Our story. The one I used to tell her—about a little girl who followed the stars to find her way home.

She hadn’t forgotten.

I grabbed my phone. “I need help. We have two days.”

The school auditorium was packed. Hazel sat beside Sara, unaware of what was coming.

The lights dimmed. The screen flickered. Then, my voice filled the room.

“Hi, my love. It’s Mommy.”

Gasps rippled through the audience as clips of us played—laughing, baking, spinning in autumn leaves.

Then, letters. Dozens of them.

Hazel stiffened. “Why didn’t I get these?”

Sara paled. “I… I thought it was better this way.”

Hazel pulled away. Searching. Then, she saw me.

For a moment, she froze. Then, she ran.

I barely had time to open my arms before she crashed into me, sobbing.

“Mom,” she whispered.

Tears streamed down my face. “I never stopped loving you.”

Nathan approached, his face unreadable. After a moment, he sighed. “She needs you.”

Hazel turned to him. “Can I go home with Mommy?”

He nodded.

Sara’s flawless poise was shattered as she sat still. But now, none of that mattered. I took Hazel in my arms and held her the way I had wanted to do for so long.

The love of a mother is like the heavens. Even when not visible, it is constantly present. And my little girl had at last found her way home that evening.