The sisters were packing up the remaining tomatoes when they saw their parents approaching.
Luggage.
Too much of it.
Isabella dropped the crate in her hands. "Papa…?"
Their mother's eyes were red. Their father didn't meet their gaze.
"The landlord," he said quietly. "He ended the lease."
Lucia froze. "They're supposed to give six months' notice."
Her father nodded once. "They did. It expired last week."
Sofia's voice cracked. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"You did tell us," she added, anger rising. "We could have done something!"
She spun on her heel and ran.
Lucia hesitated, knowing better than to chase her sister when Sofia was that angry. She stayed.
That night, Sofia slept against a fence.
Lucia didn't sleep at all.
Lorenzo found her just outside his house.
Sofia sat on the ground, back against the low wall, knees drawn close to her chest. She looked small—nothing like the sharp-tongued girl who argued with customers at the tomato stand. For a moment, he feared she had fainted.
"Sofia?" he said, stepping closer.
She stirred, eyes snapping open in panic, scrambling to her knees, breath uneven, as if the night had never truly released her.
"Hey—hey," Lorenzo said, lowering himself to her level. "It's me. You're safe."
Recognition flickered across her face. Her shoulders collapsed.
"What happened?" he asked gently.
For a moment, she said nothing. Then the words spilled—broken, rushed, tangled with anger and exhaustion. She told him about the landlord, the notice, the luggage, her parents' silence, and the uncertainty of where they would go. Her hands trembled as she spoke.
Lorenzo listened without interrupting. He had known Sofia and her sisters all their lives but never met their parents—never considered the full weight of their struggles.
When her voice finally faded, silence stretched between them.
"Where's Lucia?" he asked quietly.
Sofia hesitated. "I ran. She followed… then stopped."
That was all he needed to hear.
"Come inside," Lorenzo said, already reaching for his keys. "We'll figure this out. But first—I need to find your sister."
Without waiting for an answer, he hurried down the street.
A few streets away, Lorenzo found the family gathered. The mother sat on a suitcase, hands folded tightly in her lap. The father stood beside her, rigid and silent. Isabella paced, worry written plainly on her face.
"Where's Lucia?" Lorenzo asked immediately.
"She went after Sofia," the father said. "She hasn't come back."
Lorenzo exhaled sharply. "Sofia is safe. She's at my house."
All three looked at him at once.
"Go straight," he continued, pointing. "Then turn left. You'll see a black gate—that's my place."
The mother didn't wait. She grabbed her bag, Isabella followed, calling her father as they hurried off.
Lorenzo turned the opposite way and ran.
By the time dawn broke, Tal was already awake.
It was just past seven when he sat up in the guesthouse, the quiet morning settling around him. He showered, dressed slowly and deliberately, as if time had no authority over him. When he stepped outside, the air was cool, untouched—the kind of calm that exists only before the day decides what it will become.
That was when he saw her.
Lucia sat on a bench at the edge of the street. Tal slowed his steps, certainty settling in.
"Lucia?" he said carefully.
Startled, she looked up. Recognition crossed her face.
"Oh… hey," she said softly. "We met the other day, didn't we?"
"Yes," Tal replied. "At the shop. You're Isabella's sister."
She nodded. "Her elder sister."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The morning was quiet, yet Lucia's posture betrayed unease—the way her hands clenched in her lap, her eyes avoiding his.
Tal studied her, unconsciously.
"Something's wrong," he said.
She hesitated. "It's nothing."
He didn't press. Instead, he sat beside her, leaving space—not intrusive, not distant.
"From my observation," he said after a pause, "you carry a weight that doesn't belong to today."
She exhaled, shaky, unsteady.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"
"You don't have to explain," Tal said. "But if you want to… I can listen."
She looked at him, really looked, and the stranger's presence made it easier to speak.
Tears streamed freely as she told him everything—landlord, notice, luggage, parents' silence, Sofia running away.
"I don't even know why I'm telling you this," she whispered. "I don't know you."
Tal said nothing. He only listened.
When her voice faded, her shoulders shook. Instinctively, she leaned forward. Tal rose slightly, steadying her as she rested her head against his chest.
At that moment, footsteps approached.
Lorenzo stopped short. Breathless, eyes fixed on the sight before him—Lucia, fragile and broken, leaning against a man he didn't know.
For a second, the world held its breath.
Lorenzo rushed forward, pulling Lucia away from Tal in a single, sharp motion. He placed himself between them.
Tal didn't resist. He straightened slowly, calm and composed, only slightly surprised, as if stepping into a story already unfolding.
His eyes lingered on the scene—the tension in Lorenzo, the tremor in Lucia, the quiet understanding in his own gaze.
"Do you know him?" Lorenzo asked, still protective.
Before she could answer, Tal spoke.
"Do you know Lucia?" he asked, turning to Lorenzo.
The question landed heavier than expected.
"Who are you to her?" Lorenzo shot back. "And how do you even know her?"
Tal didn't answer immediately. He looked at Lucia instead—waiting, observing, not demanding.
"I don't know him," she said quietly. "We're strangers. We just met."
Lorenzo frowned. "Then why are we having this conversation in front of him?"
Lucia hesitated, then lifted her head. Silence fell.
Tal remained still. He didn't defend himself. He didn't argue. He simply let the truth sit where it belonged.
Finally, Lucia spoke:
"Lorenzo… why are you here?"
He looked at her carefully before saying:
"Sofia was found in front of my house."
"What?" Lucia froze, trying to process.
"It's fine. She's in my house now. With family."
Relief washed over her, sudden and overwhelming. She watched Tal walk away, unsure why her gaze lingered longer than it should.
Lorenzo touched her arm gently.
"Come. They're waiting."
They found the family gathered—parents, Sofia, Isabella—all speaking at once, exhaustion and relief intermingled.
Discussion turned to where they would stay. Suggestions overlapped, uncertain and unsatisfying.
"We can ask around town," Lucia offered softly.
Lorenzo's head snapped up. "No. We don't know him."
The room stilled.
"Like you said," he continued, measured now, "he's a stranger. Trust doesn't come that easily."
Lucia lowered her gaze but said nothing.
Lorenzo softened, voice quieter yet resolute:
"You can stay with me. You'll be safe there."
Lucia nodded, though something inside her resisted—not loudly, just enough to feel the weight.
Somewhere in her mind, uninvited, Tal's figure returned. And she didn't understand why.
On the outskirts of Molis, Tal walked.
A man approached casually.
"What's your name?"
"Tal," he replied.
"Would you like to help out at the farm?"
Tal considered briefly. "Okay."
Matteo smiled, relieved. "Good. I'm the only one around today. The work is a lot."
Together, they headed toward the fields—unaware that this small choice would quietly anchor Tal to a place he hadn't planned to stay.
The farm sprawled beyond the fence: rows of fruit trees, livestock in motion, crops divided with precision.
"First thing," Matteo said casually, "we wash the pigs."
Tal froze. "Wash… the pigs?"
"Yes," Matteo replied. "For health purposes."
Tal stared at the animals, then back at Matteo. "I really don't know how to clean a pig."
Matteo shrugged, handling the work himself. Tal focused on the other animals, circling the task without refusal.
By evening, the sky darkened. Matteo said:
"You can stay the night. My family will be back around nine-thirty."
Tal hesitated. His guesthouse was over two kilometers away. No car. No taxi. Walking in the dark wasn't an option.