CHAPTER 40
“True strength lies in getting back up, even when the world knocks you down…”
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
“So…?”
“She treated me like garbage.”
“And you want me to wipe your tears, Narcissus?” Alexandre let out a dry, mocking laugh, leaning against the kitchen wall.
“No. She’s absolutely right.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair before resting against the counter.
My mother’s kitchen always had that strange effect on me—pulling me back to childhood memories, to a time when everything was simpler. But now, simplicity felt as far away as the chance of undoing all the damage I’d done.
Alexandre raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“Hearing you say that might actually be progress.”
“Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that I was a complete idiot.”
“On that, we agree one hundred percent.”
Admitting it felt like tearing a piece out of myself.
I’d always seen myself as the one in control, but now I was losing my grip on the only thing that really mattered.
“When I saw my daughter…” I hesitated, searching for words. “There’s no way to describe it. It was like something inside me was torn apart and stitched back together—but differently this time.”
Alexandre nodded silently. He knew better than to interrupt me.
“But then, looking at Maria Gabriela, I realized how much I’d hurt her. Every word, every gesture… I was cruel. I was a monster.” The words came heavy, thick with guilt. “And now, I don’t know how to fix it—or if I even can.”
Alexandre put a hand on my shoulder—something he rarely did—and his voice came out low, steady, more serious than usual.
“You’ve got a mountain to climb, brother. And she’s not going to make it easy on you—nor should she. But if you really love your daughter, and…” He paused for a beat, then went on. “If you really love Maria Gabriela, you’ll have to prove it—every single day, with everything you do from now on.”
I nodded, the weight of his words settling on me.
Leaving the kitchen, I headed to the living room, where my mother sat knitting like she always did on Saturday afternoons. She looked up as soon as I walked in, her gaze soft but filled with the kind of wisdom that only comes with age.
“Mom…” I started, not sure how to put everything into words. “I was a monster, wasn’t I? With Maria Gabriela… with everything. And now, I don’t even know how to begin making it right.”
She set the knitting aside and looked at me, her expression calm, as if she’d been waiting for this conversation for a long time.
“Diego, my son, we all make mistakes. Some bigger than others. But what defines us is what we do after those mistakes.” She smiled—a gentle, motherly smile, full of unconditional love. “What is it you’re feeling right now?”
“I feel like I have to fix things. For her. For my daughter. And deep down, I know… I love Maria Gabriela too. I just don’t know if it’s too late.”
My mother nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful.
“Making things right will take time. You’ll need more patience than you’ve ever had. You’ll have to be humble, set your pride aside, and accept that maybe—just maybe—she might never forgive you completely. Are you ready for that, son?”
I went quiet for a moment, turning her words over in my head.
Patience had never been my strength. Accepting that things might not go my way? Even less so. But as soon as the image of Maria Gabriela and my daughter, Clara, came to mind, I knew the answer.
“Yes, Mom. I’m ready to wait as long as it takes.” I took a deep breath, feeling a new kind of resolve building inside me. “I can’t change the past, but I can fight for the future. And I will. For both of them.”
My mother smiled and stood to hug me.
“Then you’ve already taken the first step, my son. Now it’s just one day at a time.”
As she wrapped her arms around me, I felt some of the weight in my chest lift. I knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy—but for the first time in a long time, I felt ready to face whatever came next.