Kevin Roberstson
I thought I buried my past when I lost my husband Anthony three years ago. A storm swallowed his boat, and his body was never found. I grieved deeply — I was pregnant at the time, but the stress took that too. I lost everything.
For years, I avoided the ocean. But healing requires courage, so I booked a solo trip to a distant beach, far from painful memories. On my second morning there, I finally stepped onto the sand, forcing myself closer to the water.
That’s when I saw them — a man, a woman, and a little girl. The man turned, and the world collapsed.
It was Anthony.
“Anthony!” I cried.
He rushed over, calm and gentle, helping me breathe. But when I said his name, his expression changed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “My name is Drake. I don’t know you.”
Tears flooded my eyes. “It’s me — Marissa. Your wife.”
The woman looked concerned, gently offering to help me back to my hotel. They left, and I stood frozen. My husband was alive… but with another family. And pretending I didn’t exist.
That evening, a knock. It was the woman.
“I’m Kaitlyn. Please let me explain.”
She told me Drake had washed up on shore years ago, with no ID and in a coma. She was his nurse. When he woke, he had no memory — not even his name. Over time, they fell in love. The little girl was hers, but he treated her like his own.
“I didn’t know he was married. Neither did he,” she said, heartbroken.
Kaitlyn offered to let us talk.
Anthony — or Drake — sat with me, sincere but confused. “I don’t remember you,” he whispered.
I showed him pictures, told him about the baby we lost, about our life. He listened with quiet sorrow.
Then the little girl ran in. “Daddy, you promised we’d play!”
And that’s when I saw it. The love in his eyes. For her. For Kaitlyn.
Not for me.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered.
“The Anthony I knew… he’s gone. You belong to them now.”
He nodded, apologizing.
I smiled. “Don’t be. This gave me the goodbye I never had.”
And just like that, I let go. Of the pain. Of the past.
And finally, I could breathe again.
