Joan should have told her about everything she’d been thinking since the day Vanessa left for quarantine. That she would quit NASA if she had to. That the three of them could be a family, taking care of Frances together. That once Frances went to college, the two of them could move to some small town and keep to themselves, or maybe live together in a house out in the country. Or they could move to San Francisco and hold hands on certain street corners.

Joan should have told Vanessa about this idea she’d had a few days ago. That when they were in their sixties, Joan would spend nights in the backyard with her telescope, and Vanessa would spend early mornings taking out her prop plane. They’d get a dog.

Vanessa had been right; Joan should have told her that. They could not back down. Joan should have told her that she was determined to rail against the world at every turn. She would scream and she would fight against how the world treated people like them, treated anyone on its edges.

Because Joan knew they would win in the end, they all would. They would hold on long enough to see the world change. To make it accept what Joan knew to be true.

That her life was complete only if lived next to Vanessa’s.

They say love isn’t always enough, but Joan knew, in that moment, that it could have been. It could have been for them. She should have told Vanessa that.

And that nothing—not even Vanessa not making it home—would ever be able to stop how much Joan loved her.

She should have said that.

Oh, she should have said that.

“Navigator,” Joan says, through her tears, standing up. “Navigator, please. Please come in. Please. Please, Navigator.” She is begging now. She’s not sure whom.

There is silence. Jack touches her shoulder again, but Joan pushes him off. No! No! “Navigator! PLEASE! Do you read? NAVIGATOR!”

Joan’s is the only voice that can be heard on the entire floor of this building. Everyone else is looking down, silent.

“Please, Vanessa, don’t go.”

She listens for anything, a single vibration. Anything at all. The soundlessness feels so sharp it could cut her.

And then she understands what everyone else does.

They are gone.

They are gone.

Vanessa is gone.

Vanessa died somewhere over California, having proven herself to be the exact sort of person she had always hoped she was. And now Joan is left to bear it.

Joan’s legs buckle underneath her. She falls to her desk, the ground underneath her disappearing. She cannot hold her own weight. She can feel her heart begin to implode.

But then, in a shock, Joan feels the most perfect peace overtake her.

What a gift. To have known Vanessa, and to have loved her.