Theo lived a few towns away, in a small cottage surrounded by wild ivy and untamed roses. Mara recognized Eliot in his posture — the way he leaned in, always slightly off-center, like he was waiting to be knocked down.
He offered her tea, though neither of them drank it.
"I didn't know if I should write," Theo said, sitting across from her. "But I think he wanted someone to know the whole version of him. Not just the part that smiled."
Mara nodded. "He never told me he was hurting. Not really."
Theo sighed. "That was his gift. And his curse."
He handed her a folded page — yellowed at the edges, creased from being opened too many times.
Eliot's handwriting. Slanted. Familiar.
Mara,
I can't say this out loud. Not because I don't want to — but because the moment I do, it becomes real, and I'm not ready for real.
I'm unraveling, piece by piece. I think you've known that, even if I've never said it. But you keep looking at me like I'm whole, and God, it breaks me — how much I want to deserve that.
I love you. That's the hardest part. Because love should be enough to make me stay. But I'm slipping — and I don't know how to reach the surface anymore.
I hope you hate me less, someday.
You were the lighthouse, Mara. I just didn't know how to follow the light.
— E.
Mara folded the letter, gently, like it might fall apart.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Theo reached out, squeezed her hand. "He didn't make it easy. But I think he wanted to be found. Even if it was too late."
Outside, the wind stirred the trees. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean exhaled.
The next day, Mara sailed.
This time, she didn't go far. Just out far enough that the town became a soft blur behind her — like memory, gentle instead of sharp.
Jonah watched from the docks. Isla stood beside him, holding the lighthouse stone in her palm.
As Mara stood at the helm, she read Eliot's letter one last time. And then, without hesitation, she let the wind take it — fingers opening slowly, like letting go of a bird that had forgotten how to fly.
The page danced in the air before kissing the sea.
She watched it sink — not with sorrow, but with something close to grace.
Later, back on shore, Mara sat between Jonah and Isla. No words. Just the sound of waves.
"You okay?" Jonah asked.
"I think I will be," Mara said.
Isla leaned her head on Mara's shoulder. "Does love always end like this?"
Mara smiled softly. "No!"
"But even when it does… it leaves something behind."
She looked out at the ocean, calm and endless.
"Atlantis may be lost,"she said.
"But we still remember the shape of it."