A Lonesome Light Seeking the Star

Elias had an interview scheduled at three o’clock the following afternoon.

He set up the backdrop in the morning. Next to it was a rack mounted on the wall, furnished with a row of expensive lenses neatly arranged in order of focal length.

“National Geographic is coming over to our place for an interview. Clean up the mess in the living room.”

The mess he referred to consisted of my books and the three empty glass bottles.

I obliged and carried the books back to my bedroom.

When I returned, he was in the middle of tucking the three bottles into a corner of the room.

He seemed disgusted by the mere sight of them. “Why are you keeping these bottles? They're ugly. Make sure they’re not in the shot.”

“Just leave that for now,” I said softly.

He did not press me with more questions.

The reporters arrived on the dot.

Elias changed into the black shirt I had just ironed the previous week and sat at his work desk.

I sat by the kitchen island with a glass of cold tea in hand.

“Mr. Vermont, your recent work, 'Light’, has captivated us. Would you tell us about the process of shooting it?”

Elias eased into his chair and began a slow narration of the shot.

“The shooting condition was perfect that day. I was going to take a picture of a comet that only appeared once every seventy years.

“But it also happened to be very cold since we were at the top of the mountain. It was easily 10°F.

“My assistant, Mia, was shivering. She decided to light a sparkler to get some warmth.

“The instant the sparkler was ignited, I suddenly had this impression that all those dead stars hovering tens of thousands of light-years away from us could not compare to the living person who stood in front of me.”

The reporter gasped, “But everyone in the industry knows you are very strict about light pollution. It’s the one rule you would never compromise on.”

Elias smiled. I have never seen that much warmth in his eyes.

“Rules are just static entities. When I saw the light wash over her face, I forsake the rule I set.”

Five years.

I spent over a thousand nights in pitch-black darkness.

All just for him to allow a blinding spark of light for another woman so she wouldn’t catch a cold.

The reporter flipped through the document brief before turning to me.

“Mr. Vermont, how does your family feel about your career? I’m sure it requires a lot of understanding on the part of your partner, doesn’t it?”

Elias followed the reporter's gaze and glanced at me. The look in his eyes instantly returned to its usual calm and suppressed state.

“She doesn't know anything about photography or anything about how hard our profession can be, for that matter. What she’s good at is staying out of my way.”

My right hand, tucked underneath the kitchen island, immediately clenched.

Five years ago, the astrophotography series I published won a national gold medal.

I, too, had spent countless nights weathering extreme weather with a camera in hand.

Eventually, he stated that we did not need two photographers at home. He claimed we needed to build a foundation for our household.

With that, I locked my camera in a cabinet so he could focus on honing his craft. I willingly took on the role of the housewife who “did not know anything about photography,” as he described it.

He must have forgotten about all that.

After sending the reporter off, he went to the study.

“Transfer all the pictures from my hard drive to the shared database for Mia to use tonight. The catalog will be ready for publication soon.”

With that, he closed the door.

I turned on the computer and plugged in the hard drive.

Then, my phone vibrated.

It was a message from Frotner National Observatory Magazine.

[Hello, Charlotte Meville. Several days ago, we spent some time going over some of your early collections.

[Your keen attention to detail in capturing the universe is exactly what we’ve been searching for.

[We have been reserving the position of the Chief Photographer of the astronomy department for you. Have you given the position a thought yet?]

I felt the tips of my fingertips growing cold when I stared at the email.

Somewhere on the other side of the world was someone who still recognized my talent.

Meanwhile, the person I shared the marital bed with saw me as nothing more than a babysitter.

I exited the cloud drive and opened the email.

[I appreciate it. I’ll get back to you with a reply after three days.]