Chapter 10 - Bright Mornings
Five years later.
The morning sun rose over a quiet, beautiful beach on the coast.
The ocean waves rolled gently onto the shoreline, leaving white foam along the wet sand. Sea gulls drifted lazy circles in the clear blue sky, and the crisp morning air carried the salty tang of the sea.
I walked along the water’s edge, carrying a light straw bag.
A short distance ahead, Kevin was jogging along the tide line with our dog, a golden retriever named Sunny, who was madly chasing the foam.
Further down the beach, two girls were building an elaborate sandcastle.
Brooklyn was now twelve years old—tall, thoughtful, and protective, with a soft smile and a heart full of compassion. Rosalie was six years old—bright, energetic, with wild dark curls blowing in the ocean wind, endlessly busy decorating their sand castle with colorful seashells.
I stopped near a wooden bench on the boardwalk and sat down, pulling a warm sweater around my shoulders as I watched my family.
My phone chimed in my bag.
It was a text from Courtney, sending a picture of six-year-old Leo holding up a trophy from his little league soccer game, accompanied by a caption: “Uncle Kevin promised him ice cream if he scored a goal! We’re coming over tonight!”
I smiled, typing back a quick reply: “Ice cream is ready! See you at six.”
I set the phone back in my bag. I hadn't thought about my mother in years. Her time in prison had passed quietly, and upon her release, the permanent restraining order had kept her completely out of our lives. She lived somewhere far away, isolated by the choices she had made, unable to touch the warmth of the world we had built without her.
My father spent holidays with us now. He was a quiet, gentle grandfather who brought Brooklyn books and taught Rosalie how to plant tomato seedlings in our garden. He was still repairing the past, but he was present, humble, and peaceful.
“Mommy! Look!”
I looked up. Rosalie was running toward me across the wet sand, her small hands cupped together carefully around something precious. Brooklyn was running right behind her, laughing.
Rosalie stopped in front of me, her little feet covered in wet sand, her eyes shining like bright stars.
“Look what I found, Mommy!” Rosalie exclaimed, opening her hands to reveal a perfectly intact, smooth, pink sea shell that caught the morning light. “It’s completely whole! It didn't break!”
I reached out, gently taking the small shell from her hands and examining it carefully before looking up into my daughter’s happy, healthy face.
“It’s beautiful, Rosalie,” I whispered, pulling her into my lap and hugging her tight. “Just like you.”
Rosalie leaned her head against my chest, her small arms wrapping around my neck as she watched the ocean waves roll in.
“Is it going to be a good day today, Mommy?” Rosalie asked softly.
May you like
I looked out across the shimmering water, at Kevin waving to us from down the beach, at Brooklyn sitting beside us on the bench, and at the bright, clear sky stretching out forever.
“Yes, baby,” I smiled, kissing the top of her soft, curly hair. “Every day is a good day.”
