They were in Costa Rica in something ramshackle on a hillside. Around the house was a tended garden and beyond that thick jungle. This was the mid-80s and one weak bulb hung in each of the two rooms. Nights were early and mornings earlier.

One such she awoke first and she felt guilt at the relief of having the quiet to herself. That marriage was falling apart. It had been since the minute they were hitched, however neither was willing to admit this, especially to themselves. Not yet.

She sipped a coffee and thought it would be good to be swimming. She took a towel and carefully walked the damp red earth path cut through the jungle to the sea.

The water was placid as a pasture. She dropped towel shorts shirt and waded in slowly until she dove into the incoming froth. When she came up for air and cleared her eyes what she saw directly in front was a wall so tall it obscured the horizon. It was rushing at her.

In vain she tried to swim to shore. The undertow effortlessly grabbed at the smallness that she was and the waves crushed her against the rocky seabed. Rolling her until she was spat out with scarcely time to focus she watched horrified as another wave, exactly as enormous, was coming right at her. Wounded from each battering she became concerned she might die. These elephants for waves charged in until suddenly the commotion stopped and the great Pacific Ocean was calm as a sleeping babe.

She flopped to the shore, airless and bloodied. He was never there when she needed him. Returning to the cottage she cleaned her cuts and made a second coffee. He asked nothing about her scrapes so she decided not to discuss the incident. More than the coffee in her mouth she could taste her resentments toward him. The adventure was over and when she eventually split, she never faltered. No regrets.