I Booked My Own Sea Burial, But You Came Too Late

I was released after ten years in prison, and I didn’t even go home. Instead, I went straight to book my sea burial.

“Miss Amberlight, this is your arranged sea burial service. After death, your body will be released into the ocean. A deposit is required first, and the remaining balance must be paid within half a month.”

I just nodded. My hands started shaking as I pulled a plastic bag out from my worn jeans. Inside was everything I had saved over the years, crumpled bills and loose coins, all earned from scraps and labor inside prison. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the deposit, barely.

I handed it over like I was handing away the last piece of myself.

They told me I had a month left.

Stage late stomach cancer, no treatment left, no second chance.

Funny how life doesn’t wait for you to be ready to die and all I could think about was him.

Arkin Wattson.

We had once promised each other something stupidly beautiful, a wedding in a seaside chapel where the waves would be our witness and the whole world would finally believe in us. He said even the ocean would bless us, and I believed him back then, I really did.

Now I was just arranging to return to that same ocean alone.

Isn’t it ironic. Or maybe it’s just cruel.

After I left the burial office, I needed money. The remaining balance wasn’t small, and no one hires someone with a record and a body already halfway gone. So I ended up at a seaside resort perched on a cliff, the kind of place where the ocean looks endless and expensive, where dreams are sold in white and gold.

They gave me a uniform, simple, clean, and forgettable. No real instructions, just a quick rundown before pushing me to start that same day. After a short training, I was assigned to housekeeping and room service, moving through corridors that smelled like fresh linen and sea salt, carrying trays, cleaning spaces that didn’t belong to people like me.

I kept my head low. I didn’t want to be seen. Didn’t want to exist more than necessary.

That was when everything broke open again.

The suite sat on the highest floor, a private cliffside room soaked in golden sunset light. Beyond the glass walls, the ocean stretched endlessly, beautiful in a way that felt almost cruel.

I pushed the service cart inside, slow and quiet.

'Just do your job. In and out. Don’t look up.'

Laughter filled the room, light and effortless.

Then I heard it.

That voice.

“Make sure everything is exactly how I want it,” Arkin said, “The chapel by the sea. White and pink roses everywhere. Not a single detail off.”

I froze. My fingers tightened around the tray.

No... That couldn’t be.

Slowly, I lifted my head and there he was.

Arkin.

Sitting by the glass, the ocean behind him like it belonged to him. Surrounded by people who laughed too easily. Ten years had passed, yet nothing about him felt different. Still sharp. Still untouchable. Still far beyond anything I could reach.

But what made my stomach drop wasn’t him alone. It was who he was holding.

Trixie.

My so-called sister.

She rested in his arms as if she had always been meant to be there, smiling softly while he spoke about their wedding.

“If the designer messes up your dress again, I’ll throw it out,” he said. “You don’t even need to see it. I’ll have them redo everything until it’s perfect. I just want you happy.”

Trixie laughed, “You always say that. What if I change my mind again?”

“Then I’ll change everything with you.”

My throat tightened.

A wedding.

His wedding.

With her...

My mind slipped back ten years without permission, dragging me with it.

I was so close back then. So close to becoming his wife.

We grew up together. He walked me home in the rain. I patched his bruises when he came back from fights he never explained. We survived everything side by side, like it meant something permanent.

When my parents died, he stayed. He stayed when I couldn’t even breathe. So how did it end like this?

Because I killed his father.

The memory hit like a wave that never stopped.

That night carved itself into my bones. He cornered me, eyes red, voice shaking as if he was barely holding himself together.

“Dahlia,” he cried. “Tell me why... Please, just tell me the truth. There has to be a reason. You wouldn’t do this for nothing.”

I remember laughing or maybe it was something breaking inside me.

“There’s no deeper reason,” I said. “Your father saw me with someone else. He said he’d tell you. I lost control. That’s it.”

Silence.

Then his face changed, slowly and completely.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t beg. He just looked at me like I had already died.

I still see that look when I close my eyes. Like I’m trapped behind glass, watching myself decay while he walks away.

After that sent me to prison and I let him.

What was I supposed to say? That I was protecting someone else? That the truth would destroy more than just him? Or maybe I just didn’t think I deserved to be believed anymore.

Ten years inside.

Ten years asking the same question.

What if I told him the truth?

Would it have changed anything?

The memory tightened.

That night destroyed everything.

Arkin’s father had long struggled with severe depression and paranid disoder. The kind that didn’t sit quietly but rotted everything from the inside out. On the night before my wedding, he had a breakdown inside one of the private estate rooms. He mistook a bodyguard for his wife’s lover, someone he believed had ruined his marriage. In that broken state, he crossed a line he could never come back from. He killed the man and buried the body in the backyard.

I was there to discuss last-minute wedding details with Arkin. I remember standing in the hallway, frozen, seeing everything I was never meant to see.

I couldn’t move.

When it ended and reality came crashing back, his father broke. He fell to his knees, shaking, begging me not to tell anyone.

“Please,” he kept saying, voice cracking. “You don’t understand what this would do to him. To the family. Just… please. I didn’t mean for any of this.”

I should’ve walked away.

I should’ve told the truth.

But I didn’t.

All I could think about was Arkin. What this would do to him. What it would destroy.

So I said yes.

I agreed to stay quiet.

I left the estate in a state I couldn’t describe, hands cold, chest hollow. Somewhere along the road, everything got worse.

His father drove after me in a panic, maybe guilt, maybe fear. His car crashed into mine.

That became the story.

A tragic accident. Wrong place, wrong time.

And I stood there… and let it become truth.

The silence that followed wasn’t peace... It was punishment.

Arkin’s world stayed perfect on the outside. Polished. Untouchable. Built on legacy and power. If the truth ever came out, it wouldn’t just break him. It would destroy everything his name stood on.

So I took it.

All of it.

I let him hate me so he could keep living without being shattered by something he never should’ve carried.

That was the choice I made.

That was my so-called love.

Now my body is already failing, so there’s no point undoing anything. If he hates me, fine. Let him. At least I can disappear without dragging him into it again.

The waves crashed harder against the cliffs, like they were trying to tear the world apart.

I turned slightly, gripping the edge of the service cart, ready to leave the suite quietly. The way I learned to exist here. Unseen. Unnoticed. Temporary.

But before I could take another step, a voice cut through the air behind me.

“Dahlia? Wait… is that really you?”

My entire body went still.

“You’re out?”