Sand exploded across the ground.
Noah made no sound.
She kicked a second time.
The corner wall caved in.
Her third kick smashed through the gate, scattering the shell windows into the surf.
The next wave slipped beneath the wreckage and dragged it apart, as if the sea had only been waiting for permission.
“STOP!” I shrieked.
She backed away and brushed sand from her ankle.
“It’s pathetic!”
Noah remained there, holding the flag.
His fingers gripped the wooden stick so tightly that the small cloth shook.
“But,” he whispered, “I built it for my dad.”
The woman rolled her eyes.
“It’s just sand! Build another one.”
I went to Noah instead of confronting her.
That was the only decision from that moment I remain proud of.
I wrapped him in my arms, and he buried his face against my shoulder.
At first, his sobs made no sound. His body merely trembled against mine while the remains of the castle dissolved beneath the water.