Chapter Diego Bittencourt
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
I paused my work for a moment and closed my eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that always found their way back when I least wanted them to. But, as usual, it was useless.
The memories of that damned afternoon crept in again, eating away at any attempt at focus.
Years ago, that day, I’d come home early—something that almost never happened. Work had always come first. But Arthur, still just a baby at the time, was sick, and I’d decided to surprise them.
When I walked into the house, everything seemed too quiet. The kind of silence that makes your gut twist. I noticed it—but ignored it—and went up the stairs slowly, thinking maybe she was asleep.
I still remember the unease growing inside me with every step I took toward our bedroom.
Something was wrong.
What waited for me behind that door… I wasn’t prepared for it.
I pushed the door open quietly, and what I saw destroyed me in a way I’ve never admitted to anyone.
There she was—my wife at the time—with one of Amacel’s investors.
In our bed.
The sight hit like a punch to the gut. The betrayal burned like fire, scorching everything I’d ever felt for her.
I loved her—or at least I thought I did. She was the mother of my son, the woman who’d promised to stand by me. But there she was, shattering everything we’d built together—with a man who knew every detail of my business.
The shock froze me for a few seconds, but then anger took over.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t hit him. I didn’t make a scene. I just looked at her, disbelieving, before turning around and walking out without a single word.
And in that moment, something inside me broke for good.
It wasn’t just the end of a marriage. It was the death of any illusion I’d ever had about trust—especially in women.
From that day on, my heart turned as cold as steel. Any sign of weakness, any hint of emotion, became a threat—an open wound waiting to be exploited. So I cut everything that could make me vulnerable.
And then came Maria Gabriela.
She showed up in my life like a hurricane I never saw coming, tearing apart everything I’d kept so carefully controlled.
I liked provoking her—watching how she scrambled to keep her composure around me. But the truth was, beneath the teasing, I felt something else. Something I refused to acknowledge.
Maybe that’s why, when she said she was pregnant, my first instinct was to deny it—to reject even the possibility of being the father.
Because part of me simply couldn’t believe that something so significant could happen without some kind of betrayal hiding behind it.
I was trapped by the fear of history repeating itself—of becoming that same fool I’d been years ago.
I exhaled and ran a hand over my face. The truth was, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t just shut it all off.
I wanted to fight it, but the anger always won—anger at myself, at what had happened, and at her for making me feel things I didn’t want to feel.
The memories of that betrayal came back like sharp blades, each one cutting deeper than the last.