Beneath the Shadow of Maine
Copyright© 2026 by MF Bridges
Chapter 6: Ashes and Aftermath
The city woke to a sickly haze, the air thick with smoke and sorrow. Flags hung at half-mast, and the bells of every church tolled for the dead. Havana’s streets filled with processions—American sailors carrying stretchers, Spanish officers barking orders, women clinging to each other in the doorways, eyes red from weeping.
Lucía’s home felt smaller that morning, crowded with neighbors seeking news, comfort, or rumors. Her father raged at the Spanish authorities for failing to protect the city. Her mother wept into a handkerchief, mourning a friend lost aboard the Maine. Lucía moved among them, her hands steady but her heart in tatters.
When the visitors finally left, she retreated to the courtyard, clutching the last letter her friend had written—a letter never sent, filled with plans for a better Cuba, for peace. The words blurred as tears welled in her eyes.
A quiet voice broke the stillness.
“Lucía.”
She turned, half-expecting her brother, but found Michael standing at the iron gate. He looked exhausted—soot on his cuffs, a torn sleeve, and a haunted look in his eyes.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he said softly.
She let him in anyway. They sat together on the stone bench, the garden silent around them. Michael’s hands shook as he spoke.
“I tried to help. I wrote what I saw. But I don’t know if it matters. There’s already talk of war, Lucía. My country wants someone to blame.”
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