Ocean had never liked the word "promise." To him, it wasn't something beautiful or comforting, like it seemed to be for most people. Promises were fragile things—dangerous things—that were too easily broken, too often abandoned. And for as long as he could remember, promises had been the root of all the heartbreak in his life.
There had been a time in Ocean's life when everything seemed perfect—when the world was bright, full of laughter, and filled with the unshakeable certainty that his family was unbreakable. He had been young then, no more than a boy, and the warmth of home was all he knew. His parents' love had wrapped around him like a blanket, and he had believed—wholeheartedly—that they would always be together.
But life had a way of breaking promises.
It all began when he was a boy, before the world became so heavy.
He had been seven years old when his parents' arguments started. At first, they were just whispers—low voices behind closed doors, words exchanged in hurried tones. Ocean had been too young to understand what was happening, too innocent to see the cracks forming in his family. But as the months wore on, the arguments grew louder, the tension in the house thickening until it was impossible to ignore.
He remembered the first night he had truly been scared.
It was late, the sound of his mother's voice ringing through the house, high-pitched and angry. His father's voice had been low, simmering with frustration. Ocean had been lying in bed, clutching his stuffed bear, his small body curled up tight under the covers. He had tried to block out the sounds, had tried to pretend that everything was fine, but the yelling had only gotten louder.
Ocean had crept out of his room, his tiny feet padding softly against the floor as he made his way down the hall. He had peeked around the corner, his heart pounding in his chest, and that's when he had seen it.
His father was at the door, his hand on the doorknob, his face twisted in anger and something else—something Ocean couldn't name at the time, but would later recognize as defeat.
"Dad?" Ocean's voice had been small, barely more than a whisper.
His father had turned to him, his expression softening for a moment. Ocean had run to him, wrapping his arms around his waist, his small body shaking. He hadn't understood what was happening, but he had been scared. Scared of the yelling, scared of the silence that followed, scared of the way his father looked like he was about to leave.
"Don't go," Ocean had whispered, his voice trembling.
His father had crouched down, placing his hands on Ocean's shoulders, his face pale and tired. "I'll be back, Ocean. I promise."
Ocean stared up at him, tears brimming in his eyes. His father pulled him into a tight hug, but the words—I'll be back—echoed in his head, sharp and hollow.
And then, just like that, his father was gone.
The door closed behind him, and the sound of it shutting felt final. Ocean stood there, staring at the door, his small hands trembling, waiting for it to open again. Waiting for his father to return, just like he promised.
But he never did.
The days after that had been a blur. His mother had tried to hold it together, tried to pretend that everything was fine, but Ocean had known. He had known that his father wasn't coming back, no matter what he had promised. And it wasn't long before the yelling started again—this time, not between his parents, but between him and his mother.
By the time Ocean was in middle school, his mother had remarried. Ocean had never liked her new husband—there was something distant, something cold about him. Ocean tried to make it work, tried to be the good son, but it wasn't enough. He felt like a stranger in his own home, the walls closing in on him until he couldn't breathe.
