23.
DANTE FERRAZ
The children left three marks inside my house that day.
A juice stain on the rug.
A pencil line on the wall.
And a plastic dinosaur forgotten beneath the sofa.
I did not remove any of them immediately.
The cleaning staff arrived the following morning.
I instructed them not to touch the pencil mark.
The rug could be cleaned.
The dinosaur remained where it was.
It was absurd.
Even so, seeing it made the house appear less empty.
Aurora allowed me to return the children at the end of the afternoon.
The photographers had gone, but two security guards remained discreetly on the street.
She did not complain.
Perhaps she was too exhausted.
The following day, the report became worse.
A website published old documents from the case.
Signatures.
Transfers.
Photographs.
The manipulated recording began circulating again.
The headline read:
THE WOMAN ACCUSED OF STEALING MILLIONS WHO NOW CLAIMS THREE HEIRS
Aurora had claimed nothing.
But facts did not create enough clicks.
My board demanded a meeting.
I agreed to a video conference.
“We need to distance the Ferraz Group from this narrative,” the legal director said.
“The narrative involves my children.”
“Exactly. The exposure may affect the company.”
“Then we protect the children.”
“Perhaps it would be prudent not to confirm paternity until testing.”
I went still.
“I have already confirmed it.”
“Not legally.”
“Biologically, I have no doubt.”
“Dante, we need to be strategic.”
The word.
Strategic.
“Four years ago, I was strategic.”
No one answered.
“The evidence appeared solid,” the director continued.
“It was false.”
“We did not know that.”
“Aurora told us.”
“An accused person always denies…”
“She was not ‘an accused person.’ She was the woman I intended to marry.”
Silence.
“We will issue another statement,” I said. “Confirming that the current investigation indicates fraud in the evidence.”
“The investigation is not complete.”
“Then we will say there are strong indications.”
“That may expose the group.”
“The group participated in the mistake.”
“Not officially.”
“I am the group when it is convenient. I am the group now too.”
The chairman breathed.
“Shareholders are concerned she may seek compensation.”
“She should.”
The response was immediate.
“Dante…”
“Aurora lost the museum, endured an investigation, was publicly destroyed, and raised three children alone because of a scheme my company helped validate.”
“Do you intend to admit liability?”
“I intend to admit the truth.”
“That may cost millions.”
“It will cost more.”
“How much?”
I thought.
“Whatever she decides.”
The meeting became hostile.
For the first time, I did not care.
For years, I had protected the Ferraz Group as though it were an extension of my body.
Now it seemed small beside three children and one woman.
“If the board does not accept it, I will call an extraordinary vote,” I said.
“Are you threatening your own company?”
“I am establishing a priority.”
I ended the meeting.
Miguel called minutes later.
“The article was fed by someone connected to Otávio.”
“Do you have proof?”
“The payment to the journalist came through an intermediary company.”
“Send it.”
“I already sent it to Aurora.”
Irritation rose.
“You could have sent it to both of us.”
“She is the victim.”
I breathed.
“You’re right.”
Miguel remained silent.
“That must hurt.”
“What?”
“Agreeing with me.”
“Less than it used to.”
“Aurora said you’re in therapy.”
“She told you?”
“No. Elisa told the teacher, who told half the town.”
I closed my eyes.
“Children repeat everything.”
“You learned.”
“What does Otávio want?”
“To pressure Aurora into surrendering documents she does not possess. Perhaps also destroy her credibility before he returns.”
“Is he in Brazil?”
“We have not confirmed it.”
“Find him.”
“I have been trying for four years.”
“Now you have my resources.”
“And your orders?”
“No. The resources remain under Aurora’s coordination.”
Miguel took a moment.
“Did she ask for that?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because it is her life.”
Silence.
“Perhaps you have changed a little,” he admitted.
“Not enough.”
We ended the call.
I went to the studio that afternoon.
The street was calm.
Aurora worked with the windows closed.
The children played in the enclosed area.
Elisa ran toward me.
“Daddy Dante, you’re on television.”
“That isn’t a good thing.”
“You look serious.”
“I usually do.”
“Mommy is too.”
I looked at Aurora.
“They saw it?”
“A clip on Mrs. Marlene’s telephone.”
“I’ll speak to her.”
“No. I already did.”
“What did they say?”
“That I stole.”
Elisa came closer.
“Mommy doesn’t steal.”
“I know.”
“You know now.”
The childish correction struck precisely.
“I know now.”
“Took long.”
“Very.”
She accepted and returned to her toys.
Aurora continued working.
“The statement will be published today,” I said.
“I read the draft.”
“How?”
“Miguel sent it.”
I felt irritation.
I controlled it.
“What did you think?”
“Too strong.”
“Why?”
“It admits responsibility before the investigation ends.”
“There is responsibility.”
“Your company can use that against you.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
Aurora set down her tweezers.
“Because the Ferraz Group is your life.”
“It was.”
“Do not say that as if we replaced it.”
“You did not replace anything. You only put it in perspective.”
“You built it for decades.”
“And destroyed you in minutes.”
“One does not erase the other.”
“Exactly.”
She stood.
“I do not want you sacrificing everything and later looking at me as the cause.”
“I never would.”
“You don’t know.”
“I do.”
“Stop making promises about a future you do not control.”
I breathed.
“All right.”
“The statement may say the evidence is being reevaluated. It does not need to admit corporate fault.”
“I want to admit mine.”
“That is already public.”
“Not enough.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
Aurora went still.
“I do not need a statement.”
“You need public repair.”
“Not in order to forgive you.”
“I am not buying forgiveness.”
“It feels like you are.”
“Then tell me how to do this without it appearing that way.”
She closed her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“I cannot depend on you to teach me.”
The sentence came from what I had learned.
Aurora opened her eyes.
“Exactly.”
“Then I will make the decision and accept that you may not like it.”
“What decision?”
“I will publish a personal declaration. Not in the group’s name. I will say that I believed false evidence, that you denied everything from the beginning, and that I no longer have doubts about your innocence.”
“The investigation is not finished.”
“My conviction does not depend on it.”
“Dante…”
“You asked how I can believe you now. This is the answer. I choose to believe before the conclusion.”
The air between us changed.
“And if something appears that seems to incriminate me?”
“I will ask you first.”
“Only that?”
“I will listen to the answer.”
Aurora bit her cheek.
“You may regret it.”
“I already know the worst regret possible.”
She looked away.
“Do not mention the children.”
“Only to request privacy.”
“Nothing about heirs.”
“Never.”
“And not ‘my family.’”
The word hurt.
“All right.”
“I want to read it.”
“I’ll send it.”
I wrote it at the studio table.
I did not delegate it.
Did not ask my team.
Four years ago, I ended my wedding to Aurora Valen?a after receiving documents indicating her involvement in crimes against the Valen?a Museum and the Ferraz Group. Aurora denied every accusation and asked me to believe her. I did not.
I stopped.
The altar returned whole.
I continued.
The evidence used that day is currently being investigated for forgery, manipulation, and fraud.
Regardless of the formal conclusion, I now know enough facts to state that I failed Aurora.
She did not prevent me from knowing her children and did not use them to obtain financial advantage.
For years, she cared for three children alone while enduring the consequences of accusations she always declared false.
Aurora read over my shoulder.
The responsibility for my failure to seek information about the pregnancy or birth is mine. I ask the press to preserve the identity and routine of three small children. Any questions concerning my decisions should be directed to me, not to their mother.
I finished.
Aurora remained silent.
“One thing is missing,” she said.
“What?”
“You say ‘her children.’”
“They are yours.”
“They are yours too.”
I looked at her.
“You want me to write that?”
“Not for me. For the truth.”
I changed it.
For years, she cared for our three children alone.
The word our appeared enormous.
“Anything else?”
Aurora read it again.
“Do not publicly ask forgiveness.”
“I did not.”
“Good.”
“May I publish it?”
She nodded.
The declaration went online.
Within fifteen minutes, it became news.
My telephone began ringing.
I ignored it.
Elisa appeared.
“You wrote a lot?”
“Yes.”
“I know E.”
“I know.”
“Write my name.”
I took a sheet of paper.
I wrote ELISA in large letters.
She pointed to the first.
“Me.”
“That is the first letter.”
“Write Cecí.”
I wrote it.
Then Tomás.
All three children gathered around.
Aurora watched.
“Daddy Dante writes pretty,” Elisa said.
“Mommy too.”
“I don’t write.”
“Not yet,” Aurora said.
“I draw.”
“That.”
Tomás made a circle.
“Shoe.”
“A hero shoe?” I asked.
“No. Allergy.”
The memory remained.
I stayed beside him.
“Did the toy car from your game get better?”
“Got better.”
“So did you.”
“I’m strong.”
“Very.”
Cecília approached carrying the stone.
She placed it on my planner.
“Don’t lose.”
“I won’t.”
Aurora met my eyes.
At that moment, the telephone continued vibrating.
The company demanded.
The press pressured.
Otávio moved in the shadows.
Nothing appeared small.
But the stone on the planner was the center.
“I need to leave for a meeting,” I said.
The children complained.
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Aurora raised an eyebrow.
I corrected myself.
“I intend to come back tomorrow at nine, if your mother confirms.”
“I confirm,” she said.
I looked at her.
“Nine.”
“All right.”
I left.
Inside the car, I opened the published declaration.
The comments were divided.
Some called me courageous.
Others called me an idiot.
Many still accused Aurora.
It did not matter.
I had not written it to convince strangers.
I had written it to place my name beside the mistake.
For the first time, I had not allowed her to carry alone a story I helped create.