On the Third Night of My Honeymoon, I Found My Own Medical Log Hidden in the Captain’s Office. One Line Told Me My Husband Had Been Lying Since Before We Left Shore.

Tell me to sleep.

And every time he did, I felt worse.

Our yacht, the Mercer Star, moved between the outer islands of the Evermere Isles, cutting through water so blue it looked painted.

It had been my father’s wedding gift.

Not ownership exactly.