Serene
I woke up to the city breathing outside my window, that low, constant hum that never really stops. Somewhere in the distance, waves hit the shore in a slow, patient rhythm. Morning light slipped through the curtains, soft and almost kind, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness pressing into my chest. Grief had settled there long ago. It didn't surprise me anymore. It lived with me now, like a second heartbeat.
Still, I got up.
I moved through my morning the way I always did, mechanically, efficiently. Shower. Uniform. Coffee I barely tasted. When I pinned my pilot's badge to my chest, it felt heavier than it should have, like proof of a life that kept going even when I wasn't sure I wanted it to.
Outside my apartment door, my phone vibrated.
Justine.
Justine: You okay today?
I stared at the screen longer than necessary, thumb hovering before I finally typed back.
Me: Yeah. Work today.
The reply came almost immediately.
Justine: You always have work. Try not to disappear into the sky, okay?
A quiet breath left me, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. Justine always knew when I was slipping, even when I said nothing.
Me: No promises.
I slipped my phone into my pocket, grabbed my bag, and headed out.
Flying used to feel like freedom. Being above everything, clouds, noise, expectations gave me a sense of control I never had on the ground. But lately, it was just another way to keep my mind occupied. Another way to outrun the thought that whispered when things went quiet: You don't belong here anymore.
At the airport, I straightened my shoulders and put on the face everyone expected, calm, capable, unshakable. That version of me still existed. I needed her to.
Inside the cockpit, the familiar scent of leather and aviation fuel wrapped around me. I slid into my seat, my hands moving on instinct as I began the pre-flight checks. Switches. Dials. Numbers. Order. It grounded me, at least a little.
"Good morning, Cap."
I glanced back to see Ethan stepping in behind me, wearing that same easy grin he always had. His uniform was immaculate, his dark hair slightly messed up like he'd run a hand through it without realizing.
"Morning," I said, eyes still on the checklist.
He settled into his seat, adjusted his headset, then glanced at me. "You sleep at all last night?"
I paused, flipped another switch. "Enough."
He snorted. "That's not an answer."
I exhaled quietly. "I'm here, aren't I?"
That was enough for him. Ethan didn't push. He never did. He just nodded and turned back to his instruments. "Fair."
The cockpit filled with the familiar sounds of preparation, soft beeps, murmured communication from ground control, the steady rhythm of routine.
"You ready for this flight?" he asked after a moment.
I nodded. "Always."
Because up here, I could pretend. Up here, I could forget, if only for a while.
As we taxied toward the runway, I pressed the intercom button. My voice came out steady, professional, untouched by the weight pressing behind my ribs.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. On behalf of myself and the crew, welcome aboard Flight 472 to New York. We're expecting a smooth flight today, clear skies, and favorable winds. Our estimated flight time is five hours and thirty minutes, cruising at an altitude of 36,000 feet. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened, tray tables and seatbacks are upright, and carry-on items are securely stowed. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight. We'll be airborne shortly."
I released the button and wrapped my fingers around the throttle.
"Ready?" Ethan asked.
I nodded. "Always."
The engines roared as we accelerated down the runway. The pull of power surged through the aircraft, familiar and reassuring. When we lifted off, the city fell away beneath us, shrinking into something distant and small.
"Positive rate," Ethan called.
"Gear up."
We climbed smoothly, slicing through clouds that glowed pale gold in the morning light. Once we reached a stable ascent, I switched on autopilot and leaned back slightly.
Even above the clouds, the ache followed me.
"You okay, Cap?" Ethan asked quietly.
I forced a smile. "Just another day in the sky."
He nodded, letting it go.
The flight was uneventful. A little turbulence. Routine check-ins. Hours that passed without meaning. My hands stayed busy, but my mind wandered, back to the ocean, to Anthony, to the feeling of sinking and the voice that always stopped me.
Tomorrow, then.
When we landed back in San Diego, I didn't linger. The moment I stepped off the plane, I dialed Robert.
"Serene, back already?" he said when he answered.
"Yeah," I replied. "I'll come by for the yacht."
A pause. Then a sigh. "You sure, kid?"
"I'll be there in an hour."
"...Alright."
I drove to the marina on autopilot, barely registering the roads. Robert was already waiting when I arrived, keys dangling from his fingers.
"You just got back," he said. "You don't wanna rest?"
I shook my head. "I'm fine."
He didn't believe me, I could see it in his eyes but he handed over the keys anyway. "Be careful."
The engine hummed as I guided the yacht out toward open water. The wind tangled in my hair. The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, calm and deceptively gentle.
I hadn't changed out of my uniform. It didn't matter.
The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in gold and amber as I slowed near the spot, his spot. I stepped onto the deck, gripping the railing as the boat drifted.
"Anthony," I whispered. "I'm here."
The ocean answered with silence.
Eventually, I lowered the stairs. The familiar metallic clink echoed softly. I slipped off my shoes and stepped down until cool water kissed my skin.
All I had to do was let go.
I did.
The sea closed over me, heavy and quiet. I sank without resistance, eyes closing, body floating loose. For a moment, there was peace. No noise. No grief. Just blue.
Then...
"Serene!"
I broke the surface gasping, lungs burning, heart pounding. There was no one there. Just water. Just sky.
Tears blurred my vision as I floated on my back, staring upward.
"I should've stayed," I whispered. "I should've... stayed"
But something always stopped me.
"Tomorrow, then."
I climbed back onto the yacht, exhausted in a way sleep couldn't fix. As I headed back, the ocean watched quietly.
The next day off came, and I returned.
Same dock. Same keys. Same warning from Robert. Same silence from the sea.
I sank again.
And again, his voice pulled me back.
I hated the cycle. Hated the fear. Hated that living without him felt like punishment.
One day, I wouldn't come back. One day, I'd let the ocean take me the way it took him.
When I stepped off the yacht, Kai was there.
"You're back early," he said.
"Didn't feel like staying long."
"You ever think about not going alone?"
"I'm used to being alone."
"Doesn't mean you have to be."
His words followed me as I walked away, settling somewhere deep, quiet, unwelcome, but impossible to ignore.
And for the first time in a long while, I wondered if tomorrow would really come or if I was just postponing the inevitable.