Several employees had gathered near the dock.
One spoke rapidly into a phone.
Another climbed into a rescue boat.
Daniel grabbed the attendant’s arm.
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“We’re contacting emergency services.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Emergency services.
I looked toward the ocean again.
Every terrible possibility I’d spent 16 years trying not to imagine rushed into my mind at once.
Had they fallen into the water?
Were they still out there?
Someone touched my arm.
Rebecca.
Liam’s mother.
She looked just as terrified.
“They’ll find them.”
I nodded automatically.
Neither of us sounded convinced.
Chris stood with Daniel, scanning the water.
Nobody spoke.
There was nothing to say.
An hour after the kids left, flashing lights appeared near the resort entrance.
Two emergency vehicles pulled onto the property.
Lifeguards began unloading equipment.
Guests gathered along the beach, whispering.
Everything felt strangely distant.
Like I was watching someone else’s nightmare.
Then I saw a man walking toward us.
The resort’s general manager.
I’d seen him greeting guests earlier that week.
Now his face was pale.
He wasn’t looking at the emergency crews.
He wasn’t looking at the water.
He was looking directly at us.
A phone was in his hand.
He stopped in front of Daniel and me.
“I need both of you to come with me.”
“Did they find them?” I asked.
He swallowed.
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