Through My Window: Across The Sea Novels & Stories

The second I heard the lock click into place, I stood. Moving quickly across the room, I went straight to the vast glass wall covered by thick European curtains. I pulled one side open, and a flood of brilliant afternoon sunlight poured over me. Beyond the transparent glass stretched a wide expanse of blue ocean, bright and endless beneath the clear sky. The tiny waves glittered under the heat, rolling lazily toward the shore like nothing in the world had ever been wrong. It was beautiful enough to make ordinary people stand still and admire. I only felt mocked by it.

I remained in the living room, drinking scotch in front of the fire and placing the cool glass against my temple when I felt a migraine coming on. I enjoyed the peace and quiet this island provided. Sometimes it felt like just me and the sea, the waves crashing down against the cliff right outside my front window. I liked to keep the windows open so I could listen to the rhythmic sound. Something about its consistency stilled my nerves. Just like the sun would rise and set every single day, the waves would meet the shore, unaffected by any living man. The absolute power the elements had over mankind was fascinating to me.

Rosenda Marie walked briskly across the resort grounds, heading to a quieter area near the shoreline. The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in warm tones of gold and orange, but her mood didn’t match the picturesque view. She needed space— somewhere away from the clinking of glasses, the chatter of tourists, and most importantly, away from Cayson.

I went to take a shower after dinner. It was then that I suddenly saw a weird palm print on the glass window. Someone must have left that palm print behind with their soapy hand while taking a shower. The print was quite faint and white against the shiny glass on the window. It was obviously a woman's handprint, and it wasn't mine. My hand was a little bigger than this. So I couldn't have been the one who put it there. It couldn't have been my daughter, Bella Quinton, either. She had tiny hands and wasn't even tall enough to reach that spot yet. Also, it definitely did not belong to my husband, Rory Quinton.

Anger coursed through my veins, fueling my determination to confront Martha, even though deep down, I questioned whether she would be willing to engage in a conversation with me. As I approached the table, a heavy sigh escaped my lips, a poignant gesture that mirrored the weight of my emotions. I couldn't help but turn my gaze towards the window, seeking solace in the outside world. The view outside seemed to reflect the turmoil within me as if nature itself understood my inner turmoil.

And his big, hard manhood in my core. Unfortunately, my body is still weak, there is little I can do about those fantasies. When he finally comes back, I am so glad to see him walk through the door, I smile at him. He comes in without a word, turns his back to me, then walks to the window and pulls back the curtain. Out at sea, a storm starts to explode into life. Dramatic flashes of forked lightning briefly illuminated the sky, and then, the heavy drum-beat roll of a deluge hit the roof of our room.

The crash of the ocean outside the glass walls echoed like a heartbeat wild, relentless, and terrifyingly alive. Elena stood at the window of the coastal estate, watching waves explode against the black rocks below. The storm had cleared hours ago, but its memory still clung to the air the scent of salt, ozone, and something burning faintly in the distance. She pressed her palm against the cool glass. The reflection that stared back was almost unfamiliar eyes shadowed, lips drawn tight. The woman who once trembled at danger was gone. In her place stood someone harder, quieter, forged by secrets and betrayals that cut deeper than steel.

But Serena… My Serena was missing from my table. And even though I lived in comfort now, every night I whispered the same prayer: Bring her back to me. —- Serena POV The sea was louder in the morning, crashing against the cliffs with a rhythm that felt deliberate—like a warning I couldn’t ignore. I stood by the window, arms wrapped around myself, watching the waves throw themselves against rock only to shatter again and again. It felt familiar. It felt like me. The door opened behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know it was him. His presence filled the room before his shadow did, heavy and consuming.

The glass vibrated with my voice, a faint echo carrying out into the night. The stretch was brutal. I clenched around him instinctively, too full, too overwhelmed, but he didn’t give me a chance to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, harder this time, until my breasts pressed hard against the glass. The city was blurred lights through my tears, my breath fogging up the window with each ragged exhale. “Oh my God—”

He said, slammed the door, and left. Watching his figure, I only felt exhausted. I did everything I could to make this desperate researcher the brilliant academician he was, but what had I gained in the end? … The next day was kindergarten's parent-child day. Anna woke up early, the redness and swelling on her face still lingering. Her tiny body sank into the large couch as she stared at the closed door. Neatly folded beside her was Arlo's matching outfit. It was a promise Arlo had made to her before he was supposed to leave for Swizor.