Chapter 8

The storm subsided as quickly as it had appeared. The angry grey sky softened to a gentle blue, the raging sea calmed to a placid mirror.

The rescue crews arrived hours too late, their helicopters and boats circling the debris field where the magnificent yacht had once been.

Ethan was on a life raft with Geneva and Leo, but his eyes were fixed on the water, searching, always searching. He had been in the ocean for hours after the yacht went down, ignoring Geneva's pleas and Leo's cries, diving again and again into the black depths, his hands raw from pulling at wreckage, his body screaming with exhaustion.

He only stopped when his body gave out, when he was pulled, half-conscious, from the water by the rescue team.

He refused to leave the search area, his gaze scanning the endless expanse of blue, his mind replaying that final moment. Her smile. Her words. Her letting go.

"She's gone, Ethan," Geneva wept, clutching his arm. "You have to accept it. We have to think of Leo."

Leo was crying too, not for me, but for his ruined birthday celebration. "I'm cold, Daddy. I want to go home."

Ethan didn't hear them. He was deaf to everything but the roar of the ocean in his ears, the image of my face burned into his retinas. His body trembled, not from the cold, but from a deep, gut-wrenching terror.

He kept diving back in, his movements frantic, his lungs burning. The water was full of wreckage, sharp pieces of metal and splintered wood tearing at his skin, but he didn't feel the pain.

His body was failing. His temperature dropped, and his muscles started to cramp, seizing up in the cold water. He was losing strength, his vision blurring at the edges.

In his delirium, he saw me. A shimmering, ethereal figure floating just below the surface. He reached for me, a desperate, guttural cry tearing from his throat.

"Elaine..."

He whispered my name as the darkness finally took him, his body sinking into the silent, unforgiving depths.

He woke up with a gasp, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling his nostrils. He was in a hospital bed, an IV dripping fluid into his arm.

He dreamed of me. He dreamed of me laughing, the way I used to, before he had broken me. He dreamed of me crying, my face streaked with tears and blood. He dreamed of me falling, my eyes full of a terrible, final peace.

He saw me in the basement, my leg a mangled, rotting mess. He heard my silent, agonized screams.

"Don't leave me," he whimpered in his sleep, his body thrashing against the crisp white sheets. "Please... I'm sorry..."

Geneva was there, trying to soothe him, her touch like fire on his skin.

He shot up in bed, his eyes wild. "Elaine," he croaked, his voice raw.

"She's dead, Ethan," Geneva said, her voice hard. "The coast guard called off the search. They didn't find a body."

"No," he whispered, shaking his head. "She's not dead. She can't be."

He tore the IV from his arm and tried to get out of bed. "I have to find her."

Geneva tried to stop him, but he pushed her aside, his strength returning with a manic surge of adrenaline.

"She's alive," he repeated, more to himself than to her. "I know she is."

He was about to storm out of the room when his phone, which a nurse had placed on his bedside table, rang.

He snatched it up. It was his butler, his voice trembling.

"Sir... a package arrived for you. From Ms. Landry's lawyer."

Ethan froze.

"It's... it's a divorce decree, sir," the butler stammered. "It's been finalized."