After learning of Chase Andrews’s engagement, Kya flees the beach and aims her boat straight into the rips, hoping speed and danger will outrun her pain. She battles confused currents and dark clouds, loses orientation, and nearly capsizes as fear finally surfaces from the deeper terror of lifelong abandonment.

When the sea briefly calms, Kya spots a narrow sandbar and fights the underflow to beach on its sheltered side. On solid ground, she recognizes she is mourning a lifetime of rejection more than Chase himself. She sees Chase’s promises as mating displays and recalls Ma and Pa’s failures, concluding she must live alone and let go of love.

Sunlight reveals the sandbar as a delicate catch-net for shells. Kya gathers rare, intact specimens, drains her boat, and studies the currents, planning a safe return from the leeward side. She understands this sandbar’s shape is fleeting—a momentary rescue formed by chance tides.

Later, walking her own beach, Kya recites Amanda Hamilton’s poetry to the moon, seeking kinship in loneliness. She withdraws further into the predictable rhythms of the marsh—tadpoles and fireflies—choosing nature as the only steadfast guide in a world where people do not stay.