You always told her you’d give her the world if she wanted it. So it should have been no surprise, really, when she asked you for the Moon.

You might have known something like this was coming; she’d been on her best behavior for a week, chores done without nagging, shoes lined up neatly in the hall closet. Still, you tried to dissuade her: The Moon was hardly a proper world at all, was it? No air, no warmth, no light of its own. No bunnies or kangaroos or zebras—she always did like zebras the best. It was an awfully big responsibility, you reminded her, a whole Moon. Even bigger than chores or shoes or homework!

But she wanted it, wistfully, tearfully, adamantly. So what choice did you have, in the end?

You asked around. There are experts, specialists, who know how to handle this sort of thing—there always have been, for people like you—and you made sure money found its way into the right hands and pockets and accounts. Most of them didn’t ask questions, and for the ones who did, you offered justification as well as compensation. There would still be stars, after all, and a fair sight more of those than one old Moon.

It was some weeks yet, before you held it in your hand. Too big to be set into a ring; it would overwhelm her little fingers. Instead, you had it set into a silver cinch mount (the prong setting looked too cheap). A pendant worthy of a girl who deserved the world. She laughed when you fastened it around her neck, squealed her thank-yous. She brought it closer to her eyes, turned it every which way, tugging it to the limits of the chain. It wasn’t as shiny as she’d expected, she noted, forehead wrinkled. Shouldn’t it have been shinier?

You explained about lunar regolith and the Sun’s reflected light, and she accepted your artless astronomy. She refused to take it off in the bath that night, and when she got out, you dabbed it dry to keep the setting and the chain from tarnishing. Powdery flakes of moondust clung to the bathroom towel, but everything came out all right in the laundry—no harm done, in the end.

Others noticed the Moon’s absence, though no one else could explain it. Only you, and her, and a few individuals who had been paid well enough not to run to the papers. For want of a reason, people created their own: aliens or ancient gods, a mass delusion, a scientific anomaly so inexplicable it might as well have been magic.

Meanwhile, new-hatched turtles blundered into tall grasses and the claws of hungry crabs without a moonlit path to the sea to guide them. Black swifts eschewed their soaring night flights, clinging close to the Earth even though they rarely touched it. Surfers stood on beaches and stared despondently at tepid, weak-willed waves; and beneath the surface, ailing corals sent forth no spawn, and stagnated, and wasted to grasping skeletons. The mice were happy, at least, free to dart through the darkness while owls circled sightlessly above.

You encouraged her to wear the Moon often—heavens knew it had come dearly enough—but she always had a reason to leave it in the bureau drawer. The chain caught in her hair when she combed out her pigtails. The pendant bounced so hard that it hurt if she played hopscotch or skipped down the sidewalk. The silver didn’t match the gold-rimmed buttons on her favorite dress.

So you were pleased when she came down to breakfast one day wearing it around her neck, with a good morning! and a did you sleep well? fresh off her smiling lips. She’d buttoned her blouse herself, and put on good stockings, not a run to be seen. She ate her toast tidily with knife and fork, and nodded seriously when you talked about the coming workday: the people you’d have to smile at, the boredom you’d have to hide. Only when you paused did she look up, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, to remind you that her birthday was just around the corner.

Your mouth went dry, but the coffee cup in your hand was already empty. You had to ask, anyway, what might be on her wish list this year.

Just the one thing, she said, earnest and apple-sweet, and laid a pretty please on top. It would be so handsome with her gold-button dress, too, and it was all she wanted: only just the one little Sun.