She had been born to be in the water.
He marvelled at how quickly she took to her swimming lessons, pushing out of her teacher’s arms within twenty minutes, dark eyes determined. She threw tantrums when they drained her bath, loved rainy days for the puddles.
Deep down he knew the day was coming. On her eighteenth birthday he packed the car for the beach with a heavy heart, gave her one last hug as she strode to the water.
As she dove beneath the waves, the dark eyes of a dozen seals looked back at him, waiting her return.
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