It is the worst and best night of her life.
She's sitting on a swing angrily, like she's ten years younger than she actually is, but you know what? Lil' Marena had her reasons to be incandescently pissed. Big Marena right now has every single fucking reason to go on a fucking homicidal rampage. (She can feel the judgement even just from swearing in her own. Good. Let them judge the feral ball of primal rage. If they're close enough to judge, they're close enough to get bitten.)
She pushes herself off and swings. Her life is ruined, and she's not even sixteen. Her life is ruined, and it's not even her fault. She obeyed and her mother and father (mostly her mother, she was the one with the plans) and worked hard in school and at home and went to Church as often as she could and pretended that 'little voice of God' that was her conscience actually matched what it was supposed to be. She did everything she was meant to to be desirable to a good husband.
When her mother pulled strings so she was handmaidening for the youth pastor and her mother's best friend, she pretended it was all one big coincidence that she was actually thrilled about! She went through the awkwardest nine months of her life. She did all the things you were meant to do to protect the baby and make it strong and healthy. She did everything right, except honestly and wholly have her heart in it.
When the little bas-- bundle of joy took 30 goddamn hours to make his exit, she didn't complain. When epidurals apparently worked for other people, and not her, she thanked god for the opportunity to endure and for giving her a little taste of Hell to warn her away.
The only thing that could have made things better was the baby having all the right baby bits in the right places and in the right order. But well, beggars can't be choosers!
She's been medically cleared to leave. The kid-- well. He's not ever leaving.
She's been cleared to leave the maternity ward, and highly encouraged to do so. She went to the NICU-- it's not her kid, there's no reason to get attached, but... it seemed like it would only be right to say hi? (And then bye.) Except his 'actual mother' was there, and look. She knows that when she started screaming at her for killing her baby, can't you just do this one simply thing right, she should have been understanding. Should have been forgiving. Should have turned the other cheek.
She should not have asked what she expected to happen if she carried the baby herself? She should not have asked which one of them, exactly, had to get hooked up to a drip because they were puking their guts out so much they fainted. She should not have explained the Christian Concept of Gratefulness and Charity, which surely she should have heard about, but she's happy to give her testimony to help. She should not have done this loudly, at a hospital, while taking the Lord's name in vain repeatedly.
Theoretically she should be in a house, and not on a playground in the middle of the night. She doesn't care! Her life is ruined-- she's never going to have another kid, her marriage prospects are nil-- because of some people burning shit decades ago! An atheist rapist jumping out of the bushes to murder her would not be making anything worse!
If someone comes to find her and bring her back she's biting them... actually she's just going to follow, because what else can she do? She'll go back and she'll apologise and her mother's best friend will magnanimously pretend to forgive her.
Someone lays a hand on her shoulder, and she jumps. (When she replays this memory, she'll remember this hand didn't feel human, but she'll never be able to explain how.)
The person behind her is a woman man pregnant, eight month's at least, and their glowing. Not like, the metaphorically kind that everyone describes pregnant people as being even if they look like they got dragged through an influenza hedge backwards. Literally giving off light.
She shouldn't say what she's about to say. It's just mean. But she's bleeding everywhere and she's accidentally killed a child and her life is over. "Good luck, sister."
"Good luck, sister," The glowing person says the same thing in unison with her. They squeeze her shoulder, and then-- disappear.
Marena knows, with the same dream logic that tells you that this building is your church even if the layout is all wrong, that they're holy and celestial and not of God. That little voice inside her was never God's, it was theirs.
It's the best night of her life.
She gets on Closet, and learns her way around it. Meets the witches and the demontouched and the atheists who just really like tarot.
She also accidentally meets other people. A shared interest in herbal medicine leads her to finding a importer of Fine Cascadian Goods. Not what she's looking for, but she's chill. (There are worse closet mistakes. She could have wasted the time of an honest working girl, or worse: met a Catholic.) It's an accident, but a happy accident. He knows a guy who knows a guy who would hypothetically, in minecraft, help people get out of Gilead.
She has no reason to stay in the country of God. (Her mother has stopped trying to mold her, and is now giving her the cold shoulder, and it sucks that this is an improvement.)
If you're willing to work for years stuck in your parents house, if you know your way around Closet just well enough, and pretend your saving for a proper nice wedding, you can eventually get enough to get out.
When she spends the money, she spends days worrying the Eyes are going to break in her door.
Then she realises they could just wait till she could to the rendezvous point.
...she still goes. Plan A: everything works out and it's fine. Plan B: whatever goes wrong, she's going to... seduce whoever shows up. It's an awful plan, but if plan B comes up everything will have gone to shit enough a good plan won't help.
Plan C: ... well, here's hoping she can come up with something on the fly.