35.
DANTE FERRAZ
I was discharged two days later.
Aurora remained at the hospital during the first night.
On the second, she returned to the children.
She called three times.
Not out of obligation.
I knew the difference now.
When I left, the triplets waited at my house.
Aurora decided it would be easier to avoid the press there.
Tomás ran.
Aurora stopped him before he struck my shoulder.
“Careful.”
“Daddy!”
I crouched with difficulty.
He hugged my waist.
Elisa came next.
Cecília stopped.
She looked at the bandage.
“It has owie.”
“A little.”
“You died?”
“No.”
“Mommy said.”
“She was right.”
Cecília approached.
“Can I hug?”
“You can.”
She wrapped her arms carefully around my neck.
“Don’t disappear.”
“I didn’t.”
“Was hospital.”
“But you knew where I was.”
She thought.
“Knew.”
The rule working.
Elisa wanted to see the wound.
Tomás asked whether the bullet had been kept.
“The police have it,” I said.
“I want.”
“No.”
“It’s treasure.”
“No.”
Aurora watched.
Our eyes met.
The promised conversation had not yet happened.
The children would not allow it at that moment.
Nor should they.
I spent the afternoon on the sofa.
They transformed my recovery into a hospital game.
Elisa placed bandages on my healthy leg.
Tomás examined my heart.
Cecília brought the stone and placed it on my stomach.
“Medicine.”
“Does it work?”
“Very.”
Aurora cared for me without appearing to.
She brought water.
Checked the time of the pain medication.
Prevented unnecessary movement.
She did not ask whether it hurt.
She knew.
That evening, Mrs. Lurdes took the children to sleep in the bedroom.
They protested.
“Daddy needs to rest,” Aurora explained.
“I rest here,” Elisa said.
“No.”
“Mommy says no a lot,” Tomás commented.
“And remains correct,” I answered.
They left.
The house became quiet.
Aurora sat in the armchair facing the sofa.
“Conversation,” she said.
“It sounds like an interrogation.”
“Perhaps it is.”
“All right.”
“Why did you hide the letter?”
“I wanted confirmation before causing more pain.”
“Then you decided which pain I could receive.”
“Yes.”
“That cannot happen.”
“It will not.”
“Do not promise the impossible.”
“I can promise that if information affects you or the investigation, I will tell you even without confirmation.”
“And explain the degree of certainty.”
“Yes.”
“Without filtering.”
“Yes.”
“Without your legal team deciding.”
“Yes.”
Aurora breathed.
“I believe you.”
The sentence surprised me.
“About what?”
“That you will try.”
“Only try?”
“It is what we have.”
Fair.
“Now about us,” I said.
She tensed.
“There is no us yet.”
“About what exists.”
“Desire.”
“More.”
“I don’t know.”
“I do.”
“Of course.”
“I love you.”
“That belongs to you.”
“Yes.”
“It creates no obligation.”
“No.”
“I like being near you.”
My heart beat faster.
“You do?”
“Do not make that face.”
“What face?”
“As though you won.”
“I did not win.”
“It looks like it.”
“Continue.”
Aurora rolled her eyes.
“I like watching you with the children. I like speaking to you when you do not try to control everything. I like that you remember things.”
“And kissing me?”
She turned red.
“Yes.”
“All right.”
“Do not smile.”
“Impossible.”
“Dante.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“No.”
She almost smiled.
“I do not want to return to a relationship now.”
“All right.”
“I do not want you to tell the children.”
“All right.”
“I do not want to sleep at your house.”
“All right.”
“Or for you to sleep at mine.”
“All right.”
“But…”
I stopped breathing.
“But?”
“I want to continue discovering.”
“What?”
“This.”
She gestured between us.
“Kissing?”
“That too.”
“May I come closer?”
Aurora hesitated.
“You may.”
I stood slowly.
Pain in my shoulder limited me.
I sat on the edge of the sofa.
She remained in the armchair.
“Too far,” I said.
“You are injured.”
“The other arm works.”
“Arrogant.”
“Medical fact.”
Aurora stood.
She stopped between my legs.
My body reacted.
She noticed.
“Do you still want to go slowly?”
“No.”
“Honest.”
“But I will.”
I touched her waist with my uninjured hand.
“May I?”
“You’re already touching me.”
“May I continue?”
“Yes.”
Aurora leaned down.
She kissed me.
Slowness did not last long.
She held my hair.
I carefully pulled her closer.
Pain shot through my shoulder.
I ignored it.
Aurora noticed.
She withdrew.
“It hurts.”
“Not much.”
“Liar.”
“A little.”
“Then stop.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I decide because you’re injured.”
“That is controlling.”
“Exactly.”
She sat beside me.
I laughed.
“It is not funny.”
“A little.”
“You were shot two days ago.”
“And I’m kissing the woman I love.”
“That does not heal wounds.”
“It helps.”
Aurora touched my face.
“You almost died.”
“No.”
“You could have.”
“Yes.”
“Do not do it again.”
“Step in front of a weapon?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll attempt to avoid it.”
“Dante.”
“If the choice is you…”
“No.”
“I cannot promise.”
She stood.
“Then there is nothing to discuss.”
“Aurora.”
“I do not want love that proves itself through dying.”
The sentence stopped me.
“I do not want to be with a man who turns sacrifice into devotion.”
“I didn’t do it to prove anything.”
“But you would do it again.”
“Instinct.”
“Then treat it.”
The same demand after the slap.
Change.
Not words.
“I’ll speak to the psychologist.”
“About heroism?”
“About putting your life above mine?”
“About believing your death would be acceptable if it saved me.”
I understood.
If I died, I would leave three children again.
Aurora again.
I would repeat abandonment, even for a supposedly noble reason.
“You’re right.”
She closed her eyes.
“I hate it when you agree.”
“I would not if you weren’t right.”
“I want you alive.”
The sentence came quietly.
My chest tightened.
“For them?”
Aurora looked at me.
“For me too.”
Everything stopped.
I approached.
I did not touch her.
“Say it again.”
“No.”
“Aurora.”
“You heard.”
“I want to be certain.”
“Do not use it.”
“I won’t.”
She breathed.
“I want you alive for me.”
I closed my eyes.
More powerful than I love you.
Because it came from her.
At that stage.
“I’ll try,” I said.
“That is not enough.”
“It is what I have.”
Aurora almost laughed.
“My words.”
“I listened.”
She touched my hand.
“Then listen to this too: I have not forgiven everything. Perhaps I will never forgive in a clean way.”
“It does not need to be clean.”
“I will remember the altar.”
“So will I.”
“I will become suspicious.”
“I’ll ask what you need.”
“I may retreat.”
“I’ll wait.”
“And I may want you at the same time.”
“I accept that.”
“This is confusing.”
“Very.”
“Do not try to organize it.”
“I’ll suffer.”
“Endure it.”
I smiled.
Aurora sat again.
She rested her head against my uninjured shoulder.
We remained silent.
No kiss.
No urgency.
Only closeness.
We heard footsteps in the hallway.
Elisa appeared.
“You two together.”
Aurora moved away rapidly.
“We were talking.”
“Stuck?”
“Elisa.”
She pointed.
“Mommy was here.”
She rested her own head against my arm.
“Like this.”
“She was tired,” I said.
“Sleep in bed.”
“Go back to the bedroom.”
“Want water.”
Of course.
Aurora stood.
“I’ll take you.”
Elisa looked from one to the other.
“You don’t fight anymore?”
Aurora answered:
“Sometimes.”
“Then it passes?”
I looked at her.
“We’re learning.”
Elisa accepted that.
In the hallway, she shouted:
“T?mas! Mommy and Daddy are learning!”
Aurora closed her eyes.
“Tomorrow the entire town will know.”
“Probably.”
“Do not smile.”
“I can’t help it.”
She followed her daughter.
I remained on the sofa.
My shoulder hurt.
The company was in crisis.
My father was a criminal.
Otávio was in custody but remained dangerous.
Nothing had been resolved.
Even so, Aurora wanted me alive for her.
It was not forgiveness.
Not reconciliation.
But the beginning of something I could not purchase, demand, or organize.
I only needed to continue earning space.
One day at a time.