The early rays of the sun filtered through the small, cracked window, casting a golden glow on the modest interior of Alessandra's home. Inside, the family was already awake, each member absorbed in their morning tasks. Clara was kneading dough, her tiny hands working tirelessly as she hummed a melody their father used to sing. Matteo was playing with the scraps of wood Luca had collected from the market, pretending they were soldiers in a battle. Luca sat cross-legged on the floor, sketching furiously in his tattered notebook.
"Luca, slow down," Alessandra said, smiling as she caught a glimpse of his work. "You'll wear out that pencil before we can afford another."
"I'm drawing something special, Mama," Luca replied without looking up. "It's you, Papa, and us. All of us together."
At the mention of his father, a fleeting shadow crossed Alessandra's face. She paused, her hands stilling over the pot she was stirring. It had been three years since Giovanni, her husband, had left to find work in the mines of the outer colonies. His letters had been regular at first—filled with hope and promises to return—but they had grown infrequent and, eventually, stopped altogether.
"Mama, will Papa come back someday?" Luca asked suddenly, his large, curious eyes looking up at her.
Alessandra hesitated, her heart aching at the question. She knelt beside him, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "Luca, your Papa loved us very much. He went away to give us a better life. But sometimes, life doesn't go as we hope."
"Is he… is he gone forever?" Luca's voice wavered.
Tears threatened to spill, but Alessandra held them back. She pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly. "I don't know, caro. But what I do know is that he's with us in our hearts. And as long as we remember him, he'll always be here."
Luca buried his face in her shoulder, his small hands clutching her dress. "I miss him, Mama."
"I know, amore mio," Alessandra whispered, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. "I miss him too. But we have each other, don't we? And as long as we're together, we can face anything."
The moment was interrupted by Clara's voice. "Mama, the bread's ready!"
Alessandra released Luca, planting a kiss on his forehead before standing. "Let's eat, then. We need our strength."
The next few days passed uneventfully, but the tension in the settlement grew with each sunrise. The whispers of illness turned into shouts. The streets, once bustling, were now eerily quiet. Alessandra noticed the changes—closed market stalls, hurried footsteps, and neighbors avoiding eye contact. It wasn't long before the fear reached their doorstep.
"Mama, why can't I go outside anymore?" Luca asked one afternoon, staring longingly at the courtyard through the window.
Alessandra knelt beside him, her hands resting on his shoulders. "There's something out there, Luca. Something that's making people sick. We have to stay inside to keep safe."
"But why aren't we getting sick?" Luca asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.
Alessandra didn't have an answer. She had noticed it too—while neighbors succumbed to fever and weakness, her family remained untouched. She kept it to herself, fearing what others might think. "Maybe it's because we're careful," she said, squeezing his shoulders. "We follow the rules, we stay clean, and we stick together."
"But what if it comes here?" Luca's voice was barely a whisper.
"Then we'll fight it," Alessandra said firmly. "Like we always do."
As the virus spread, the settlement president, Paolo Moretti, issued strict guidelines. People were forbidden to leave their homes except for essential needs. Those showing symptoms were taken to makeshift clinics, though it was whispered that few ever returned. The fear of the unknown loomed large, but Alessandra refused to let it consume her family.
Each day, she found ways to keep them occupied. She taught Clara how to sew, helped Matteo build elaborate towers with his wooden blocks, and spent hours with Luca, encouraging his sketches. They shared stories, sang songs, and clung to the routines that gave their days structure.
One evening, as the family gathered for dinner, Luca brought out his latest drawing. It depicted their family, with Alessandra in the center, holding them all together like a shield.
"This is beautiful, Luca," Alessandra said, her voice thick with emotion. "You have a gift."
"It's because of you, Mama," Luca said earnestly. "You make us feel safe."
Alessandra smiled, her heart swelling with pride and love. "That's my job, caro. To keep you safe and happy."
---
The next morning, the quiet streets erupted into chaos. Alessandra peered out the window, her heart pounding as she saw people running, their faces masks of fear. She heard the distant wails of sirens and the sharp crack of something breaking.
"What's happening, Mama?" Clara asked, clutching Matteo to her side.
"I don't know," Alessandra said, her voice steady despite the rising panic. "Stay inside. Lock the doors."
She stepped outside, her eyes scanning the street. A man stumbled past, his skin pale and drenched in sweat. "It's spreading!" he cried. "We're all doomed!"
Alessandra quickly shut the door, bolting it behind her. She turned to find Luca standing behind her, his face pale. "Is it the virus?"
"Yes," Alessandra said. "But we're safe here. We have each other."
"But Mama, why doesn't it affect us?" Luca pressed.
"I don't know, Luca," Alessandra admitted. "But we can't question it. We just have to be grateful."
---
That night, as the family huddled together, Alessandra felt a strange mix of fear and gratitude. The virus was an invisible enemy, tearing through the settlement with ruthless efficiency. Yet, her family remained untouched, as though protected by some unseen force.
Luca curled up beside her, his small hand slipping into hers. "Mama, do you think we'll ever see Papa again?"
Alessandra stroked his hair, her voice soft. "I don't know, caro. But no matter what happens, we'll always have each other. And that's what matters most."
In the distance, the sirens wailed, a haunting reminder of the chaos outside. But within the small, dimly lit room, there was a warmth that no virus could touch—a bond forged through love, resilience, and the unyielding strength of a mother's heart.