I thought I had buried my past with my husband, who I thought had died three years earlier. He was alive, smiling, and holding a woman and a girl’s hands on a distant beach. My world collapsed again. Was it him? Why was he with another family?
You picture decades ahead when you marry someone—a shared house, possibly children, and the peaceful comfort of knowing they’ll be by your side as your hair turns silver and your skin creases. You never expect that dream to end overnight. Nobody prepares you for the idea that the person you love most could go without a trace, leaving you with a heartbeat but no existence.
Marcus, my spouse, adored the sea. He escaped and found refuge. Despite its modesty, his boat was his pride. When job or life stresses were high, he would fish, swim, or drift on the waves. Usually, he invited me or a buddy, but sometimes he wanted solitude.
He went alone that day.
A dreadful feeling has gripped me since morning. I was early pregnant, so I thought the nerves were related. Maybe I was worried about the baby. My worry grew greater when Marcus stated he wanted to take the boat out.
“Please don’t go,” I pleaded, holding his hand.
His easy, reassuring smile. “Everything will be fine, Lily. My absence will be brief.” He kissed my forehead, put my palm to his lips, and left.
I never saw him again.
The storm struck unexpectedly. The morning was clear, but within hours the wind roared, waves broke like walls, and Marcus’s boat overturned. His body was never found after days of searching. He felt like the ocean had engulfed him.
I broke. My pregnancy ended in miscarriage due to grief. In one week, I lost my spouse and our dream baby. I went to work, cooked meals, and pretended to breathe, but I was never genuinely alive.
Three years. Though never gone, the pain subsided. All that time, I avoided the ocean. My stomach turned at the prospect of standing on a shore. I soon recognized I had to face it to heal.
But not at home. It was too ghostly on our local beaches. I planned a week at a resort in another state in hopes of a change of scenery.
Mom fretted endlessly.
“Lily, you shouldn’t go alone,” she said.
I told her, “I need to.”
“Take a friend. Or invite me.”
“I don’t have friends anymore,” I remarked. It was true. Because of my grief, I kept everyone out after Marcus’s death. People gave up.
“Then I’ll come,” she demanded.
“No, Mom. I must do this alone.”
Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she observed me. “You’ve been alone three years. Wasn’t that enough?
“I need this,” I murmured, my voice breaking. “Please.”
Finally, she yielded. “Alright. Follow your conscience.”
Two days later, I reached the resort. My room faced the lake, the horizon infinite beyond the glass. I couldn’t walk on the beach. I froze in the doorway and turned back every time.
Second morning, I forced myself to leave. I wore a swimsuit, brought a towel and sunscreen, and carefully approached the sand. I felt like lead weights were on my ankles with every step.
After reaching the shore, I sat on a lounge chair with my towel, watching the waves. The sun shone on a tranquil ocean. Little ones laughed while building sandcastles. Couples walked hand in hand. The world kept turning despite my pain.
It took hours for me to stand. My legs trembled as I approached the sea, but I saw them as my toes touched the moist beach.
Three people—a man, a lady, and a three-year-old kid. The girl bounced from footprint to footprint in the sand, squealing. She was embraced by the man who laughed.
My heart stopped.
Marcus was the man.
Ground tilted beneath me as I gasped. I kneeled in the sand, my lungs failing. “Marcus!” I choked on the name and sobbed.
She followed him as he ran toward me.
Are you okay? Do you require inhaler? He inquired softly, crouched beside me. His voice was calming, but his eyes were blank.
“You’re alive,” I said, touching his face with a shaking palm. “Marcus, you’re alive.”
He frowned.
“Do you know her?” she whispered.
Shaking his head. Sorry, madam. You must be wrong. My name is Daniel.”
It’s not! Marcus it is! My name is Lily, your wife.” Tears obscured vision. “How can you forget me?”
A woman kneeled beside him. She said gently, “Maybe we should help her back to her hotel.”
I don’t need help! I screamed, panicking. “My husband should stop pretending to not know me!”
Little girl sobbed and hid behind woman’s leg. Marcus (Daniel) stood, jaw hardening. “Come on, Rachel,” he urged gently, taking her hand. The three of them left, leaving me shaking in the sand.
There was a knock on my motel door that night. The beach woman was there when I opened it.
“I just want to talk,” she whispered. “Please.”
I retreated reluctantly.
“My name’s Rachel,” she said. “Until today, I didn’t know his real name was Marcus. No idea either.”
“What are you discussing?” I demanded.
Three years ago, Daniel washed up near our town. He had no ID or belongings. He was unconscious and badly hurt. I was his hospital nurse. After a coma, he had no recall of himself. Nothing. Even his name was unknown.”
My hands reached my mouth.
Rachel said, “I helped him through his recovery,” crying down. We fell in love somewhere. Daniel accepted my daughter from a prior relationship. She has a great father.”
World tipped again. Marcus didn’t lie about dying. He stayed with me. He lost everything—even himself.
“Can I talk to him?” I whispered.
Rachel nods. “Yes. He was shaken, but you deserve a chance.”
Silently, we drove to her house. Marcus (or Daniel) was on the couch when we arrived. Catching my breath.
“Marcus,” I whispered, approaching.
Looked blankly at me. Im sorry… No memory of you.”
“I can show you pictures,” I answered hastily, searching for my phone. I browsed our wedding, vacation, and birthday photos. I hoped his expression would show familiarity. But he inspected the photos like strangers.
I opened an ultrasound photo. My throat shut.
“We were having a baby,” I muttered. “When you left, I lost the baby.”
Sadness softened his gaze. I’m sorry you went through that. I wish I could recall. Perhaps I’m failing you.”
The small child ran into the room and jumped into his arms before I could respond. Dad, you promised to play!
He kissed her hair and chuckled. I did, didn’t I?
Rachel apologized in the doorway. I attempted to stop her.”
That moment, I saw it. The way Marcus gazed at Rachel and the child. His look made me believe I could accomplish everything with him by my side.
But now they owned that look.
I looked at the images on the walls: Marcus cradling the girl, Marcus and Rachel smiling in the sun. They were family. His family.
“No,” I muttered. “Can’t do this.”
He asked, “What do you mean?”
“The Marcus I knew died three years ago. Your identity has changed. Your heart belongs with them. Not with me.”
Lowering his head. I’m sorry.”
Don’t be. I never said goodbye. Now I can.”
My voice was steady despite tears. “Goodbye, Marcus. Or Daniel. Your current self. You have your life; I need mine back.”
The night air chilled my tear-streaked cheeks as I left the house.
Finally, I could breathe after three years. His new life was not mine. Restarting was necessary.
Finally, I could live.
