flip-flops (9)

That night, she dreamed of water. But not the drowning kind. Warm tide, shallow waves, toes pressed into wet sand. Jamie sat beside her, not saying anything. Just there. She noticed he wasn’t wearing flip-flops.

He looked happy. When she woke up, her eyes were wet. For the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She let herself feel it. Let it hurt. Then she got dressed and went to the beach.

The sun was already high, families spreading towels, radios humming. It felt intrusive, chaotic. And right. She walked the shoreline, sandals in hand, salt sticking to her ankles.