Matilda sat heavily on the wooden porch of Uncle Ben's house, her legs swinging gently over the edge.
It was her twelfth day in Wattle Creek, and the night wrapped around her like a soft blanket, cool and calm, with stars sparkling bright in the dark sky.
She pulled her knees close to her chest, still a little jittery from the wild snake chase earlier that day with Jack.
They'd managed to catch the slippery thing—barely—and shared a big laugh afterward, which made Matilda feel a spark of pride deep inside.
Her ankle throbbed a bit from tripping over that stupid rope in the barn, but she felt strong, just like Jack had told her she was.
Inside the house, Uncle Ben was clattering around in the kitchen, pots and pans banging as he cleaned up from dinner.
Matilda had eaten a bowl of his hearty stew earlier, sitting quietly at the table, her mind buzzing with thoughts of Jack, the snake, and her parents' big, scary plan to move all the way to London.
She hadn't called them yet, even though she knew she probably should. But she didn't want to talk to them.
They'd shipped her off to this tiny little town, and now they were talking about dragging her across the world.
Part of her was so mad at them she could scream, but another part missed them so much her chest ached.
It was all tangled up inside her, like a big knot she couldn't undo.
The screen door creaked loudly, and Uncle Ben stepped out onto the porch, holding a cold beer in his hand.
"Hey, Matilda Rose, you're awful quiet out here again," he said, easing himself down beside her with a small grunt. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
"Just thinking," Matilda mumbled, her eyes fixed on her scuffed sneakers instead of meeting his gaze.
She kicked at the porch a little, the wood creaking under her foot.
"Thinking about that whole London business?" Uncle Ben asked, tilting his head to look at her, his voice gentle but curious.
"Yeah," she said, picking nervously at a loose thread on her jeans. "And, you know, some other stuff too. It's not just one thing."
He let out a warm chuckle, the kind that made her feel like he wasn't laughing at her. "Other stuff, huh? Like Jack Thomas Flynn, maybe?"
"Oh, come on, Uncle Ben, shut up!" Matilda said, her cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment. She swatted at the air like she could push his words away. "It's not like that at all, okay?"
"Sure, sure, whatever you say," Uncle Ben said, taking a slow sip of his beer, a playful grin spreading across his face. "But you and that Flynn boy, you're spending an awful lot of time together lately. Seems like you're stuck to each other like glue."
"We're not stuck together," Matilda said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "We just work on the barn together, that's all. And, you know, do chores and stuff around the place."
"And catch snakes, from what I've been hearing," Uncle Ben said, raising one eyebrow, his grin growing wider.
Matilda's eyes went big, and she turned to face him. "Wait, who told you about the snake thing?" she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.
"Jack's dad, that's who," Uncle Ben said, leaning back on his hands, looking out at the starry sky. "Ran into him down at the pub earlier today. He said Jack was going on and on about it, laughing his head off all day long."
Matilda couldn't help but smile a little, the memory of Jack's goofy laugh flashing in her mind.
"Okay, yeah, it was kind of funny," she admitted, her voice softening. "But it was only funny after we were sure we weren't going to get bitten and die or something."
"You're a tough kid, Matilda Rose Harper," Uncle Ben said, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge with his own. "Didn't think you had that kind of bravery in you when you first got here."
"Thanks, I guess," she said, her smile growing a bit bigger.
She leaned back on her hands too, copying his pose, the porch boards creaking under her weight.
The stars above looked so huge and bright, way prettier than the dull, hazy sky back in Sydney. She was starting to really like them, these Wattle Creek stars.
"So," Uncle Ben said after a quiet moment, "you thinking about calling your mom and dad tonight? Maybe talk things over with them?"
"Nope," Matilda said quickly, shaking her head so fast her ponytail swung. "They can wait a little longer. I'm not ready to deal with them yet."
"They're not gonna wait forever, you know," Uncle Ben said, his voice turning softer, more serious. "They're calling tomorrow, just so you're prepared."
"Ugh, great," Matilda groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. "That's exactly what I need right now."
She didn't want to hear her dad's loud, frustrated voice yelling through the phone or her mom's quiet sniffles as she tried not to cry.
She just wanted to stay right here, sitting on this porch, looking at the stars, thinking about the barn and Jack.
Just for a little while longer, she wanted things to stay simple.
Uncle Ben stood up, stretching his arms above his head with a big yawn.
"Alright, I'm heading to bed," he said, giving her a pat on the shoulder. "Don't stay out here too late, okay? You need your rest."
"Okay, I won't," Matilda said, waving him off with a small smile.
He shuffled back inside, the screen door closing with a soft thud behind him. She stayed where she was, her eyes locked on the night sky.
Crickets chirped all around her, their steady song filling the air.
Her thoughts drifted back to Jack—his silly grin, the way he'd held that bucket so carefully when they caught the snake, the way his laugh always made her want to laugh too.
She wasn't sure what they were to each other, not exactly, but it felt like something big. Something scary, but also something good.
After a while, Matilda stood up, brushing off her jeans, and shuffled inside to her room.
The bed creaked loudly as she sat down on it, her backpack slouched against the desk nearby, stuff spilling out all over the place—pens, a crumpled sock, and something strange that caught her eye.
A letter? She frowned, reaching for it, her fingers brushing the rough paper. She didn't remember packing any letters when she came to Wattle Creek.
The envelope was old, yellowed, and crinkly, like it had been sitting somewhere for years.
Her dad's name was written on it—James Robert Harper—in faded, messy handwriting. There was no stamp, which made it even weirder.
Matilda opened the envelope carefully, like she was afraid it might crumble in her hands.
Inside was just one page, the writing sloppy but clear enough to read. She took a deep breath and started reading:
"Ben, I'm leaving. I can't stay in Wattle Creek anymore. It's too small, too quiet, you know how it is. I'm heading to Sydney to try something new. Don't tell Mom and Dad yet, okay? I'll call them when I get settled. Sorry for doing it this way. James."
Matilda's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding. Her dad wrote this? To Uncle Ben?
She checked the date at the top—twenty years ago. Her dad was young back then, maybe even her age.
She read the letter again, her mind spinning like a top. He'd run away from Wattle Creek, just like she kept daydreaming about running back to Sydney.
It was so strange, like looking at a piece of herself in those words.
Her hands trembling, Matilda dug through the desk drawer, finding more letters tucked away in the back.
Five of them, all from her dad to Uncle Ben. She sat cross-legged on the bed and read them one by one, her eyes flying over the words.
He wrote about Sydney—getting a job at a store, finding a tiny flat, meeting her mom at a café.
One letter said, "I miss the stars sometimes, but I can't come back. Not now."
Another one said, "Tell Mom I'm sorry for leaving like that. I didn't mean to hurt her."
The last one was short, just a few lines: "Matilda's born. She's perfect. Come visit us soon."
Matilda let the letters fall onto the bed, her stomach twisting into knots. Her dad was from Wattle Creek.
He'd grown up here, lived here, then left it all behind to start a new life. He'd had her, and now he was leaving again—this time to London.
It made her feel sick, like the ground was shifting under her feet. He'd run away before, and he was doing it again.
Did she even matter to him? Was she just something he could leave behind too?
Grabbing the letters, Matilda stormed down the hall to Uncle Ben's room, banging on the door with her fist.
"Hey! Uncle Ben!" she shouted, her voice sharp with anger. "What's all this racket?"
Uncle Ben grumbled, pulling the door open. He was in old, faded pajamas, his hair sticking up from trying to sleep. "Matilda, it's late."
"These!" she said, thrusting the letters toward him, her voice loud and shaky. "Why didn't you ever tell me about these? Why'd you hide them?"
He blinked, looking surprised, then let out a long sigh. "Alright, come on in," he said, stepping aside to let her into the room.
She followed him to the kitchen, where he sat down at the table, rubbing his tired face with both hands.
"I didn't think those letters were a big deal, Matilda. They're old," Uncle Ben explained.
"They're a huge deal!" Matilda said, slamming the letters down on the table, the papers scattering a bit. "Dad's from here? Like, he grew up in Wattle Creek, and nobody told me?"
"Yeah, that's right," Uncle Ben said, nodding slowly, his voice calm. "He was born and raised right here in this town, same as me. Left when he was seventeen, chasing something bigger."
"Why'd he leave?" Matilda asked, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and confusion.
She sat down across from him, her arms crossed tightly.
Uncle Ben shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Same reason you're always talking about Sydney, kid. He hated it here. Thought Wattle Creek was too small, too quiet, too boring. He wanted something more exciting, you know?"
"He never told me any of this," Matilda said, her voice quieter now, but still sharp. "Why wouldn't he tell me something so important?"
"I don't know, Matilda," Uncle Ben said, scratching his head. "Maybe he was ashamed of running off like that. Or maybe he just forgot about it over the years, moved on with his life."
Matilda's chest felt heavy, like a weight was pressing down on her.
"He's leaving again," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's going to London, and he's dragging us with him."
"I know," Uncle Ben said, his voice soft and steady. "Your dad's always been like that, restless, always chasing something new."
"What about me?" Matilda asked, her voice cracking as tears stung her eyes. "Does he even care about me at all?"
"You're here, aren't you?" Uncle Ben said, looking right at her, his eyes kind but serious. "You're staying with me. He doesn't know what he's doing yet, Matilda. He's still figuring things out, just like you are."
"He's a jerk," she said, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "He sent me here to get rid of me, didn't he? Just dumped me in Wattle Creek."
"No way, that's not true," Uncle Ben said, shaking his head firmly. "He sent you here to help you, to give you some space. Thought it might fix things. It just didn't work out the way he planned, that's all."
"Fix me?" Matilda said, her voice rising again, her face hot with anger. "I'm not some broken toy he can just send away to get repaired!"
"You were acting pretty wild back in Sydney," Uncle Ben said, keeping his voice even, not rising to her anger. "Sneaking out at night, getting into fights at school. He didn't know how to handle it, Matilda. He was scared for you."
"So he just dumped me here," she said, her hands balling into fists on the table. "And now he's running off again to London, like it's no big deal."
"Maybe," Uncle Ben said, letting out another sigh. "But you've gotta talk to him tomorrow. Tell him how you feel about all this. Yell at him if you need to, get it out."
"Oh, I will," Matilda said, grabbing the letters and clutching them tightly. "I'm gonna yell a lot, believe me." She paused, looking down at the crumpled papers in her hand. "Why'd you keep these letters anyway? Why not throw them out?"
Uncle Ben looked at the table, his fingers tapping lightly on the wood.
"They're memories," he said quietly. "Your dad's my little brother. I missed him after he left Wattle Creek. Still miss him sometimes, even now."
Matilda nodded, her throat tight with emotion.
She didn't fully understand, but she felt something deep inside—a connection, maybe, to her dad, to Uncle Ben, to this place.
Her dad was like her, lost and running from things that felt too hard. But she didn't want to be like that. Not anymore.
She stood up, the letters still in her hand, and walked back to her room, her footsteps heavy on the floor.
Sitting on her bed, Matilda read the letters again, her eyes tracing her dad's messy handwriting.
His words sounded so much like hers—hating Wattle Creek, wanting something bigger, something more.
But now, she didn't hate this place. Not with Jack around, making her laugh. Not with the stars shining so bright outside her window.
She lay down, the letters crinkling against her fingers, their rough edges pressing into her skin. Tomorrow, she'd see Jack.
She'd tell him everything—about the letters, her dad, how mad she was. He'd listen, like he always did, even when she was being stubborn or grumpy.
Matilda closed her eyes, the weight of the truth settling in her chest. Her dad had run away from Wattle Creek.
But she wouldn't. Not yet. Not until she figured out what she wanted, and who she wanted to be.