By the Sea
“You need a break, how long can you keep working, Olivia? You’re not yourself anymore—where’s that spark in your eyes, that cheerful mood that used to lift everyone around you? So you divorced that…—” Her mother muttered an unflattering word—”Good riddance, no use moping over it.”
“Mum, I’m not moping. It’s been nearly a year since the divorce—I’ve moved on. Emma keeps me busy. Honestly, she’s wise beyond her years. She surprises me all the time with how mature she is, and she’s not even twelve yet. Must be from reading all those magazines you buy. She devours everything in them,” Olivia replied.
They decided to escape to the seaside.
“Exactly! Emma needs a break too. She’s brilliant at school—top of her class. Let her unwind. I think you should take her to the coast. We can’t afford fancy resorts or package deals, but a little guesthouse would do. I’ll chip in,” her mother insisted.
“Mum, say yes!” Emma piped up. “Granny’s helping us—why don’t you come too?” she added cheerfully. “Think about it, Mum. Sun and water nourish plants, make them strong. That’s exactly what we need—strength and health.” She sounded like she was quoting something.
“Goodness, where do you get these things, Emma?”
“Well, I read. It’s from Granny’s magazines. And school, in case you forgot,” Emma laughed.
Olivia’s holiday was approaching, and she’d made up her mind—they were going to the sea. On her last day at the office, she waved to her colleagues.
“Bye, girls! So excited for this break.”
“Go on, Olivia! Sunbathe, swim, and maybe meet a handsome stranger,” they teased.
Packing began in earnest. They hit the shops for new swimsuits and shorts. Emma, giddy with excitement, sang:
“*By the sea, she walked on the sand, and he watched her go…*”
“Emma, what’s that from? Where do you get these things?”
“Mum, I read it in a magazine.”
“Those aren’t for kids. I should throw them out.”
“You’d have to chuck the internet too,” Emma giggled.
“That’s practically oppression!”
“Come on, *oppressed one*, pack your things.”
“Mum, Sophie’s jealous. She’s never been to the sea—doesn’t even know what it’s like.”
“I know. Her mum’s disabled, no dad around. Life’s hard for them.” Olivia sighed. “Maybe when Sophie’s older, luck will turn, and she’ll take her mum to the coast.”
“Yeah, but who knows when that’ll be,” Emma said gloomily.
The night before their trip, they lounged on the sofa, chatting about the sea, when Emma suddenly blurted:
“Mum, what if you meet *the one* there?”
“Who?” Olivia nearly jumped.
“Your soulmate! Like in that poem: *‘By the sea, where the lace-like foam…’* Maybe your prince will rise from that foam!”
“Emma, what’s gotten into you?” Olivia threw up her hands.
“Alright, alright! Bedtime.” Emma dashed off.
The train ride took a full day. Olivia and Emma gazed out the window, delighting in the passing scenery. It’d been four years since their last seaside trip—excitement bubbled over.
They arrived by evening, settling into a guesthouse. The owner greeted them:
“Here’s your half of the house. The other’s taken by a gentleman—Oliver. Very decent chap.”
“What’s that to us?” Olivia thought, unpacking.
“Mum, let’s go to the sea!” Emma tugged her arm. “We can unpack later—maybe have a quick dip!”
Olivia agreed. The beach was just beyond the gate, the waves glinting under the fading sun.
“Mum, it’s gorgeous!” Emma kicked off her sandals and splashed in, grinning. She shucked off her shorts and T-shirt, diving back in. Small waves lapped the shore, the foam delicate as lace. Olivia smiled—it really was *lace-like*.
They returned at dusk, still glowing. On the porch, their neighbour sipped beer from a can. As they passed, Emma announced:
“Beer contains toxic substances—even heavy metals!”
“Good evening,” Oliver chuckled. “And where’d you learn such profound facts?”
“Evening,” Olivia nodded. Emma added loftily, “Reading helps. Knowledge is power!” before flouncing inside.
Oliver smirked to himself. “Was worried I’d be bored. With neighbours like these, no chance.”
The next day, Olivia suggested sightseeing first, the beach later. Emma agreed.
By evening, the shore was quieter. There sat Oliver, shades on, lounging by the water.
“Mum, look—our neighbour!” Emma nudged her.
Approaching, he greeted them warmly.
“Evening. I’m Oliver. And you lovely ladies are?”
“Emma! This is my mum, Olivia,” Emma cut in.
“Pleasure. You’re evening bathers, I see.”
“Just timing,” Olivia said, heading for the waves.
After swimming, they settled on their towels.
“Mum, I want a pomegranate,” Emma said, pulling one from their bag.
“Love, we’ve no knife. Wait till we’re back.”
But Emma marched over to Oliver. “Can you help?”
“Gladly.”
Emma recited solemnly:
“*So simple, so sweet—the queen asked the page to split the pomegranate, gave him half, then loved and tormented him…*”
“Impressive! You know Severyanin’s poetry?”
“Duh,” Emma grinned. “Here—have some!”
Back home, they walked together, Emma chattering. Turned out they were from the same city.
Olivia dismissed it as coincidence.
That night, Emma whispered, “Mum, it’s fate.”
“What is?”
“I saw how Oliver watched you—even behind those shades.”
“Emma, really! Just enjoy the holiday.”
But as Olivia drifted off, she mused: *A child’s the most precious thing—but a woman needs love too. A steady hand to share the load. Maybe…*
The days flew by—beach trips, cafés, ice cream. One evening, Emma went to bed early, leaving Olivia and Oliver on the porch, sipping wine.
“Olivia, I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your company—especially Emma. She’s extraordinary. Who her age reads Severyanin?”
“She’s always got her nose in a book,” Olivia smiled.
Oliver took her hands. She didn’t pull away. Then Emma’s voice chimed:
“*By the sea, where the lace-like foam…*”
“Emma! Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Too excited. The air’s different here.” She grinned and vanished inside.
As their holiday ended, all three knew this wasn’t just chance. *Fate*, Emma had called it.
Some say holiday romances fade with the tan. Not this one. Three years on, Olivia and Oliver are happily together, with a little son—named Arthur, by Emma’s choice.
**Lesson:** Life’s surprises often come where we least expect—sometimes, even in the lace-like foam of the sea.
