THIRTY-NINE

Lucia

June 5, 1944

When the sun sank toward the horizon that evening, Lucia stood alone on her terrace. Rome, spreading before her, was alive. Church bells rang, pealing from hundreds of towers, filling the city with a jeweled crescendo. In the streets below, people still walked, laughing and crying in fevered joy. Rooftops and bell towers glowed in the setting sun, pink as a blush.

Lucia turned from Rome to the lemon tree. It grew on in its humble pot, fighting heat and drought and neglect, persistent in its reach for the sun. Drawing a deep breath, Lucia stepped across the terrace and knelt before the tree, sitting on her heels. She reached out to touch a tear-shaped leaf.

“Carlo,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.”

The wind murmured, bending leaves on the lemon tree. Lucia touched the wedding band on her finger.

“I loved you, always. Do you know that? I miss you so much.” Her voice cracked, and she paused. Hanging high over the terrace and all the rooftops of Rome, the first stars winked in the sky. She lifted her eyes to them, pulling words from her soul.

“I wish we’d had more time together. I no longer blame you, Carlo, for anything. The world got in the way. Yet every night I yearn to hold you in my arms one more time. To talk to you. I wish I could put my hand—” Her voice left her for a moment. “I wish I could put my hand on your beating heart.”

She folded slowly over her knees, her forehead bumping the terra-cotta pot and resting there, like a pilgrim at journey’s end. Grief rolled through her, endless as waves, while the sun dipped below the distant hills.

When Lucia sat back up, pulling in long, shuddering breaths, the stars shone brighter. She stared at them, knees numb, her wet face lifted to the deepening night. He wasn’t coming back. She’d hoped, despite everything, that he might. That there had been a mistake, that he would appear in her life once more, warm and alive. But the truth of it settled in her soul like a soft rain. He was gone this time. Forever.

She spoke again, her eyes on the stars. “Thank you for giving me Matteo. He’s the gift of my life. And when he looks at me, Carlo, I see you. You’re there in his eyes. Someday I’ll tell him about his father. About your bravery, and integrity, and the way I loved you. The way I always will.”

She paused, glancing from star to star, piecing together constellations of her own design.

“I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do next.” She turned the ring on her finger, eyes on the strengthening stars. “When I first knew we’d lost you, I thought I’d also lose myself. To grief. But then Matteo nearly slipped away as well, and things became clear. I can’t give in to my private pain. So many people have lost everyone they love to this war, but I still have Matteo. And the two of us have a future.” She looked from the stars to the tiny, struggling tree. When she found her voice again, it came out whole.

“Today I watched the Allies arrive, finally, and I knew: We can’t forget. We have to keep fighting for the world we want to see. I’ll never hold my true heart back again, Carlo. I’ll step forward, however I can, and build a better world for our son.”