The Goodbye She Couldn’t Say
Elara spent the night with her mother.
They sat on the deck, wrapped in blankets, watching the stars. The sea was calm, the sky was clear, the wind was gentle.
“Tell me about your life,” Elara said.
Her mother laughed.
“It’s not that interesting.”
“Yes, it is. You’re my mother. Everything about you is interesting.”
Her mother told her about growing up in Port Morning, about meeting her father, about the day they boarded the Morning Star together.
“We thought it was an adventure,” she said. “We thought we would see the world. We thought we would come home.”
“What happened?”
Her mother was silent for a long moment.
“The ship took us. The way it takes everyone. Slowly. Gently. Irreversibly.”
“But you escaped.”
“I was released. The captain before you took pity on me. She let me go.”
“Why?”
Her mother looked at her.
“Because I was pregnant. With you.”
Elara’s heart stopped.
“She let you go because of me?”
“She let me go because you deserved a chance. A chance to live. A chance to grow. A chance to choose.”
“Choose what?”
Her mother took her hands.
“Choose to come back. Choose to save us. Choose to end the voyage.”
The sun began to rise.
The sky turned orange and pink and purple, the colors bleeding into each other like watercolors on wet paper.
“I have to go,” her mother said.
“No.”
“Yes. The ship is calling me. The heart is waiting.”
“Then I’ll go with you.”
Her mother shook her head.
“You can’t. Not yet. There is still work to do. Passengers to find. Lost souls to save.”
“When will it be my turn?”
Her mother smiled.
It was a real smile, warm and bright and full of love.
“Soon.”
She stood.
She walked to the railing.
“Elara.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Elara’s eyes filled with tears.
“I love you too, Mom.”
Her mother stepped off the ship.
She did not fall.
She walked on the water.
She disappeared into the light.