but Christopher knew what he was doing. His friend had a habit of talking in circles until he was forced to open up, and at the very least, Middleton deserved the truth.
“Marianne wanted to get married,” he said finally. “And… I can’t.”
Middleton’s expression fell. He stood and walked around Christopher’s desk, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know it was still like that. You doing okay?”
Christopher only shrugged, offering no reply.
“I’m here if you need to talk,” Middleton added. “Anytime, okay?”
Christopher nodded, then turned back to his screen. “I need to finish these reports.”
Middleton gave his shoulder one last squeeze, then headed for the door, closing it behind him with a soft click.
Christopher sat motionless for a moment. Then he stood, crossed to the window, and leaned against the ledge, staring out at the gray sky and bare trees—replaying their final moments, and that phone call, over and over.
I want you to leave me alone!
He could still hear those words in his head, words he never imagined Marianne would say to him. But she had, and he would respect them. He wouldn’t call, wouldn’t message, and he would stop going to the lounge to see her perform.
Still, he had meant every word of the final message he’d sent. He would be there for her if she ever needed him. No questions or no hesitation.
He stayed by the window a little longer, eyes fixed on the winter-gray skyline, until a soft chime from his computer reminded him of a meeting in ten minutes. With a tired sigh, he ran a hand down his face and returned to his desk.
His fingers moved across the keyboard as he tried to focus on the reports, but the numbers kept blurring. For the first time in years, he couldn’t drown his grief in his work. Now it was his grief threatening to drown him.
A soft knock on the door, just minutes before his meeting, caught him off guard. John Middleton stood there again, quietly entering the office and holding out a business card.
“You can still talk to me,” John said gently. “But I have a feeling you don’t really want to. You should talk to someone, though.”
Christopher took the card and read its contents: Victoria Morton, PhD. Licensed Clinical Psychologist. Specializing in Relationships, Grief, PTSD and Life Transitions for Individuals and Couples.
He looked up, confusion flashing across his face.
“Before you dismiss the idea, just hear me out,” Middleton said. “About six years ago, Mary and I were going through a rough patch. She was overwhelmed being a new mother, and I was here at the office all the time. We just forgot how to communicate effectively. Dr. Morton helped us. She’s good, and she won’t judge. Just think about it.”
Without waiting for a response, Middleton slipped out of the office.
Christopher stared at the card again, turning it over in his hands. He shook his head and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, dismissing it like he would if it were an unnecessary piece of data.
Marianne sat in front of the small vanity in her dressing room at the Dorset Lounge, wiping the makeup from her face. There was nothing technically wrong with her performances lately. She’d hit every note, the chords rang true, and her timing was perfect. She stood when she was finished, offering empty smiles and bows of gratitude when the crowd applauded.
She had tried not to look at the front table in the center of the lounge, but her eyes drifted there anyway. He wasn’t there, nor had she expected him to be. But a part of her, quiet and persistent, still missed his presence. That was when she realized her heart was no longer in it. The music was there, but the joy was gone. She needed a break.
A small knock on the door pulled her back to the present.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened, and Mr. Parker, the owner of the lounge, stepped inside.
“You wanted to speak with me, Miss Marianne?” he asked.
Marianne offered him a pained smile and nodded. “Mr. Parker, I wanted to thank you for the opportunity you gave me,” she said, her voice tight. “The last few years have been… truly special—something I’ve always dreamed of.”
“We’ve loved having you, my dear,” he said gently. “But is something the matter?”
She hesitated, then drew in a slow breath. “I don’t… I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
His brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”
“I think I have to step away,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t feel right anymore.”
Mr. Parker was quiet for a moment, studying her face with a gentleness she wasn’t expecting.
“I don’t want to pry, but I’ve noticed your fellow hasn’t been here the past month.”
She looked down, unable to answer.
He nodded, as if that was answer enough. “We’ll miss the crowds you bring in, no doubt about that. But how about this, you don’t quit just yet. Take some time and rest. See how you feel come spring.”
Marianne looked up, surprised. “You’d be all right with that?”
“This place has been around a long time, Miss Marianne. We’ve weathered storms before, and I’d rather lose a few weekends than lose you entirely.”
Her throat tightened. She forced herself to smile. “Okay. I’ll see how I feel in the spring and let you know.”
“When the time comes,” he said with a smile. “The stage will still be here waiting.”
She nodded quickly before she could cry. “Thank you, Mr. Parker.”
She left the lounge that night with a strange sense of emptiness, but she was grateful she wouldn’t have to put on a show anymore. Without the rhythm of performing to break up her week, the days soon lost their shape, obscuring into one another.
Marianne woke, went to work, taught her classes with the same professionalism she always had, came home, and went to bed. In between, she graded papers when she promised, prepared lesson plans, sat through the required meetings, and responded to student emails.
On the surface, no one at school seemed to notice anything wrong. If they did, no one said anything. Internally, though, she was barely holding it together.
She declined invitations to grab coffee or drinks with colleagues until they stopped inviting her altogether. Elinor would stop by and try to coax her into going shopping or seeing a movie, but Marianne always had an excuse. She was tired, had a headache, or was behind on grading.
More than once, her mother found her asleep on the couch before dinner, curled up beneath a throw she didn’t remember pulling over herself. Other nights, she was awake well past midnight, staring blankly at the flickering television, her eyes vacant and unmoving.
One night, Marianne had gone down to the kitchen for a glass of water, but by the time she filled it, she realized she wasn’t even thirsty. She sank to the floor, her back against the cabinets, knees pulled to her chest. She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring blankly at the tile grout.
She heard faint footsteps coming down the stairs. The hallway light flickered on as her mother stepped into the kitchen.
“Marianne, what are you doing?” she asked gently.
She had long since stopped asking what was wrong. She knew her daughter was struggling, but she just didn’t know how to reach her. No matter the words of comfort she offered, none of them could get through.
“I was thirsty,” Marianne murmured, glancing at the full glass beside her. She didn’t bother to explain why she hadn’t touched it.
“You should go back to bed,” Mary said softly, offering her hand.
Marianne nodded. She didn’t feel tired, but she let her mother help her up anyway. That’s when Mary noticed the plate she’d left on the stove for her, still covered in foil, untouched.
Mary followed her daughter up the stairs and back to her room. She watched her climb aimlessly back into bed. Marianne didn’t say goodnight. She didn’t say anything.
The next morning, her alarm blared for twenty minutes before Mary finally climbed the stairs and found her still fast asleep, curled in a fetal position with the covers pulled over her head. She sat on the edge of the bed and gently touched her shoulder.
“Sweetheart, you’re going to be late.”
Marianne inhaled sharply, blinking her eyes open in confusion, then sat up abruptly. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little after seven,” Mary said.
“Shit,” Marianne muttered, rolling over and pulling the covers back up. “I won’t make the bus. Maybe I should just use a personal day.”
Mary shook her head. “I’ll drive you,” she said firmly. “But you need to hurry.”
Marianne didn’t argue. She just sighed, pushed back the covers, and sat up slowly, as if moving through water. She showered, dressed, and braided her hair quickly so she wouldn’t have to fuss with styling it. Mary tried to get her to eat something, but she brushed her off, saying she’d grab something at the cafeteria.
She barely spoke the entire ride. She clutched her bag in her lap, stared out the window, and gave a quiet, “Thanks,” as she stepped out at the curb.
Mary waited until she saw her go through the school doors. Then she pulled the car over a block away, put it in park, and took a deep breath. Tears filled her eyes; she had never seen Marianne like this. She had just stopped caring. The life had completely drained out of her.
She pulled her phone from her bag and called Elinor. When her daughter answered, she didn’t even try to hide the tremble in her voice.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” Elinor said immediately. “Is Marianne okay?”
Mary sniffed. “I just dropped her off at work,” she said. “But I—I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s not herself. She won’t eat. She sleeps during the day and is up at night. She won’t talk to anyone. I’ve tried everything, but nothing gets through. I’m starting to feel like I’ve already lost her.”
“Marianne, you can’t stay cooped up at home all the time,” Elinor said over the phone. It had been a few days since her mother had called, her voice full of tears, not knowing how to help her daughter. “Just come over to my place later and watch a movie.”
“I’m exhausted, Ellie,” Marianne replied. “I don’t feel like leaving the house.”
Elinor sighed. “Then I’ll come to you. I’ll bring all the snacks you like.”
“Sure,” Marianne said flatly.
A soft knock came at Elinor’s office door. She looked up as it cracked open and Priya poked her head in. Elinor waved her in.
“Marianne, can you just try? Please? Mama’s worried about you. Meg and I are too.”
“I’m sorry,” Marianne whispered. “It’s hard.”
“I know it is,” Elinor said gently. “Look, I have to get back to work, but I’ll see you later, okay?”
The line went dead before Elinor had the chance to say goodbye. She sighed, rubbing her eyes before looking up at Priya.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “My sister’s not handling her breakup well.”
Priya gave Elinor a sympathetic smile. “Poor thing. God knows I’ve been there more than once,” she said. “Your sister’s a knockout though. She’ll find someone else soon enough—someone who’ll make her forget whatever asshole broke her heart.”
Elinor shook her head. “Priya… it’s not like that. Anyway, what do you need?”
Priya stepped closer, balancing her laptop against one hip. “I just wanted your opinion on these mobile booking screen layouts. Figured I’d catch you before your next call.”
“Sure, let’s see them,” she said, leaning in to look. She flipped through the options before settling back against her chair. “These look great.”
“Thanks,” Priya said, straightening. She was about to leave when she froze. “Oh shit…”
“What is it?” Elinor asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You were talking to Marianne just now, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Elinor said cautiously. “Why?”
“Does that mean The Colonel is officially single?” Priya asked, barely suppressing a grin.
Elinor huffed, exasperated. “Priya, get out of my office.”
Priya held up her hands. “Relax, I’m kidding. I know getting involved with clients is frowned upon .”
Elinor gave her a pointed look until she left the office. Shaking her head, she returned to reviewing client briefs for a few new projects. She was lost in her work for nearly an hour before a call came through.
“Elinor Ferrars,” she answered, picking up the receiver.
“Hi, Elinor.” The deep voice on the other end had lost some of its usual spark.
“Christopher, hi,” she said, quickly checking her calendar and inbox. She hadn’t been expecting a call from him. “What can I do for you?”
“I turned in the Q2 report to the shareholders last week, and they’re already asking about the Q3 marketing budget,” he said. “Think you can give me a rough estimate by the end of the week?”
“Of course,” she said, keeping her tone upbeat. “Anything else you need?”
There was a pause. “No,” he said eventually, but she caught the hesitation.
“Okay. Keep an eye out for the email sometime Friday,” she said. “We can set up a call if you want to go over the numbers in more detail. I’ll let you go for now—”
“Elinor, wait,” he said.
She froze. There was unease in his voice now, softer but unmistakable.
“How is she?”
Elinor sat back and rubbed her eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d called and had asked how Marianne was doing. At first, she’d tried to reassure him that yes, Marianne was upset, but she was trying. Now, with how much she’d deteriorated, there was no point pretending anymore.
“I don’t want to make this harder on you,” she said quietly, “but I can’t lie either. She’s not doing well.”
“I’m sorry—”
But Elinor couldn’t stop. She had no one else she could be this honest with. No one else who would really understand.
“I’ve never seen her like this,” she went on. “When Marianne’s upset, she cries, lashes out, maybe says things she doesn’t mean. But she always comes around. She’ll apologize, talk it through.
“But now…” Elinor took a shaky breath. “She does nothing . She goes to work, comes home, grades papers, stares at the wall, and sleeps. She’s stopped performing, barely interacts with anyone. She won’t even spend time with me. She hardly eats. We keep trying to reach her, but she just sits there…”
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“I know,” she said gently. “We all know you had to be honest with her. No one thinks you wanted to hurt her.”
“But I still did,” he said, the pain evident in his voice. “I wish there was something I could do, but she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“It’s hard for her right now, and hard for us to watch, but I believe she’ll come out of it,” she assured him. “She’ll find her way out of this somehow, and I’m sure, in time, she’ll want to talk to you again.”
“I hope so,” he said. “I have to jump to another call. Elinor, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what I’ve put you and your family through. As for Marianne… just know I still love her very much and I’d do anything for her.”
“Thank you, Christopher,” she said, ending the call.
Elinor tried her best to focus on her work, but for the rest of the day she couldn’t help dwelling on her sister’s heartache. When the day finally ended, she stopped by the market near her mother’s house to pick up snacks, even though she was certain they would likely go untouched, but she’d bring them anyway. Just because Marianne had stopped trying didn’t mean Elinor was going to give up as well.
She pulled into the driveway, entered the code for the garage door, and saw that her mother’s car was missing—she must still be at work. Elinor took a deep breath and went through the side door into the house, bracing herself for what she’d find.
Marianne was in the back family room, sitting in the oversized recliner that used to be their father’s favorite, her head to the side and her eyes closed. The TV was on, a cooking competition show playing softly in the background.
Elinor went back into the kitchen to set down her bags and remove her coat and shoes. She returned to Marianne’s side and gently placed her hand on her knee.
“Marianne,” she said softly. “Wake up.”
Marianne’s face crumpled before she opened her eyes.
“Ellie?” she said, yawning. “What time is it?”
“It’s about 5:30,” Elinor said.
“In the morning?” Marianne asked, her eyes widening.
“No, in the evening,” she assured her. “Remember? I said I was coming over earlier?”
Marianne nodded. “Oh, yeah, I remember. I just thought I’d take a nap. I’ve been so tired lately.”
“I bet,” Elinor said, keeping her tone even. “But it’s because you’re not sleeping at night. Mama says she keeps finding you up at all hours.”
Marianne let out a breath, her voice low. “I just can’t sleep at night.”
“Because you’re napping all day,” Elinor replied gently. “It’s not good for you. I know it’s hard, but maybe try staying up during the day so you’re actually tired at night?”
Marianne didn’t respond at first. Her gaze drifted toward the muted TV. Then, quietly, “I guess.”
She shifted in the chair, her tone flattening. “You sound like Mama. Why does it matter when I sleep?”
“Because it’s not normal,” Elinor said. “We’re all concerned about you.”
Marianne turned slightly, eyes drifting toward the floor instead of meeting Elinor’s. “You don’t need to be,” she said quietly. “I’m fine.”
Elinor shook her head. “You’re not fine,” she said gently. “You barely eat, you don’t leave the house, and you won’t talk to anyone.”
Marianne stared at the floor, silent.
“Mama calls me almost every day, sometimes crying because she doesn’t know what to do,” Elinor went on. “You won’t answer Meg’s calls or even read her texts. We don’t know what to do anymore. Everyone’s worried sick about you. Even Christopher—”
She froze, realizing too late what she’d said.
Marianne’s head snapped up, the exhaustion draining from her face. “What? How would he… Elinor, have you been talking to him?”
“I have to talk to him,” Elinor said quickly. “He’s a client.”
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Marianne burst out. “You’ve been talking about me, haven’t you?”
Elinor nodded, slow and careful. “He asks about you when he calls about reports and budgets. And I tell him. I let him know how you’re doing.”
Marianne shot to her feet and started pacing, her footsteps fast and erratic. “Oh my God, Ellie! Why? What were you thinking? You don’t get to decide what he knows about me!”
Elinor looked up at her, her expression tight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Marianne kept pacing, shaking her head. “What did you think would happen? You went behind my back! Did you think I’d thank you? Of course I’m upset. I’m fucking furious!”
She stopped, her hands clenching at her sides. “You had no right,” she said, her voice cracking. “You betrayed me!”
Elinor didn’t move. She felt awful, truly, but some small part of her was relieved to see Marianne finally reacting, finally feeling something again, even if the anger was aimed squarely at her.
Elinor took a few calming breaths before speaking again. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t trying to go behind your back. I was just offering some comfort to someone who’s hurting just as much as you are.”
“Hurting just as much as me? You don’t know what I suffer!” Marianne snapped.
Elinor’s voice hardened. “Marianne, that’s enough. We’ve all tried to help you—me, Mama, Meg. We’ve been here, and you pushed us away. You shut us out like we don’t matter.”
Marianne’s voice lost some of its edge. “You think I don’t care about you?”
Elinor stood, stepping closer. “No, I know you do. But right now, you’re so lost in your own pain, you’ve stopped seeing how much you’re hurting the rest of us. I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. I can’t just stand by while you fall deeper into this hole, refusing to move and shutting us all out.”
Marianne turned from her and dropped onto the couch, burying her face in her hands.
Her voice was small, fragile. “Why, Ellie?” she whispered. “Why is he asking about me?”
Elinor stilled, her breath catching. The fight was gone from Marianne’s voice, replaced by something quieter and more wounded.
“Because he cares,” she said gently, sitting beside her. “He still loves you. He’d do anything for you.”
Marianne looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. “No, he wouldn’t,” she said, just before the sobs broke loose. “He doesn’t… you’re wrong, Ellie. He—”
But the rest was lost in the wave of crying that overtook her.
Elinor placed a gentle hand on Marianne’s back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. Marianne folded into her, resting her head in Elinor’s lap, and finally let go of everything she’d been holding in. Every ache, every humiliation, and every regret poured out of her in heavy, wracking sobs.
Elinor stayed quiet and still, anchoring her. She smoothed her sister’s hair back from her face, murmuring soft reassurances as Marianne trembled against her. “I love you,” she whispered. “It’s going to be okay. You’re allowed to feel this.”
Elinor continued to let Marianne cry into her lap. Slowly, her sobs quieted, her breathing evening out as the worst of the storm passed. She stayed curled there, her cheek resting against the fabric of her sister’s jeans, damp with tears.
“I just want it to stop hurting so much,” she said after a long silence, her voice raw and low.
“I know,” Elinor murmured. “And it will, I promise. You just have to try. Let us help you.”
“I know you’re trying to help. And I know he asks because he cares. But, Elinor…” She swallowed hard. “It hurts too much. I keep replaying our fight over and over. And every time I think I’ve found a little bit of solid ground, it pulls me right back under. I thought if I just shut everything down and didn’t think about him anymore, the pain would stop.”
Elinor gently stroked her hair but said nothing, letting her speak.
“I need space to get through this on my own. I need to feel like I’m still in control—not you, not him or anyone else. So please…” Her voice caught, but she pushed on. “Please don’t talk to him about me anymore. Not like that. Not until I say it’s okay.”
Elinor’s hand paused, then resumed its rhythm. “Okay,” she said softly. “You have my word. But Marianne…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “You have to try to move forward.”
Marianne slowly lifted her head and looked up, her eyes red and shining. “Okay,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I’ll try. But I can’t start to move on if I feel like he’s still watching me fall apart.”
Elinor nodded, her expression softening. “I’m sorry. I won’t talk to him about you anymore. I promise.”
Marianne let out a shaky breath and leaned into her. “Thank you.”
Elinor wrapped her arms around her sister and held her tightly. She hoped—for Marianne’s sake, her own, and their whole family’s—that this time her sister could truly find her way back to herself; that the faint light she saw ahead in the darkness that had consumed her for weeks would finally guide her all the way out.
Notes:
A quick note on my chapter count, it's up in the air. 36 is not the final count. I ran into some pacing problems recently as I'm writing the chapters in the past where Marianne meets Willoughby 🤢 and unfortunately I do need to give those parts a little more space than I initially thought I needed, otherwise, it's not believable how quickly their relationship would have progressed. Once I have a better idea of the final count, I'll update the chapter count accordingly.
Chapter 28: Now
Notes:
I've tentatively updated by end chapter count, but I still don't know if this is the final count yet. It's either this or I'll have to add two more. It all depends on how pacing goes in the few past chapters I have left that detail Marianne's tumultuous relationship with Willoughby. I don't want to linger too long on this part, but I still need the room to let it breathe. The problem I keep running into is that I have a lot of ideas for scenes that show Willoughby's character, but I don't know how many of them are necessary when we all know he's a horrible person. 😩
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Now
Seated at her small desk in her bedroom, Marianne twirled her pen between her fingers, staring down at the open, blank journal before her. She kept reminding herself this was important and that writing would help her heal, but she was still unsure how to begin. She had already gone to Meg to show her more examples of layouts and prompts, but all the options only made her feel more overwhelmed.
She sighed and stretched, hoping for something to inspire her. A soft meow interrupted her thoughts as Lucky slipped quietly into the room.
“Come on,” she said gently, patting her lap.
Lucky didn’t hesitate. He hopped up and curled against her, resting his chin on her left arm.
“What if I started with you?” she whispered. “Would you like that?”
His purring grew louder in answer, and Marianne smiled. Adjusting her posture, she picked up her pen and carefully wrote Lucky in neat block letters at the top of the page.
She began by jotting down what she could remember about the day when the memory of getting him came back. Christopher had stopped by with coffee and pastries from their favorite spot. He was surprised by Lucky’s warm greeting and joked that a black cat might bring him bad luck. That small comment somehow sparked the memory in Marianne’s mind.
Once she had the details of that day written down, the rest of the story came more easily. She recorded how she had suggested getting a cat to her mother, the trip to the shelter, and the rows of cages that felt overwhelming. Finally the worker had her hold the small black kitten, only a few months old, curling up in her arms as if he had been waiting for her all along.
When she eventually put the pen down, Marianne was surprised at how much she had written. A few small doodles—cat faces, paw prints, fish-shaped toys—decorated the page, making the memory feel more alive. Meg had been right; journaling was not only calming, it was starting to be something she enjoyed.
Before she could move on, her phone chimed with the sound of a new message. She picked it up, smiling automatically when she saw the sender.
How about I stop over this afternoon to see Meg? Christopher’s message read.
Sure! She’d love it! she replied.
I’ll be there around 4:00. Sound good?
Perfect. See you then!
Marianne checked the time; it was a little before three. She set a timer for an hour, then picked her pen back up and returned to her journal, turning to her memories of Elinor’s wedding.
Once she got going, it was hard to stop. The words came easily, one thought leading to another as if her hand already knew what to write. Some details surprised her—the way frost had gathered at the corners of the glass panes in the conservatory, the delicate florals in Elinor’s perfume, the string lights flickering in Christopher’s slate eyes as they danced.
If she could recall so many details weeks after the memory had resurfaced, she couldn’t help but wonder what may happen if she had her journal nearby when a new one returned.
Her timer rang, letting her know Christopher would arrive in about fifteen minutes. She carefully set Lucky down, stood, stretched, and glanced at her work. Nearly four pages were filled with more words and doodles than she knew she had in her. She smiled at the journal, promising herself she’d read it over later that evening.
Heading downstairs to wait, she found her mother in the living room, curled in her usual spot with a book.
“Mama,” she began. “Christopher’s stopping by soon. Meg’s been wanting to thank him for helping her at Ellie’s wedding.”
Mary looked up and smiled. “That’s sweet of him. Maybe he’d like to stay for dinner? Elinor and Edward are coming over around five.”
Marianne hesitated. “I don’t know... that might be weird for him.”
“Well, it doesn’t hurt to ask,” her mother said, that familiar smirk tugging at her lips.
Marianne sighed. “We’re not back together.”
“I know that,” Mary said gently, setting her book aside. “But he was part of this family for years. Just because things ended doesn’t mean he wouldn’t appreciate the invitation. He doesn’t have to say yes.”
Marianne folded her arms and sank into a chair. She didn’t answer right away.
Mary waited for a beat, then softened her voice. “If you really don’t want me to, I won’t ask.”
“No, it’s not that,” Marianne said quietly. “You can ask him.”
“Then what is it?”
Marianne drew in a long breath. “I’m just... starting to remember how I felt after I came home. How much I hoped he’d change his mind. How low I sank when he didn’t.” She looked down at her hands. “It hurt all over again when he said we shouldn’t try. Even though I know he’s right, deep down... I’m scared those feelings will come back. I don’t want to put you through that again.”
Mary’s eyes softened, her voice quieter now. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re not responsible for protecting me from your heartbreak. That’s my job.”
Marianne hesitated, struggling to untangle her feelings. “I know I put you, Ellie and Meg through hell earlier in the year. I am responsible for that.”
Mary patted the spot next to her on the couch. Marianne stood up automatically and sat next to her as her mother slipped her arm around her and pulled her close.
“I appreciate you thinking of us, I really do. And you’re right, it was hard. Watching you go through that and not knowing how to help… that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever lived through. Maybe even harder than when your father died.”
Marianne pulled away, stunned. Losing their beloved father nearly seven years ago to a sudden heart attack had been devastating. But even in their grief, they had pulled together by sharing the sorrow, leaning on each other. Mary had stayed strong for them, especially for Meg, who was only fifteen at the time, and somehow, they made it through.
But with Marianne... it had been different. Her pain had been silent, closed off. No one could reach her, no matter how hard they tried. That helplessness and uncertainty of not knowing what she needed, or whether she even wanted help had been its own kind of loss.
“Mama, I didn’t mean—”
“I know dear,” Mary assured her. “The hardest part wasn’t having to carry any of it; it was feeling like I couldn’t reach you. Like you were disappearing, even when you were right in front of me.”
Marianne looked down at her hands, her jaw tightening.
Mary reached down and clutched one of her hands. “If those feelings return, we’ll handle them together. Like we always do. But healing doesn’t mean you avoid pain. Sometimes you have to sit with it to realize you’re stronger than you were before. I don’t want you to cut yourself off from people just because you’re scared of repeating the past.”
She leaned closer to her daughter, her tone clear and kind. “And… if I’m honest, I miss having him around here, but that doesn’t mean I expect anything between you two. If having him stay makes you uncomfortable, then I won’t ask. But I don’t think kindness should be off-limits because things are different.”
There was a long beat of quiet before Marianne finally exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. “I miss him being here too.” she admitted. “You can ask him, but ease into it, okay?”
Mary nodded. “Of course.”
The sound of tires pulling up the driveway let them know Christopher had arrived. Mary gave her daughter a reassuring squeeze, then rose to meet him at the front door.
“Hi,” she said with a smile as she opened it.
“Hey,” he replied, stepping inside. “How are you feeling today?”
“I’m good,” she said. “Come on in; my mother’s in the living room if you want to say hi. I’ll go run up and get Meg.”
“Sure,” he said.
Marianne headed upstairs, tapping on Meg’s bedroom door, but got no answer.
“Meg?” she called again. Still nothing.
She cracked the door open and found Meg lying on her bed, headphones on, scrolling through her phone.
“Meg!” she called again, waving her hand.
Meg looked up and slid one of the headphone cups off her ear. “Sorry, what’s up?”
“There’s someone here to see you,” Marianne said with a smile.
Meg gave her a suspicious look. “Who?”
“You have to come downstairs to see.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “This better not be another one of your lame excuses to make me help with some chore Mama wants done.”
“It’s not,” Marianne said with a sigh. “There really is someone here to see you.”
“Is it a cute guy?”
“Meg! Just get off your ass already and come down!”
Meg tugged the headphones off and sat up. “Fine, I’m coming,” she muttered. “This better be good.”
The pair of sisters went down the stairs and into the living room. When Meg saw who was there, she stopped short.
“Christopher?” she said, surprised.
“Hi, Meg,” he said warmly.
She hesitated for a second before crossing the room and pulling him into a hug.
“I didn’t know you were coming by,” she said, smiling. “Marianne wouldn’t tell me anything, not even if it was a cute guy.”
Christopher chuckled. “Well, I can’t blame her for dodging that one.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “Meg has to ask twenty questions before you can get her to do anything. If I’d said yes, she’d want to know hair color, eye color, height, zodiac sign—everything. We’d still be up there.”
Mary smiled and gently cut in, her voice light. “Well, it’s good to see you, Christopher.” Then, rising from her seat, she added, “I’m headed to the kitchen. Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’ll take a blackberry seltzer,” Meg said quickly.
Mary gave her a pointed look, then turned back to Christopher. “Christopher?”
He smiled. “The same is fine.”
“Of course,” she said. Then, to Marianne, “Why don’t you help me in the kitchen?”
Marianne nodded and followed her mother out, leaving Meg and Christopher in the living room.
When she returned a few minutes later with a tray of drinks and light snacks, she found them deep in conversation, laughing like old friends. They barely noticed as she set the tray down on the coffee table, and that didn’t bother her. It had taken a while, but Meg finally got to say what she needed.
She returned to the kitchen and joined her mother in preparing her famous chicken parmesan. They worked in quiet tandem for about thirty minutes, pounding the chicken, setting up the dredging station, and getting the sauce going in a large pot on the stove.
Christopher stepped into the kitchen to say goodbye, but Mary got there first.
“Christopher, please, why don’t you stay for dinner?” she said. “Elinor and Edward are coming too. They’ll be thrilled to see you.”
“Oh, I don’t want to impose,” he said.
“You wouldn’t be,” she insisted. “There’s plenty of food.”
“Obviously you should stay,” Meg said, sliding in beside them with the empty tray.
“I’m not sure—”
Before he could finish, Elinor and Edward stepped into the kitchen, having just arrived.
“Christopher!” Elinor said, surprised. She shot a look at Marianne. “I didn’t know you were going to be here. Are you staying for dinner too?”
“I don’t—”
Marianne finally spoke up. “Chris,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to stay if it’s awkward.”
Edward raised a brow. “Not that my opinion ever matters, but it’d be nice to have another man around again to talk to. I’m always outnumbered. They even banished me from girl talk last time.”
Elinor gave him a sideways look. “And what manly topics will you discuss? You two gonna trade tips on chopping wood shirtless in the rain or something?”
Edward’s eyes went wide as the Dashwood sisters suppressed giggles. “Are you seeing this, Christopher? They all gang up on me.”
Christopher laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Okay, I’ll stay as long as it’s alright with Marianne.”
“Of course you can stay,” she said, smiling.
Meg loaded up the tray with more drinks and snacks before leading Christopher and Edward to the family room to watch TV. Elinor stayed behind to help Marianne and their mother with dinner.
“This was a nice surprise,” Elinor said, flashing Marianne a grin. “Is there something you’ve been keeping from me?”
Marianne scoffed, shaking her head. “No, Ellie. There’s nothing going on. I’ve just been remembering some things about us, and he’s been helping me make sense of it. He stopped by so Meg could finally give him her long-overdue ‘thank you’ for what happened at your wedding.”
“We probably all owe him thanks for that,” Elinor said, pouring herself a glass of wine. “But what have you been remembering?”
Marianne dropped the piece of chicken she was holding into the flour. “I don’t know if floury hands and raw poultry are the best conditions for this conversation,” she said wryly.
“Sorry,” Elinor said gently. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”
“No,” Marianne said softly. “It’s okay. I remember the breakup now… and the hard weeks that came after.”
She paused, drawing in a breath. “I’m sorry, Ellie. And you too, Mama. For what I put you through.”
Elinor and Mary stepped in close, wrapping their arms around her.
“Sweetheart,” Mary said gently, “we know you couldn’t help it. We’re here for you. Just like we were then, okay?”
Marianne nodded, smiling through the emotion. “Okay. But seriously, we’re getting flour and chicken juice all over each other like this.”
They laughed and got back to work. Once the chicken was breaded and set aside to rest, they cleaned up, checked the simmering sauce, and moved on to prepping the salad. When Mary was sure she had everything under control, she sent Elinor and Marianne out of the kitchen. After washing up, the two of them joined the rest of the family in the other room.
When they stepped into the room, Elinor took note of the TV. A predictably handsome, flannel-wearing man was helping a big-city woman in impractical heels hang wreaths outside a snowy barn.
Elinor stared at her husband, raising an eyebrow. “This is what you needed reinforcements for? So you could watch Tinsel and Tidings?”
Edward pointed at Meg. “She had the remote. And this is actually Somewhere Under the Mistletoe.”
“Oh, pardon me,” Elinor said, dropping onto the couch beside him, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Let me guess, the woman learns the true meaning of Christmas from a man who owns a reindeer sanctuary?”
Meg turned around, eyes wide. “How did you know? Have you seen this one? Don’t spoil it for me!”
Elinor laughed. “No, Meg. I’ve never seen this one, but they’re all the same.”
Marianne chuckled as she crossed the room and settled at the far end of the couch. Christopher was beside her, in her father’s old recliner with Lucky settled in his lap.
“I’m sorry you got dragged into spending your Saturday like this,” she said sympathetically.
“I don’t mind at all,” he said, petting the animal. “If I were home, I’d probably have ordered takeout and eaten it in front of some dull documentary about submarine warfare. This is a definite upgrade.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” she teased, giving his arm a squeeze. “I just don’t want you to feel obligated to stay.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Honestly, I’ve missed this… all these chaotic family dinners. I always had a good time.”
She smiled at him, but a tug pulled at her chest as she realized that, without her, he didn’t really have any family.
“Chris, what about the holidays this year?” she asked. “What are you going to do?”
He chuckled. “Do you really think Harriet Jennings would let me spend them alone? She’s already ambushed me and got me to agree to Christmas Eve at her place and Christmas Day at the Middletons’. I’ll be well fed and thoroughly socialized.”
A small pang of jealousy ran through her. It surprised her, how much it bothered her. After everything, she had no right to feel that way—especially not when she'd moved on so fast, even if the reasons were still lost to her.
“Has she been trying to play matchmaker again?” Marianne asked, aiming for light and casual.
Christopher let out a deep exhale. “She’s tried. But I told her firmly that I wasn’t interested.”
Marianne drew in a slow breath, letting the warmth of concern for him outweigh the sting of her fleeting jealousy.
“It’s okay,” she said softly, forcing a smile. “You’re allowed to date if you want.”
He shook his head. “I know. It’s not that,” he said gently. “I just… I shouldn’t date anyone while I’m still working through things.”
“I get it,” she said softly. “But… if you wanted to, don’t write off the possibility on my account.”
He smiled at her but said nothing. Meg suddenly got up and plopped herself down next to Marianne, nearly knocking Elinor over in the process.
“Meg!” Elinor scolded, pushing her youngest sister away. “This isn’t a four-person couch!”
“What are you two whispering about?” Meg asked Marianne.
“None of your business,” Marianne whispered back sharply.
“The movie’s over,” Edward announced. “Can I please put on something else?”
The room erupted into a noisy chorus as Elinor, Edward, and Meg all tried to talk at once, each one louder than the last. Words tumbled over each other, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional playful shove, turning the room into a lively mess.
Marianne buried her face in her hands, then looked up at Christopher. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be at home with your takeout, your own TV, and silence?”
He shook his head. “Not in a million years.”
“Mama, what time did Ellie say she’s gonna be here?” Marianne asked.
“I think she said six,” Mary told her, looking over from the TV. “There’s something at work she wanted to finish up first.”
Marianne nodded, fidgeting on the couch a bit. The Dashwoods were heading to the city later in the evening to grab dinner, do their holiday shopping, and get some photos of them together in front of the Christmas tree. They were all looking forward to the tradition they hadn’t done since their father died. They finally felt ready to start it again.
“I’m gonna see what Meg’s wearing,” Marianne said as she stood. “Maybe she can give me some advice.”
“I’ll be right here,” Mary said.
Marianne climbed the stairs and tapped on Meg’s door. To her surprise, she answered right away.
“Yeah?” she called out.
“Hey,” Marianne said, opening the door. “Just wondered if you picked an outfit for later.”
Meg slowly turned toward her and shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet,” she said quietly.
Marianne could tell immediately that something was off. She stepped into the room and sat beside her sister on the floor.
“Meg, what’s wrong?”
Meg let out a deep sigh. “I’ve just been thinking…” she trailed off, staring at the floor.
Marianne raised her eyebrows and nudged her sister. “About?”
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I just… I feel like it’s all my fault.”
“What do you think is your fault?”
Meg pulled at a loose fiber on her throw rug. “That you and Christopher aren’t together anymore,” she said, still not meeting her sister’s eyes.
Marianne was taken aback. She couldn’t imagine what would make Meg think that.
“Meg, there’s no way it could be your fault. Why on earth would you think that?”
Meg finally looked up, her eyes starting to turn glassy.
“I told him what you said at Elinor’s wedding,” she said, her voice wavering. “I forgot I even said it until the other day, when he was over. I saw you two smiling and laughing like old times and… I remembered.”
Marianne paused, trying to sift through the memories she’d recently recovered. It didn’t take long for it to surface.
I don’t want to get married… Meg told me what you said…
She immediately wrapped her arm around Meg, pulling her close. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
Meg shrugged. “It’s just that Saturday, when we were all eating, the way you two kept looking at each other… I kept thinking, how could you not be together? You’re clearly still in love,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know you told me it was because he didn’t want to get married… and then I remembered what I told him.”
Marianne could feel Meg start to tremble beside her.
“I didn’t mean to say anything,” Meg whispered, her voice cracking. “I didn’t know it would make you break up.”
Marianne shifted to face her and gently pulled back enough to see her expression. Meg kept her eyes on the floor.
“Meg, I don’t blame you,” she said firmly. “Not even a little bit. Christopher always felt that way… it would’ve come out eventually. If you hadn’t said anything, maybe we would’ve stayed together a little longer, but it still would’ve caught up with us.”
“He always felt that way?” Meg asked. “He never wanted to get married?”
Marianne took a deep breath. She knew she’d mentioned bits of Christopher’s past to Elinor and their mother, but Meg was completely in the dark.
“No, not always,” she said. “Christopher was engaged once… twenty years ago.”
“He was?” Meg’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“She died in a car accident,” Marianne said gently. “Her name was Eliza. They were going to have a baby too, but neither of them made it.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” Meg murmured. “Poor Christopher.”
Marianne nodded. “I know. I knew about her early on, but Christopher assured me enough time had passed and that he’d moved on.”
“But he didn’t?”
Marianne shook her head. “No, I don’t think he knew how to. I think he thought he had, but in all those years before me, he never got close enough to anyone to really know how he felt about marriage or children.
“When we started dating, I wasn’t thinking about marriage at the time either. I was twenty-four, he was forty, and we were just happy in the moment. That first year, we didn’t talk about the future. Then at Elinor’s engagement party, it came up again. I still wasn’t ready, and he said he hadn’t really figured it out either. So we left it alone, until it came up again after the wedding.”
“I still don’t understand why, though,” Meg said. “It almost sounds like Papa.”
“Believe me, I thought the same thing,” Marianne said. “I even talked to Mama about it. I told Christopher about Papa and Catherine, how he chose to move forward. But not everyone handles grief the same. Christopher made Eliza a promise he felt he couldn’t break, even after she was gone. And in his mind, keeping that promise was the right thing.”
“But Marianne, you were devastated,” Meg said. “Couldn’t he see how much you were hurting?”
Marianne swallowed hard. “He saw it. He didn’t want to hurt me, but he just... couldn’t get past what he lost. He’d been carrying it for so long, and I don’t think he realized how heavy it still was until it broke us.”
“And that’s why you left?”
Before Marianne could answer, the sound of two pairs of footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall interrupted her. Meg’s door opened as Elinor and their mother stepped into the room.
“Everyone ready?” Mary asked, then paused when she caught sight of their expressions. “Everything okay?”
Marianne nodded. “Yes, I was just telling Meg—well, I should probably come clean to all of you.”
“About what?” Elinor asked.
“The reason I left Christopher,” Marianne said, looking down at her hands.
“Sweetheart,” Mary said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’ve told us already.”
“What I told you was only half of it,” she admitted. “I think I didn’t want to believe the rest myself.”
“What do you mean?” Elinor asked.
Marianne shrugged. “I think I was ashamed. Or maybe I felt like there was something wrong with me, so I only told you that I left because he didn’t want to get married.”
“Is that not true, my dear?” Mary asked softly.
“It’s true. It’s just not the whole story,” Marianne said. “Mama, Elinor—I think I told you about Christopher’s fiancée, Eliza?”
They both nodded.
“She died in a car accident, right?” Elinor said.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Marianne said quietly. “But it wasn’t just that Christopher didn’t want to get married. It’s that he felt he couldn’t.”
She looked up at them and then told them everything.
About Eliza, her daughter, and the baby Christopher never got to meet. About Beth’s father, who abandoned them. About the promise Christopher made to Eliza—that he’d marry her, was thrilled about being a father, would raise Beth as his own, and never walk away.
About the accident that took Eliza’s life and their future. About how Beth’s father returned and claimed her. About the way grief never fully let him go. She told them how much Christopher meant those words. How much he tried.
She didn’t realize she was crying until the tears fell into her lap.
“I wanted to blame him,” she whispered. “Or blame myself, for not being enough. But he couldn’t help it. He did love me. He never wanted to hurt me.”
“Sweetheart,” Mary said gently. “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like. You didn’t need to feel ashamed. You didn’t have to carry all of that alone.”
“I didn’t realize your pain ran that deep,” Elinor said softly. “And that Christopher was carrying so much too…”
“He didn’t either,” Marianne said. “But I don’t blame him anymore. He’s getting help now.”
Mary gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you could finally face it and let us in. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”
Elinor’s voice was soft. “I understand why you didn’t talk about it then, and why you were so desperate to move on.”
Marianne nodded. “It felt like if I said it aloud, I’d fall to pieces.”
Meg leaned in. “Do you still love him?”
Marianne looked down at her hands. “I do,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I ever stopped. But we both agreed we can’t be together right now. There’s too much uncertainty.”
She took a steadying breath. “We’ve agreed to be friends. So if we go for coffee or dinner, that’s all it is. I don’t want anyone getting their hopes up if it doesn’t go further.”
Mary pulled her close. “I understand, my dear. We won’t pressure you anymore. And I think I can speak for all of us—we’re glad he’s in your life again. And in ours.”
She stood, helping Marianne and Meg to their feet. She pulled Marianne into a tight hug, and soon Meg and Elinor joined them.
When they finally pulled apart, Marianne felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She felt steadier, like she didn’t have to carry these burdens alone anymore.
She smiled as she stepped back. “Thank you. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starving. And I really want to see the tree.”
“Me too,” Mary said, returning the smile. “We can go as soon as you two change.”
Marianne scrolled to the bottom of the registration page for the professional development course she’d just completed. It was the same one she’d tried to sign up for a few weeks ago, before the memory flashbacks had hit so suddenly. She double-checked that all the required information was filled in and the necessary documents attached, then clicked the submit button.
A few minutes later, her computer pinged with a new email confirming her application had been received. It said she’d hear back in a few weeks about whether she’d been accepted. It was just one course out of many she’d need to reinstate her teaching license, but this small step already felt like a huge victory on the path to reclaiming her life.
“Marianne!” The sound of Meg calling her from downstairs floated up to her room.
“In my room, Meg!” she called back.
Loud footsteps bounded up the stairs before Meg appeared in the doorway, breathless, holding a drink carrier and a white paper bag in her hands.
“Surprise!” she said, holding them up.
“What’s all this?” Marianne asked with a laugh.
“I was out doing some more gift shopping when I passed by that coffee shop, so I got us some treats.”
“Oh, that’s so nice!” Marianne said. “Thank you.”
“Look at these,” Meg said, pulling two muffins out of the bag. “They had gingerbread muffins with little faces piped on them!”
“Those are so adorable!” Marianne said, examining their smiling faces and rosy cheeks. “I’ll feel bad eating them.”
“I won’t,” Meg said, pulling one apart at the top and popping the piece in her mouth. “It’s so good!”
She then held out the drink carrier to her sister. “Here, I got you a hot cider too.”
Marianne took one of the cups, feeling the warmth seep into her hands. She set the treats on her desk and then stood up to give her sister a hug.
“Thank you, Meg,” she said. “This is really thoughtful.”
“Well, I’m going back downstairs to watch TV if you want to join me.”
“Sure,” Marianne said. “I just have to finish something quick and I’ll be down.”
Meg then left the room, and Marianne turned back to her laptop. She took a sip of cider, then broke off a piece of the muffin, savoring the warm, spiced flavors. Meg had done well choosing treats she hadn’t tried before.
The flash hit her without warning. She stilled, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she slowly closed her eyes.
The memory started coming into focus. The city moved past her in a blur of buildings and blue skies before it slowed. She was walking, the spring air warm on her face. She recognized the neighborhood; it was just a block from the coffee shop Meg had returned from. The same shop she and Christopher had their first date.
That same dread and unease returned, curling in her chest. She opened her eyes, hoping to ground herself, but the light felt too harsh. She shut them again.
The door of the shop appeared in her mind, clear as if she were standing in front of it. Christopher stepped outside. She couldn’t understand the expression he wore, before it blurred at the edges. She heard his voice calling out her name.
Then everything sped up again. The sidewalk, the buildings, the city rushed past until it gave way to trees. A strange stillness settled in after.
She opened her eyes and reached for her journal. As soon as it was in her hands, she began writing to capture everything she’d just experienced. The street, the sunlight on her face, the breeze in her hair, the steady rhythm of her shoes on the pavement. It all came rushing back.
She didn’t pause to think. The words blurred on the page as her hand moved almost independently, scribbling faster than her mind could catch up.
“Marianne?”
The sound of her name barely registered. She turned another page and kept writing, her hand beginning to cramp as she chased the fragments flooding in. The calm slipped as new images emerged—dark hair, warm brown eyes, sweat glistening in the morning sun, all anchored by a wide, familiar smile.
“Marianne?” Meg’s voice cut in again, this time clearer. Her hand stilled.
“Are you coming down?”
Marianne glanced at her sister. “Yeah, I just…”
“What’s wrong?” Meg asked, stepping into the room.
Marianne looked down at her journal, flipping back a few pages to where the entry began. Her handwriting filled the lines in a rush, and at the very end, just before she’d stopped, one name stood out.
“I think I know why the coffee shop was making me feel weird,” she said, holding the journal out. “Here. Look.”
Meg took it, her eyes scanning the pages, her expression shifting slowly between confusion, surprise, and something else unreadable.
“I’m not sure I get it,” she said, handing it back. “And… why are the last words ‘John Willoughby?’”
Marianne took another sip of her cider, now lukewarm.
“I think it’s because I remember meeting him,” she said. “I saw Christopher at the coffee shop back in April, and I wasn’t ready to face him, so I ran off… and that’s when I met John.”
The faint buzz of a new message cut through the quiet of John Willoughby’s living room. The TV was still on, but he hadn’t been paying attention to it for some time, letting the sound fade into the background.
He picked up his phone and stared at the name: Sofia Grey. With a sigh, he set it back down. He didn’t feel like dealing with her today, or any day really. Their brief relationship a couple years ago had been entertaining enough at first. She’d been eager to indulge him, always game for whatever he suggested. But like most things, it wore thin quickly.
When he ended it after about six months, she hadn’t taken it well. He’d covered his tracks cleanly, claimed the timing was bad, that work was demanding too much of him to be what she needed. She’d grudgingly accepted it, but every few months she’d still send a message saying she missed him. Sometimes he answered, but most times he didn’t.
Today, like the past few months, he didn’t even want to bother, even as the phone buzzed again. He rolled his eyes and picked it up to find another message from Sofia.
“Fine,” he muttered, unlocking the screen.
The first was a text: Hey. You’ve been ghosting me since August. You still want to grab drinks?
The second was a mildly scandalous photo. Not something that showed everything, but enough to catch his attention. He deleted it without hesitation.
Whatever appeal Sofia—and women like her—once held had faded after Marianne’s accident. He didn’t bother trying to understand why. It was just the way things were now. He just wanted Marianne back and it felt like there wasn’t room in his mind for anything else.
Lately though, her pull on him had intensified, even as he felt her slipping further away. She rarely called or texted him, and when he reached out, her replies were delayed, guarded, like he was an obligation she hadn’t figured out how to shake.
He told himself to be patient because her memory was still fragile, and it would take time. But underneath that patience was the fear that once she had all the pieces, she’d decide he wasn’t one of them.
It also didn’t help that her ex had somehow found a way back into her life. For a while, Willoughby had been the one helping her sort through the betrayal, the one she leaned on for comfort. But now Brandon of all people was showing up again, saying the right things and taking up space she used to give him.
Willoughby dragged a hand through his hair, frustration rising as he thought back to that dinner when he walked in. He hadn’t given much thought to who this ex who’d shattered her hopes for a future might be, but never in a million years did he imagine it would be him. The same man who had nearly tanked his career.
The idea that Brandon not only had her once, but then threw her away, made Willoughby sick.
He reminded himself that it didn’t matter anymore. Christopher Brandon wasn’t the most difficult obstacle he had to overcome. That was Marianne’s own memory of him. He’d read enough about her condition and traumatic head injuries to know there was a real chance she might never fully remember him, or that what she did remember could be fragmented or inaccurate.
In some ways, that gave him hope. He didn’t want her to remember the events leading up to her accident. If the details stayed hazy, he could guide the rest. Not by inventing stories, but by leaning on the truth that served him and letting the rest fall away.
His phone buzzed again, this time indicating a call. He was ready to ignore it, figuring it was Sofia finally growing weary of his silence. When he glanced down and saw Marianne’s name instead, he picked up immediately.
“Hey,” he said, casual but alert.
“Hi, John,” she replied softly. “Is this a good time to talk?”
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I can always make time for you. What’s going on?”
There was a beat of silence. He could feel her hesitation.
“I… I think I remember the park,” she said at last. “When we met.”
He took a steady breath. “That’s great. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Well,” she began slowly. “A lot of what you told me is true… I remember crying. But… did I tell you why I was crying?”
He paused. She had told him, back then. But now, he was quickly trying to figure out why she was asking. Was she testing him? Was she unsure? He weighed his options and, finding no obvious trap, decided to answer her honestly.
“You said you’d run into your ex,” he replied. “That it caught you off guard and upset you.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I remember too. But… when we had dinner a few weeks ago, and I asked you how we met, you left that part out.”
Her accident seemed to have sharpened her ability to recall even the smallest details of what he said. He’d have to be more careful going forward. Fortunately, this was something he could explain away.
“Marianne,” he said with measured softness, “I didn’t want to upset you. We were having a nice dinner. And then he showed up, like, five minutes later—honestly, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t say anything. That would’ve made things even more awkward.”
She seemed to relax. “Yeah, it would have.”
“Do you remember anything else after that?” he asked, gently steering the conversation away from what came next.
“No, not really,” she said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if more comes back over the next few days.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “it just seems like when I remember something important like this, the smaller details tend to follow after.”
“That’s good then, right?” he asked with a slight chuckle. “I mean, you do want to remember me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” she said, giggling. “I want everything back, no matter what it is.”
He smiled, though the word “everything” gave him pause. Some memories were better left buried. But if they surfaced, he’d find a way to stay ahead of them.
“I know I said I wouldn’t push you too much,” he began. “But… let’s say you remember us dating, or even when I asked you to marry me. What happens after that?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can answer that until it happens. Sometimes I’ll remember something, but how I feel about it now is different than when I actually experienced it.”
The answer landed harder than he expected. He hadn’t considered that. She could remember all the sweetness, the laughter, and charm and still walk away.
“I’m sorry,” she suddenly said. “That’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”
“I did ask,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light. “I still meant what I said before. I’m not going to keep throwing myself a pity party.”
“Weren’t your exact words something like 'I’ll stop acting like I’m nursing a broken heart’?” she asked, her earlier playfulness returning.
“You’re right,” he said, laughing. “See? If you can remember that so accurately, I really shouldn’t worry about you remembering me.”
Their laughter faded into a gentle quiet.
“Marianne, can I see you again soon?” he asked. “We could see a movie or go to a museum. What do you think?”
He gave her a moment to think it over.
“Yes,” she said at last. “That sounds nice.”
Notes:
I've made Meg a huge fan of Hallmark Channel style holiday movies. The movie titles are made up (which I hope is obvious as I made them utterly ridiculous). I have this thing where I don't want to name anything like a name brand, TV show or movie title or anything else that exists in the real world (the exception is song titles and lyrics since they serve some sort of plot device.) If you ever come across one of my obscure descriptions and you don't know what I'm referring to, just ask! 😊
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BibiBird08 on Chapter 7 Sat 21 Jun 2025 01:52AM UTC
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