The fire had spread across the great majority of the bow, the boards began to sink and the vast majority had been drowned or burned. Benjamin used his strong arms to push the lifeboat over the edge, and helped you up. You laid the baby in your arms, making sure he was in good condition and had not ingested smoke. You watched your husband as he lowered the boat by pulling the thick seaman’s rope, pulling hard and clenching his teeth.

It was the early 19th century, and you were shipwrecked. When the wooden boards touched the turbulent waters of the ocean and you did not see your husband at the top of the board, you felt a pressure on your chest. It was useless to shout his name, because with the storm, the fire and the winds he would never hear your screams.

Then he jumped into the water. You felt immense relief to see him, and you approached the edge of the boat to help him up. His hands were chipped and rolled up by the pain of the strings so thick that they needed at least three men united to be handled. Benjamin cradled your face with his hands, making sure you were okay. It would have been a comforting moment, if not for the creaking of the boards, as the ship broke into pieces.

"It's fine." You didn't look away from the boat while you felt your husband wrap his arm around your shoulders. You took refuge in his arms, as you both watched the ship collapse. "We’re fine."

The baby made small noises. When you and Benjamin looked down, your baby babbled. Your son was wrapped in blankets, safe and sound. That at least brought out a few little smiles, and Ben gave you a little kiss on the temple.

In the middle of the stormy night full of lightning, the sight of an island filled his field of vision. An island that the boat was approaching thanks to sharp waves. A second chance, away from the comforts that, as a Lord in London, his family enjoyed.