TIDES
1402 Words
Seraphim's POV
Weekends always felt different.
Slower.
Quieter.
More dangerous.
There was no clinic to hide in. No paperwork. No schedules. No controlled professionalism to keep my mind from wandering into places I preferred sealed.
I stood in the kitchen early Saturday morning, tying my hair into a loose knot while pancake batter rested in a bowl on the counter. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, warm and golden against the white tiles.
Elsa was still asleep.
That in itself was a miracle.
I moved around the house with soft efficiency — wiping counters, opening windows, folding laundry I had ignored all week. The house wasn’t large, but it was ours. Comfortable. Lived-in. Safe.
Safe.
The word lingered longer than it should have.
Bianca was coming over later. It had been weeks since we’d properly spent time together. Between my schedule and her chaotic freelance life, we survived mostly on voice notes and rushed phone calls.
I poured coffee into my mug and leaned against the counter.
For a brief second, the silence felt heavy.
Too heavy.
My eyes drifted toward the hallway closet.
I hadn’t opened the top shelf in years!maybe months?.
I shouldn’t.
I knew that.
But weekends made you curious about things you’d buried during busy days.
I set the mug down and walked toward it before I could change my mind.
The box was still there.
Dust untouched.
I pulled it down slowly.
Inside were old photographs. A silver bracelet. A folded letter I had read too many times and still never fully finished.
My chest tightened.
I picked up one photograph.
We looked younger.
Happier.
Ignorant.
My thumb traced the edge of the image before I could stop myself.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t look at that anymore.”
Elsa’s voice made me freeze.
I quickly slid the photo back into the box and closed it.
“I wasn’t,” I said too quickly.
She stood in the hallway in her oversized pajamas, hair messy, eyes too observant for her age.
“Mom,” she said softly, “are you thinking about him again?”
My throat tightened.
“No.”
She walked closer, tilting her head slightly. “I know that face.”
“What face?” I forced a small smile.
“The one you make when you remember something you don’t like.”
Children should not be this perceptive.
“I’m fine,” I said gently. “Go brush your teeth. Bianca’s coming over.”
She studied me for another second before nodding.
But I knew she wasn’t convinced.
Bianca never knocked gently.
The doorbell rang three times in dramatic succession.
“Open up! I bring snacks and gossip!”
Elsa sprinted to the door before I could.
“Aunt Bianca!” she squealed.
Bianca stepped in wearing oversized sunglasses and confidence like perfume. Her curly hair framed her face as she pulled Elsa into a hug.
“There’s my favorite tiny human.”
“I’m not tiny,” Elsa protested.
“Debatable.”
I shook my head, laughing softly. “You’re loud.”
“And you love me,” Bianca replied, walking into the kitchen like she owned it.
She paused mid-step, scanning my face.
“You were thinking again,” she said immediately.
I blinked. “Good morning to you too.”
“I know your moods.”
I busied myself pouring her coffee. “It’s the weekend. I’m allowed to think.”
“That’s exactly when you shouldn’t.”
Elsa interrupted before the conversation could tilt further. “We’re going to the beach, right?”
Bianca clapped her hands. “Yes, we are. Sunscreen, drama-free sunshine, and absolutely no emotional breakdowns.”
Her pointed look at me was not subtle.
I ignored it.
The beach was crowded but peaceful.
Children ran along the shoreline. Couples lounged under umbrellas. Fathers carried toddlers on their shoulders while mothers adjusted sunhats and handed out snacks.
Life looked… whole.
I spread out the blanket while Bianca helped Elsa apply sunscreen.
“Don’t move,” Bianca warned. “Or you’ll look like a streaky zebra.”
“I don’t want to be a zebra!” Elsa laughed.
I smiled, watching them.
For a moment, everything felt light.
Elsa ran toward the water shortly after, squealing when the cold tide touched her feet.
Bianca settled beside me on the blanket, sunglasses shielding her eyes.
“She’s growing fast,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“She needs more.”
I stiffened slightly. “More what?”
Bianca didn’t answer immediately. She watched a little boy ahead of us as he ran toward his father, who lifted him effortlessly into the air.
“Have you still not moved on?” she asked gently.
My jaw tightened.
“I have moved on.”
“Have you?”
I looked straight ahead. “This again?”
“I’m just asking,” she continued. “Don’t you think it’s high time you consider… more? For yourself? For Elsa?”
“She’s happy.”
“She looks at every father on this beach,” Bianca said softly. “You don’t see it because you’re afraid to.”
My chest tightened again.
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
A little girl nearby tugged at her father’s arm, asking him to help build a sandcastle. He laughed and dropped to his knees beside her.
Bianca’s voice softened. “I’m not saying replace anyone. I’m not saying rush anything. I’m just saying… maybe it’s time you stop punishing yourself.”
“I’m not punishing myself.”
“You’ve built a life that has no room for anyone else.”
“That’s intentional.”
“Why?”
The word struck harder than I expected.
I stood abruptly, brushing sand from my hands. “I think Elsa wants juice.”
Bianca grabbed my wrist gently before I could walk away.
“Seraphim.”
I froze.
“Isn’t it high time you move on?” she pressed. “Maybe even consider giving Elsa a father figure?”
My expression shut down instantly.
“No.”
The word came sharper than intended.
“That will be my choice to decide,” I continued, my tone controlled but firm. “Elsa is happy as she is. We do not need anything else.”
Bianca let go of my wrist slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help.”
“I know.”
Silence lingered between us.
“I just don’t want you closing yourself off forever,” she added softly.
“I’m not closed off.”
She raised an eyebrow.
I exhaled slowly. “I just… know better now.”
Bianca studied me carefully but didn’t argue further.
Elsa came running back then, dripping wet and laughing.
“Mom! The waves are chasing me!”
I forced a smile and crouched down to wrap her in a towel.
“Then chase them back,” I said.
She grinned and ran off again.
Bianca leaned closer to me.
“You deserve more than survival,” she said quietly.
I didn’t respond.
Because survival was enough.
Later that evening, after showers and leftover pizza, Bianca left with a long hug and a look that said the conversation wasn’t over.
Elsa fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the sun.
I stood by her doorway for a long moment, watching her breathe.
Peaceful.
Unaware.
Safe.
When I finally returned to the living room, the house felt quieter than before.
My gaze drifted again — uninvited — toward the hallway closet.
I didn’t open it this time.
Instead, I sank onto the couch and let the truth settle where no one else could hear it.
Men promise permanence.
They promise protection.
They promise partnership.
And when you finally believe them—
They leave.
Or worse.
They stay long enough to break something fundamental before walking away.
I had given one person a chance.
One.
And that had been enough to learn the cost of vulnerability.
Elsa did not need a father.
She needed stability.
And I would never gamble her stability on hope.
The world tells women to forgive.
To soften.
To try again.
But I knew better.
Men are all the same.
You give one person a chance—
And they misuse it.
I leaned back into the couch, closing my eyes briefly.
No.
There would be no second mistake.
Not in my life.
Not in hers.
- Writer
