Once the immigration paperwork finally went through, my parents and I rented a place by the sea in Paris.
After more than a month of running around, all three of us were exhausted.
When the chaos finally quieted down, we decided to rest by the ocean for a few days.
The sun was right, the wind was right, even the waves felt right—like the world was finally letting us breathe.
I lay back on a lounge chair in sunglasses, watching the water roll in and thin out, again and again.
It scrubbed my heart emptier with every wave.
I absent‑mindedly lifted my phone. The screen lit up with a flood of messages.
“Barbara, your ex‑Alpha’s wedding blew up on site.”
“The bride walked out.”
“Alexander got slapped so hard by her dad his face went crooked.”
I read three of them and closed the app.
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