Epilogue
NANCY
TWO WEEKS LATER
No one ever tells you when you’ve run out of chances.
You think there’d be a warning, some kind of external sign from the universe that your luck was running out.
Maybe a storm cloud. Or a literal kick in the ass.
Something to tell you that time is ticking away.
But nope, no one ever does.
It’s not until you’re running late for the party that you're hosting that you realize that you run out of them.
The old Nancy would have never shown up to her own bar's re-opening shindig late.
But the new one?
She can't keep her head on straight, and as I run out of the bathroom, hair soaked, towel barely holding onto my slippery breasts, I almost collide with my handsome new fiancé.
His hands are full of bags, and he’s not looking where he’s going. As I try to
