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That evening, I went out for a final swim before packing for my early morning flight.

The water was frisky, but I’d always been a strong swimmer.

I knew I was probably swimming too far out, but I didn’t stop until the shore was a distant smear.

Then, I floated on my back and watched the first stars pop out of the blue, and wished and wished that Jessica would appear to me and tell me she was OK, she was at peace, she was free.

I yelped as something encroached on my vision– a paddle boarder, skimming by just inches from me, like he hadn’t seen me at all.

I righted myself, treading water as he passed me, too stunned by the close call to even cry out.

Then I recognized him. It was the nutritionist. Invading my space, my evening swim, my attempt at communing with Jessica.

‘Fuck you,’ I remember breathing as I swam away. ‘Fuck you.’

Then I heard a splash. When I turned, the paddle board was empty, a useless life jacket sitting on the front of the board; he’d taken it off. He surfaced quite a way from his board, his head popping up briefly before it sank back down. He was in trouble.

I crawled towards him with strong strokes. One of his arms burst up and I reached out, confident I could grab it and pull us back to the paddle board. And then—

You’ll just keep being a fat slob.

My heart stuttered.

Had he been working here earlier this year? During our free stay in the spring, for instance? Had Jessica perhaps even consulted with him? Had she heard those exact words fall from his lips?

I pulled back my hand.

For a minute, I just treaded water, my legs scissoring, arms swirling. If he surfaces again, I’ll help him, I promised myself.

He didn’t. The paddle board was already far to my right, carried sideways by the current, the oar nowhere in sight.

I swam back to shore, towelled off and went back to my room, arms and legs aching from my long swim. I showered, packed my things, and the next morning, I left.

For days, I kept replaying what I’d done, and the more I replayed it, the better it felt.

Now he’d never call anyone a fat slob ever again.

I imagined how happy Jessica would be, that this level of toxicity had been scrubbed out of the world. That what had perhaps been said to her would not be said to some other girl, on some other day.

I did worry, though. Had anyone seen me out there?

The water was in full view of the beach and the resort.

Granted, not many people were swimming in the evening, and no one was as far out as us.

It would be hard to spot us as anything but little black blobs.

The lifeguards were no longer on duty; at that time of evening, you swam at your own risk.

But still– would someone eventually come knocking at my door?

‘Ma’am, you’re under arrest for the death of… ’ Shit, I didn’t even know his name.

But the knock never came. Time slipped by. His disappearance didn’t make the news, at least not the outlets I followed.

Still, I kept searching Riovan drowning death , or Swimmer fails to save paddle boarder , or any other number of key words that occurred to me on any given day, sometimes multiple times a day. Nothing.

Until one day, I got a result. I clicked the link, adrenaline already pulsing through me. It took me straight to the Riovan website.

We Are Hiring! Do you have lifeguarding experience? Do you have a passion for keeping swimmers safe? Hourly wages plus room and board at the Caribbean’s hottest wellness resort! Come be a part of our culture. Save a life, and change your life!

I stared and stared at the open call on the screen.

Save a life and change my life?

It all clicked. I had saved a life, when I let the nutritionist die. I’d saved the lives of all the people he could no longer berate. I’d failed to be vigilant with Jessica, but I could redeem myself at the Riovan. I could guard lives by saving them from the predators that had devoured my Jessica.

I felt Jessica, somehow, in the room with me, bestowing her approval on my plan.

I hit Apply .

*

Now, with the hum of the machines soft in the air and the familiar hospital smell of antiseptic around me, it’s easy to imagine no time has passed. That the five years that have gone by were just a fever dream.

I draw up a chair by Jessica’s side, trailing my eyes over the tube they’ve put through her throat, the blue geometric print on her hospital gown, the orange Do Not Resuscitate bracelet on her left wrist. The way her collarbones make such a beautiful V.

I remember kissing those collarbones. A profound ache fills me.

I draw her hand into mine, warm and limp, and for a moment, I let my head hang, feeling the heaviness of my breath, the heaviness of what it means to be alive.

I’m sorry, Jessica. The words gush out of my heart. I’m sorry I wasn’t your hero. I’m sorry I let my guard down when it was your turn to need saving… I’m sorry I couldn’t put your pieces back together…

But when I open my mouth, it’s not apologies that come out.

‘That first morning,’ I whisper. My voice catches.

‘Remember? After our first night together? I woke up before you did, and… I just looked at you. I don’t think I’ve ever been more in the moment, Jessica.

I knew– I just knew I’d found something I had to hang on to, something most people never find.

I promised myself I would build my life around you.

I know I didn’t say it out loud right away.

I mean… maybe it would’ve freaked you out.

Too close too fast, you know? Maybe I didn’t even realize I was making that promise… ’

Memories of that morning play before my eyes.

The sheets twisted around her perfect body.

The sound of traffic, gentle behind the glass, like the world had stepped back to give us some space.

The smell of yeast and sugar. She ran down to get doughnuts while I made terrible coffee in her French press I didn’t actually know how to use, and she declared she would be in charge of the coffee from then on.

She claimed the chocolate doughnut and got crumbs on her nose. I kissed them off.

‘Maybe I couldn’t save you,’ I whisper. Tears crowd my eyes, spilling over, dripping down on to Jessica. ‘Maybe love doesn’t always mean we can rescue each other. But– I should have married you, Jessica. I wanted to propose, but I kept waiting for that perfect moment, and… I didn’t do it.’

My throat seizes with tears, and for a moment I’m overwhelmed by the image of Jess and me in wedding gowns. She’d favour something lacy, something with Cinderella vibes. I would have worn something more streamlined, basic, with a single dramatic feature, like a plunging back, or a high slit.

A shuddering sigh vibrates through my bones as I release her hand and pull out the engagement ring, warm in my pocket.

It’s far from the perfect moment now, but I never should have waited for perfection.

‘Will you marry me?’ I whisper.

Only the droning of the machines answers. I’m not expecting a response, obviously. Or a feeling that Jess is here. Nothing like that. It’s simply the question that has been lodged in my throat for five years, choking me.

Then, I take her hand up again and try to work the simple ring with its tiny diamond chip on to her ring finger.

It doesn’t fit; her hand is swollen from bad circulation.

I put it on her pinky. The fit is loose, but I fold her hand on to her chest so it doesn’t slip off.

Her forearms, facing down, hiding the ghost-silver lines.

Last time I saw those wounds, they were not yet scars.

‘I’m sorry you’ve had to endure this,’ I say, my hands over hers.

I bow my head, and for a while, sit in the same silence Jessica has been lying in for five years.

I wonder if she senses the passage of time. If she’s feeling claustrophobic, like I often felt in the lifeguard chair, watching and waiting, motionless.

I hear the muffled whine of a siren. Maybe an ambulance. Maybe the police.

I lift my head and stroke my hand through her long, blonde hair.

Time to change the story.

‘I have to let you go, sweetheart. Remember when we were talking about our death plans? I know, it was a terrible first-date question, but you rolled with it…’ I can’t help a smile.

‘You said, do not let me be a vegetable. And I said, do not bury me in a casket. I had a terror of somehow still being alive and trapped inside, remember?’ I laugh softly, but the laugh ends abruptly as a sob threatens to come out, even though now is not the time for that.

‘This is what you wanted. I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.

I know I’m about to have a lot of quiet time to think about all my choices.

All my mistakes. But… I’m not afraid.’ I bend down and kiss her.

Her lips are soft beneath mine. She can’t kiss me back, but I don’t need her to. ‘I love you.’

Strangely, what fills me in this moment is… gratitude. I remember Randy’s words. I’ve been lucky enough to have two great lives. Some people don’t even get one.

I guess I’m lucky.

I had one.

The sirens are louder now. I stand slowly. Take one last picture of Jessica in my mind; the way her hair shines in the light, the way the blue veins on her eyelids look so delicate, the soft empty warmth of the body waiting for release.

I follow the electric cord of her ventilator to the plug in the wall. And then, heaving one last breath into my lungs, I yank. The machine sighs as it powers down, and I return to my chair and hold her hand.

Her breathing stops. Her body stills. There’s a new kind of silence, even deeper than the silence from before. I try to sense something– her spirit leaving her body? Some feeling of release, or freedom? A sign? But there’s nothing.

I keep holding her hand even when I hear the telltale sound of running in the hall outside.

I stay seated as the door bursts open. Two cops explode into the room, and behind them, just outside the door– Daniel. I glance at the wall clock– right on time.

‘Hands above your head! Step away from the patient!’ shouts one of them, reaching for his gun.

I rise and lift my arms.

Maybe spirit-Jessica, if she exists, is also lifting her arms as she ascends into some sort of bliss. I don’t believe it– but I hope it.

The next few minutes are chaos, as nurses and doctors surround Jessica. She’s DNR, so at least I have the assurance that they won’t bring her back.

One of the cops intones my rights as the other turns me around so that I’m facing the door, and Daniel. He’s still standing outside the room, his eyes fixed on me, unwavering.

‘Hands behind your back.’

Why? Daniel sends across the frenzy of the room.

But our eye contact breaks as the handcuffs click into place, cold around my wrists, and the cop grabs me by the arm and shoves me forward, towards the door.

Just outside, I say, ‘Wait,’ because I want to answer Daniel’s question, but the cops don’t wait.

‘Why?’ This time, Daniel speaks it out loud, but I’m already past him, now craning my neck back to look at him.

He’s holding up his phone. I can see the recording counting out the seconds, and a strange part of me can’t wait to hear how he weaves this all together in his new finale.

‘Why?’ he cries out above the turmoil, doctors shouting, nurses running, cops shoving.

‘When you really love someone—’ I say, still craning, pulling against the cops’ pushing.

‘Move forward, ma’am,’ says one of the officers, but I twist with all my might, nearly shouting the last part down the hall.

‘Sometimes you have to let them go.’

Then, the most surprising thing happens, like sunshine breaking over me.

I smile.

I’ve worn a lot of smiles over the past years. Calculating smiles, sly smiles, smiles meant to tease, infuriate or appease. But this one– this smile on my lips– springs forth as natural as a growing thing, a tender shoot from the soil of my grief. Like a blessing. Like freedom.

Like life from death.