As she walked steadily toward the shop, Abi’s mind spun in restless circles. Every step seemed to bring another wave of worries crashing down. She thought of the students—young surfers and eager beginners—who were growing increasingly unhappy. They had signed up full of excitement, but instead of receiving consistent lessons, they found themselves waiting around or leaving the beach disappointed. Their parents, too, had begun asking pointed questions, their voices carrying more frustration with each passing day. That alone weighed heavily on her, because the reputation of the surf school had always rested on providing joyful, reliable experiences in the water.

But the student issue was only the surface layer. Beneath that, far more burdensome, lay the overwhelming backlog of board orders. The stack of half-finished boards in the workshop had become a constant, physical reminder of how much still needed to be done. Resin tubs sat unopened, sanding blocks gathered dust, and wooden blanks leaned in tired rows against the wall. Some customers had already waited weeks longer than promised, and each time Abi thought about it, a sharp pang of guilt cut through her.

And then, of course, there were the stock problems—the ongoing shortages of basic materials like wax, fins, and even board bags. Every time she tried to fill a simple order, she discovered that yet another item had run out or been delayed in delivery. It was as though the business itself had slipped into a current too strong to fight, dragging everything downstream faster than anyone could swim. To Abi, the whole situation had been snowballing relentlessly, each frustration compounding into something larger, heavier, and increasingly unmanageable since the very moment Mali had gone away.

Yet, when she looked at Mali now, she saw none of her own panic reflected back. He carried himself with the same quiet confidence he had always shown. His voice remained steady, his words calm. He told her, again and again, that he could work through it all, that he had faced hard times before and had always managed to find a way. In his eyes, this was just another set of challenges that would yield to persistence and long hours.

But Abi wasn’t so sure. To her, this wasn’t a simple matter of effort; it was a matter of time. How could Mali possibly stretch the hours of the day wide enough to hold everything? Surfboard shaping was an art in itself, demanding patience, careful sanding, layering, and finishing. It wasn’t something that could be rushed, not if the final boards were to meet the quality that customers expected. Even the smallest mistake could ruin a board entirely, wasting both money and precious hours. The backlog wasn’t a handful of projects—it was dozens. Each one represented hours of meticulous labor.

On the other side of the equation stood the lessons. Surf instruction was not something that could be done half-heartedly. The students needed him out there on the beach, explaining techniques, correcting postures, and ensuring their safety in the waves. Teaching wasn’t just about showing up; it demanded full energy, presence, and constant attention. One slip in focus in the water could mean injury. How, Abi asked herself, could one man divide his mind between sanding boards late into the night and guiding eager, sometimes reckless beginners in the surf the next morning?

The image formed vividly in her mind: Mali stepping from the dim workshop, his clothes flecked with dust and resin, straight into the sunlight of the beach, where students waited with surfboards in hand. He would smile, mask his exhaustion, and throw himself into the lessons, only to return afterward to the unfinished boards stacked high around him. It was a cycle that seemed unsustainable, a routine destined to break him down.

Abi felt her chest tighten as she imagined the days ahead. She admired Mali’s determination, but determination alone could not stretch time. It could not add hours to the clock, nor could it satisfy customers who were beginning to lose patience. Something would have to give—either the quality of the boards, the happiness of the students, or, perhaps most worryingly, Mali’s own health and spirit.

Abby tells Mali there’s only one thing he can do—Lacey has to go.