It feels like there's something on my thigh. Looking down, I see it’s nothing but my trembling fingers. Couldn’t tell it was my own hands—they’re numb from holding a fist. I try rubbing my fingers together and feel nothing, the pads of them numb.
It’s shocking but the sky is what catches my attention. Streams of pink, orange, and the glow of yellow as the sun sets. Almost like pieces of summer days, chasing one another.
The brightness reminds me of my mom on the one day we made it out here. A single day. All that time we had and I couldn’t make the trip more than once. It’s not that we had a lot of time, but it makes me feel like I’m spiraling out of control.
I wasted almost an entire day today. What have I done the last few weeks? The thought of time, life, all of it slipping away is enough to beatme down. It’s enough to bring me to my knees. So, that’s what I do. Practically crumble into the water, leaning on my knees.
I let my hands fall to my sides, the fingertips grazing the water, waiting for the feeling to come back. The waves push in and around me, soaking my shorts with the lake water.
There’s nothing but the sound of water pushing into the beach and then pulling away. The water crashes, sloshes, and brings the icy bite with it. I look to see if I’ve somehow run into a tourist trap, but some quick glances show me a few people about a half mile down the beach.
It’s just me.
And good thing. Because I am a fucking mess.
I can’t even cry. The only thing I can do is feel the raw cut of helplessness, darkness, fitting for the sun going down.
The cold should pull me out of it—shock me, shake me,something—but it doesn’t. It keeps creeping higher, threading around my legs, curling like a hand around my ribs. And somehow that makes the emptiness worse. It seems the lake is trying to remind me that I can still feel, but only the parts that hurt.
My chest feels hollow, scraped out. Not even a bruise. Just…space. Vast and echoing.
The water chills deeper, sliding against my skin until my whole body feels like it’s dissolving into it. It’s almost a relief—how the cold numbseverything in the way I wish I could numb my thoughts. The ache in my throat, the pressure behind my eyes, the exhaustion that’s been dragging at my bones for weeks—it all folds under the weight of that freezing water. Like I’m disappearing inch by inch.
I stare out over the lake, watching the colors drain from the sky, and it hits me how easy it is for something beautiful to fade right in front of you. One moment warm, the next swallowed by gray. I don’t know why that makes my stomach drop, but it does. Maybe because I feel like I’m doing the same thing—blinking in and out, losing pieces of myself so quietly that no one would notice until there’s nothing left.
My breath comes out harsh, a ghost of steam in the cooling air. I wait for emotion to hit—rage, grief, anything—but all I get is a heavy drag of nothingness settling in my chest. Like the cold has seeped all the way through me, iced over everything that used to spark or burn or matter.
The waves push again, harder this time, and the cold punches up my spine in an almost personal way. My body shudders, but inside I’m still locked up. Still stuck in that dark, hollow space where even my thoughts echo back empty.
I close my eyes, letting the water climb a little higher on my shins, and the only thing I can think is that I don’t know how I got here. Not just on this beach, not just in this moment—but here, inside this version of myself that feels scraped raw and used up and…gone.
The lake keeps moving. Keeps breathing. And I sit here, frozen in place, wishing I felt alive enough to do anything.
ten
Sadie
“Someofusarenot professional athletes. Slow down,” Maren whines from behind me.
Turning, I look at her over my shoulder. “If one of us hadn’t made us late, I wouldn’t need to speed walk. Now get moving, you beautiful butterfly, otherwise we’re going to miss it.”
Maren, being overly dramatic, huffs and then says, “You act like we don’t live here. Like. We could do this every night if we wanted to.”
“The clouds are going to be working overtime for us tonight.” I kiss my fingers like I’m a chef. “I told you, my summer goal is to see more sunsets near the water. I didn’t do it nearly enough last year.”
That’s the thing about summer; it slips away before you can adequately get your hands on it. That was something I definitely felt last year, and it hit me much harder than expected.
I had a great season with our summer rec program—growing both the classes and sessions we offered, the volunteers that helped make those possible, and had more kids than we’d ever had. But I felt empty, burn out singeing my edges. There were other things going on that I’d tried to push down, but they only play nicely for so long.
When fall crept into Golden Harbor, I made a list of things I wanted to try and do over the next three hundred sixty-five days–it was part of pulling myself out of the hole I hadn’t realized I was in. That may have been the scariest part.
Not knowing how much I was struggling until I was already knee-deep in it. Something I’ve always been good at is getting through the lows; at finding ways to grow and view them more as an opportunity than a setback. Not in a toxic positivity way, but more like if I could find a way to spin it in a positive light, then the negativity couldn’t take more from me than it already had.
It works until it doesn’t.
Maren, wanting to support me, made her own list. Honestly, I feel like it’s one of the reasons her flower shop has leveled up the last few months. It’s mostly about consistent marketing, which we know is the key to moving the needle, but knowing and doing are two wildly different things.
She catches up with me, bumping her shoulder into mine. “My summer thing is to eat more ice cream. So, let me know when we’re making my dreams come true this week, ok?”
