And just like that, we’re working together, barefoot, sun-kissed, passing the bucket between us as we sculpt towers and moats with quiet concentration. When Beckett complains about the sand burning his feet, I splash him with a grin. He retaliates with a flick of water that hits my thigh, and I gasp like I’m shocked, but I don’t really mind.
For a little while, we don’t talk.
We just build.
And play.
For now, it’s just the two of us—pretending the tide won’t come in.
Even as I pat down the wall of our little fortress, watching it take shape under our joined effort, I can’t help but feel an ache beneath the laughter.
This moment—what feels like rebuilding—is most likely as temporary as the castle itself.
The ocean will take it.
Maybe that’s the point.
Still, I keep smoothing the towers. He keeps digging the moat. The sun makes its way a little further across the sky, glinting off the water.
“I was really proud of you today,” he says after another short stretch of silence, tipping his chin toward the sea. “I would’ve gone up with you, you know.”
“I know.”
I keep my eyes on the lopsided turret I’m shaping. Not because I don’t want to look at him, but because I need to hear my own thoughts.
He’s always been there for me.
Until he wasn’t.
And that’s the part that scares the hell out of me—the absence and the silence that came with it. The way I had to fillthe gaps, for myself, for the boys, for the image of our life I didn’t want to admit was cracking.
But parasailing today—doing it alone—wasn’t about proving anything to him.
It was for me.
And oddly, the thought doesn’t cut the way it would’ve a week ago. It doesn’t feel bitter or spiteful.
I glance up at him. “It felt good. Doing it alone.”
Beckett doesn’t speak. He just sits there, running sand between his fingers, like he knows there’s more coming—and this time, he’s actually waiting for it.
“I’ve had to do a lot by myself this past year, you know?”
He knows. We’ve circled this conversation before. But in a chaotic way. Not… Not like this.
I exhale, staring down at our work. “At first, I told myself it was temporary. The long hours. You missing things.” My voice clogs up with emotion, so I clear my throat. “But then it wasn’t temporary. It became normal. Add in your secret phone calls”—I slide him an accusing stare— “and I had to adjust. I didn’t have a choice. I had to show up. For Max and Blakey. For my mom and Luna. For your parents. Not to mention my clients.”
I keep going. “I didn’t just do the things you couldn’t. I became a different version… of both of us. I was Mom. I was the wife whose husband is never around. I was putting on the smile, making excuses, and faking that everything was just fine.”
Just saying it makes me feel exhausted.
Still, he doesn’t interrupt. He’s just watching me.
“I thought I could carry it all, Beckett, and for a while, I did. I kept pretending things would get better, until one day I realized I didn’t even know what that would look like anymore. I’ve been living a massive lie, every day. And even that, it wasn’t enough.
“It was never enough.” I glance up at him, my chest aching. “And I need to know that I can have a life that’s enough. With or without you.”
He drops his gaze, sighs, and then looks back up.
