Page 15 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
Her feet carried her through the massive doors into the cavernous main hall.
The station clock showed she had twenty minutes until the next departure. Twenty minutes to change her mind. Twenty minutes to stay and fight.
Marigold approached the ticket counter but stopped short.
The weight of her decision suddenly overwhelmed her.
"Is this running away or starting over?" she asked herself, stepping aside to let others pass.
A family hurried by — parents guiding excited children toward their platform.
A businessman purchased a ticket without hesitation.
An elderly couple stood arm in arm, consulting a schedule.
Life continued all around her while hers hung in suspension.
"Can I help you, miss?" The ticket agent's voice broke through her thoughts.
Marigold stepped forward, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Suddenly nerves she hadn’t experienced bubbled in the pit of her stomach, making it hard to think.
"I—" She swallowed hard. "I need a ticket."
"Destination?"
Her fingers pressed into the countertop.
"Willowbend."
"One-way or round trip?"
The question lingered between them.
Purchasing a one-way ticket meant admitting she had no plans to return, while a round trip suggested this was temporary — that she might someday face Magnolia and Rowan again.
"One way," she said finally, her voice finding unexpected strength. "One way, please."
As she handed over her credit card, Marigold felt a strange lightness.
Not happiness —that seemed impossibly distant— but perhaps the first step toward it.
"Platform three," the agent said, sliding the ticket toward her. "Departing in fifteen minutes."
Marigold tucked the ticket into her coat pocket, her decision made physical. Willowbend wasn't an escape; it was a beginning.
And beginnings, even painful ones, held possibilities that endings never could.
The train'srhythmic clatter became a metronome for Marigold's thoughts as she stared out the window. City buildings gradually thinned, replaced by suburbs, then stretches of countryside.
Her forehead rested against the cool glass, the vibration humming through her skull.
"First time leaving the city?"
Marigold turned to find an older woman settling into the seat across from her, arranging a wicker basket on her lap.
"Is it that obvious?" she asked, straightening her posture instinctively — the ballet dancer's reflex.
"You have that look. Like you're watching something precious disappear." The woman smiled kindly. "I'm Doris."
