Why, Dad?

Even when the world was ending, you didn't listen to me. You were selfish, doing everything while leaving me behind. I was alive, but then what? I was alone in space. There was not a single living being in sight, only a supernova consuming all. No one knew what was coming. Only a few were lucky enough to react on time, including us. You.

I woke up in the capsule to see you not beside me. My biggest fear became reality. It was only a matter of time before you left me for your happiness. Was I not your Sunbeam? I told you many times that I didn't want you to sacrifice yourself for me. As long as we were together, everything was going to be alright.

You just left a letter for me, stuck to the wall with tape. For my Sunbeam was written on its cover.

"Hi, dear.

I know what you're thinking right now: why, Dad?

No, I'm not reading your mind. I lost that power as you grew up."

I never understood his ability to do it. Just like I never understood his ability to laugh at the worst times. Maybe it wasn't bad, after all.

"You must have many questions, many that won't fit on this paper and many that I don't have time to answer. Some others I can't tell you."

Can't tell me? You admit that you hid things from me. Every time I asked you about our past, your artificial smile would surface on your serene face. But you hid things to protect me, right?

"The first thing I want to answer: no, we won't see each other again. Your trip is one of no return, but don't worry, you'll be found soon. I promise.

And second: no, I didn't hide things from you to protect you. I hid them to protect myself. There was no reason for you to know about the past. Learning from it would've only brought hatred, a hatred that took me years to leave behind.

But I want you to remember me. Us. You are the beam that enlightened my life and I hope I was a good father to you.

Our time together might have come to an abrupt end, but there will always be a sun to enlighten all moons. You'll always be my Sunbeam.

I love you.

Dad."

You attached the drawing I made for you when I was little. I drew us, sitting beneath the tree on the cliff next to home, and a huge sun above us. Every time I drew something, I would always add a sun at the top with a smile and sparks around it. That's why you called me Sunbeam. I didn't know you kept it.

Crying wasn't bad, you taught me that, but you also told me to stay composed, something I couldn't do anymore.

"P.S: I'm sorry for not singing the lullaby you always asked for, but look around the capsule, I think you'll love it."

The letter ended. His last words were in my hands and I was erasing them with tears. I swept them away and did what he asked me to do.

The capsule was barely big enough to fit me. There were controls and panels on the front, just beneath the wide window where I could see the supernova. It wasn't expanding anymore, but its colorful waves of destruction were still visible.

There was a sheet of paper sticking out from a drawer next to the controls. It was the manual for operating the capsule. Written by Dad was written on the cover.

"I tried to keep it as simple as possible, but I know you like to read manuals."

He wrote that before the actual manual started. He probably knew that I read the manuals around the garage when he wasn't there.

The rest of the pages explained every single detail of the capsule, illustrated with drawings similar to mine. On the first page, there were instructions on how to open the many compartments distributed throughout the capsule. The ones beneath my feet had food and drinks in them, while the ones by my sides held my stuff—plushies, clothes, drawings, toys, movies, comics, everything.

But there was one more compartment behind me, above my head. There was only one thing in it: a tiny, white box. Inside it, there was a drive and a ring. The ring had no explanation, but I could insert the drive into one of the panels.

The window was painted black and a file explorer opened. There were many videos and pictures in the folder. Although you were busy working or building this capsule, you always liked to record me when I was little. Especially when I did something embarrassing, like running around the house naked because I was scared of the bath bubbles, or me singing in my room and then chasing you after.

It wasn't fair. You knew my mistakes but I didn't get to know yours.

All of the file names followed the pattern of a date, except for one called 015117.

It was a video of him singing the lullaby I always asked him to sing for me. His singing voice was exactly how I imagined it: deep, calm, and soothing, although out of tune.

He recorded it in the garage, wearing the same clothes he was wearing the previous night. He knew what was going to happen, but how? How did you know about the supernova? You had been building this capsule for as long as I've had memory.

It was of no use thinking about it. Even if you were still here, you wouldn't have answered it. Now those answers were lost forever, just as you wanted.

But I would never be mad at you. I was your Sunbeam, after all. I would never forget you and I knew you would always be with me.

I just wish you would've sung that lullaby in person.