Broken: Entangled Souls In A Sea Of Secrets

The morning light stretched across the Atlantic, gilding the restless tide in gold. A storm brewed beyond the horizon, swelling in dark folds, but here, at the edge of the world, the day had begun as beautifully as every other had for years.

Darren sat at his usual table on the worn deck of The Twisted Elf, fingers wrapped around a cup of Turkish coffee, staring through the rising steam at the place where sea and sky met in quiet conspiracy. He should have noticed it sooner—the way the wind had shifted, the way the distant waves rolled just a little too tightly together, whispering their warning. But he had never been good at recognizing what might turn against him.

Rita pushed open the café doors, her loose linen skirt catching the morning breeze as she approached, a small dachshund trotting confidently at her feet. The dog, a black-and-tan wiener named Ryan, wore a tiny red bandana that made him look ridiculously self-important. A newly appointed resident of the beach, Ryan had already made his mark—digging up forgotten shells, chasing the tide, and charming café patrons into offering him tidbits from their plates.

“Hey,” she said, nudging the chair across from him with her foot. “Are you gonna stare into nowhere for the rest of the morning?”

Darren exhaled, forcing his thoughts back to the present. He knew she saw right through him. Rita always did.

She dropped into the chair, stealing a sip of his coffee before making a face. “Ugh, still tastes like burnt earth.”

Darren smirked but said nothing.

Ryan, ever the opportunist, let out a tiny yawn and sprawled lazily at Rita’s feet as the café doors swung open again. A couple of tourists stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on the dachshund.

“Oh my God, he’s adorable,” one of them gushed, crouching slightly.

“Don’t pet the wiener dog,” Darren and Rita said in unison.

The tourists hesitated, confused, before awkwardly moving on to the counter.

“That was perfect,” Rita chuckled, scratching Ryan behind his ears. “Luke keeps saying I spoil him too much, but I say he deserves it.”

Darren raised an eyebrow. “So, where is Luke this morning?”

“Working. Probably being charming and brilliant somewhere,” she replied breezily. “You know, all the things you aspire to but never quite achieve.”

Darren rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

The café doors swung open again, and a small group shuffled inside, filling the space with the scent of sea salt and sunscreen. Valentine’s Day. He had forgotten, or maybe he had tried to. The Twisted Elf never made a big deal about it. It wasn’t that kind of place. But there were always people, couples wrapped in the idea of something everlasting, ordering heart-shaped pastries and drinking red wine too early in the day.

Rita leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Darren scoffed.

“I know you hate the thought,” she said, unfazed. “But it’s gonna be a good day. I just know it.”

He let the words sit between them. Outside, the golden light was shifting, darkening, as the distant storm crept closer. It was a mirage of another timeline—one where things had not unraveled, where promises had not been broken.

And then, there was her.

Jill.

Not really, of course. She wasn’t there. She hadn’t been for a long time. But sometimes, the ocean played tricks, casting memories in the shifting light, pulling him into places he thought he had escaped. And there she was, standing at the water’s edge, her reflection melting into the low tide, skating across the mirror between sun and shore.

Frozen in time, like Sarai looking back at Sodom.

Jill had always called the sea her lover.

She used to tell him she could never live too far from it, that sand between her toes was the only thing that made sense in a world that never did. That was the dream. Their dream.

And then one day, she quit.

“No more emotional bandwidth.”

That was how she had phrased it, clinical and precise, as if their years together had been nothing more than a file to be archived and set aside.

It hadn’t been immediate. It was gradual, subtle, like erosion—the way she pulled away, the conversations that became shorter, the questions he learned not to ask. She had found another path, one paved with polished illusions, with people who spoke in absolutes. They filled the gaps with echoes of certainty, the unwavering belief in what was right and what was wrong—despite the burnt landscapes behind them.

Darren’s friends had always been suspicious of Jill, though it hadn’t mattered then. They warned him about the rumors, the whispers that followed her. He had ignored them, drawn closer instead, captivated by the mystery of it all. But eventually, mystery gave way to distance, and distance became silence. And the same gravity that once pulled them together had sent her spinning away.

Darren had wanted to belong. It was the only family he had ever truly called his own. The friendships, the late nights wrapped in laughter, the chaotic love that felt like it could rewrite the rules of the universe—he had clung to it all. And that’s why it hurt. Not just losing her, but losing them. Losing the only world that had ever made sense.

“She’s still beautiful,” Rita murmured, watching him, seeing what wasn’t there.

Darren didn’t respond. The wind had picked up, carrying the scent of rain, and the storm on the horizon had drawn closer. The waves churned with something restless, something inevitable. He should go inside, should pull himself from this place, but he remained, watching the tide, watching the past.

Ryan stretched, let out a tiny bark, and curled himself up in Rita’s lap, oblivious to the brewing storm.

The first drops of rain struck the deck, cool against Darren’s skin. The storm was coming.

It was only a matter of time now.

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