It was an empty beach, with just this man, in his mid thirties and, at a distance, a young woman and two little blonde children. The man walked towards the roaring sea; he didn’t feel the cold.

The seagull over his head cried a lonely hungry cry. The beach was wide, he could have yelled and no one would hear him. And he felt like yelling, screaming.

He looked at her, the mother of his children, and he was afraid.  What if one day he would lose all of this?

He thought of the day they had met, in the Millenium wheel in London, sitting next to each other. His vertigo made him panic, and she, a total stranger, a foreigner, had calmed him down. They had been together ever since.

And now he felt a panic similar to the one in the wheel. What if he would lose his job? What if she would leave him, go back to England? What if she died?

They were not married, as he dreaded to ask her. After all, she could say no, or go over the top screaming of excitement; he hated that.

He watched her as she helped the children in their coats and she looked at him calmly, worried. She knew him so well. She did not deserve him. She would be better off without him.

The waves rolled on the beach, the sea licked at his Wellingtons, withdrew only to attack his feet with more force.

He walked away from the water, started running. In the safety of her arms, he ended his run.

“What is all this then?” she smiled.

“Vertigo. Will you marry me?”

She nodded calmy.

“Sure. Take the little one, will you, she is sleepy.”

He took the child and put her on his shoulders, and they walked further along.