Three years ago, I lost my husband Anthony in a storm at sea. I buried him in my heart, even losing our unborn child in grief.
On a healing trip to the beach, I saw him — alive, laughing with a woman and a little girl. He called himself “Drake” and said he didn’t know me.
His new family explained he had washed ashore with no memory. I showed photos, even our ultrasound, but his love now belonged to them.
Through tears, I told him the man I loved had died years ago. I left him with the family that gave him happiness — and for the first time since the storm, I could finally breathe.
Sometimes goodbye is the only way to start living again.
