Chapter Twenty-Eight
The damp sand gave slightly beneath William’s boots as he knelt near the tideline, helping Mia pack heavy grey sand into the base of a sprawling fort.
The cool sea breeze tugged at the sleeves of his jumper, carrying the steady rush of the turning tide.
His mind was quieter now, the discomfort from his encounter with Hilary Dalton fading into the background of a sunny afternoon.
He stood to stretch his back, brushing the damp grit from his palms, and scanned the beach to see where the children had scattered.
Mark and Lorna had joined the families half an hour earlier, bringing Lydia with them. William had been busy helping Mia with the sand fort and had managed only a brief greeting before the children drew Lydia into their football game.
A short distance away, the beach was alive with shouting and laughter.
A makeshift football pitch had been carved out of the shoreline, marked by a pair of dropped hoodies at one end and a plastic bucket and spade at the other.
James Fellows and Ben Carter were playing as comically inept defenders, throwing themselves dramatically onto the sand to let the younger kids pass.
William’s eyes drifted toward the centre of the pitch — and his breath caught.
Lydia was out there.
She had kicked off her boots, her bare feet digging into the soft sand as she ran.
Her dark hair had pulled loose from its pins, catching the wind, and her cheeks were flushed a vibrant, healthy pink as she dodged around little Jake.
He had never seen her look quite like that.
Away from her clipboards, her binders, and the quiet order of her house, she looked free. Unselfconscious. Beautiful.
A soft, unguarded warmth settled deep in his chest as he watched her laugh at one of Ben’s theatrical tumbles.
He found himself taking a few steps forward across the sand, drawn toward the game, a genuine smile easing the usual tight line of his jaw.
He wanted to say hello. To ask whether she would stay with them after the game.
But as he closed the distance, Sophie’s bright voice carried clearly across the open air.
“Lydia!” she called, kicking a rogue ball back into play. “We saw you at the café today!”
William slowed, his brow tightening. Lydia froze mid-step. Even from a few yards away, he saw the laughter drain from her face, her posture tightening as though she’d been hit.
“You were standing at the door!” Jake chimed in happily, oblivious to the shift.
Emma Linton nodded earnestly. “You looked like you were going to come in, but then you didn’t.”
William reached the edge of the pitch just as the children’s chatter took a sharp, confusing turn.
“You were there when Daddy was talking to that lady,” Sophie continued with innocent certainty.
“The tall lady with the shiny hair,” Jake added, brushing a hand over his own head.
Emma piped up again. “She was holding his arm.”
Lydia’s gaze dropped to her bare feet. Her earlier ease had vanished, replaced by a brittle stillness William recognised instantly.
He understood what she had seen. What he couldn’t understand was why the sight of it had hurt her.
“Everything alright?” he asked softly.
Lydia looked up — just for a fleeting heartbeat — and the hurt in her eyes stopped him cold. Then her expression tightened into something distant and unreadable.
William opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. He stood in the bright May sunshine, bewildered, watching her retreat behind a wall he had no idea how to climb.