37
GAbrIELA DUARTE
We stayed in Como for six more days after I left the hospital.
Cris rearranged his commitments and stayed with me.
We went to the follow-up appointment, reviewed the instructions, and waited to make sure the bleeding didn’t return.
Only after reassessing me did the doctor agree to the journey to Lisbon.
Travel to Brazil would be decided later, with the team taking over my care.
Those mornings began with small sips of water and an attempt to eat. In the afternoons, I dealt with what I could for the office. At night, I opened the scan images. Sometimes Cris found me staring at the same page and reminded me to put the phone away.
At the follow-up, the area of bleeding was smaller. All three still had cardiac activity. I took the reports and a recommendation to seek specialist care as soon as I reached Portugal.
“Let us know if the bleeding returns or you have pain. We’ll adjust your routine as the pregnancy progresses.”
My lawyer sent the documents to Bellandi Aurea’s legal department and requested confirmation that Luca had received the notice. Separately, she demanded the contract balance. She kept the receipts so I didn’t have to spend all day checking each delivery.
The reply about my work acknowledged the inspectors' documentation and promised to release the balance after a final review. On the pregnancy, Legal refused to discuss the matter and directed any paternity claim to the courts. My lawyer said that response didn’t extinguish my rights or oblige me to accept their account.
The hotel confirmed in writing that an employee had opened Cris’s room before midnight.
The full footage didn’t come with the reply.
My lawyer forwarded the confirmation to the Bellandis and demanded that the records be preserved.
I wanted it to be enough for Luca to contact me. He still didn’t call.
Sofia left a message asking how I was. I replied that I had care and company and asked for time before another conversation. Her voice still took me back to the Palazzo. Paola kept checking in; she told me Luca had ordered every message about me sent to Legal.
“Does he know there are three?” I asked.
“Sofia said she spoke to him. I wasn’t there. All I know is the envelopes don’t come back to reception.”
Our flight left from Milan. I asked Cris to take me to headquarters before the airport. I wanted to hear Luca say he’d received the letter. Cris closed his laptop and looked at me.
“You want to go there without knowing whether he’ll see you?”
“We’ll already be in Milan. I won’t wait for hours. If he doesn’t come down, I’ll leave.”
He looked at my folder. I knew what he feared; I didn’t want to repeat the night at the Palazzo either.
“I don’t want to spend the next few months wondering what reached him. I’ll ask once, in person.”
He agreed to come with me. At Bellandi Aurea headquarters, I used the entrance I’d used for meetings months earlier. I stopped at visitor reception; my access had been canceled, and I knew I wouldn’t get through the turnstile.
The lobby still displayed a photograph of the Palazzo opening. I was in the background, partly covered by a magazine logo. My work decorated headquarters while my name sat on a list of people barred from entry.
Cris stood beside me with my medical folder. Behind the desk, the receptionist waited for me to introduce myself.
“I need to speak to Mr. Bellandi. I don’t have an appointment. Can you let him know I’m here?”
“Your name?”
“Gabriela Duarte.”
She checked the system, then glanced at the guard by the turnstile.
“Matters involving former contractors should go through Legal.”
“Call his assistant. Tell her I’m pregnant with triplets and need five minutes.”
Cris stayed beside me, holding the medical folder. The receptionist called. She spoke softly, looked at me, and hung up.
“Mr. Bellandi isn’t available.”
“Is he in the building?”
“I can’t disclose that.”
I’d seen the car he usually used on my way in. I could have been mistaken. I asked whether there was another way to deliver a document.
I took an ultrasound image from the folder.
“Give this to him personally.”
She drew back.
“I can only send it through the document desk. I can’t guarantee delivery into his hands.”
“Then log it, please. I want a receipt.”
The guard approached as other visitors came to the desk. Cris moved our luggage out of the way but stayed beside me.
The elevator doors opened. Lorenzo emerged with two executives. When he saw me, his eyebrows rose in theatrical surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
I crossed the lobby.
“Where’s Luca?”
“London.”
“Can reception confirm that with his assistant?”
He dismissed the executives.
“He’s in a meeting and won’t come down. I’ll handle this.”
“Did you give him my letters?”
“To the appropriate department.”
“I asked whether you gave them to Luca.”
“My brother left clear instructions. He doesn’t want contact.”
I showed him the scan.
“There are three. He needs to know.”
He looked at the image without surprise. He touched the edge of the folder but didn’t open it.
“You already knew.”
His neutral expression returned.
“You said so in the letters.”
“Then you received them. Where are they?”
“You’re tired and emotional.”
“And you’re a liar.”
Cris touched my arm.
“Gabi, let’s go.”
“Not before I deliver this.”
I asked again for the delivery to be logged. The receptionist took the copy of the scan, recorded the date and recipient, and handed me a receipt. I put the original back in the folder Cris held.
“Tell him my offer of a DNA test stands. My lawyer’s contact details are in the letter. When I’m able to travel, I’m going to Brazil.”
Lorenzo leaned closer.
“Luca doesn’t need to wait for a test to recognize a fraud.”
Cris stepped forward. I caught his arm before he could answer.
“One day he’ll find out what he’s done,” I replied. “And who helped him.”
I left without looking back. Outside, I called my lawyer and told her what had happened. She asked me to record the visit in writing, including the names of those I’d spoken to and the document left at reception.
Lorenzo had said Luca was in a meeting. I couldn’t confirm it or know what reception had told him. But I knew the man I’d trusted had left other people to decide whether my voice would reach him.
I didn’t go upstairs. I didn’t wait. I went to the airport with Cris. In Lisbon, I spent two weeks in appointments, paperwork, and decisions about the office.
The day after the visit, a story appeared in Italian and Portuguese newspapers. Anonymous sources claimed I’d been removed from the Palazzo over irregularities and unauthorized expenses. It also implied I’d gained advantages through my relationship with Luca. There was no mention of the pregnancy.
Two meetings were canceled. A client in Cascais asked for explanations, then told me she’d hired another architect before I could speak to her. The bank was already cautious about our credit; without that job, I could no longer count on renewal.
“Beatrice,” Cris said, reading the story.
I closed the laptop.
“I can’t prove it.”
“We can sue.”
“How long before we get a correction? I have the reports, but clients are leaving now.”
“Luca knows it’s a lie.”
I forwarded the articles to my lawyer and the independent auditor. The reports demonstrated the work delivered; we demanded a correction of the financial allegations. Meanwhile, I tried to stop more cancellations.
One newspaper corrected the financial allegations and cited the reports. I called clients with the article open in front of me. One agreed to resume discussions; the others had moved on. The group said only that I’d completed the project. Luca said nothing.
“He’s chosen the lie he prefers,” I said.
The Palazzo balance was paid after my lawyer’s demand and confirmation from the inspectors.
I paid what I owed the team and set the rest aside for installments, the pregnancy, and the move.
It wasn’t enough to maintain two empty rooms indefinitely.
In Brazil, I’d have my mother and people to help me through the beginning.
I completed the outstanding work with the Lisbon team, gave up the rented rooms, and sold what we wouldn’t take. Augusto’s archives went into storage, paid for a year. The company that had bought the old office offered a lease at a token rent to keep them there.
I refused.
I knew who controlled the company. Luca had told me the night he threw me out, and I didn’t want to depend on another decision of his. Before leaving, I wrote one last letter.
I asked my lawyer to keep a copy. If my children wanted to read it one day, I’d be able to show them what I’d written.
Luca,
There are three. I went to headquarters in Milan and delivered another copy of the scan. I don’t know which documents you’ve read; I know you haven’t contacted me. I won’t ask for another conversation. My offer of a DNA test stands, and my lawyer is authorized to handle it.
If you ever look for the truth, don’t confuse finding it with deserving our forgiveness.
I sent copies to Luca, Sofia, and Paola. Paola confirmed receipt and promised to keep the envelope. From him, no reply.
The doctor in Lisbon assessed my progress and the journey to Brazil before clearing me to travel. My mother had already found a team to take over my care. At the airport, I checked the reports once more. Cris would come with me for the move, then return to arrange his commitments in Portugal.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll take it a little at a time.”
I looked out the window as the city grew smaller.
“They’ll have my last name.”
“Duarte?”
“Yes. I want to carry my father’s name with me.”
I said the names I’d written in a notebook in the small hours.
“If they’re two boys and a girl: Camila, Noah, and Heitor.”
“You’ve decided?”
“Camila was Augusto’s mother’s name. Noah . . . I liked the sound. Heitor was on a list my father made once. I still need to think about the other combinations.”
Cris smiled.
“It’s a good list to start with.”
I ran my hand over the names. I wanted to know who they were, but I wasn’t eager for another appointment. For the first time in days, I could imagine something beyond the next scan.
During the flight, I recorded a few words for the babies. Perhaps I’d never play it for anyone. I needed to talk to them without trying to explain Luca.
“I don’t know yet whether these will be your names,” I began softly. “Today we’re going to Brazil. Your grandmother is waiting, and I think she’s bought far too much. You’re going to like her.”
My voice faltered. Cris turned toward the window, giving me privacy without moving away.
“I’m afraid. I hope one day you’ll forgive me for the times I don’t know what to do. But I already love all three of you. That much I know.”
I saved the recording and turned off the phone. Cris offered his hand; I held it as I watched the clouds through the window.
While Lisbon disappeared beneath the clouds, I thought of what I still needed to do: meet the medical team, unpack the archives, learn to ask my mother for help. It wasn’t the future I’d drawn. It was the one we had, and I would take all three of them home.