On Erin’s desk sits a seaside-themed wooden frame decorated with seashells. She bought it last summer while on vacation at the beach with her husband, Mark. Inside the frame is a photo of the two of them standing hand in hand on the sand, with waves lapping at their feet and the sunlight stretching their shadows long. The frame has a distressed white wood grain finish, adorned with tiny seashells, starfish, and a piece of blue fishing net, with a white seagull perched at the top, as if it might take flight at any moment.
Back then, they had been married for just two years, and their days were as light as the sea breeze. On weekends, Mark would take her for walks by the sea, where they’d collect seashells and listen to the waves crashing against the rocks. He’d say, “When we’re old, we’ll buy a little house by the sea and watch the sunrise and sunset every day.” Erin would nod with a smile, feeling that such a future was within reach.
But at some point, life began to feel heavy. Mark’s work grew increasingly demanding, and overtime became the norm; Erin had also been promoted, and the pressure weighed on her like a mountain. They no longer watched the ocean together; even at dinner, they often found themselves staring at their phones. That ocean-themed picture frame had been moved to a corner of her desk, covered in a thin layer of dust. The smile in the photo was still radiant, yet it seemed veiled by a mist—so distant it felt unreal.
Until that night, when Erin worked late into the night and was the only one left in the office. Leaning wearily back in her chair, her gaze fell unintentionally on the picture frame. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the seagull in the frame, which seemed to stir ever so slightly. Erin rubbed her eyes, thinking she must be seeing things. But when she looked again, the seagull’s wings really did tremble gently, as if it were breathing.
She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the cool wooden edge of the frame. In that moment, a familiar scent of sea breeze washed over her—not the cold air from the air conditioner, but a real sea breeze, carrying the saltiness of the ocean and the warmth of the sun. She heard the sound of waves, growing closer and closer, like the tide lapping at her ankles. The waves in the photograph seemed to be moving as well; grains of sand glistened in the light, and Mark’s hand was clasping hers tightly—that warmth traveled through the frame to her fingertips.
Erin suddenly realized she hadn’t felt that kind of warmth in a very long time. She’d thought time had taken things away, but it turned out those things had never disappeared—they’d simply been covered by the dust of daily life. She picked up the frame and gently wiped the dust off it. As the last speck of dust fell, the seagulls fell completely silent, as if the commotion from moments before had been nothing more than her imagination.
But she knew it wasn’t. She placed the frame back in the most prominent spot on the desk, right next to her computer. The next morning, as sunlight streamed into the office once more, the waves in the frame remained still, and the seagull sat motionless. Yet deep within Erin’s heart, something had quietly shifted. She sent Mark a message: “Let’s go see the ocean tonight.”
She didn’t say why, but he replied “Okay” instantly.
