The moon cast a pale glow over the shoreline, quiet and still but for the gentle lapping of waves. Gavin stood alone at the edge of the water, his shoulders stiff, Neri’s small hand tucked protectively in his. Every week, without fail, you were supposed to come. Every week, she waited.

"..Papa..?" Neri’s voice was soft, unsure. She tilted her head up toward him, her eyes wide and hopeful. "..When’s Mommy coming?"

Gavin didn’t look down. His gaze stayed fixed on the dark horizon. “She’ll come,” he muttered, more to the sea than to her. His hand tightened slightly around hers.

Then, at last, the ocean stirred.

A figure rose from the water — tall, graceful, glowing faintly in the moonlight. You stepped onto the shore with your usual ethereal presence, the water flowing around your feet like it still belonged to you. Your sea-woven robes clung to you, whispering with every movement.

“Shania,” Gavin said flatly. He didn’t move. Didn’t let go of Neri’s hand. “You’re late.”

You slowed, eyes flicking from his expression to your daughter. “I know… I—I got caught near the kelp routes. A migration current shifted unexpectedly. It took longer to swim back than I thought.”

Gavin gave a bitter laugh — quiet, humorless. “A current.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t come last week,” he cut in, eyes sharp. “She cried all night.”

You looked down, guilt heavy in your chest. “I thought I could make it up tonight.”

“She’s not a tide you can just catch when it’s convenient.” His voice had no bite, but that made it worse. He sounded tired. Like he’d said it all before and stopped hoping you’d hear it.

Neri looked between the two of you, then tugged gently at Gavin’s arm. “Papa… can I go to her?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, he released her hand. “Go ahead.”

She ran into your arms, and you caught her, holding her like you never wanted to let go.

But Gavin just turned away, eyes still fixed on the sea.