There's something inherently magical about the simple act of sleeping. It's a temporary escape from the chaos of the world—a chance to dream and rest without anyone demanding your attention. And sleeping under the sun? Now that's an entirely different kind of bliss. The warmth of the sun's rays soaking into your skin, the light dappling through the occasional cloud—it's like nature's way of saying, "You deserve this nap, you hardworking prick." Pure, unadulterated serenity. It's that kind of peacefulness you'd have to be a fool to pass up, even if it's just on your patio, where the most exciting thing to happen is a bird landing nearby—honestly, you're living the dream.
But wait, it gets better. Imagine lying on a lounge chair, the kind that cradles you like you're royalty—if royalty were known for lounging in cheap plastic chairs. The rhythmic sound of ocean waves (or, let's be honest, the neighbour's sprinklers) serves as the perfect lullaby. Every crash or sprinkle reminds you that life, in this moment, is nothing short of sensational. The breeze, whether it's salty or just the result of a passing car, brushes against your face, filling your lungs with air that smells vaguely of sunscreen and summer. As the wind teases a few strands of your hair loose from that messy bun you swore was "effortlessly chic," you smile to yourself, realizing this might just be perfection—well, as close as it gets.
There's a certain charm in this environment, a feeling that the world has paused just for you. Around you, others are enjoying this sun-soaked paradise in their own way. A family nearby is building sandcastles—though to be fair, it could just as easily be someone's dog digging a hole in the yard. Their laughter mingles with what sounds like the distant calls of seagulls, but who's to say it's not just a shrieking child who lost their ball? A couple strolls hand in hand along the shoreline, their footprints slowly erased by the encroaching tide—or maybe it's just your neighbour's overzealous sprinklers doing their thing again. And there you are, in the middle of it all, slipping into a tranquil sleep, your mind gently carried away by the totally relaxing sights and sounds around you.
But, as life often does, this idyllic scene doesn't stay perfect for long. You see, when you're basking in the sun's warmth, lost in your dreams, the harsh reality of your so-called "paradise" is the last thing on your mind. What could possibly go wrong when you're so relaxed, so at peace, in your private sanctuary—or should I dare say, your backyard where the grass is patchy at best?
It's all wonderful until her arm, hanging lazily off the side of her lounge chair, makes contact with something metallic. A rogue garden trowel, perhaps? The one she casually tossed aside after half-heartedly planting those flowers she swore she'd keep alive this time. That trowel has been basking in the sun like it's on its own tropical vacation, and now it's decided to brand her as a souvenir. SHE IS FUCKING BURNING.
Madlyn yelps, a string of barely coherent curses spilling from her mouth, each one more colourful than the last. She bolts upright and in her rush to pull her arm away from the scorching trowel, she flails, knocking over the drink she'd carefully placed on the side table—a glass of lemonade that tragically spills across the concrete like a river.
Panicking, Madlyn scrambles to her feet, but her frantic movements only make things worse. She stumbles over the garden hose she had absentmindedly left coiled on the ground, nearly tripping as she tries to regain her balance. Her big toe connects with a forgotten potted plant, sending the poor thing tumbling and leaving her hopping on one foot, a new string of curses escaping her lips.
Just as Madlyn is about to unleash another wave of unprintable expletives, she catches the disapproving eye of a nearby neighbour. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head toward a group of children playing nearby, as if to say, "Maybe keep it PG?" Madlyn huffs, biting back a retort. She wasn't about to let a stupid shovel—and a few nosy neighbours—get the better of her, nor was she going to ruin everyone else's day with her outburst. With a dramatic sigh, she storms off toward the garden hose she tripped on earlier, determined to salvage what's left of her day.
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Marlyn winced as she inspected the red, angry burn on her arm. The once comforting warmth of the sun now felt like a cruel joke, mocking her for daring to relax in her own damn backyard. She cursed under her breath as she stumbled into the kitchen, filling a bowl with cool water and dunking her arm in with a hiss. The cool water provided instant relief, but it also solidified her resolve: enough was enough. No more pretending her suburban patio was some tropical paradise. If she was going to get robbed of her happiness, it was going to be on a real beach, with real sand, and none of this half-baked, backyard nonsense.
As she dabbed the burn with aloe vera, Marlyn made up her mind. She was going to the beach—no, a beach. A real one, the kind that stretched for miles with white sand, turquoise water, and not a rogue garden trowel in sight. Just like her father used to do when life got too hectic. He'd pack up and head to the coast, no questions asked. The memory brought a smile to her lips, and she felt a surge of determination.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Marlyn was on her phone, tapping away furiously. She pulled up a travel app, ignoring the ridiculous prices and vague promises of last-minute deals. After a few frantic swipes, she found her destination: the Maldives. Perfect. Not exactly the budget getaway she normally contrived herself to, but after the day she'd had, she figured she deserved to live a little.
The next hour was a blur of frantic packing. Bathing suits, sunscreen, a few summer dresses, and the most oversized sun hat she could find. As she zipped up her suitcase, a stray thought entered her mind: she had no idea what she was doing. She'd never planned a trip on her own before, let alone one that involved international travel. But she wasn't about to let that stop her. There was something exhilarating about the spontaneity, about throwing caution to the wind and deciding she was going to embrace her inner beach bum.
Once the packing was done, she glanced around her room, checking for anything she might have forgotten. The room was a chaotic mess, but she couldn't help and feel a thrill of excitement as she grabbed her passport from the bedside table.
At the airport, Marlyn breezed through security, her excitement building with each step. The terminal buzzed with activity, and she couldn't help but feel a rush of pride at how seamlessly she was navigating the chaos. She was just another traveller, blending in with the crowd—until she wasn't. As she handed over her passport at the gate, the airline attendant's eyes widened ever so slightly.
"Marlyn Waverly?" Her gaze flicked between the passport and Marlyn's face. She knows it has a nice ring to it, but why bother her noooooooooooooow.
Marlyn nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn't the first time her last name had caused a reaction; it likely wouldn't be the last. Waverly was a name that opened doors, commanded attention, and—more often than not—made people treat her like she was made of glass. But right now, she was just a 19-year-old who wanted to catch some sun on a real beach.
"Enjoy your flight, Miss Waverly," the attendant added, her tone now tinged with a kind of reverence that Marlyn found both amusing and annoying.
"I plan to," Marlyn replied, flashing a quick smile before moving down the jet bridge.
As the plane took off, Marlyn settled into her seat, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. This was it—the first step in her impromptu adventure. She glanced out the window as the city shrank below and felt a pang of satisfaction. She was leaving behind the patchy grass, the nosy neighbours, and that treacherous garden trowel for something infinitely better.
The flight was uneventful, save for the moment the elderly couple beside her struck up a conversation. They seemed harmless enough, but when they asked for her name, she hesitated. "Marlyn Waverly," she said finally, watching as recognition dawned in their eyes.
"Waverly, you say?" The man repeated, his tone a mix of awe and curiosity. "As in…"
"Yes, as in those Waverlys," Marlyn said, cutting him off before he could delve into whatever family gossip he'd heard. She wasn't here to discuss her family's wealth or status. She was here to relax, and preferably not as "Waverly, the heiress," but just Marlyn, the girl who really needed a break.
They arrived in the Maldives as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange. The sight took Marlyn's breath away. This was what she'd been longing for—a place that felt like an escape, her kind of paradise, and there wasn't a garden trowel in sight.
She quickly made her way to the resort, eager to kick off her shoes and sink her toes into the sand. The resort was every bit as luxurious as the photos had promised—palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the sound of the waves was a soothing backdrop to the welcome drink she was handed at check-in. She smiled to herself, thinking about how her father used to take her to places like this when she was younger. Those were simpler times, before the world had expectations of her.
With her luggage dropped off in her room, Marlyn wasted no time heading to the beach. The sand was cool beneath her feet as she wandered down the shoreline, breathing in the salty air. The ocean stretched out before her, endless and inviting. For the first time in a long time, she felt truly at peace.
But, of course, there was still that Waverly luck. No sooner had she spread out her towel and settled down to enjoy the view than she heard a familiar sound—a thud, followed by a yelp. She looked up to see a beachgoer struggling with a rogue beach umbrella that had decided to take flight. Marlyn couldn't help but laugh. Even in paradise, there was always a little chaos to keep things interesting.
As she lay back and closed her eyes, Marlyn let herself drift off, the sound of the waves lulling her into a state of relaxation. This was the kind of vacation she'd been dreaming of—sun, sea, and maybe just a hint of mischief. After all, she was a Waverly. If life wasn't a little unpredictable, it just wouldn't be right.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
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Marlyn was halfway through her second coconut water of the day, reclining on a beach chair that seemed designed for escaping reality, when her phone buzzed on the towel next to her. She glanced at the screen: Unknown Number. With a roll of her eyes, she silenced it, refusing to let anything disrupt her much-needed break. After all, wasn’t this exactly what her father used to do when life got too overwhelming? Just disappear to some remote island, leaving the world to fend for itself?
But then her phone buzzed again, and this time the name flashing on the screen wasn’t so easily ignored: Dad.
She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen. If he was calling, it was probably important. Her father wasn’t one to micromanage or fuss over minor issues. But she also knew he had a flair for dramatic entrances when he was feeling cheeky. With a resigned sigh, she picked up.
“Hey, Dad,” she began, trying to sound casual, like she wasn’t thousands of miles away on an impulsive getaway.
“Oh, so you do remember you have a father?” His voice was stern, but she caught the playful edge beneath it. “I was starting to think you’d gone off to join a circus or something. Do they have a good Wi-Fi signal there, or did you just forget how to use a phone?”
Marlyn couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing out of her shoulders. “Sorry, Dad. I’ve just been... busy,” she said, a weak excuse, but she knew he wasn’t really angry.
“Busy, huh?” he continued, his tone still mock-serious. “Too busy to answer your old man’s calls? And here I thought we were family. I guess I’ll just have to send your brother to drag you back from whatever tropical island you’ve holed up in.”
“Please don’t,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “He’d probably try to take over the resort or something.”
“Probably,” he admitted, dropping the act. His voice softened, the sarcasm giving way to genuine warmth. “So, how’s the vacation, really? Relaxing? Or are you just hiding from the world again?”
“Relaxing,” she said, though his words struck closer to the truth than she liked to admit. “I just needed a break, you know?”
“Of course,” he said, his tone understanding now. “You’ve been working hard. Everyone needs to recharge now and then, even a Waverly. Though I have to say, your timing was impeccable. Right in the middle of a family crisis—perfect escape.”
She could hear the smile in his voice and was reminded of the times he’d pulled the same stunt—disappearing to some far-off beach when things got too chaotic at home. “I learned from the best,” she quipped, thinking back to those impromptu getaways they used to take when she was younger. “Remember when you took us to that island in the Bahamas just to avoid Aunt Linda’s ‘surprise’ visit?”
“Ah, yes,” he said, laughing. “One of my finer moments. But in my defense, no one should have to endure Linda’s lectures on organic gardening for a whole weekend. We narrowly escaped with our sanity.”
She smiled at the memory, feeling a pang of nostalgia. Those were the days when it was just the three of them, dodging responsibilities together, pretending the world outside didn’t exist.
“Everything okay back home?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the present.
“There’s always something,” he said, his voice light but with an underlying hint of seriousness. “But nothing you need to worry about. Your brother’s handling things. He’s practically running the show these days, which means I might actually get to retire early—if he doesn’t drive me to an early grave first.”
She laughed, picturing her brother already bossing around executives with his trademark mix of enthusiasm and precociousness. “He’s always had a knack for this stuff,” she said, proud of him but also aware of how different they were. She had always been the one trying to escape the spotlight, while her brother seemed to thrive in it.
“Yeah, he’s a natural,” her father agreed, then added with a slight change in tone, “But he misses having you around, you know. We all do.”
The words hit her harder than she expected. She missed them too—her father, her brother, the whirlwind that was their life. But she wasn’t ready to step back into that world, not yet. Maybe not ever.
“I miss you guys too,” she admitted, trying to keep her voice steady.
There was a brief pause, then her father spoke again, his tone softer, more serious. “You know, Marlyn, you’re always welcome to come back. Not just for work, but... to spend time together. Like we used to.”
The memories of their adventures together flooded back—days spent exploring beaches, her father teaching her how to ride the waves, nights spent under the stars as he told her stories of his own youth. “I know, Dad,” she said quietly. “I’ll think about it.”
“Take your time,” he replied, his voice full of understanding. “Just remember, I’m always here Jellybean. And if you need another escape, make sure to invite me next time. We’ll show your brother what a real vacation looks like.”
She chuckled, blinking back the sudden sting in her eyes. “Deal. But no Aunt Linda this time.”
“Agreed. Linda stays far, far away,” he joked, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Take care of yourself, Marlyn. And don’t get too comfortable out there. We need our expert in dodging responsibilities back on the team soon.”
“Will do,” she said, smiling even as the melancholy settled in. As they said their goodbyes, Marlyn stared out at the ocean, the waves gently crashing against the shore. She loved her father dearly, but stepping back into the Waverly world felt like losing the little bit of independence she’d fought so hard to gain.
But maybe, just maybe, there was a way to find a balance. To be a Waverly without losing herself in the process. As she watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange, she let the thought linger as she tried to figure out what that balance might look like.
For now, though, she would enjoy this moment, this brief escape from reality. But somewhere in the back of her mind, the idea of returning—of finding a way to be close to her father again—began to take root.
Marlyn hung up the phone and sighed, staring at the endless stretch of blue water before her. The conversation with her father had stirred up a lot of emotions, but she wasn't ready to dwell on them just yet. Instead, she decided to shake off the lingering thoughts by doing something she'd always loved—swimming.
She slipped out of her beach chair and made her way to the water's edge, the sand cool beneath her feet as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the beach. The ocean beckoned, its waves gently lapping against the shore, and she felt a familiar thrill as she waded in, the water cool and refreshing against her sun-kissed skin.
As she swam out a little farther, she let herself relax, her body moving effortlessly through the water. It reminded her of those childhood days spent with her father, learning how to swim in the open sea, him always telling her, "The ocean is like life, Marlyn—unpredictable but exhilarating if you learn how to navigate it." She smiled at the memory, the tension in her shoulders easing with each stroke.
After a while, she floated on her back, letting the waves carry her as she watched the sky begin to shift into shades of orange and pink. She closed her eyes, listening to the rhythmic sound of the water, feeling at peace.
"Mind if I join you?" a voice called out from the shore, snapping her out of her reverie.
She tilted her head to see a young man standing at the edge of the water, smiling at her. He was around her age, with sun-bleached hair and an easygoing demeanor that suggested he spent a lot of time in places like this.
"Not at all," she called back, watching as he waded into the water and swam over to her, his movements fluid and confident.
They swam together for a while, exchanging casual remarks. It was the kind of conversation you had with a stranger—a blend of light observations and playful banter that didn't require much thought.
"So, are you here on vacation, or do you live in paradise full-time?" he asked, floating beside her as they drifted with the current.
"Vacation," Marlyn replied, turning to face him. "Needed a break from the real world."
"Yeah, me too," he said with a chuckle. "Though I'm starting to think I might just stay here and forget about going back."
Marlyn laughed. "Tempting, isn't it? But something tells me the real world won't let us get away that easily."
He nodded, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, letting the ocean carry them for a while. Eventually, curiosity got the better of her. "So, what's your escape story?" she asked, keeping the tone light.
He grinned. "Nothing too dramatic, I'm afraid. I'm a software engineer in the making—spend most of my time staring at a screen, so I try to get away whenever I can. Needed to remind myself that there's more to life than just code."
She smiled. "I get that. Sometimes you just need to disconnect and remember what it's like to just... be."
"Exactly," he said, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "What about you? What brings you to this corner of the world?"
Marlyn hesitated, not wanting to dive into the complexities of her family or her reasons for being here. "Just needed some time to think," she said,. "To figure out what comes next, you know?"
He nodded, seeming to understand. "Well, whatever it is, I hope you find it. And if you ever want to talk more—or just swim without overthinking things—here's my number."
Marlyn blinked as he reached into his swim shorts and pulled out what appeared to be a small card. "Are you seriously carrying around business cards while swimming?"
He grinned sheepishly, holding out the card. "You never know when you'll meet someone interesting. And, in case you're wondering, yes, it's waterproof."
She stared at the card, then back at him, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You actually have waterproof business cards?"
"Hey, a guy's gotta be prepared," he said with a shrug, his grin widening. "I like to think of it as my secret superpower. Some people have capes, I have waterproof cards."
Marlyn couldn't help but laugh, taking the card from him and examining it. Sure enough, it was made of some sort of laminated material that made it immune to the water. "Well, I have to admit, that's impressive. Weird, but impressive."
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, clearly pleased with himself. "Anyway, the offer stands. Call me if you want to hang out again. We can discuss the finer points of waterproofing paper products."
She slipped the card into the pocket of her swim shorts, still shaking her head in amusement. "Thanks. I might just take you up on that."
They swam a bit longer, chatting about their shared love for the ocean, and other light-hearted topics that didn't demand too much of either of them. When they eventually headed back to shore, the connection between them was clear, but it was the kind that didn't demand immediate attention. It was more of a pleasant curiosity—something to explore later, maybe over coffee or another swim.
As they parted ways, Marlyn pocketed his card, feeling a small thrill at the idea of meeting up with him again. But for now, she was content to enjoy her solitude a little longer.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the last rays of daylight faded, Marlyn found herself drawn back to the beach. The air was cooler now, the sky a deep indigo with the first stars beginning to appear. She walked along the shore, the sand cool beneath her feet, and felt the pull of the water once more.
She stepped into the ocean, letting the waves lap at her ankles before diving in. The water was darker now, cooler, and she swam out a short distance, enough to feel the gentle tug of the tide but still close enough to see the resort's lights twinkling behind her.
Floating on her back, she stared up at the night sky, the vastness of it making her feel small and insignificant in the best possible way. Here, in the quiet embrace of the ocean, she could let go of all the thoughts that had been crowding her mind. She could just exist, if only for a moment.
But as much as she tried to lose herself in the serenity of the moment, her thoughts kept drifting back to what lay ahead. She thought about her father, their conversation earlier, and the unspoken question that lingered between them.
The water cradled her as she floated, weightless and free, but she knew that soon enough, she'd have to return to shore. And as she floated there, alone under the vast expanse of sky, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she was ready to start finding those answers.
For now, though, she let herself drift, allowing the ocean to hold her a little longer, the waves gently lulling her into a state of quiet contemplation. The world could wait, just a bit more.