39.
DANTE FERRAZ
The mechanical report appeared the following morning.
Not because Otávio surrendered it.
Because the police found the file inside a safe-deposit box connected to álvaro.
The original document concluded that a hose in the brake system of Aurora’s parents’ car had been cut.
The report used during the investigation had been replaced.
Payments connected to one of my father’s companies reached the expert.
There was no signed order.
No sentence saying kill them.
But the structure existed.
Ant?nio Ferraz financed Otávio.
Otávio eliminated threats.
My father might have known.
Probably did.
I read everything in Aurora’s kitchen while the children ate bread.
The contrast was unbearable.
Tomás dipped bread into milk.
Elisa complained about her hair clip.
Cecília stacked slices of banana.
Aurora read about her parents’ murder.
Her fingers trembled.
“Not in front of them,” I said quietly.
She closed the file.
“I need to go to the police.”
“After school.”
“Now.”
“The children.”
Her expression changed.
Guilt.
“I can take them,” I offered.
“You’re injured.”
“Mrs. Lurdes can come with me.”
“No.”
“Aurora.”
“I don’t want to leave them today.”
Elisa heard.
“Leave where?”
“School,” Aurora answered.
“Don’t want.”
The tension was contaminating them.
I lowered my voice.
“We maintain the routine. We take them to school together. Then we go to the police.”
Aurora breathed.
“All right.”
She accepted.
Inside the car, the children sang.
Aurora did not.
Cecília noticed.
“Mommy not singing.”
“I don’t want to today.”
“Why?”
“I’m sad.”
“Sing sad.”
“There are sad songs,” Elisa informed us.
“Not now.”
Tomás began alone.
The frog song.
Elisa joined.
Then Cecília.
I sang.
Aurora remained silent.
During the second verse, her voice appeared softly.
The children smiled.
It was not healing.
It was support.
After leaving them, we went to the police station.
Aurora confirmed dates.
Signatures.
Recognized names.
The investigator discussed formally reopening the case.
“Will you need an exhumation?” she asked.
“Perhaps not.”
“And if you do?”
“We will discuss it.”
She nodded.
I wanted to touch her.
I did not.
In the corridor, a journalist was waiting.
“Mrs. Valen?a, did your uncle kill your parents?”
Security blocked him.
Aurora stopped.
“How do you know?”
No one answered.
A leak.
“Dante, did the Ferraz Group finance murder?”
“No comment.”
We entered the car.
Aurora trembled.
“They know.”
“Yes.”
“Before my children.”
“We will prevent it from reaching the school.”
I called.
Reinforced security.
Marta informed.
“I don’t want to remove them,” Aurora said.
“Neither do I.”
“Routine.”
“Yes.”
The press published at noon.
The story exploded.
Crime.
Billionaire.
Museum.
Destroyed wedding.
Triplets.
Everything.
My father became a posthumous suspect.
The shares fell further.
The board demanded my removal again.
This time, I accepted temporary leave.
Aurora learned before the press because I told her.
“Why?” she asked.
“The audit needs independence. And I need to remain here.”
“Do not use the children to escape the company.”
“I’m not.”
“Are you certain?”
I thought.
“Part of me is relieved.”
“Then there is avoidance.”
“Perhaps.”
“What will you do?”
“Therapy. Review decisions with Pérola. Avoid interfering with the audit. Care for my shoulder. Be a father.”
“And you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You need to know.”
“Why?”
“Because you have spent your life being the group.”
The same question I once asked her.
Who was Aurora beyond being a mother?
Who was I beyond the company?
“Perhaps I’ll discover it,” I said.
“Without turning us into a new identity.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
That afternoon, we collected the children.
The press had not reached the school.
Not yet.
We took them to my house.
Aurora received telephone calls.
Lawyers.
Police.
Clients.
She turned off the telephone.
“I want to bake a cake,” she announced.
Elisa celebrated.
Tomás requested chocolate.
Cecília wanted yellow.
“Can a cake be yellow?” I asked.
“It has egg,” she replied.
Aurora prepared the ingredients.
“You do not need to produce anything,” I said.
“This is not productive. It is cake.”
“There is a product at the end.”
“Be quiet.”
The children helped.
Flour covered the counter.
Tomás broke an egg on the floor.
Elisa licked raw batter.
Cecília cried because the spoon was dirty.
Aurora laughed.
The first time since the report.
I remained nearby.
Without using my injured arm.
“You don’t help,” Tomás complained.
“I am injured.”
“Other arm.”
“Your sister said the same.”
“She’s smart.”
“Very.”
When the cake went into the oven, everyone was dirty.
“Bath,” Aurora said.
“I cannot wet the dressing.”
“You are not entering.”
“I can help outside.”
“With one arm?”
“Holding towels.”
“All right.”
During the chaos, my telephone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Your father left something for you. Ask your mother why she died.
My mother had died of cancer.
Or I believed she had.
I showed Aurora immediately.
Without waiting.
She read it.
“Otávio?”
“Perhaps someone connected to him.”
“Your mother died from illness.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have documents?”
“Medical records.”
“Verified?”
The correct question.
“Not by me.”
“We need to.”
I nodded.
No secrets.
I sent it to the investigator.
Then returned to the bathroom.
Elisa ran naked down the corridor.
“Again?” I asked.
“I am free.”
Aurora followed with a towel.
“Catch her.”
“I cannot run.”
“Block her.”
I stood in front.
Elisa stopped.
“Treason.”
“Your mother is in charge.”
“You too.”
“I’m learning.”
Night fell, and the children slept in my house.
Aurora decided to stay.
Not in my bed.
In their room.
I would use mine.
I accepted.
At two, I woke to soft knocking.
The children did not accept the separation as easily.
“Mommy sleeps our room?” Elisa asked.
“Yes,” Aurora replied.
“And Daddy?”
“In his room.”
“Why?”
Aurora folded Cecília’s small blanket over the bed.
“Because that is where he sleeps.”
“You’re a couple.”
The word was still new.
Used by children with the naturalness of those who did not understand its implications.
“Couples do not have to sleep together every night,” Aurora explained.
Elisa looked at me.
“You don’t want?”
“I want to sleep.”
“With Mommy.”
“Elisa,” Aurora warned.
“Just asking.”
Tomás sat on the floor attempting to fit the dinosaur inside a shoebox.
“I sleep Daddy.”
“You sleep in your own bed,” I said.
“Don’t want.”
“Even so.”
“You say no a lot.”
“Apparently.”
Cecília remained near the door.
“Mommy stays till morning?”
“I do,” Aurora answered.
“And Daddy?”
“Also.”
“But other room.”
“Yes.”
“What if bad man?”
The question changed the atmosphere.
“There are guards outside,” I said.
“And you?”
“I am here.”
“But you sleep.”
“Adults sleep.”
“Mommy wakes.”
Her complete confidence in Aurora.
Aurora always woke.
Every sound.
Every cry.
I still had to prove myself.
“If you call, I’ll come,” I said.
“Promise?”
I could.
“I promise that if I hear you, I’ll come.”
She frowned.
“If not hear?”
“You call louder.”
“Mommy hears quiet.”
“I will leave the door open.”
“And camera.”
Aurora looked at me.
“She remembers.”
“Camera in the corridor,” I explained. “I can see if anyone leaves.”
“You see me sleeping?”
“No. Only the door.”
“Okay.”
She accepted.
Elisa climbed into bed.
“Three stories.”
“Two,” Aurora said.
“Today is Daddy’s house.”
“The rules do not change with the house.”
“But Daddy commands house.”
Aurora looked at me.
A trap.
“Your mother decides the bedtime routine,” I answered.
“You don’t command nothing.”
“Some things.”
“What?”
I thought.
“No one draws on the walls.”
She looked at the old pencil line.
“Already did.”
“That is why I created the rule.”
“Rule after doesn’t count.”
“It applies next time.”
“I don’t like.”
“It still applies.”
Aurora almost smiled.
We selected stories.
The moon for Cecília.
Dinosaurs for Tomás.
Elisa lost the vote and attempted to transform each page into a different story.
When I finished, she remained awake.
“Another.”
“No.”
“Small.”
“No.”
“Only one page.”
“No.”
“Mommy?”
“Daddy answered.”
The alliance between us produced a betrayed look.
“You agree bad.”
Tomás was already asleep.
Cecília held the cloth against her face.
Elisa lay down.
“Want kiss.”
Aurora kissed her.
So did I.
“Not forehead,” Elisa complained.
“Where?”
“Cheek.”
I kissed her.
“Other side.”
I obeyed.
“Now nose.”
“You’re negotiating.”
“Last.”
I kissed her nose.
She smiled and closed her eyes.
Cecília called me.
“Daddy.”
I approached.
“Yes?”
“Stone.”
I had placed it on the table.
I gave it to her.
“Stay hand.”
She wanted me to hold the object with her.
I sat on the floor.
“Only until you sleep.”
“Until morning.”
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
“I sleep in my room.”
“Very far.”
“Across the hall.”
“Very.”
A three-year-old’s perception of distance did not follow meters.
“Your mother will stay.”
“Want two.”
Aurora sat on the edge of the bed.
“Cecí, we don’t need two adults inside the room.”
“Need.”
“Why?”
“Bad man.”
“He is in custody.”
“But another?”
Aurora went still.
Exposure to danger had left marks.
Although we tried to protect them, they knew about security guards, bad men, hospitals, and guns.
“There are bad people,” I said. “But this house is protected.”
“You know?”
“I know there are men outside, locked doors, and an alarm.”
“What if enters window?”
“The windows have sensors too.”
“And roof?”
I looked at Aurora.
“No one enters through the roof.”
“Santa.”
“He isn’t coming tonight.”
“Then man can.”
The logic was impossible.
Aurora stroked her hair.
“You are safe.”
“Promise?”
“I promise we are doing everything we can to keep you safe.”
Cecília did not calm.
“Daddy stays.”
I wanted to stay.
Aurora noticed.
“You may remain until she sleeps.”
“All right.”
Cecília closed her fingers around the stone and my hand.
Aurora began singing softly a song I remembered.
She had sung it before.
While working.
When we believed the future was simple.
I looked at her.
Aurora did not look back.
Her voice filled the room.
Elisa opened one eye.
“Sing louder.”
“Sleep.”
“I’m sleeping.”
“Then do not speak.”
The song continued.
Tomás breathed deeply.
Cecília relaxed.
My hand began tingling.