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It was a rainy Tuesday, a rain that painted streaks on the windows and made the whole city feel soft and hushed. They’d been walking hand-in-hand through the city when the rain started. It was thin at first, then heavier, soaking through the air with that familiar petrichor scent Penelope had always secretly loved. Colin had no umbrella, of course. He never did.
“We’re getting soaked,” she laughed, tugging her coat tighter. “You said surprise, not pneumonia.”
Colin just grinned, curls already dripping. “We’re almost at the mall.”
He led her inside moments later, both of them slightly breathless and damp, her hand still locked with his. They passed rows of shops and escalators, Penelope assuming, but hoping that the surprise might involve hot chocolate or maybe that little bookstore on the second floor.
Instead, Colin came to a stop in front of a glowing, overly cheerful window display.
Penelope stared, then started laughing.
“Built-a-Bear?” she asked, lifting a brow. “This is your big surprise?”
Colin just smiled, that soft, crooked kind of smile that always got her. “You said you always wanted one.”
“I said I never had one.”
“And then you said—” He straightened up and mimicked her voice in a dramatic whisper, “‘I always wondered what it would be like. But I was too old by the time I ever got close to one.'” He grinned. “Which means you did want one.”
She looked at him, already laughing. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”
“I remember everything about you.”
Her smile faltered, just slightly. “That’s not fair.”
Colin only kissed her temple. “Come on, Pen. Let’s make something ridiculous and perfect.”
They stayed far longer than she expected. Penelope wandered the wall of bears, testing their softness like it was a life-or-death decision, while Colin hovered behind her with absurd commentary.
It took them ages to choose a bear. Penelope was meticulous; she was testing the softness, squish level, and ear size. Colin advocated for the oddest choices just to get her to roll her eyes.
“That one looks like me,” he said, pointing at a lopsided dinosaur.
“That one looks like what you think you look like,” she replied.
They settled on a simple brown bear, soft and plump with oversized ears and a slightly crooked smile.
“Moon,” Colin said immediately. “Okay, his name is Moon. And he’s obviously training to be an astronaut.”
Penelope giggled. “Of course he is.”
They dressed him in a silver suit, boots, and a tiny helmet. Colin insisted on sunglasses, too, for “off-duty moonwalking.”
Then came the voice recorder for the sound chip.
Colin handed her the tiny red heart. “Say something. You know, for posterity.”
“No, I want it to be your voice.” Penelope insisted.
He looked at her, surprised. “Me?”
“The bear is going to be mine,” she said softly. “The voice should be yours.”
Colin hesitated, suddenly shy. Then he held the recorder to his lips and spoke in a low voice.
“Hey, Pen. If you’re listening to this, you’re probably hugging Moon. Just remember, on the good days, especially on the hard ones, and if I’m not around… This little astronaut bear’s got you. And I do, too. Always. I love you to the moon and back.”
Penelope blinked, eyes suddenly stinging.
He clicked it off. “Too much?”
She shook her head gently. “It’s perfect.”
They sealed the heart inside Moon’s chest, along with the sound chip, and watched as the bear was stitched closed, dressed in a space suit, helmet, and all. They even have the certificate filled out.
Colin paid, of course, refusing to let her even reach for her wallet, then handing Moon over like it was some sacred object. “Now you have one,” he said, bumping her shoulder. “Even if you were technically too old.”
“Speak for yourself,” she said, holding the bear to her chest. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
Almost Two Years Later (after the last call)
The box had been tucked behind old baby clothes and a stack of unused muslin wraps in the back of the wardrobe. Penelope’s hand closed around soft faux fur and a familiar squeeze of something plastic within.
Her breath caught.
The astronaut bear.
Penelope hadn’t meant to find it. Not today, not ever, really. She was pulling out old boxes, sorting clothes to donate, and trying to clear the space before Agatha’s room makeover.
She pulled it out slowly, cradling it like it might shatter. She thought she had already lost it when they moved to a new house. The little stuffed toy was well-preserved and still wore its tiny silver helmet and astronaut suit, its round belly slightly flattened with time, as there were other heavy items on top of it. And stitched into its chest, the small, velvet heart.
Penelope didn’t realize she was crying until a tear splashed onto the bear’s ear.
She sat down on the bed, Moon in her lap, the memory of that rainy day suddenly so sharp, it felt like it could split her open.
Penelope brushed her fingers over the bear’s stitched-on smile and then reached into his right hand. The voice chip had shifted a little over time, but she pressed it anyway, already bracing herself for nothing because maybe it was broken, maybe time had worn it out, perhaps she’d imagined the whole thing.
And then, in that same familiar low voice, came:
“Hey, Pen. If you’re listening to this, you’re probably hugging Moon…”
She choked out a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“Just remember, on the good days, especially on the hard ones, and if I’m not around… This little astronaut bear’s got you. And I do, too. Always. I love you to the moon and back.”
The message crackled a little, fuzzy around the edges, but it was all there. Every word. Every pause. Every bit of him. The sob was quiet but ragged, torn from a place too deep for words. She curled around Cosmo, pressing her face to the bear’s soft head. It was Colin. His voice. Still here.
Eventually, small footsteps padded down the hallway. Agatha, half-awake in her pink pyjamas, rubbed her eyes with a sleepy fist. “Mummy?” she mumbled.
Penelope turned her head, eyes red but calm. “Hey, sweetheart. Did I wake you?”
Agatha climbed onto the bed and crawled into her lap without a word. Her little fingers found Moon and traced the tiny helmet. “Is that daddy’s bear?” she asked softly.
Penelope’s breath caught again. She stared down at Agatha; her wild hair tousled from sleep, her eyes blinking up at her with the same quiet curiosity that sometimes reminded her so much of Colin it hurt.
She gently smoothed her daughter’s curls. “It is,” she said, her voice thick. “He gave it to me a long time ago.”
Agatha gave a small hum, thoughtful. “Can I hold him?”
Penelope hesitated just a moment, then passed the bear into her daughter’s waiting arms. Agatha clutched him close and tight like she somehow already understood. “He’s so fluffy!” Penelope chuckles at her daughter.
“Try pressing it here,” Penelope said, tapping the bear’s paw to show Agatha.
Agatha followed her mother’s lead, her little thumb pressing into the bear’s paw with careful intent. For a moment, there was only silence, then the speaker crackled, and Colin’s voice filled the room.
“Hey, Pen. If you’re listening to this, you’re probably hugging Moon…”
Agatha’s eyes widened. “That’s him,” she said, not with surprise but with certainty. “That’s Daddy.”
The message played on, soft and steady.
Agatha blinked slowly. “That’s really him,” she whispered.
Penelope smiled through her tears, stroking the space between Moon’s ears. “Yes, it is.”
Agatha nestled her cheek against the bear’s head and held it even closer. “I miss him.”
Penelope’s eyes filled again, but this time the tears didn’t fall in silence. She let out a quiet, aching sound as she wrapped her arms around her daughter, both of them now curled around Moon like it was the only solid thing in the world.
“I miss him too,” she whispered into Agatha’s hair. “So much.”
They listened to the rest of the message again, not moving, not speaking. Just letting his words wash over them.
“…This little astronaut bear’s got you. And I do, too. Always. I love you to the moon and back.”
When it ended, Agatha reached out and hugged the bear close, pressing it between them. “Can we keep him?” she asked. “On my bed? I promise to take care of him.”
Penelope’s heart squeezed, but she nodded. “Of course we can.”
Agatha looked thoughtful for a moment, then whispered, “He sounds happy in that message. Like he really meant it.”
“He did,” Penelope said softly. “Your dad always meant every word when it came to us.”
Agatha curled into her side again, Moon tucked snugly in her arms. “I will thank him tonight, when the stars are brighter. Where he said he will be.” She traced a finger along Moon’s stitched-on smile, then tilted her face upward. “Do you think he hears us?”
Penelope felt her heart clench at her daughter’s quiet words, as though the stars themselves had just whispered back.
She pressed a kiss into Agatha’s curls. “I think he’ll hear you, sweetheart. He’ll wave and listen from the stars.”
That night, when the house had gone still and the air was thick with the hush of sleep, Penelope passed Agatha’s room on her way to turn off the hallway light before tucking her in
She paused at the door, half-shut, the soft rustling inside drawing her ear.
Agatha was sitting up by the window, Moon the bear nestled in her arms. The curtains were pushed aside, letting the stars spill in; bright and unbothered by the world below.
Penelope leaned against the doorframe quietly, just watching.
Agatha rested her chin on the windowsill and whispered, “Hi, Daddy.”
Her voice has a hint of sadness. And small, but certain.
“Mummy found Moon,” she went on, gently stroking the bear’s fuzzy helmet. “She gave it to me and we heard your voice. You sounded happy.”
She was quiet for a moment, and Penelope felt something ache and warm in her chest all at once.
“I made a star for you at school yesterday. We put it on the class wall, but I saved a secret one for the sky,” Agatha said, her breath fogging the glass a little. “I hope you saw it. It was the sparkliest.”
She looked up again, searching the night. “I think you’re out there. Mummy says you love us to the moon and back. I love you there too. Even farther!”
Penelope had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound.
“I’m gonna take care of Moon now,” Agatha said. “He’s mine and yours and mummy’s. Okay?”
She leaned forward and kissed the bear’s head before settling back under her blanket by the window.
Penelope wiped her cheek and stepped inside softly, kneeling beside her daughter.
“You heard me?” Agatha asked sleepily, not turning.
“I did,” Penelope whispered, wrapping her arms around her from behind. “I know he did, too.”
“Goodnight, Mummy,” Agatha murmured, already drifting.
“Goodnight, princess,” Penelope whispered. “Sleep well.”
She lingered at the door for a long moment, watching her daughter once more, watching Moon keep his silent watch. She could almost imagine Colin in the doorway beside her, arms crossed, teasing her for getting sentimental. But she knew he’d be smiling too.
Penelope looked up at the sky through the small window above Agatha’s bed. The first stars had begun to blink into view, shy and scattered.
“I love you,” she whispered, barely audible. “To the moon and back.”
And somehow, she felt it like warmth spreading through her chest. She could almost feel him there; weightless and eternal, watching over the two of them from some place far beyond the stars.