Then Rebecca came over and hugged her son.
Chris discreetly wiped his eyes.
The next morning, we walked along the same beach.
The ocean looked peaceful again.
As if nothing had happened.
Maya slipped her hand into mine.
Something she hadn’t done in years.
I squeezed it gently.
Neither of us let go.
After a moment, she looked up at me.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I know you worry.”
“I do.”
She smiled.
“But I also know why.”
Tears stung my eyes.
“I’ll probably never stop.”
“I don’t want you to.”
She rested her head briefly against my shoulder.
Then she looked toward the water.
“I think we should come back next summer.”
I smiled.
“I’d like that.”
As we continued walking, I glanced back toward Blue Cove Clinic.
The small white building sat quietly beside the rocks, almost hidden from the resort.
Most guests probably never noticed it.
We almost hadn’t either.
Funny how the place that saved my daughter’s life had been there in plain sight the entire time.
So had the lesson.
Letting your child grow up doesn’t mean worrying less.
It means trusting that sometimes, the people they choose to stand beside will protect them when you no longer can.
