Rebirth Over the Deep

Icy water engulfed me instantly, like countless invisible hands clutching my heart, crushing my lungs.

Darkness. Silence.

Only the frantic drumming of my heartbeat and the roar of blood rushing to my head filled my ears.

The memory of those three minutes of drowning seven years ago flooded back, shattering all my reason.

I forgot to breathe, forgot to move, sinking like a stone toward the deeper, darker ocean floor.

"Move, Maeve! What are you doing? Be like Rosalyn! Stretch your body!"

The underwater director's irritated roar crackled through my earpiece.

Rosalyn...

Right, I was her stand-in.

I was here to fulfill her lifelong dream.

Survival instinct kicked in, and I thrashed my limbs, but like a moth caught in a web, the more I struggled, the tighter I felt trapped.

Oxygen depleted rapidly. A burning pain seared my chest, and black spots danced before my eyes.

"No! Your movements are too stiff! You're dancing, not convulsing! Do it again!"

"Legs! Lift them higher! Show Rosalyn's grace!"

"Maeve, can you even do this? If not, say so! You're wasting everyone's time!"

The harsh, cold voices pierced my eardrums, stabbing into my brain like needles.

Through my blurred mask, I saw the underwater cinematographer nearby, his massive camera coldly judging my clumsy, dying struggle.

And its owner, Alec, was probably standing at the monitor, frowning, irritated and embarrassed by my poor "performance."

He must have thought I could never mimic his perfect first love.

How could I dare carry her dream?

The suffocation grew unbearable, my consciousness slipping.

I remembered seven years ago, pushing him out of this same icy water, his hand grabbing mine as he said, "Maeve, wait for me. I'll come back for you!"

I waited.

I waited in that freezing water for three whole minutes.

Until the last second of fading consciousness, I saw people on the shore cheering for his rescue, forgetting the girl still underwater.

History repeated itself with eerie precision.

"Warning! Oxygen level below ten percent! Warning!"

The helmet's shrill alarm finally blared.

With my last ounce of strength, I screamed into the communicator, "...Help... help me... no oxygen..."

But the director's voice snapped back, even angrier. "Hold on for thirty seconds! One last shot! Don't mess this up!"

Thirty seconds.

On land, a mere blink.

But in this abyss, every second was a century of torment.

My body lost all control, my lungs ready to burst.

Darkness swallowed my vision completely.

In the final moment before sinking into endless black, I saw my late grandfather.

He was my only family, the founder of Zenith Corporation, the man who cherished me for eighteen years.

On his deathbed, he held my hand, eyes full of reluctance. "Maeve, I left you this empire not to burden you, but so you could live freely, never bending for anyone. If that boy you love ever makes you suffer, come back. My people will crush him and everything he has."

Grandpa, I thought I might die here.

Just as I gave up, ready to embrace death, a powerful force yanked me upward.

The lifeline.

They finally remembered the "prop" underwater needed retrieving.

The rapid ascent tore at my eardrums and organs, the pressure excruciating.

With a splash, I hit the deck like a dying fish.

I ripped off the helmet, coughing violently, gasping the salty air, tears and snot streaking my face in utter disarray.

It took ages to steady my trembling body and lift my head, instinctively searching for that familiar figure.

I wanted to see him.

I wanted even a flicker of fear or concern on his face.

Then I saw him.

Not far away.

He stood with his back to me, tightly embracing someone.

Rosalyn.

She leaned into his arms, sobbing with joy, shoulders shaking. "Alec, I... I did it... Our dream came true..."

Alec lowered his head, kissing her forehead with a tenderness I had never seen.

His voice cut through the celebrating crowd, clear in my ears. "Silly, not ours. Yours. Congratulations, my little mermaid. Your dream came true."

Cheers and applause erupted from the team.

"Congrats, Rosalyn!"

"Director Johnson, you're incredible!"

"This film will definitely win awards!"

Champagne popped, ribbons flew, and every face glowed with the joy of success.

They celebrated a victory.

And I, the "hero" who just crawled back from death, lay soaked and shivering on the cold deck, an absurd outsider in the wrong scene.

No one spared me a glance.

No one remembered I nearly died down there.

In that moment, all my pain and fear vanished.

In their place, a bone-deep, deathly chill settled in.

I stared at the man embracing his first love, smiling with gentle satisfaction.

The man I watched for seven years— my husband.

Slowly, I looked away.

My heart turned to ash.