I thought I had buried my past three years ago when my husband, Anthony, was declared dead after his boat capsized in a sudden storm. His body was never found, but I mourned him as if it had been. The grief consumed me—I lost our unborn child and every trace of who I once was. For years, I couldn’t go near the ocean he loved so deeply. It was too painful, too haunting.
Recently, I decided to confront my fear. I booked a quiet trip to a distant seaside town, hoping the waves might finally bring peace instead of sorrow. As I walked along the beach, I saw a man in the distance—his walk, his laugh, his face. Anthony. My heart stopped. He was alive, holding hands with another woman and a little girl who called him “Dad.”
My knees buckled as my world shattered all over again. The man I had grieved, buried, and longed for… had simply built a new life without me.
Once again, I was left to face the wreckage alone.
