Page 2 of Since the Day We Left

Wendi shrank back into the safety of her hiding spot.

Reaching into his suit pocket, the man pulled out a small container and twisted the lid. He stepped into the surf and emptied it. Gray ash spilled out, swirling in the breeze. Some seemed to have clung to his fingers, which he rinsed before returning to the boy.

Wendi’s chest tightened.

Someone’s gone.

Forever.

The man tried to put his arm around the boy, but he jerked away, his face crumpling as tears streaked his cheeks.

The man looked helpless—the way adults sometimes did when they ran out of words. He glanced at the boy, then stepped deeper into the waves, his back to the shore, shoulders shaking. The water was up to his knees now.

The boy stood alone, his fist pressed to his mouth, stifling sobs. His other arm clutched his middle, as if holding himself together.

A hollow ache echoed inside Wendi. She knew what it was like to cry alone.

Her mom had always warned her about strangers: “Not everyone is nice just because they look like it.”

But leaving the boy to cry alone felt wrong—like walking past an injured bird and pretending not to see. So Wendi slid the spiral shell into her pocket and stood.

The boy didn’t notice her until she was beside him. He startled, quickly wiping his face with his sleeve.

Wendi froze.

Does he even want me here? Maybe I should go.

For a beat, she waited quietly, giving him a chance to decide.

When he didn’t move, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her spiral shell. She held it out, palm open. The sunlight caught the shell’s swirls, making them glow.

“It’s magic,” she said. “From the ocean. It’ll help.”

On her worst days, she would hold it to her ear, listening to the ocean trapped inside. Its steady whooshing reminded her that some things stayed the same, no matter how much the world around her changed.

His deep brown eyes, swollen and red-rimmed, flicked between the shell and Wendi before he finally reached for it.

Their fingers brushed as he took the shell, sending a strange flutter through Wendi’s stomach. He curled his fingers around it, gripping it tightly.

“Here,” Wendi said, gently guiding his hand. “Hold it up to your ear, like this.” She mimicked the motion with her empty hand.

His eyes drifted shut as he listened.

“Can you hear it?” She leaned forward, hopeful. “The ocean?”

The boy went still. Then, after a pause, he nodded—just barely. A look of wonder crept across his face—the same look she’d imagined she had worn when she’d first discovered the shell’s magic. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

His breathing steadied, and his shoulders relaxed. The shell fit in his palm like it had been waiting for him, as it had once waited for her.

In that moment, Wendi understood—giving something away didn’t leave behind an emptiness, but a quiet fullness, knowing it was exactly where it belonged.

She lowered herself onto the sand and hugged her knees to her chest. The boy hesitated, then sat too—still leaving space between them. He kept the shell clenched in his hand as they both watched the man in the waves.

Neither spoke.

The sun began its descent, turning the water into sheets of copper and rose gold, while shadows stretched across the sand.

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