The wind carried the scent of salt and diesel across the harbor, where rusted trawlers rocked lazily against their moorings. Anna stood at the edge of the pier, staring toward the faint silhouette of the offshore rigs that dotted the horizon. Their skeletal frames rose like monuments of steel, blinking with red lights that pulsed in the dusk. To most of the townsfolk, they were symbols of livelihood. To Anna, they were reminders of everything she had lost.
Her father had been a diver, one of the best the company had ever contracted. He went offshore every season, repairing pipes and welding beams beneath waters blacker than night. Each time he came back, he carried new scars, a deeper weariness in his eyes. He would ruffle Anna’s hair, tell her that the sea wasn’t cruel, just indifferent. Then he’d laugh, toss her in the air, and insist he was “too stubborn to be claimed by the deep.”
But the sea did claim him. A storm three years ago rolled in without warning, smashing waves against the rig’s legs until they bent like twigs. His team evacuated, but her father stayed to make one last check beneath the surface. He never surfaced again. The company sent apologies, condolences, and a payout large enough that people whispered Anna’s family had been “lucky, all things considered.”
Lucky. The word felt poisonous on her tongue.
Now, at twenty, Anna worked in the harbor’s administrative office, filing manifests for cargo and approving permits for smaller fishing vessels. But every evening, she found herself back at this pier, staring offshore as if the horizon might return her father to her.
That evening, a voice interrupted her vigil.
“Storm’s coming,” said Jonah, an older fisherman with a weather-beaten face. He pointed toward the bruised clouds massing beyond the rigs. “You don’t want to be out here when it breaks.”
Anna nodded absently, but her eyes didn’t move. Jonah followed her gaze. His expression softened.
“Still thinking about him?”
“Every day.”
Jonah rested a hand on the railing. “The sea doesn’t give back what it takes. But it does leave us something—memories, lessons, the will to endure. Your father would’ve wanted you to keep living, not haunt this dock.”
The rain began as a scatter of cold drops. Anna pulled her jacket tighter. She wanted to argue, but the words tangled in her throat. Jonah, sensing her silence, added quietly, “When my brother went offshore, he never came back either. For a long time, I thought if I stared hard enough, I could see him out there. Took me years to realize he was here.” He tapped his chest.
Anna finally turned from the rigs. The storm swallowed them in sheets of rain, erasing their lights. She imagined her father’s laugh, his calloused hands, the way he smelled faintly of salt and smoke. Jonah was right—those pieces lived within her, not offshore in the dark.
As the first roll of thunder echoed, Anna whispered, “Let’s go home.”
And for the first time in years, she meant it.
Therapy Bits 
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