Every morning, I sat by the shore in my wheelchair, my loyal dog by my side. The sea had once been our refuge—mine and my husband’s—until the storm that took him and left me unable to walk. His body was never found, and I buried an empty coffin.
Months passed in silence, the dog and I keeping our ritual by the water. Then one morning, he began barking wildly, running back and forth along the shore. I followed his gaze—and froze.
There, half-buried in the sand, was a body. My husband’s.
Tears blurred my vision as I touched his cold hands. The grief was unbearable, yet somehow peaceful. After all the waiting, the sea had finally brought him home—and I could finally say goodbye.
