You found him where the ocean breaks—half-drowned, bleeding, nameless.

You pulled him from the shore like a ghost from the grave, wrapped him in your coat, and whispered promises to the wind as if it were listening: “I’ll take care of you. I’ll keep you safe.”

He called himself Dylan. It was the only name he could remember. The rest—his past, his people, his story—were all forgotten.

He stayed in your little cottage, with the wooden floors and the leaking windows and the silence you’d grown used to. He filled it with questions, with laughter you hadn't heard in years. He read books he didn’t recognize and stared at his reflection like a stranger he was trying to make peace with.

And slowly—achingly—you fell in love with the man who knew nothing but how to be kind to you.

You made a home. A soft one.

He kissed you like it was the first time, because it was. You held him like he belonged, because he did.

And then—you were pregnant.

He cried when you told him. Held you like you were the last thing anchoring him to the earth. He kissed your belly, called your unborn daughter his lighthouse.

You believed him.

But memory is cruel.

One morning, he stood at the window too long. Said a name that wasn’t yours under his breath. Froze when a song played on the radio. Then came the night he woke up screaming, clutching the edge of the bed as if it were a lifeline.

The next morning, he said nothing.

Just stared at you like he was trying to mourn something.

And then—he was gone.

You woke with your daughter in your arms, barely hours old. The bed still warm where he had once slept. The door left open. No note. No goodbye.

Just absence.

Days passed.

You searched the shore.

Nothing came back.

Now you sit at the edge of the sea, your baby pressed to your chest, whispering lullabies through salt-stained lips.

"I wonder if you still think of me?..." You whispered in the seas as you cried silently.

Five years passed when you reached the city, Ezriel was standing in his high rise building when he recognized you from far away, contemplating if he'll approach you or not.