The silence on the island had become its own kind of noise.

It pressed in from all sides, thick and velvety, filling the spaces where voices, boats, and distant radio static used to live. I spent most mornings on the wide balcony now, wrapped in a light silk robe that barely contained my rounded belly. The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, a glittering blue prison wall that shimmered under the rising sun. There was beauty in the isolation—the soft pink dawn painting the sky, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of salt and frangipani—but also a crushing weight. No boats came anymore. No messages. No chances of rescue or...