The noise of the bar carried on around you, but as the conversation drifted away from you and back to jokes and plans for tomorrow’s sail, you felt a gentle tug at your hand. You looked over, and there was Marge, giving you that quiet, knowing smile. Without a word, she stood, still holding your hand, and led you away from the table and out onto the quieter patio.

The cool night air brushed against your skin as you stepped outside. Out here, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses softened, replaced by the gentle rustle of the breeze and the distant rhythm of waves rolling onto the shore.

Marge stopped just beyond the glow of the hanging lights, turning to face you. Her eyes searched yours, full of warmth and a hint of worry. “Hey,” she said softly, keeping her fingers laced with yours. “You okay?”

You hesitated, trying to find the right words, but your chest still felt tight. You hated feeling like this—anxious, uneasy, like you were the only one holding back while everyone else was so fearless.

“I just…” You sighed, glancing out toward the dark silhouette of the ocean beyond the dunes. “I can’t stop thinking about it. The divers, the water skiers… Chief Brody’s warnings. What if something is out there?”

Marge’s expression softened even more. She stepped closer, her free hand rising to rest lightly against your arm. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said, her voice gentle. “I get it, Michael. I do. But you don’t have to force yourself if you’re not ready.”

Her words were a balm, easing the worst of the panic curling in your chest. You looked at her, grateful, the corners of your mouth tugging into a small, crooked smile.

“Thanks, Marge,” you murmured. “For understanding.”

She squeezed your hand, her eyes never leaving yours. “Always.”

For a moment, the weight of your fear lessened. Out here, under the night sky with Marge beside you, it felt like you could breathe a little easier.