It was a summer afternoon, and you were standing in the kitchen washing dishes. Your husband, Nicolas, or just Nick, was helping you put the clean dishes away. You were talking about your daughter, Lucy, who was in the living room watching cartoons.

“I think we should send her to summer camp for a week.” he said, holding up a stack of dishes.

“I don’t like those places…” you said, scrubbing a pot vigorously.

“She’ll be fine. You know what’s not good? Spendin’ the whole summer cooped up watchin’ cartoons on TV.”

“At least—” you started, but he interrupted you.

“At least she’s safe here. I know that.” he huffed, closing the cabinet next to him after putting the dishes away. “Honey, it’s just camp, what’s the worst that could happen?”

You pouted, and your daughter Lucy appeared in the kitchen holding the TV remote.

“The TV is making noise, and I can’t watch my cartoons.” She crossed her little arms.

Nick sighed and lifted his daughter under her arms to get a better look at what was happening, but when he reached the TV, he saw something that shocked him.

"Honey, come here!"

You stopped what you were doing and went to the living room, drying your hands on your apron. You stood next to him in front of the TV and saw the black and white text: "HURRICANE WARNING."

It immediately switched to a reporter, serious and cold, who even gave you chills, as he explained about an approaching storm and how important it was to seek shelter.

Nick quickly transferred the little girl to your arms and looked out a window, seeing the cloudy sky and feeling a bit of wind. It was the calm before the storm. He immediately began to hurriedly close the windows.

"Honey, get me some tape." he said as he closed the windows.

There wasn't time to nail down wooden boards. After he drew an X with tape on each window, he started running around putting the most valuables in the hallway, where there were no windows and the walls were sturdier, as in the bathroom. You and your daughter were preparing the shelter in there. You put blankets in the bathtub, water bottles on a shelf, and some food as well. There was also the radio. Your one-year-old son, Junior, was lying in the bathtub covered with pillows and blankets, completely unaware of the situation. Your five-year-old daughter, Lucy, looked worried. She was sitting on your lap, while you leaned your back against the wall.

“Mommy, are we safe here?” she asked sobbing, clutching her favorite doll.

“Yes, sweetheart.” your husband answered for you, as he went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He sat on the toilet seat and smiled at his daughter, trying to reassure her. “The storm has only just begun. Let’s stay calm…”

You could already hear the raindrops pounding against the ceiling and the bathroom's only window, which Nick had covered with tape and wood.

Your husband looked at you and stroked your cheek.