Outside, the evening was crisp, still. The fairy lights twinkled in the garden, the breeze whispered through the trees, the honeysuckle fragrance lingered in the air. But none of it eased the pain.
I emerged from Sea Glass cabin hours after Sebastian had left. After I’d pushed him away.
I cried myself to sleep. I’d heard of it—seen it in movies where tormented heroines did it, but it always felt like a melodrama that didn’t belong in my life.
But there I was.
I followed the path to the beach. The stretch of sand was mine alone. My bare feet sank into the cold sand of the little dune that led me down. And there it was—the vast, dark blue water, with the full moon rising, casting its light across it.
To my right, the town’s lights stretched across the bay to the far tip. To my left, a scattering of lights and houses, with the land rising toward the short cliff where the lighthouse stood.
I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs and holding it in. The steady roll of the ocean was deafening here. Perfect.
And there it was, creeping over me: the calm.
The tide was low, the strip of sand wider than in incoming tide. I stepped forward until my feet sank into the froth the waves left behind, watching as each one came and went with the low tide.
I’d never lived far from the ocean, and in a way, I’d always taken it for granted—that it would always be there, steady, waiting for me.
Don’t think about it. Breathe.
The cold waves licked my feet, the chill of the wind raising goosebumps on my skin. I hadn’t stopped by my cottage for a sweater.
A memory floated in: Sebastian and I out here at night, two years ago? Maybe three. I was cold, and he wrapped his arms around me from behind, warming my back and running his palms up and down my bare arms.
Don’t think about him. Breathe.
What if ... what if ...
Don’t think about it. Breathe.
I walked along the water, heading toward the path most guests used. No one was out here, despite the stone steps, the rail, and the light poles. I kept going, to where I could see the Bar & Grill deck, the faint sound of music drifting from therestaurant, blending with the clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation.
A few years ago, I’d brought my mom and Alan here for her birthday. After their dinner at the restaurant, I’d set up a blanket with luminaries, wine, and dessert on the sand—my attempt at something sweet and unexpected.
Ten minutes later, Alan came back carrying the basket and the blanket, looking apologetic. “Your mom’s cold,” he said. Turns out, she’d told him if she wanted to eat on the floor, she could’ve done it at home. When he tried to explain how romantic the ocean was, she’d shot back, “If I wanted wind in my face, I’d stick my head out the car window.”
It almost made me laugh now, remembering it. Almost.
Because what I really wanted, standing here, was to talk to my dad. To ask what I’d never dared to when I was younger.
Why did you leave, Dad? Was it me?Did you ever look back and wonder what we turned into after you stopped calling? Did you ever really miss us, or did we stop existing the moment you started over? Even when you were still around, you weren’t really. Is that what forever meant to you? Because it sure became my version of it—the kind that runs out.
And today, I made someone I—
Don’t think about him. Breathe.
I walked the beach for what felt like hours, until the weight of my thoughts had me dragging my feet in the sand. The night air bit at my skin, but I couldn’t feel the cold. Every step was a battle to push everything down, to ignorewhat had happened. My body ached from the walk, but it wasn’t enough to numb the rest of me.
Eventually, I turned back, stumbling back toward the cottage, my feet heavy. I needed to sleep, to shut my mind off, to hope for a little while longer that I could somehow revert myself back to my original factory settings.
But once I was inside, the quiet only made the ache louder. I threw myself on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the image of Sebastian’s face haunting me.
My home felt like another piece of him, every inch of it reminding me of him, the empty shelf in my closet, his scent still lingering in the sheets. I hadn’t even realized I was crying until my throat tightened, and the tears wouldn’t stop.
40
Sebastian
