From Dr. Walter Starbourne
Dr. Walter Starbourne
Hello Starshine,
I’m glad you decided to take some time away.
I know the last few months haven’t been easy.
If anyone deserves some peace and quiet and time to pursue their passions, it’s you.
If I had my way, I’d be there with you—no cell phone, no computer, just you, me, and the stars.
But if I so much as step out of this house, I fear your mother and your aunt might start World War III over this wedding, and frankly, I don’t think humanity would survive it.
That said, I want you to know—I’m glad this isn’t your wedding.
Not that I’m against marriage. The right marriage is a wonderful thing.
Your mother is the perfect person for me.
She’s going to drive me crazy for the rest of my life, and I’ll happily sit in the passenger seat, gazing up at the stars, while she takes a sharp left into absolute chaos.
Love is funny like that. The right person will make the craziest thing seem completely normal.
Matt wasn’t that person for you.
I know it stings now, but I promise, you’ll find your person one day. And when you do, it’ll make all of this—the ridiculous wedding, the over-the-top family drama, the “why-did-I-ever-care-about-him” thoughts—seem like nothing more than a distant star that burned out long ago.
In the meantime, don’t forget to look up.
When you feel lost, the stars will always be there.
You are made of stardust, Dani. Every time you look up at that sky, remember that those lights twinkling back at you are your ancestors.
They’ve been here for billions of years, watching, waiting, reminding you that you belong to something greater than whatever nonsense is happening on Earth right now.
And one last thing—don’t go wandering over to the north part of the compound.
Remember, Old Man Morvain lives there. He’s not the friendliest, but he’s harmless.
He came to the observatory at the same time that I moved there, but he’s a geologist and entirely uninterested in any rock not from this world.
You know I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like to talk about space.
Love you to the sky and back,
Dad