6.
AURORA VALEN?A
I cried for four minutes.
I timed it because I could not allow myself any longer.
Three children were in the other room with a man who, although he was their father, was still practically a stranger.
I washed my face.
I breathed.
When I returned, I found Dante sitting on the floor.
Tomás was climbing onto his back.
Elisa was trying to place a hair clip in his hair.
Cecília had awakened and was watching all three of them from the mattress.
Dante looked desperate.
“Don’t move,” Elisa ordered.
“I’m trying.”
“You moved.”
“Tomás is on top of me.”
“I’m a horsie,” the boy announced.
“You’re riding the horse. You aren’t the horse,” Dante corrected him.
“I am.”
“All right.”
Elisa pulled a strand of his hair.
Dante closed one eye.
I almost laughed.
I refused to allow it.
“The two hours are over.”
Elisa protested.
“But I didn’t finish.”
Dante removed Tomás from his back.
“Your mother said it’s over.”
He did not question me.
He did not ask for more time.
That should have reassured me.
Instead, it created a dangerous sensation.
Hope.
“Tomorrow?” Elisa asked.
Dante looked at me.
“I don’t know yet,” I answered.
She pouted.
“Why?”
“Because I decide.”
“He can come.”
“Elisa.”
“He plays bad, but he learns.”
Dante lowered his head.
I could not tell whether he was hiding a smile.
“Pick up the box of blocks,” I ordered.
She obeyed while complaining.
Dante stood.
“Can I speak to you outside?”
“No.”
“It’s about the investigation.”
My attention sharpened.
“What happened?”
“Otávio may be in Brazil.”
Fear appeared before I could contain it.
“Where?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“How do you know?”
“A company connected to him moved money in S?o Paulo.”
“That doesn’t mean he returned.”
“No. But it means he’s active.”
I crossed my arms.
“And why did you come to tell me?”
“Because you may be in danger.”
“He hasn’t contacted me in four years.”
“Because he believed the case was over.”
“And now?”
“The painting resurfaced. The investigation has been reopened. He may attempt to silence anyone who knows too much.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“You hired Miguel.”
“And that nearly sent me to prison.”
“Otávio may believe you received evidence.”
“I didn’t.”
“He doesn’t need to know that.”
I looked at the children.
Tomás was trying to climb onto the table.
“Get down.”
He immediately climbed off.
Something in my tone alerted him.
Cecília stood and approached me, dragging her blue cloth.
“Mommy.”
I lifted her into my arms.
“Everything is all right.”
Dante watched us.
“I want to arrange security here.”
“No.”
“Aurora.”
“I will not surround my children with armed men.”
“It can be discreet.”
“No.”
“He stole millions in artwork and framed his own niece. We don’t know what he is capable of.”
“I lived for four years without your protection.”
“And now you don’t have to continue living without it.”
The sentence sounded exactly like the old Dante.
Certain that his presence solved everything.
“You still don’t understand.”
“I understand there is a threat.”
“You understand that you can seize control.”
“I’m trying to keep all of you safe.”
“I keep my children safe.”
“I didn’t say otherwise.”
“You did when you decided on your own to station security outside my door.”
He inhaled deeply.
“All right. What do you propose?”
The question surprised me.
“I’ll speak to Miguel.”
“He isn’t a police officer.”
“I trust him.”
Dante absorbed the provocation.
“All right.”
“I also want access to all the information from the investigation.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
“Unfiltered.”
“Unfiltered.”
“And you will not make any decisions regarding me or the children without consulting me.”
“Agreed.”
“It isn’t agreed until you actually do it.”
“Then I’ll do it.”
Cecília touched my face.
“Mommy mad.”
“A little.”
She looked at Dante.
“He did it?”
“Not now.”
Dante became pale.
Cecília rested her head on my shoulder.
“Don’t fight.”
My heart tightened.
“We aren’t fighting.”
“Are too.”
“We’re talking.”
“Loud.”
“I’m sorry.”
Dante lowered himself until he was at her height but maintained his distance.
“I’m sorry, Cecília.”
She watched him.
“You leaving?”
The question pierced me.
Dante felt it too.
“Your mother asked me to go.”
“You come back?”
He looked at me.
I could not answer for him.
Nor did I want him making promises.
“I’ll come back when your mother says I may,” he said.
Cecília considered his answer.
“Okay.”
No trust.
No smile.
But she did not hide either.
It was something.
After Dante left, the children were restless.
Elisa asked seventeen times when he would return.
Tomás wanted to know whether the sad man had a house.
Cecília asked nothing.
That night, after their baths, I put all three to bed.
They slept in the same room, each in a low bed against a different wall.
The routine began with two stories.
In practice, it was almost always four.
“I choose,” Elisa said.
“You chose yesterday.”
“I choose today too.”
“Today is Tomás’s turn.”
He picked up the dinosaur book.
Cecília made a face.
“Not again.”
“Dino is good.”
“Dino is scary.”
“Choose another one,” I suggested.
Fifteen minutes later, they were still arguing.
Finally, I read a story about a fox searching for the moon.
Tomás interrupted on every page.
Elisa corrected passages I had not read incorrectly.
Cecília remained clinging to my arm.
When I finished, I turned off the main light.
“Mommy,” Elisa called.
“Hmm?”
“Is the sad man our friend?”
The question came through the darkness.
I sat between their beds.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Is he your friend?”
“No.”
“You don’t like him?”
Tomás raised his head.
“He did bad.”
Elisa pointed.
“He said sorry.”
“Saying sorry doesn’t fix everything,” I said.
“What fixes it?” she asked.
I could not find a simple answer.
“Some things need time.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
“Tomorrow?”
“More than that.”
“Day after tomorrow?”
“Go to sleep.”
Elisa did not give up.
“Does he have children?”
I closed my eyes.
The question had finally arrived.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
My throat tightened.
“You.”
The bedroom became silent.
Even Tomás stopped moving.
Elisa sat up.
“I’m his daughter?”
“You, Cecília, and Tomás.”
“He’s our daddy?”
“Yes.”
Tomás smiled.
“I have a daddy.”
Cecília curled in on herself.
“Don’t want.”
Her answer hurt.
I moved closer.
“You don’t have to want anything right now.”
“He live here?”
“No.”
“He take us?”
“Never.”
She began to cry.
“Don’t want to go.”
I lifted her into my arms.
“No one is taking you anywhere. Daddy… Dante only came to meet you.”
The word Daddy was difficult to say.
Elisa repeated it.
“Daddy Dante.”
“You can call him Dante.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re still getting to know him.”
“Did he know about us?”
The air disappeared.
Three-year-olds asked questions without understanding their weight.
“He didn’t know there were three of you.”
“He knew one?” Tomás asked.
Tears threatened.
“He knew there was a baby in my belly.”
“And he left?” Elisa asked.
I looked at my daughter.
I did not want to lie.
I also did not want to burden her with an adult pain.
“He believed something that wasn’t true.”
“What?”
“That I had done something bad.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then he was silly.”
A damp laugh escaped me.
“He was.”
“Now he knows?”
“He does.”
Elisa lay back down.
“Then it’s done.”
For her, the world still allowed simple solutions.
Discover the truth.
Say you were sorry.
Come back.
Cecília did not think that way.
She remained clinging to me.
“Will he leave again?” she whispered.
I kissed her hair.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
But I did not answer her question.
Because I did not trust Dante.
And, for the first time, I realized I might not trust myself around him either.