The Night the Tide Came In

On the Outer Banks of North Carolina, there is a stretch of beach where the dunes rise so high that from the parking lot, you cannot see the ocean at all. You only hear it.

A father named Marcus brought his seven-year-old daughter, Lily, there for the first time. She had been afraid of the water since a wave knocked her down the previous summer. But Marcus had promised her something: trust me, just walk with me.

They climbed the dune together — her small hand tight in his, her feet sinking in the soft sand with every step. At the top, she stopped. The Atlantic stretched before her, enormous and silver in the late afternoon light, and behind them, the road where they had come from was already out of sight. There was nowhere to go but forward.

She looked up at her father. "What do we do?"