The rest of the week pretty much followed the same routine: beach every day except Friday, when the weather turned gloomy.

Tuesday felt slow from the start. Edward and I had stayed up late the night before talking about the article again, and I’d only managed a few hours of sleep before waking up to a cool breeze drifting through the window. I didn’t say much during our conversation earlier; I just let Edward talk, agreeing with whatever he said, because the last thing I wanted was another argument. It’s still early in our marriage, and I didn’t want to risk making things tense. Even though I wasn’t exactly happy about Edward’s opinion, I bit my tongue. Maybe that’s what marriage is: compromising, even when you don’t agree.

By the time we finally made it to the beach, it was already nearing noon, and the sun had climbed high in the sky. The water looked peaceful, though, and I could already feel the stress of the past few days slipping away. We set up near the shore, our towels stretched out on the sand under the shade of the umbrella. Edward wasn’t in the mood to talk much. His gaze kept drifting out over the ocean, like he was lost in thought.

Lunch came quickly. I’d packed us a simple but satisfying picnic—tuna sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, some strawberries, and tangerines. We didn’t have breakfast, so we devoured everything quickly, barely speaking. The waves crashed against the shore as I chewed, and I couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air between us.

After we ate, I wandered along the shore, searching for seashells. I didn’t tell Edward, but I was hoping the beach might give me some clarity on how to deal with the unease between us. Edward, as usual, had his eyes on something far beyond the water, so I didn’t expect much from him today. But after a while, he did join me and picked up a black oyster shell with a rough exterior and a gleaming white interior.

I, on the other hand, found a small collection of perfect shells: a brown-and-beige scallop shell with delicate edges, a smooth moon seashell with a striking indigo center, a tiny gray limpet shell with a soft lilac inside, and a striped olive shell with sharp, contrasting lines. I couldn't help but smile, finding comfort in the small, beautiful things in life. But as I collected them, I felt that tug of uncertainty again. What was I really doing here? Why was I pretending everything was fine when it wasn't?

We didn’t stay on the beach long. Edward seemed distracted, and I was getting too lost in my own thoughts. As we walked back to the house, hand in hand but not really talking, I couldn’t shake that nagging feeling that things weren’t as they seemed. Since the argument, Edward had been different—quiet, distant. I wasn’t sure how to read him anymore. He wasn’t the man I thought I knew.

Wednesday was no better. We went to the beach later in the afternoon instead of the morning like usual. I woke up early to make breakfast—sunny-side-up eggs on whole wheat toast with crispy bacon. Edward didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about the meal, but he ate it anyway.

We didn’t talk much during breakfast, but when the plates were cleared, he brought up children again, just like he had during our carriage ride to Eastbourne.

"I know we’ve talked about this before, but I want to bring it up again. I feel like we didn’t really discuss it last time. When do you think would be the right time for us to start a family?" he asked, his voice serious but tinged with uncertainty.

I froze for a second, fork halfway to my mouth. I hadn’t expected this so soon. "Uh… I’m not sure, Edward," I answered, trying to find the right words. "We just got married. I think it’s too soon, don’t you?" I paused. "Maybe in a few months? Like, three or four months from now?"

He nodded slowly, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely satisfied with that. "Alright," he said, pushing the plate away. "How many do you want?"

"Three," I replied quickly. "Maybe three at most."

"Three sounds good," he said, but the way he said it didn’t sound like he meant it. There was something else behind his words, some unspoken thought that I couldn’t quite grasp.

I chewed my food more slowly than I needed to, feeling the weight of the conversation settle between us. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I wasn’t sure I wanted kids at all—not right now, not in this moment. The idea of having children felt like a distraction, a way to keep my mind off the growing distance between Edward and me. Maybe if we had kids, I wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that I wasn’t entirely happy with where we were. But I didn’t say that.

We finished breakfast in silence, and I suggested we head to the beach before the afternoon crowd arrived. Edward changed into his light blue and white striped bathing suit, and I slipped into a plum-colored one. He packed the umbrella, towels, and some of my writing supplies while I grabbed the picnic basket with sandwiches, fruit, and a ham to share.

I could feel the weight of the letter to Margaret in my bag, and even though it was only going to be a few days before it reached her, I needed to write it. The words kept running through my mind, and I found myself taking a seat on the towel and pulling out a pen and paper.

Dearest Margaret,

These past few days have been... a bit strange, but still full of some beautiful moments. We went to the beach every day except Friday, which was dreadful because of the rain. On Monday, we got up at the crack of dawn to see the sunrise—something I know you would’ve loved. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink, and I swear, it looked like a painting, so beautiful it almost didn’t seem real.

The day didn’t stay perfect, though. Edward showed me an article from the local paper about a raid on a bar here in Eastbourne—the Velvet Prism. Apparently, the police had busted it for "indecent acts." When Edward asked me what I thought, I told him that I didn’t think the police should’ve gotten involved. He didn’t seem too thrilled with my answer, and we ended up having an argument. I didn’t want to fight, though, so I didn’t push my point too hard.

We stayed up late talking about it again, and I went along with whatever he said. But things still don’t feel right between us. Edward’s been distant, like his mind is somewhere else.

On Tuesday, we went to the beach again. I found a moon seashell with an indigo center—just for you. I know how much you love that color, and I thought it would be a nice reminder of when we were together here.

Now it’s Wednesday, and Edward brought up the topic of kids again. I told him three or four months, and I said I wanted three, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m just going along with what he wants. I feel like I’ve been doing that a lot lately.

I’ll write again soon, love. We’re heading to Dawsbury next.

Love you always,

Florence

I sealed the letter and slipped it into my bag, then lay back on the towel, my head propped up by my arms. I fell asleep almost immediately, the soft sounds of the waves and Edward’s quiet breathing lulling me into a peaceful rest.

Thursday came with the same early-morning routine. Edward brought his drawing supplies this time, wanting to sketch me with the sunrise in the background. We woke up early, even earlier than usual, and he dragged a wagon full of his things to the beach. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw him, looking so serious as he carted everything down the sand.

I lay on my side, watching the sky change colors while he worked. The air was still cool, but I could feel the sun creeping up, warming everything around us. The colors of the sky shifted from soft blues to fiery oranges, and as I closed my eyes for a moment, I couldn’t help but think back to last year, when Margaret and I had come here. We spent the entire day building sandcastles, even though the heat was unbearable. I remember how determined she was, her face scrunched in concentration as she carefully built each tower. It made me laugh when she kept asking if it was "symmetrical," but she didn’t mind when I teased her. We spent hours rolling around in the sand, tickling each other and laughing so much that we couldn’t breathe. It felt like the world was perfect at that moment, and I wish I could have that again.