34.
AURORA VALEN?A
The bullet passed through Dante’s shoulder without striking bone or an artery.
The doctor repeated that.
I listened.
Asked him to repeat it.
He did.
Dante would need a simple procedure to clean the wound and control the bleeding.
He would be fine.
Fine.
The word would not enter my mind.
I could still see the blood.
His body falling.
The instant he stepped in front of me.
“Mrs. Ferraz?”
A nurse called.
“Valen?a.”
“I’m sorry. The doctor needs a list of his medications.”
“I don’t know.”
The answer struck me.
I knew how Dante took his coffee.
The way he slept.
His scars.
I did not know his medications.
“I’ll call his assistant.”
I picked up my telephone.
There were twenty-three messages.
Mrs. Lurdes.
Miguel.
Marta.
Unknown numbers.
I called the children first.
Mrs. Lurdes answered on video.
“Mommy!” Elisa shouted.
All three appeared.
My face needed to look normal.
It did not.
“Hello, my loves.”
Cecília noticed.
“You cried.”
“A little.”
“Why?”
I breathed.
Truth appropriate for their age.
“Daddy Dante hurt his shoulder.”
Tomás’s eyes widened.
“Fell?”
“Someone hurt him.”
“Bad man?” Elisa asked.
“Yes.”
“He gonna die?” Cecília whispered.
“No. The doctor said he will be all right.”
I could state that based on evidence.
“You swear?”
“The doctor said so.”
“You come back?”
“I’m staying at the hospital until he wakes.”
All three protested.
“Mrs. Lurdes is with you.”
“Want Mommy,” Cecília said.
My heart broke.
“I know.”
“Now.”
“I can’t right now.”
The sentence I used at school.
She began to cry.
“Daddy stayed with me when you worked,” I reminded her. “Now I’m staying with him because he is hurt.”
Cecília sniffled.
“He asked?”
I looked toward the operating-room door.
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I want to.”
The truth escaped.
Elisa watched.
“You like him.”
I did not answer.
“I’ll call again before you sleep.”
“Promise?” Tomás asked.
“I promise.”
Concrete.
Possible.
The call ended.
His assistant sent the medication list.
Nothing relevant.
Dante was healthy.
Strong.
He could have died.
I sat.
Miguel appeared.
He had a cut on his forehead.
“Otávio was arrested.”
“The pages?”
“He surrendered a sealed envelope to the police.”
“What do they say?”
“I haven’t read them yet.”
“Read them.”
“Aurora…”
“I need to know.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
He sat beside me.
He opened photographs taken by the agents.
The pages confirmed payments from Ant?nio Ferraz to Otávio.
Transportation.
Replacement.
Sale of pieces.
My father appeared in two notes.
Not as a participant.
As someone questioning disappearances.
One sentence:
H.V. requested audit. O. will resolve it first.
Henrique Valen?a.
My father.
My chest constricted.
“He didn’t know.”
“It appears he discovered the scheme,” Miguel said.
Another note, weeks before my parents died:
H.V. scheduled meeting with A.F. about collection.
My parents had died in a car accident.
The air disappeared.
“No.”
Miguel saw it.
“Aurora.”
“No.”
“We need to investigate.”
“The accident was caused by rain.”
“Maybe.”
“You will not turn everything into…”
“I’m not.”
“Did Otávio kill my parents?”
“We don’t know.”
“And Ant?nio Ferraz?”
“He also died months later.”
Dates.
Dead people.
Silence.
“Dante needs to know,” I said.
“After the operation.”
“Yes.”
For the first time, I did not want to hide something to protect him.
When the doctor emerged, I stood.
“It went well. He is in recovery.”
My legs nearly gave way.
“May I see him?”
“When he wakes.”
I waited.
Two hours.
I called the children as promised.
Cecília wanted to see the bandage.
Tomás asked whether Daddy had received the pen.
Elisa said the bad man needed to apologize.
Then they slept.
At midnight, they allowed me inside.
Dante was pale.
His shoulder bandaged.
Eyes closed.
I sat.
Held his hand.
“You’re an idiot.”
No response.
“You didn’t need to step in front of me.”
His fingers moved.
“I did.”
His voice was hoarse.
“You’re awake.”
“You talk loudly.”
“Being shot does not give you the right to complain.”
Dante opened his eyes.
“The children?”
“Safe.”
“Do they know?”
“That you hurt your shoulder.”
“All right.”
“Otávio is in custody.”
“The pages?”
“Recovered.”
“Your father?”
Tears came.
Dante noticed.
Attempted to sit.
“No.”
“What happened?”
“My father found out.”
“The scheme?”
“Yes.”
“Then he did not participate.”
“No.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Relief for me.
Even while injured.
“And mine?”
“He participated.”
Pain crossed his face.
“Are you certain?”
“There are records.”
“All right.”
No defense.
“There may also be a connection to my parents’ death.”
His eyes opened.
“What?”
I told him.
The note.
The meeting.
The accident.
Dante attempted to sit up again.
“I need to speak to the investigator.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Aurora…”
“Not everything needs to be resolved the instant it hurts.”
He looked at me.
“That is irritating when you use it against me.”
“I know.”
“Will you stay?”
The question came quietly.
Not like Cecília.
But the same.
“I’ll stay.”
“Until when?”
“Until you fall asleep.”
“I’ve already slept.”
“Then until you wake again.”
Dante tightened his fingers around mine.
“About the kiss…”
“Not now.”
“About the letter.”
“Not that either.”
“I need to apologize.”
“You did.”
“Not enough.”
“Tomorrow.”
“You may change your mind.”
“About what?”
“Being here.”
I looked at him.
Vulnerable.
Pale.
The man who had placed himself between me and a bullet.
It was not a necessary proof of love.
I did not need him to nearly die.
But it had happened.
“I’m not leaving.”
“Promise?”
I could.
“Until morning.”
“Concrete.”
“I learned.”
He smiled.
He fell asleep holding my hand.
I remained.
At four, I woke with my head resting on the bed.
Dante was watching me.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Not long.”
“Pain?”
“Controlled.”
“I’ll call the nurse.”
“No.”
“Dante.”
“I want to look at you.”
My heart beat harder.
“You’re medicated.”
“I still know who you are.”
“That is debatable.”
He smiled.
“You stayed.”
“I promised.”
“Not only because of the children.”
“No.”
The answer emerged.
Dante went still.
“Do not turn it into something.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m tired of pretending I feel nothing.”
“Then don’t pretend.”
“This is not forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“Or complete trust.”
“I know.”
“But there is something.”
“There is.”
“And I hate it.”
“I accept that.”
I leaned closer.
I kissed his forehead.
Then his mouth.
A light kiss.
Without desperation.
Dante did not attempt to deepen it.
He only received it.
“When you leave here, we’ll talk,” I said.
“About us?”
The word.
Us.
“About what exists.”
“All right.”
“And do not hide anything else.”
“Never by choice.”
“Better.”
He closed his eyes.
“Aurora.”
“What?”
“I love you.”
Pain came with warmth.
“Sleep.”
“You did not answer.”
“I know.”
“You talk difficult.”
I laughed.
Quietly.
Dante fell asleep.
For the first time, hearing that he loved me did not feel like a weapon.
It felt like a truth I still did not know how to hold.