"Low Tide"

The coffee tastes burnt. Dad stirs his black coffee with a plastic spoon. His hands shake a little. Seventy years of working hands.

"How are the girls?"

"Good. Emma lost her first tooth. Sophie's learning to ride her bike."

He smiles. First real smile I've seen from him in months.

"Remember when you learned? Took you all summer. Scraped knees every day. Kept getting back on."

A seagull lands on the window ledge. Fat from tourist scraps.

"Your mother says Sophie looks like you did at that age. Same stubborn streak."

"She gets that honest."

We watch people walk the beach. Families. Couples. Kids building sandcastles that won't last the tide.

"How's retirement treating you?"

"Can't complain. Get to spend time with the kids. Help with homework."

"Lucky man. Forty-three and done."

His coffee sits untouched now. Getting cold.

"Market's been crazy lately."

"Yeah?"

"Down thirty percent this year. Everything I put away for forty years. Just... gone."

The seagull flies away. Smarter than us.

"Your mother keeps watching the news. Every day it's worse. Says maybe we should sell. Cut our losses."

"Timing the market's tough."

"Tell me about it. Bought high. Always buy high."

An old couple walks past. Moving slow but still moving.

"Your uncle says it'll come back. Says to buy more while it's cheap. Easy for him to say."

"He's got different circumstances."

"That's what I told your mother. But you know how she listens to him."

Dad finally drinks his coffee. Makes a face. Cold and bitter.

"Your sister called yesterday."

"Yeah?"

"Needs money for the lawyer. Divorce is getting messy."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Can't say no to my kids. Even when they're forty-two."

His shoulders sag. Seventy years of carrying weight.

"How's the night shift?"

"Long. Double shifts most weeks."

"That's rough."

"Back's killing me. Feet hurt. Everything hurts."

The tide is going out. Leaving shells and debris on the sand.

"Mom's job situation?"

His face goes dark.

"They're shipping it overseas. AI's taking the rest. Forty years of experience. Means nothing now."

We sit in the quiet. Two men running out of safe ground.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

He looks at his hands. Working hands. Tired hands.

"Son, we can't retire."

The words hang between us like smoke. Everything we've been dancing around. Everything he's been trying not to say.

The market. The job. The sister. The uncle's bad advice. All of it leading here.

To this moment. This truth.

I want to fix it. Want to offer solutions. Want to give him some Bitcoin or a check.

But I don't.

The waitress brings the check. I reach for my wallet.

"I got it."

"Dad, let me—"

"I got it."

He counts out bills slowly. Leaves a decent tip.

Sometimes the best thing you can give someone is silence. Let them keep their dignity intact.

The ocean takes. The ocean gives back. But never what you expect.

Only what remains.