One morning, I sat up in the pale dawn light and saw my prison.
The crisp air shivered across my bare skin but instead of pulling the blankets up over me, I stood. My wife rolled over but her eyes were still shut, so I could easily walk downstairs. There was a time when steps were an enemy to me, but now I know how to hold my balance on two legs and how to press my weight just right to avoid the creaking noise on the third from the bottom. Still, I glance back at the final step, expecting her bright eyes to be on me.
They are not, so I walk to the kitchen and pull up the blinds. It is not the view I was promised, all those years ago. There is no seaside view, just a row of terraced houses, grey and pale green. On the slanted roof of the identical house across the street, a strange yellow moss clings to the edges. It reminds me of the sticky seaweed that got all over the mouths of our caves back home.
It is cold today. I shut the window she leaves open for the cat, and then I lean against the counter and stare around at the walls of my house. This is a story she has told me. This house may be a physical presence in the world, but nothing else about it is true.
"Kayla?"
My heart picks up and I wrap my arms around my stomach. She appears just as quietly as I left, and she glances around the kitchen as if I might have done some damage.
"Kayla," she says. She uses that name a lot, even though I told her my true one. "You're shivering. Why are you out of bed?"
"I thought I heard something," I said. Then because it has been a while, I ask a familiar question. "Where did you put it?"
"Put what?" she asks, like always. I used to believe the innocence in her eyes but now I know it to be a farce.
"I want to go back to the ocean."
"To visit?"
I don't answer, so she doesn't speak any more than that. Just shakes her head and wraps her strong hand around my upper arm, leads me through to the living room. She nudges until I sit on the flowery couch and give in. I bow my head against the weight of the truth I have realised, and that is this:
It is time to get out.