I have let you down. I have not been as strong as you asked of me when you shipped out. I gave up. Lucy leaving was more than I could bear, the utter loneliness that consumed me, intolerable. I find it curious now that such a relatively small event was what broke me. I survived losing you, and our angel. I have crafted a quiet life for myself these past twenty-odd years. Yet somehow the simple act of Lucy leaving reignited the burden of loneliness I did not realise I have been carrying all these years. The proverbial straw to break my back. My spirit.

I am ashamed to tell you what I did, but who else can I confess to? Father Anthony would be so disappointed in me. And if Mother ever found out … I cannot bear to think. Besides, God will judge me in His own way, in His own time. But I must confess to you. Perhaps it will help.

Two nights ago I walked down the path, past the boatshed, to the cove. It was just a walk. I had no plan. The waves were crashing so heavily. We have had terrible storms this past week. I stood on the sand, barefoot, staring into the pounding black. I felt so desperately alone. Alone and wretched and empty. The waves called to me.

I walked into the water. And once the water hit my ankles it pulled me towards its cold embrace. I walked in even further. Perhaps I was looking for that sense of calm I have so often felt beside the water. Perhaps there was no conscious sense of anything at all. Just slipping in to a state of nothingness.

The thundering stopped in my ears and the waves crashed around my hips. I knew I would not return to shore. I did not fight the pull. I did not kick or thrash my arms about. I was calm. So very calm.

I saw your loving face, so clearly, as the ocean took me under.

A rush of noise lifted me to the surface and I gasped for air. There was a voice, detached, distant. I felt myself being carried. I was cold and soaked. There was sand beneath my body. The waves tried to grab my ankles as I lay there, begging me to return. Oh, how I wanted to return. But the voice kept calling. He would not let me go. It went dark after that.

I woke in the boatshed atop Fabricio’s old bed. The sun was pouring through the portal window.

There was a man there. In his thirties, perhaps? It is quite hard to tell. He made me drink tea and promised to fix the door he kicked in. He said nothing else.

I uttered no thanks, no explanation. I was too embarrassed to admit what had happened. Too exhausted to offer a lie as an excuse. I said nothing.

Did you send him to save me?