The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 107

A sizable crowd had already gathered on the deck.

Sloane squeezed her way to the railing and followed the direction everyone was pointing.

The breath caught in her throat.

Out in the distant ocean, a massive pod of whales was active.

She couldn't even count how many there were. A dozen? Two dozen? Their colossal black-and-white bodies surged through the waves like a fleet of miniature submarines. Every time they breached the surface, their iconic, towering dorsal fins sliced through the air—they were orcas.

And they were hunting.

A grand, highly coordinated tactical formation was unfolding right before her eyes. Several orcas formed a tight perimeter, forcefully slapping their tail flukes against the surface to send massive sprays of water into the air. Others darted back and forth, herding the school of fish into an increasingly dense cluster. The water practically boiled as countless flying fish leapt frantically from the surface, drawing silver arcs in the sky only to plummet right back into those waiting, cavernous jaws.

Suddenly, an orca launched itself entirely out of the water!

Its massive frame broke free of the ocean, tracing a flawless arc through the air, its black back and white underbelly gleaming brilliantly in the morning light. Then it crashed heavily back down, erupting a towering geyser of water. The thunderous impact echoed across the hundreds of feet between them.

"Whoa!"

A collective gasp of awe rippled through the passengers on the deck. "That's incredible!"

Sloane gripped the railing tightly.

She had seen videos of whales and watched plenty of documentaries, but no screen could ever convey this feeling—the overwhelming, indescribable majesty crashing over her in real time.

They were so immense. So stunningly beautiful. So incredibly free.

In this vast, boundless expanse of deep blue, they were the true masters of their domain.

Suddenly, she felt a prickle of heat behind her eyes.

She wasn't crying; it was simply a physiological reaction to being struck by something profoundly moving. She thought about her twenty-six years of life, constrained by so many invisible boxes—her father's lifelong manipulation and exploitation, the endless years of grueling swim team practices, and the countless dark nights after her marriage, perpetually waiting for a man who would never come home.

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