There is a storm on the island. Clouds of gray dance overhead, mocking the residents of Seashell Mental Institution. Although it might sound like paradise to live on a remote island, surrounded by palm trees and the cerulean sea without the endless worry of taxes or politics, it’s not. The residents are only here because they were deemed too dangerous by the court to stay on land, and they are reminded of it every day. From the half-edible food to the daily group therapy and 24-hour moderation, this island is certainly no paradise. 

Emelia is out for her required daily walk around the perimeter of the island, paying more attention to the other side of the ocean than what’s in front of her. As she looks out across the Pacific Ocean, she can see the exact point where the dark gray clouds give away into sunshine. The non-psychopaths who stalked their ex-partner are probably basking in the mid-June warmth, snacking on expensive cheeses and grapes imported from Italy whilst reading The Great Gatsby, Emelia thinks to herself with raging jealousy. Where did she go wrong?

Right on cue, rain starts pouring down over the island. Emelia tries to stay calm and collected like her therapist, Lucy, taught her, but isn’t doing very well. Emelia starts sprinting towards the main building, the only one that the residents are allowed to be in besides the apartments, which are on the other side of the island. By the time she gets to the Resident Center, she is out of breath and dripping water. No wonder I haven’t run since high school, she thinks to herself as she struggles to open the heavy wooden door with her slippery hands. 

As Emelia walks from the entrance to the usually empty library, she avoids making eye contact with anyone, which usually leads to a long and tedious conversation. But she doesn’t even make it ten feet before she hears the chipper voice of Poppy, the Resident Activities and Leisure Manager, most likely hired because of her colorful outfits and “go with the flow” personality. 

“Emelia!” Poppy calls from the game room, where a group of residents are partaking in a game of Uno. “Come over here!” Emelia can’t come up with an excuse in time, so she is forced to walk over “Oh no! Did you get caught in the rain?” Poppy asks in a voice that reminds her of how people talk to their dogs. Everybody in the game room turns their attention to Emelia, looking her up and down. Of course, I got caught in the rain. Why else would I look like this? She doesn’t know how to respond, so she just nods. The residents turn their heads back to their game. “Well, maybe you can join us until the storm passes,” Poppy proposes, beaming at the prospect of a new player. 

“Well, we’re actually in the middle of a round,” Henry says as he tries to peek at Gertrude's cards, who is sitting next to him and partially blind. 

“No cheating, Henry,” Poppy says disapprovingly. “And that’s nonsense. Adding a new player wouldn’t change anything.”

“Yes, it would!” Several residents shout out in union.

“It’s fine! I think I might just go back to the apartments. I’m already soaked, anyways.”

“Are you sure?” Poppy asks.

“She’s sure! Henry interjects. Emelia takes that as her cue to leave. Screw all of them. She can hear Poppy scolding him as she turns down the hallway, towards the back entrance. 

When Emelia makes it to the shoebox that is her room, now not only soaking wet but also shaking and blue, she immediately grabs her pajamas and a towel and turns the shower to the highest temperature, looking forward to having a peaceful night and not having to see Henry again, or anybody for that matter. 

When Emelia gets out of the shower, skin slightly red and scratchy from the scolding hot water, she grabs the box of Triscuits that she keeps stocked in her dresser drawer, even though residents aren’t allowed to eat away from supervision. She never was much of a rule follower, which was maybe why her parents gave her to the nanny to raise in exchange for $50,000 and all of the money that they had saved for her, which wasn’t much. 

Since residents aren’t allowed to have any internet-providing devices and Emelia is too exhausted to read one of her library books, she decides to stare out the window while eating her crackers. Although she can’t see much past the island, the street lamps illuminate the rain puddles and provide her with a sense of tranquility. Emelia loses all train of thought as she engrains the scene into her memory. The darkness. The quiet. She tries to find the spot where the sand blends into ocean but instead finds an unusual shape. Emelia moves her face closer until her eyes are touching the window, forcing them to open wider with her fingers. A fishing boat is docked in the sand. That certainly wasn’t there when she woke up this morning. As she looks even closer, she realizes that it’s a kayak, and the paddles are tucked away inside of it. Is this some sort of test? And if I pass, will I get a second chance?

 Emelia has been planning out her escape since the day she arrived, writing every thought down on a piece of notebook paper. Before every room inspection, she would walk down to the ocean, throw the papers in, and watch until they were swept far, far away. Yet, there was always one reason why the plan wouldn’t work. She was surrounded by water. Here’s my chance. A door wide open. What do I have to lose? Emelia changes into dark clothing that won’t make her stand out when she reaches land and starts grabbing objects at random, throwing them into a hiker’s backpack. The remaining crackers. A plastic water bottle. The little bit of cash that she came in with. Then she makes a run for it. Down the steps, and through the patio door, wanting to sob when the rain immediately soaks her through. 

I must be insane to do this. How am I even going to kayak the ten miles to Santa Cruz? I’ve never kayaked in my life. Even if I do manage to get across the ocean, I’ll probably die of hypothermia first. But what if I don’t? What if I can finally see him again? The man who sent me here. The reason I can’t see my daughter. He claims I was stalking him for over a month, but it wasn’t my fault that we ended up at the grocery store at the same time every week and that his neighbor happened to see me driving past his house after our divorce. Those are public places! Then, on top of all of that, he takes my reason for living away. My best friend. My heart. The girl who I carried for nine months and gave birth to. What kind of person would do that? Then he acts like a savior by sending me here instead of jail. That’s when Emelia decides that she isn’t crazy. Just in need of revenge. 

As Emelia walks down the path to the beach, she isn’t too worried about getting caught considering that most people are probably eating dinner and hiding from the rain. However, she still runs as fast as she can to the kayak and throws her bag in. She pushes the kayak further into the water and turns it around, the waves crashing against her ankles. Feeling confident and high on adrenaline, she jumps into the boat and reaches for the paddles, trying to find her grip. After testing a few different techniques, she finally starts moving. 

As hours pass and the sea becomes angrier, Emelia starts to lose hope. Yet, she doesn’t turn around. It’s impossible to miss the coast, so how much longer could it take? She steps in and out of hallucinations, becoming frightened that there are sea monsters below her, ready to pull her down to the depths of the unknown with their scaly hands and tangled hair. There are sharks, ready to swallow her down their throats. There will be policemen who will surround her with their polished white boats and lock her away for good. Yet, the silence of the sea doesn’t comfort her. The crashing waves are not loud enough to mute her thoughts, spiraling down into a dark hole. 

Emelia doesn’t even see the land until it fills her vision, staring her in the face. The lights. The life. Ready to suck her in and spit her right back out. She starts hyperventilating. What have I done? she thinks over and over until she is less than a mile away. Somebody will see me and report me. “A Woman From Seashell Mental Institution Stole A Kayak and Made It To Santa Cruz,” the news headlines will read. She will be sent right back to the island, if not someplace worse. But some invisible force pulls her forward, holding her arms in place, refusing to let her turn back around. 

Before she has blinked, she has made it to the shore, behind a diner that she has never seen before. The lights are still turned on in the kitchen, but Emelia can’t see anybody from the sand. She decides to leave the kayak since she probably won’t need it again. Then she ventures out into the street, keeping her head tilted down. She doesn’t know where she is going yet. She’ll just walk until she sees someplace she remembers. Evidence that she used to be normal like everybody else. Maybe if she remembers the good, she can go back to how it was. Saturday picnics and vacations in Hawaii. Yoga classes and twenty-dollar green smoothies that tasted like salad. She doesn’t even remember that person. Her favorite movie or her favorite color. 

As she keeps walking, she can see the shoes of people as they pass by. Nobody stops to question her or ask for her name. She is ignored. Forgotten five seconds later. Then she sees it. She doesn’t know how she got here. She hasn’t recognized any of the streets or houses so far, but there it is. The window where she threw a plate has been fixed now, and the brick has been painted white, but it’s the same house. None of the lights are on. There is no car in the driveway. Emelia walks up the lawn, preparing for Sam to come running out at any moment, 911 on the phone. But she makes it to the door and reaches into the planter to get the spare key. 

She hesitates for a moment, unsure if she should do this. The key unlocks the door by itself, it seems, and Emelia is suddenly walking into the living room, trying to breathe while looking at everything that has changed. The artwork that she had so carefully picked out from several galleries has vanished. The vase that her college roommate had given her no longer sits on the coffee table. Instead of books, the shelves that line the living room walls are filled with vases and plants, meaningless decor from Hobby Lobby. It feels so empty, unlived in. 

Emelia makes a beeline for Paula’s bedroom. She doubts that her daughter will be there considering Sam isn’t, but she wants to see what it looks like. She drags her fingertips along the stairs rail, envisioning herself living here, being Paula’s mom again, and going to tuck her in for bed. She opens several doors, only finding the master suite and an office. She walks past the extra bathroom to Paula’s room. When she opens the door, she only sees gym equipment. Large machines that Emelia doesn’t recognize, not unicorns or rainbows or pink bedding with ruffles. This can’t be right. Maybe they’ve moved houses. Before she can worry any longer, a car comes up the driveway. Emelia cracks open the blinds and can see Sam’s face in the driver's seat. No. No. No. Where is Paula? Emelia knows that hiding in the closet will get her absolutely nowhere, so she marches downstairs, ready to see Sam for the first time in a year and demand answers. 

When Sam tries to unlock the door and realizes that it’s already unlocked, Emelia can hear him mumble under his breath.

“Emelia!” he shouts. “I know you’re in there. I have 911 on speed dial. You won’t be able to get out of the neighborhood.”

“I just want to talk to you. I swear!” She shouts back from the living room, voice scratchy after inhaling the salty sea air. She is surprised when he actually opens the door. Since when did he ever trust her? He walks into the living room, his arm extended out in front of himself, thinking that it could protect him. “Where is Paula?” She demands right away.

“Emelia, we need to talk.”

“Talk about what? Where is she?” She has to restrain herself from getting any closer than she already is. 

“Emelia, I don’t know if this is the right time to tell you this, but I don’t think you’ll leave unless I do.”

“What did you do to her?” She shouts.

“Emelia, Paula isn’t here. In those months before our divorce, you only imagined her.”

“That’s impossible! I gave birth! I have the stretch marks to prove it.”

“I'm so sorry Emelia, but Paula died while you were giving birth. The doctors didn’t think you would survive either, but you did. After months of you acting like we had a daughter, I had to send you to the mental institution. It’s not because you were stalking me. I wasn’t worried about that. If I’m being honest, I would sometimes follow you from one place to another, just wanting to see  how you were getting along.” 

Everything starts crashing down. Emelia starts sobbing, insisting on the existence of her daughter. 

“But why was I charged in court with stalking you?” She shouted, enraged with fury. “Why did you tell me that they had taken all of my custody rights? That I could no longer see Paula?”

“I knew that you wouldn’t believe me if I had tried to explain then. I thought that if you were told you couldn’t see her, you would realize that she was no longer here. I was trying to help you. But it never got better. And I had to send you away.”