Diving With Tigers — Part 3
Liv calls off the dives. Cancels the story she thought she was in. And finally faces the truth she’s been trying to avoid.
Diving With Tigers is a serialized fictional tale about a woman who travels to Hawai´i to clear her head, only to find herself diving with tiger sharks while her marriage unravels in real time.
This is Part 3. If you haven’t read Part 1 or Part 2, I recommend starting there.
They were on their honeymoon.
I watched them from across the boat. Skin golden. Faces glowing. He massaged her shoulders. She reached back and kissed his knuckles. They were wrapped in that kind of warmth that makes you believe the whole world has been building toward this one perfect union.
I believed in that kind of love. The kind that helps you become who you’re meant to be.
As we headed to the second dive site, I recalled one of the first gifts he gave me. It was a turquoise t-shirt, short-sleeve. On the front was a cartoon porcupine holding a red, heart-shaped balloon. Below it read:
Caught in a bad romance.
He’d done something careless. I’d pulled away. The shirt was his version of an apology — an inside joke to make me laugh.
It worked.
I laughed. I forgave. I let it become a cute olive branch instead of a red flag.
When he was charming, when his attention was on me, I felt radiant. Like someone important had chosen me. Like I finally mattered.
My stomach twisted just thinking about us.
I hated that I didn’t know how to hold onto myself when that attention disappeared. I didn’t have my own anchor. My own buoyancy.
Instead, I floated — or sank — based on whether we were connected.
And after our wedding, it was like I disappeared into the abyss.
He didn’t want to stay home. I didn’t want to stay out. The club scene bored me. The music was loud and predictable. The drugs made me anxious, paranoid. The people felt like surface skaters. Shadows of selves.
We stopped coming home together. We stopped seeing each other in the morning.
And when he finally showed up, I’d lose it.
Where have you been? Who were you with? Why is it never enough for you?
He’d throw it back:
You still don’t trust me. After everything I’ve done — my commitment, our homes, my love for your daughter. Why is it never enough for you?
Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.
What I wanted didn’t live in the thrill and chaos of the party. And what he wanted didn’t live in the quiet routine of home.
He couldn’t give me the security I craved. I couldn’t give him the adoration he required.
And the little red balloon popped.
My right ear wouldn’t pop.
Halfway down, I paused, tilted my head, swallowed, pressed.
No luck.
I rose a little. Tried again. Still blocked.
Jack clocked me from below, and flashed the OK sign. I returned it, even though I was still working on it.
I was determined to do the dive.
I floated up another foot, blew through my pinched nose, and — pop! Relief.
I dropped down into the meeting spot where the others were suspended, waiting to begin.
We were diving the wall of an underwater canyon — volcanic, dramatic, deep. Below us, the ocean fell away into a blue-black chasm. No floor, just a slow fade to dark.
To our right, the reef rose like a spine of bone — coral clinging to lava rock in rusts, greens, and soft lavender. Clouds of anthias darted around the edges. A lone trevally patrolled the shadows.
The current wasn’t aggressive, but it was insistent, nudging me gently until a little space stretched between me and Jack.
About halfway through the dive, I stopped at a coral overhang. A school of pyramid butterflyfish swayed in the current. I let myself hover there, following their rhythm. Then I made the mistake of glancing left — out over the edge.
A vertical drop into nothing. I felt my orientation slip.
The blue pulled heavier.
I located the group, and kicked to close the gap.
That’s when I felt it.
A subtle shift in pressure or vibration. The kind of thing your body registers before your mind catches up.
I turned just in time to see the tiger shark appear.
Not charging. Just… there.
Its shape emerged slowly, like something summoned — head, then body, then the lazy flick of its tail.
This one was bigger. Slower. More certain.
It glided past at a diagonal, confident and close.
I looked for Jack. He was already making his way toward me, eyes sharp behind his mask.
The group instinctively clustered together, forming a loose circle. We tracked the shark.
But it didn’t leave. It circled back. This time slower.
There was no awe. Not this time.
No one felt lucky. No one reached for a camera.
As it approached again, fear surged through me like cold lightning.
My hands tingled. My chest tightened. My field of vision narrowed.
Why did I sign up for this?
Why did I put myself in the path of a predator?
I kept my eyes on him.
He knows he has all the power.
He’s going to destroy me. I won’t survive.
The shark passed again — far enough not to strike, but close enough to let us know he could.
My breathing was ragged now. I was sucking air faster than I could steady it.
Once the shark disappeared, Jack signaled the ascent.
We all followed.
Back on the boat, no one laughed.
No water bottles raised. No high-fives. No you-called-it jokes.
We quietly toweled ourselves off.
Finally, someone broke the silence. “I’ve never seen a tiger before. Let alone two in one day.”
“Me neither,” someone else offered.
The tension loosened. Chatter resumed, but it was quieter now, clipped around the edges.
“Maybe we’re good for the decade.”
“I can’t believe how close it got.”
“That thing was enormous.”
Jack sat beside me, but didn’t say much. He could tell I wasn’t ready to talk.
On the ride back to the marina, I watched the water curl away from the hull, trying to picture myself in the ocean again the next night — flashlight in hand, waiting to see what swam into the beam.
All I could imagine was a tiger in the dark.
I didn’t want to be brave anymore.
I wanted to be done.
By the time I got back to the hotel, I was spiraling.
The hallway spun. The air-conditioning felt too cold, the light too bright. I dropped my dive bag on the floor and went straight for my phone.
Elle picked up after a few rings.
“Liv!”
Her raspy voice washed over me.
“I’m so glad you picked up.”
“Perfect timing. The girls are on a playdate. I’ve got — miracle of miracles — an hour to myself.”
Guilt hit. Her alone time was gold. And here I was, calling to fall apart in it.
“How’s Hawaiʻi?”
“Gorgeous. Perfect weather. Swarming with sharks.”
“Yikes. I could do without that last part.”
I paced the room, and told her about the dives. How close the tigers came. How I didn’t know whether to cancel the night dives or power through.
“Liv,” she said, instantly. “Cancel the dives.”
“But the whole reason I came here was to see the mantas —”
“No.” Her voice cut. “You went there to clear your head. To rest.”
I walked to the window. The sky was watercolor blue. Palm trees swayed with the gentle breeze. Below, a gardener tended to a hibiscus bush. Tiki torches lined a winding path through the garden, to the pool.
“…and to see the mantas,” I whispered.
Elle exhaled. “Okay, fine. But not to get eaten by a shark.”
She paused. “What are you trying to prove, Liv?”
I sank into the chair by the window. My body was heavy.
“That I’m a badass?”
“Cool. You are. I know that. Anna knows that. Everyone who loves you knows that. So… who are you trying to convince?”
I didn’t answer. My silence did.
“Have you heard from him?”
“No.” I replied.
“I’m guessing you haven’t been on social media.”
The way she said it made my skin prickle.
I braced. “Why?”
“They’re definitely together, enjoying sunny Spain.”
My face flushed hot. I looked down at my toes — sand between them, chipped red polish clinging to the corners.
“Just friends, huh?” I wiggled my toes.
“Honey, we both know what kind of friends they are.”
I stood again, restless. The gardener was misting the air above the flowers, as if they needed softening.
“It’s like he has no shame,” I said. “No guilt. No feelings.”
“He’s a narcissist, Liv. A malignant narcissist.” Her voice struck like thunder and lightning. “I fucking hate what he’s done to you. And to Anna.” She paused. “How’s Anna?”
“She’s good, with her dad. They’re camping in Yosemite.”
“Good.”
We marinated in that goodness. I watched the mist drift over the flower bed. It looked like it was disappearing before it touched anything.
“What were the terms of the prenup?” Elle asked.
I was aware lots of people were curious about that.
I closed my eyes. “There wasn’t one.”
“Oh shit. Even better. I thought for sure he’d make you sign one.”
“No, Elle, it’s worse. We never got legally married.”
“What?”
“We never filed. After Baja we kept saying we’d go to city hall, but we never did. The partying didn’t stop. The fights got worse. And now… here we are. Nine months later.”
“Oh, Liv.”
The tears came. “I gave up my career for him. I was crushing it.”
“I know, babe.” Her voice softened. “I know. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
“Right now, I want you to cancel those dives. Then I want you to book the opposite of danger. A facial. A massage. A damn bubble bath. We are done with the high-risk, adrenaline-fueled activities for the week.”
I laughed. “Okay, got it.”
“Good. I love you, Liv.”
“I love you too. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Soul sisters. We’re in this shit together. Call me later. Muah!”
We hung up. I didn’t wait. I called the dive shop and canceled everything.
Then I ordered room service — a burger, fries, and a Coke — then stood under a hot shower until my skin went red.
I curled up in bed and turned on the TV, letting someone else’s life fill the room.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of me.
I opened Facebook.
There he was, top of my feed. Sitting on a chaise, skin pink from the sun. A bottle of rosé sat chilling in a silver bucket beside him. On his other side, she leaned into him, her hand on his knee. Both holding half-full glasses, clinking.
I read the caption:
Cheers from Ibiza!
Ready for Part 4?
Diving With Tigers — Part 4
A volcanic reckoning, a sky-splitting truth, and the promise that changes everything.
In case you missed it
Diving With Tigers — Part 1
Liv takes a solo dive trip. Swims with the sharks. And grapples with the unraveling of a marriage, nine months in.
Diving With Tigers — Part 2
Liv descends into deep water. Comes face-to-face with a tiger shark. And starts to sense there’s more to the story than meets the eye.
I have a mix of deep rage for the situation you went through and adoration for your mastery of words. I feel like these stories are their own coral reef, full of color, depth, meaning and life. When I read them I feel myself floating right there in the rhythm of the story. You need to share this far and wide, beyond Substack, I am sure there are lots of people out there who can relate to that feeling of becoming a chameleon in a relationship and then losing who you really are as a person.