Epilogue
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Dearest Delaney,
Happy graduation day, darling.
If you asked me to paint a picture of what today might look like, I’d imagine your mother flustered with pride while internally stressing about getting your siblings out the door on time.
This remained our biggest struggle as parents of three, though there was often joy in the challenge.
So much joy, and so often. Madelene, of course, is fussing over what she’s wearing, maybe she’s even changed her footwear several times (to your mother’s great dismay), while Jared reminds your mother auditorium seats are assigned.
But she’ll want to rush anyway. To get there, to anticipate.
To jump to the moment, the one you’ve worked all these years for, where she’ll get that perfect view of you walking across the stage.
And then there’s you, Delaney. If I were there, I would turn to your mother and say, “Lord, Natalie, how has she grown up so fast? These years flew by in a matter of months.” But there you are, elegant and composed and assured in the choices you’ve made.
I know they are good ones. And even if they’re not, even if you’ve found yourself on a path you no longer want to follow, know that you will find your way.
It’s normal and it’s life, my darling. You will be just fine.
I imagine you there up on that stage searching the crowd because you hear your family before you spot them.
Loud, energetic, animated. The spirited fanfare they’ve reserved only for you because they’re proud.
So proud. Your mother must have told you this dozens of times today, hasn’t she?
Well, in case it hasn’t been overstated, allow me to say it once more: we are proud of you.
Not just today, but always. Through your wins and losses, peaks and valleys.
Through those inevitable plateaus. Know, sweetheart, that whatever you’ve accomplished within these last four years is enough.
Today, soak in everything you’ve achieved.
I hope it’s full of laughter and happiness and love.
And I hope that, when you think of me, it’s with more joy than despair.
I hope it’s in quiet moments of intentional pause.
We often look ahead at all the nexts that are to come, but darling, don’t ever forget to look up.
Enjoy the view. It is endless and grounding and majestic, full of extraordinary possibilities.
Can you do something for me? Remind your mother to slow down. To enjoy the process, not just the progress.
It’s okay to be afraid of what comes next. Did I ever tell you I almost didn’t accept the teaching position at Ivernia when they hired me? Simply because I was afraid of leaving the comfort of home. But, oh, how much I would have missed out on if I had stayed behind.
Take the leap. Do the big thing, and do it with fearless wonder.
I love you, always.
Forever in your corner,
Dad
May 16, 2026, 11:53 p.m.
Dad,
Well, I did it. I’m an official graduate of Ivernia School and, in case you were curious, ranked twentieth in my class. It was quite a challenge getting there—lots of long study sessions at Chelmsford—but you know what? I can’t complain. I was in the best company.
The picture you painted of graduation isn’t far off from the truth.
Madelene changed her dress twice and Mom was stressed.
Then Jared wanted to try to smuggle in an air horn to embarrass me, which he quickly realized stressed Mom out more, and we were a tad late getting there because I was desperate for a coffee on the way to the venue.
Madelene sang my order into the drive-thru and Mom couldn’t hide her laughter as she was trying to scold her. So, you know, pure Carmichael chaos.
We missed you. So much.
You should have been there.
Madelene told me writing to you helped her heal, so I thought I might try.
Life without you hurts. For months after, I felt this agonizing hollow ache every time I thought of you.
That’s gotten better, if only a little. I don’t think it will ever go away.
At least, part of me doesn’t want it to.
Because you were right. Even through the heartache, I find those glints of memories so bright and wonderful it replaces the despair with joy.
You raised us well. I’m forever grateful.
What else can I tell you? I got into the University of Michigan.
I know you wanted to protect me from the politics and frustration of research science, specifically on the physics side, but I’m going to give it a shot.
Dentistry isn’t for me and, unfortunately, you have passed on to your middle child your unquenching desire for knowledge of the universe and the ways it works.
Mom says you’d be proud. I hope you are.
And who knows where life will take me? Maybe I’ll teach someday, like you.
For now, I’m enjoying the present. I have a boyfriend—don’t be too alarmed—though I can hear your voice in my head firing off questions. How did you meet? Does he treat you right? Are you happy?
Funnily enough, you know him. Jared’s best friend, Sumner, and before you ask—yes, Jared’s cool with it.
It was, in his words, “pretty inevitable from the way I’d catch him staring at you.
” And yes, he treats me as though I’m the center of his universe.
He got into MIT, where he’ll go in the fall along with one of my best friends, Inessa.
As for your last question? I am happy in life’s sunshine moments.
I have a lot of those, but there are gray days too, and sometimes days where the rain feels never-ending and constant, and some days where the clouds sweep aside to show me a clear view, to remind me of the beauty the world has to offer.
I try not to take any of it for granted.
I reread your journal all the time. Is that strange?
I hope not. You don’t know how useful it was for me over the course of last year, particularly your theories on time anomalies and space forecast trends and the thoughtful wisdom scrawled in the margins.
There was one situation I didn’t think we’d navigate ourselves out of…
You know what? I’ll tell you all about it in my next email. It’s a pretty unbelievable story.
All my love, always,
Delaney