I thought I had buried my past along with my husband—the man I believed had died three long years ago. But on a quiet, faraway beach, under the bright sun, I saw him.
Alive. Smiling. Holding hands with a woman and a little girl.
My heart stopped. My world shattered all over again.
Was it really him? Or was I losing my mind? And if it was him… why was he with another family?
When you get married, you imagine everything—growing old together, celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, laughing at the first gray hairs, watching wrinkles form around their eyes. You imagine having a child. A home. A lifetime of memories.
But no one warns you that sometimes it never happens.
No one warns you that one day, your partner might simply disappear and take your future with them.
You keep breathing. You cook, you work, you talk to friends. But inside, you’re not alive anymore. A piece of you is buried with them.
Anthony loved the ocean. It was his escape. His sanctuary. He had a small boat, and he’d often take it out—fishing, swimming, just sitting out on the water. Usually, he’d take me or one of his friends with him. But that day, he went alone.
I was in the early stages of pregnancy then, but something felt wrong. There was a heavy, anxious weight in my chest I couldn’t explain. When Anthony said he was taking the boat out, something inside me screamed.
I grabbed his arm. “Please don’t go today. Please, Anthony. Stay home,” I begged.
He just smiled and kissed my forehead. “It’s fine, Marissa. I’ll be back soon,” he said, his voice calm. That was the last time I saw him alive.
The storm came out of nowhere. One minute the sky was clear, the next it turned black. The wind roared, waves rose, and his boat capsized.
They never found his body. I never got the chance to say goodbye.
I broke. Completely. The stress of it all took the baby too. I lost everything. I became hollow—like a ghost.
Three years passed. Only recently did I feel like I was beginning to heal. The pain dulled, just a little. But the ocean? I couldn’t go near it. It terrified me. Still, I knew if I wanted to truly heal, I had to face it.
Not at our local beach—that would’ve been unbearable. So I booked a ticket to a distant resort. Alone.
When I told my mother, she looked horrified.
“How can you go alone? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, her brow furrowing.
“I’ve made up my mind. It’s for the best,” I replied calmly.
“Take at least one friend. Or let me come with you,” she insisted.
“I don’t have any friends anymore,” I shrugged. And it was true. After Anthony’s death, I’d pushed everyone away. Anyone who cared, anyone who tried to help—I pushed them all out. Eventually, they gave up.
“Then I’ll come,” Mom said firmly.
“No. I don’t want that. I need to be alone,” I answered.
“You’ve been alone for three years,” she snapped back.
“I need this!” I screamed. “I need to heal!”
Her expression softened. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” she said gently. “Do what you think is right.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Two days later, I arrived at the resort. I checked into my hotel but still couldn’t bring myself to go down to the beach.
Twice, I walked out of my room, down the hallway, and turned back around. My chest tightened. My hands shook. I decided not to push myself. Tomorrow, I thought. Tomorrow I’ll do it.
The next morning, I finally put on my swimsuit, packed my beach bag, and headed to the ocean. Every step felt like I had stones tied to my feet, but I forced myself to keep moving.
I spread my towel on a lounge chair and sat down. The ocean was calm. No waves. Sunlight glittered off the water. People swam, splashed, laughed. Children built castles in the sand.
I couldn’t make myself go near the water. Not yet. So I sat there, letting the sun warm my skin. Hours passed. Eventually, I stood and took a few steps toward the shore. My legs felt like rubber.
That’s when I saw them.
A family of three walking along the sand—laughing, picking a spot for their umbrella. A man, a woman, and a little girl no older than three.
When I saw the man’s face, the ground disappeared beneath me. My lungs clenched. I couldn’t breathe.
“Anthony!” I cried out before collapsing onto the sand.
The man and the woman rushed over. He dropped to his knees beside me.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just breathe. Do you need an inhaler?” he asked urgently.
His voice was calm but… different. He looked at me like I was a stranger. I shook my head, still unable to speak.
“Alright. In and out. In and out. You’re okay,” he repeated softly until my breathing slowed.
“You’re alive,” I whispered, touching his face with trembling fingers. “Anthony, you’re alive.”
He frowned.
“Do you know her?” the woman asked him.
“I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he said slowly. “My name’s Drake.”
“No, it’s not! It’s Anthony. It’s me—Marissa. Your wife,” I said as tears streamed down my face.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t know who you are,” he murmured and stood up.
“You don’t remember me? Anthony, please—it’s me,” I begged.
“Are you staying at the hotel nearby?” the woman asked kindly, glancing at my wristband. “We can help you back if you’re feeling unwell.”
“I don’t need anyone to walk me back! I need my husband to stop pretending he doesn’t know me!” I shouted. The little girl flinched and hid behind the woman’s leg.
Anthony reached for her hand. “Come on, Kaitlyn,” he said to the woman. The three of them walked away.
I stayed on the sand, shaking, sobbing. Anthony was alive. He had a new life. And he was pretending I never existed. Had he faked his own death to be with her?
Eventually, I gathered my things and walked back to the hotel. That old feeling returned—like I’d been hollowed out again. Like I’d lost him twice.
That evening, there was a knock at my door. I opened it and there she was—the woman from the beach.
“What do you want from me?!” I shouted.
“My name’s Kaitlyn, and I just want to talk,” she said gently. “Please.”
After a few seconds, I let her in. “What did you come here for? To threaten me? To tell me Anthony chose you?” I snapped.
“I came to explain,” Kaitlyn replied softly. “Until today, I didn’t even know his real name was Anthony. I had no idea about his past, and neither did he.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, stunned.
“Drake… or Anthony, I guess… he washed up on the shore one day. No ID, nothing. He was in critical condition and fell into a coma,” she said quietly.
“Oh my God,” I gasped.
“I was his nurse. I took care of him,” she continued. “When he woke up, the doctors realized he’d lost all his memories. He didn’t even know his own name. I was with him through his recovery. And… we fell in love.”
“And the child?” I asked carefully.
“She’s mine. But Drake accepted her as his own. We built a life together. I love him deeply. But you’re his wife. I have no right to take him from you,” she admitted, her voice cracking.
“Can I talk to him?” I asked.
“Yes. He’s shaken after what happened on the beach, but yes, you should talk,” Kaitlyn nodded, tears welling in her eyes.
We drove to her house in silence. When we arrived and I saw Anthony again, I ran into his arms, but he stood frozen. I stepped back.
“I’ll give you two some space,” Kaitlyn whispered and left the room.
“Anthony, do you really not remember me?” I asked quietly.
“No… I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“I can show you our pictures,” I offered. He nodded.
We sat on the couch. I opened the gallery on my phone—photos of us at home, on vacation, on our wedding day. I hoped they’d spark something. But he stared at them like he was looking at strangers.
Then I came across the ultrasound photo. Anthony frowned.
“We were supposed to have a baby,” I whispered. “But when you disappeared, I lost the baby.”
“I’m so sorry you went through that,” Anthony said, his voice full of remorse. “But I don’t remember any of it. I feel like a total jerk.”
“It’s okay. Maybe it’ll come back,” I said, though I didn’t sound convinced.
“Maybe,” he whispered.
Suddenly, the little girl burst into the room and jumped into Anthony’s arms.
“Daddy, you promised we’d play!” she cried, pouting.
Anthony chuckled. “What’s going on, wild one?”
Kaitlyn rushed in. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop her. I’ll take her now,” she said, reaching for the child.
And that’s when I saw it—the way Anthony looked at her, at Kaitlyn. I knew that look. It was the look he used to give me. The look that made me feel like I could conquer the world.
Now he looked at her that way. Not me.
Kaitlyn took her daughter out of the room. I looked around at the photos on the walls—the three of them together, smiling. They were a family.
“No. I can’t do this,” I whispered.
“What do you mean?” Anthony asked.
“I can’t take you away from this life. The Anthony I loved… he died three years ago. You’re someone else now. Your heart doesn’t belong to me anymore—it belongs to her,” I said, my voice trembling.
“I’m really sorry,” Anthony murmured.
“Don’t be. Maybe this was something I needed. I never got the chance to say goodbye. Now I finally can,” I replied.
“So what happens now?” he asked softly.
“You go back to the life you know. And I’ll finally start living mine,” I told him.
“So… you don’t want to see me again?” he asked gently.
“No. I don’t. I wish I could have my Anthony back, but that’s not possible. So goodbye… Anthony. Or Drake,” I said, standing up and walking out of the house.
For the first time in three years, I could breathe. He had his life, and it was no longer mine. Now it was my turn to start over—and finally live.
