He didn't need a scientist to tell him the name wasn't "official" in a textbook. As he looked up, the silence of the garden didn't feel quite so heavy anymore. He took a deep breath, whispered, "Happy anniversary, Clara," and for the first time in months, he felt like someone was listening.
Arthur didn't need much to be happy, but he did need a way to say goodbye. After fifty years of marriage, his wife, Clara, had left him with a garden full of hydrangeas and a silence that felt heavier than the house itself.
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 .