A Sea of Radiant Stars.

An Ocean of Bright Stars

Gazing up at the colossal ship, Andrew Winters felt diminutive and inconsequential. He adjusted the rigid, starched collar of his freshly pressed suit. Despite the chilly spring breeze wafting in from the port, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His anxiety surged as he prepared for such extensive journeys, particularly across the Atlantic. The vast expanse of the North Atlantic Ocean both fascinated and unsettled Andrew. It possessed a haunting beauty that eluded his comprehension.

A few weeks prior, he had returned to Oxford to visit his parents and gather gifts for his wife, Catherine, who was expecting their first child. Although he was hesitant to leave her in New York so close to the end of her term, he took comfort in knowing that her parents would be there to support her during his absence.

Andrew felt an immense sense of longing for Catherine as he eagerly anticipated boarding the most opulent vessel of the North Atlantic. His father, Jonathan, was adamant that he cover the cost of his son's first-class ticket, a luxury that Andrew would not have been able to afford on his own. Despite Andrew's attempts to decline such an extravagant gesture, his father prevailed, asserting that the ticket was a gift to commemorate the arrival of his first grandchild.

"What better way to celebrate than to travel on the grandest ship in the world!" his father had enthusiastically proclaimed.

As he ascended the steep gangway leading to the first-class cabins, Andrew felt a profound sense of incongruity. He found himself amidst individuals of nobility and celebrities adorned in exquisite attire and lavish jewelry. He did not typically see himself among such company; he was merely an ordinary citizen returning to his modest apartment and his beloved wife.

The pressure in his chest intensified as he ascended further. Despite his instincts advising against it, Andrew glanced down at the throng below. A wave of dizziness washed over him, prompting him to shut his eyes tightly, hoping to dispel the sensation before he faltered.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The voice of an officer brought Andrew back to the present moment. He cleared his throat, striving to mask his unease.

"May I see your ticket, sir?"

The officer extended his hand, awaiting a response. Andrew blinked in surprise.

"Certainly."

He offered his first-class ticket, prompting a smile from the officer.

"Welcome aboard the Titanic, Mr. Winters."

Eager and unable to suppress his enthusiasm, seven-year-old Donal Caughey bounced energetically as if his shoes were equipped with springs. He twirled beside his mother while they stood in line to board the PS Ireland, the vessel that would transport them across the harbor. Having just completed the required health inspection, Donal tugged at his mother’s overcoat and pointed into the distance.

“Mum, are we truly boarding that enormous ship?” Donal inquired, his bright blue eyes filled with wonder.

“Yes, dear. How fortunate we are!”

Maeve smiled at her son, though a sense of unease churned within her, like unpredictable waves in her stomach. She gazed out at the Queenstown Harbor, where a light fog drifted across the water's surface, and the ship emanated an almost ethereal aura. The Titanic indeed resembled a floating palace.

Maeve was awestruck, still in disbelief that she was able to afford two third-class tickets aboard the most magnificent ship in the world. She managed to scrape together whatever money she could. She sold most of her belongings and Donal's old clothes. They didn't have much, but she sold anything of value. None of it meant much to her now that her husband was gone.

The ugly wrath of consumption claimed Niall just months ago, although Maeve's unrelenting grief warped her concept of time. Slowly rising out of the depths of depression since Niall's death, Maeve decided to pursue the dream she had shared with her husband: to sail to America.

Maeve was filled with wonder, still struggling to comprehend that she had managed to purchase two third-class tickets on the most splendid ship in the world. She gathered every bit of money she could find, selling most of her possessions along with Donal's old garments. Although they had little, she parted with anything that held value. None of these items held significance for her now that her husband was no longer by her side.

The cruel grip of illness had taken Niall just a few months prior, yet Maeve's profound sorrow distorted her perception of time. Gradually emerging from the depths of despair following Niall's passing, Maeve resolved to chase the dream they had once envisioned together: to embark on a journey to America.

Just a few kilometers away from embarking on the journey of their dreams, Maeve felt a deep yearning for Niall. She wished he could be there with her, sharing in the excitement of a new life alongside his family.

Suppressing her tears, Maeve closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing the salty air to dance around her senses. When she opened her eyes, she gazed down at her enthusiastic son, a true reflection of his father. She grasped Donal's hand tightly, as if to reassure herself of their presence on the pier. He looked up at her with a radiant smile that dispelled all her uncertainties.