The days had grown colder as the virus spread like wildfire through the Lunar Divide settlement. The once vibrant streets, filled with laughter and chatter, had turned quiet, like the air itself was holding its breath. Alessandra had kept her family close, the walls of their humble home now a refuge from the chaos outside. But even within, the heavy presence of fear lingered, a shadow that refused to leave.
Luca had grown quieter in recent days, his bright energy dimmed by the uncertainty that gripped their lives. But he still clung to his mother's side, seeking comfort in the warmth of her embrace, in the softness of her voice when she spoke to him.
"Luca, come here, let Mama finish this," Alessandra said one morning, her voice low and comforting as she knelt by the fire. Clara was at the table, eyes fixed on her younger brother as she carefully cut the vegetables for the stew.
Alessandra's gaze shifted to her eldest daughter, the girl who had grown so much in the past few months. At just ten years old, Clara had become a second mother to Luca, taking on responsibilities far beyond her years. Yet, Alessandra still saw in her the spark of a child—a child who deserved to be carefree, to run through the streets, to chase the laughter that seemed so distant now.
The virus had taken its toll on the settlement. It was no longer just whispers or rumors in the market. The sickness was here, and it was everywhere. The hospital was overwhelmed, and there were stories—stories that made the blood run cold. People who showed symptoms didn't last long. The fever consumed them. The cough turned into something far worse.
Alessandra had done everything she could to protect her children. She kept them inside, enforced strict hygiene, and prayed to the stars above. But deep down, she knew it was only a matter of time before the illness came knocking on their door.
The knock came on the fifth day of the fever.
Clara was the first to show signs—small at first, a slight cough, a fever that Alessandra attributed to the change in weather. But as the day wore on, Clara's condition worsened. By evening, her breathing had become labored, and her pale face was drenched in sweat.
"Clara, sweetie," Alessandra whispered, holding her daughter's hand, her voice trembling. "Just a little while longer, okay? Mama will get you through this. Just hold on."
But Clara's eyes, once so full of life, were now clouded with pain. She could barely speak, but she managed a faint smile when she saw her mother's worried face. It was the kind of smile that made Alessandra's heart ache even more. Her strong, resilient Clara—her firstborn—was slipping away right in front of her.
As the night fell, the house became a place of sorrow. Alessandra stayed by Clara's side, wiping her fevered brow, trying to soothe her with soft words of comfort, even though the weight of helplessness was suffocating her.
Luca, unable to fully grasp the gravity of the situation, sat quietly by the window, staring out into the night, his small face pale and drawn. He hadn't said much since the fever took hold of Clara, his once carefree nature now shadowed by a sadness he didn't understand.
It wasn't until the second night that the inevitable came.
Clara's breathing grew weaker and shallower. Alessandra held her daughter's hand, the pain in her chest almost unbearable. Clara's small fingers twitched as though trying to hold on, but Alessandra knew in her heart that it wouldn't be long now.
"Mama," Clara whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a kind of peace that made Alessandra's heart ache. "I'm... I'm sorry."
"No, sweetie, don't apologize," Alessandra whispered, her voice breaking. "You've done nothing wrong. You're my strong, brave girl. You've always been strong."
Clara's eyes, once full of questions, now seemed to hold all the answers. She squeezed her mother's hand with what little strength she had left.
"I'm... so proud of you, Mama. You... you've always... taken care of us... always... been... so strong..." Clara's voice faded, but the words still hung in the air like a lingering scent of a memory too precious to forget.
Alessandra's tears fell freely now, as she held her daughter's hand to her cheek. She kissed Clara's forehead, unable to say the words her heart was screaming.
"Please don't go, Clara," she whispered, the rawness of the moment too much to bear. "You're my heart. Please, don't leave me."
But Clara's strength had run out. With one final, ragged breath, she whispered her last words.
"I love you, Mama... I'll... always be with you."
Then, just like that, Clara was gone.
Alessandra froze, her heart shattering. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move. The world seemed to crumble around her as she sat there, holding her daughter's limp hand in her own. The house was silent except for the quiet sobs that echoed in the empty space between them.
Luca, hearing his mother's quiet sobs, rushed to her side. His eyes, wide with fear, darted from his mother to Clara's still form.
"Mama... is Clara...?" Luca's voice cracked, and Alessandra couldn't bring herself to answer.
Instead, she gathered him into her arms, holding him tightly as though he might slip away too.
"Yes, Luca," she whispered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "Clara's gone. She's in the stars now, looking down on us. She'll always be with us."
Luca's tears fell freely now, as he clung to his mother. The bond between them, once so simple, now became unbreakable. They would carry Clara's memory with them, and they would survive—for her.
In the days that followed, Alessandra buried her daughter beneath the stars that had once been Clara's favorite. She promised herself she would never let Clara's spirit fade. She would fight for her children—she would fight for a future that would honor Clara's memory.
The virus continued to rage, but Alessandra refused to let it take more. Every day, she clung to the hope that somehow, somewhere, there would be a cure—a way to stop the plague from claiming more lives.
But for now, she held Luca close, the weight of her grief tempered by the overwhelming love she had for him.
Clara was gone, but she would never truly be lost. Not in Alessandra's heart, and not in Luca's memories.
Together, they would survive. Together, they would keep moving forward, for Clara—and for each other.