On what would have been their fifty-first anniversary, Arthur sat at his old mahogany desk, the glow of the computer screen reflecting in his glasses. He wasn’t a man of grand gestures, but he wanted something permanent. He found a website that allowed him to buy and name a star .

He navigated through the celestial maps, looking for a spot near the constellation Lyra—Clara had loved the harp. He found a pinprick of light, modest and steady, just like her. He typed the name: Clara’s Light .

The air was crisp, smelling of damp earth and late-blooming jasmine. He fumbled with the dials, his fingers stiff in the cold. It took nearly an hour, but then, there it was. Through the lens, the tiny spark didn't look like much to the rest of the world, but to Arthur, it was everything.