Page 54

Four days had passed.

It was strange what you learned to find comfort in when the person you loved vanished into silence.

I counted the hours by the way sunlight moved through the windows, by the tides, by the cups of tea I made and left half full.

I still woke expecting him. My body kept betraying me in small ways a turn of my head when I heard the floor creak, a pause at the door as if his hand might be reaching for the handle.

But today, I decided to do something different.

To stop waiting.

The sun was gentle that morning, barely warm enough to leave a glow on my skin.

I tied my hair back in a loose plait and slipped into a pale linen sundress.

It clung to my ribs, loose around the waist, with tiny white buttons all the way down.

I stepped outside barefoot, feeling the wooden porch slats against my soles. A soft breeze teased the hem of my dress as I walked down the stone path to the beach.

I carried a small book in one hand-an old poetry collection I'd read too many times. Not because I loved it.

But because it felt like the words were already part of me.

I settled on a beach blanket tucked near the dune grass, close enough to hear the water, far enough to feel safe.

I read for a while.

Then I sketched. A seashell. A single gull. My hand moved slow, steady, letting the rhythm of creation quiet the corners of my mind.

At noon, I stood and stretched, arms above my head, back arching slightly.

The sun kissed my skin, and for once, I let it. I tilted my face toward the sky and closed my eyes.

The world was still.

No Dante.

Just salt and sun.

Back inside, I opened the chest at the foot of the bed. I hadn't touched it yet. It had been there when I arrived, beside the wardrobe.

The note inside was blank, but the contents weren't.

A bikini.

Of course he would know my size.

It was dark red-almost wine-colored. The top was simple, soft-cupped with thin straps that tied behind the neck.

The bottoms matched, cut high on the hips but not too revealing.

I hesitated only a moment before putting it on.

The mirror didn't lie.

I looked... different.

Stronger, maybe. Sadder, definitely. But not broken.

I wrapped a light shawl around my waist and stepped outside again.

The beach had shifted with the tide.

I walked the shore, picking up a piece of sea glass and tucking it into the knot of my wrap. My feet sank slightly into the wet sand with every step.

Farther down, an old rope swing dangled from the branch of a bent cypress tree.

The swing seat was worn smooth from years of use.

I sat on it slowly, the ropes creaking under my weight, and pushed off with my toes.

The wind lifted my hair as I swung. For a moment, I laughed quietly, but real.

The sea stretched out endlessly ahead. No walls. No locked doors. No Dante.

And still... I felt him.

Not as a presence. As an absence too sharp to ignore.

After a while, I let the swing slow to a stop and wandered back to the edge of the water. I unwrapped the shawl, folded it, and left it on the sand.

I stepped into the tide.

The water was colder than I expected, but not unpleasant.

I walked in slowly, until the waves lapped at my waist. Then I dove beneath the surface.

The ocean was its own kind of silence. Heavy. Surrounding. Honest.

I swam until my limbs ached.

Then I floated, staring up at the sky.

Everything felt far away.

Everything but the ache in my chest.

It was a while before I noticed.

When I returned to the shallows and stepped onto the sand, brushing salt water from my arms, I glanced toward the beach house.

The guards were gone.

The chair by the porch-empty.

No movement. No shadow.

The second chair, the one at the dune post, also abandoned.

A chill traced my spine.

But nothing else seemed off. The door was still closed. The path undisturbed.

Maybe they rotated.

Maybe they just stepped inside for water.

Maybe I was overthinking everything again.

Still, I wrapped the shawl back around my waist and stood still for a long minute, eyes scanning the sand dunes, the horizon, the corners of the property.

Nothing.

Just waves.

And the sound of my own breath.

I turned back toward the water, determined to soak in the last bit of sun.

But before I could take a step forward- a hand clamped over my mouth.

Hard.

Another arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me backward.

I tried to scream.

Tried to kick.

But the voice in my head had already gone still.

The waves crashed behind me.

And the world turned black.

To be continued in Chapter 55...