As the manager began gesturing firmly for Brianna and Tasha to follow him back to the public exit, Marcus squeezed my fingers.
“Do you want to go home?” he asked gently, the ice completely vanishing from his tone the second he looked at me.
I looked at the exit, where Brianna was being escorted out by security, her shoulders shaking, her ruined bachelorette party dissolving into a humiliating, public march to the parking lot.
Then I looked past the lobby, toward the glittering blue water of the resort pools. The sun was glaring off the surface, bright, warm, and unyielding.
For six weeks, I had wanted nothing more than to hide in the dark. I was terrified of being seen, terrified of my own changed, healing body, terrified of the grief that felt written in invisible ink all over my skin.
“No,” I said, a strange, powerful new strength blooming rapidly in my chest. “I have a new swimsuit to wear.”
Chapter 6: The Sun on My Skin
Cabana number seven was small, secluded, and perfect. It was a shaded, canvas-walled sanctuary tucked away from the main DJ booth, featuring two plush loungers, a cooler of iced lemon water, and a direct, quiet path to the water.
Inside the small changing area, I unzipped the garment bag Marcus had given me.
The black swimsuit was elegant, thick, supportive, and completely different from the flimsy, stringy traps Brianna had mandated. I slipped it on. The fabric hugged my waist, pulling me in gently, feeling incredibly secure. I stood before the small, full-length mirror.
My body was not the one I had three months ago. My stomach was softer. My eyes looked older. There was a profound sorrow etched into the subtle lines around my mouth. But as I traced the curve of my hip with my hand, I didn’t feel the crushing, suffocating shame I had anticipated.
I felt a fierce, undeniable wave of survival.
This body had endured a devastating loss. It had carried hope, it had nurtured life, and it had survived the traumatic breaking of that hope. It did not deserve to be hidden away in baggy sweaters to make a shallow, cruel woman feel better about her own deep-seated insecurities. It deserved sunlight. It deserved to breathe.
I tied my hair up in a messy knot, took a deep breath that filled my lungs completely for the first time in weeks, and pushed the canvas flap open.
Marcus was waiting by the loungers. When he saw me, he stood up. He didn’t offer a dramatic gasp or a cheesy, over-the-top compliment. He just looked at me with a profound, unwavering, quiet respect.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply.
I didn’t reach for my linen cover-up. I walked past the shaded area of the cabana, stepping completely out onto the sun-baked concrete. The intense Florida heat immediately wrapped around me like a warm embrace. We walked hand in hand to the edge of the large pool.
I looked around at the crowds. There were women of every shape, size, and age. There were stretch marks catching the light, surgical scars, and beautifully asymmetrical bodies. There were people living, laughing, and simply taking up space in the world without a single shred of apology.