He smiled, a bright, beautiful smile.

“Can I still go to the planetarium?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “You can go to any planetarium you want.”

The next week, the first check from the escrow account arrived.

It was enough to pay off my remaining legal fees and secure our apartment for the next two years.

The financial burden that had kept me awake at night was gone.

I bought a new sewing machine for my mother.

She sat by the window, the sunlight catching her silver hair as she worked.

She was repairing Nolan’s favorite shirt—the blue button-down.

She had sewn a small, yellow crescent moon patch over the torn cuff where the ledger had been.

It looked perfect.

In July, we packed Nolan’s small suitcase.

He was going to the Tennessee Space and Astronomy Camp for a whole week.

He wore his blue moon shirt, his chest puffed out with pride.

My mother and I stood on the porch, watching him walk toward the camp bus.

He turned and waved, his blue sleeve catching the summer light.

“He looks so big,” my mother whispered, her hand in mine.

“He is,” I said.

We watched the bus pull away, heading toward the mountains.

The sky above Knoxville was a deep, clear blue.

We had survived the storm, and we had found our peace.