2.
AURORA VALEN?A
“Mommy, T?mas put bread in the vase.”
I closed my eyes.
The glue beneath my fingertips was still wet, and the wooden splinter I had been attempting to reposition had finally fallen into place after forty minutes of work.
“What vase?”
Elisa appeared in the studio doorway, her brown curls tied into two crooked pigtails.
I was certain they had been symmetrical that morning.
They no longer were.
“The big one.”
“The big blue one?”
She nodded so vigorously that one of her hair clips fell out.
“Bread and cheese.”
“Why?”
Elisa shrugged.
At three, that was an acceptable answer to almost everything.
I stood carefully, pushing my chair away from the restoration table.
“Where is Cecília?”
“Watching.”
“Watching what?”
“T?mas put bread.”
I released a breath.
“So she’s with him?”
“Yeah.”
On the other side of the wall, I heard something fall.
Then silence.
Silence and three three-year-olds should never exist in the same room.
I removed my gloves.
“Elisa, don’t touch the table.”
“I’m not touching.”
“And don’t climb onto the stool.”
She had already placed one foot on it.
“I didn’t climb.”
“Elisa.”
“Okay.”
I hurried into the front area of the studio.
Second Layer occupied the ground floor of a colonial building with blue windows and whitewashed walls. The space was small, but it had been my first safe address after leaving Rio.
In the back, I restored furniture, paintings, and religious objects.
In the front, I sold pieces by local artists and met with clients.
In the middle of the room, Tomás was kneeling in front of a ceramic vase that stood almost as tall as he did.
A slice of bread protruded from the opening.
Cecília watched with her thumb in her mouth.
“Tomás.”
He turned around.
His green eyes, identical to his father’s, shone brightly.
“Hi, Mommy.”
“What are you doing?”
“Giving food.”
“To the vase?”
“He’s hungry.”
“Vases don’t get hungry.”
Tomás frowned.
“This one does.”
Cecília took her finger out of her mouth.
“He didn’t say.”
“He did,” Tomás argued.
“He didn’t.”
“He said it in my ear.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not a liar!”
“Enough,” I interrupted before the argument escalated. “Tomás, take the bread out.”
He shoved his arm into the vase.
“Not like that!”
Too late.
His elbow became stuck.
Tomás’s eyes widened.
“Mommy.”
“Don’t pull.”
He pulled.
The vase tipped.
I caught it before it fell.
“Stay still.”
“It hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart. Don’t move.”
Cecília began to cry.
Not loudly.
She rarely cried loudly.
Her eyes simply filled with tears while she clutched the hem of my dress.
“T?mas broke it.”
“He didn’t break anything.”
“Broke his arm.”
“I didn’t!” Tomás shouted.
“No one broke an arm,” I assured them.
Elisa appeared behind me.
“I told you.”
“You didn’t warn him. You came to tell me.”
“I told.”
“Elisa, go get the bottle of cooking oil from Mrs. Lurdes’s kitchen.”
“Which one?”
“The yellow one.”
“I can’t go alone.”
“You can. The door is open and she’s right there.”
Mrs. Lurdes’s chicken had terrorized Elisa two days earlier by running toward her.
“Maricota is locked up.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.”
“Cross your heart?”
“Mother’s word.”
She ran.
Tomás tried to pull his arm again.
“Stay still.”
“I want my arm.”
“Your arm is still there.”
“I want it out.”
“So do I.”
Cecília buried her face against my leg.
The studio door opened.
“Aurora?” Mrs. Lurdes called.
“In here!”
The older woman appeared carrying the oil, with Elisa beside her.
“This girl said her brother climbed inside a vase.”
“Only his arm.”
“Thank goodness. The whole boy would be more complicated.”
Tomás began to cry.
“It’s not funny.”
“No, my angel, it isn’t.”
Mrs. Lurdes removed the dish towel from her shoulder.
“Let’s use the oil.”
It took ten minutes, two stories invented by Elisa, and the promise of a popsicle after lunch to free his arm.
As soon as he was released, Tomás hugged his own elbow.
“My arm is alive.”
“It is,” I confirmed.
“The vase too?”
“The vase too.”
“It ate the bread.”
“We’ll take the bread out later.”
“Don’t. It’s his.”
I closed my eyes for a moment.
This was an ordinary morning.
Chaotic, noisy, exhausting.
Mine.
Four years earlier, I had not believed I would be capable of caring for three babies at once. During the first few months, I had honestly thought I might die of exhaustion.
I slept in forty-minute intervals.
I breastfed one while another cried.
I changed one diaper only to discover there were two more waiting.
Tomás underwent heart surgery at five months old.
Cecília struggled to gain weight.
Elisa seemed to consider sleep a personal insult.
I survived.
We survived.
Every day, we transformed the impossible into routine.
“Aurora,” Mrs. Lurdes called.
I opened my eyes.
She discreetly pointed toward the door.
A man stood outside.
Tall.
Dark suit.
Posture far too rigid for Santa Brígida.
My body recognized him before my mind did.
My heart missed a beat.
Then another.
Dante.
He looked older.
Not much.
A few strands of gray had appeared at his temples. The lines around his eyes were deeper. His expression remained controlled, but there was something in his face I had never seen before.
Fear.
His eyes moved past me.
They found Elisa.
Then Cecília.
Finally, Tomás.
All the color drained from his face.
Tomás hid behind my legs.
“Who is he?”
Dante opened his mouth.
No sound came out.
I positioned myself in front of all three children.
“Go into the studio.”
“But, Mommy…” Elisa began.
“Now.”
She looked at Dante curiously.
“Is he a customer?”
“Elisa.”
My tone was enough.
She took Cecília’s hand.
Tomás remained attached to my dress.
I knelt in front of him.
“Go with your sisters.”
“Don’t want to.”
“Mrs. Lurdes will give you the popsicle we promised.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
He looked at our neighbor.
“Grape?”
“If your mother says yes.”
“Grape,” I confirmed.
Tomás released my dress.
All three followed Mrs. Lurdes through the side door.
Cecília was the last to leave.
She looked over her shoulder at Dante and tightened her grip on her sister’s hand.
I waited until they had disappeared.
Then I walked to the entrance.
Dante did not attempt to approach me.
At least he had learned something.
“How did you find me?”
My voice was steady.
More than I had expected.
“It took me six days.”
“It could have taken you the rest of your life.”
He absorbed the blow without reacting.
“Aurora…”
“Don’t say my name.”
His eyes closed for a second.
“I need to speak to you.”
“No.”
“I know the truth.”
The words did not produce the effect he may have expected.
No relief.
No satisfaction.
Only an old weariness.
“Congratulations.”
“The painting was found.”
“I know.”
He looked surprised.
“How?”
“Miguel told me.”
Dante lowered his gaze.
“He continued helping you.”
“Unlike certain people.”
His jaw tightened.
“I deserve that.”
“You deserve much worse.”
“I know.”
“No, Dante. You don’t know.”
He looked toward the door through which the children had left.
“Are they mine?”
I released a dry laugh.
“Was that the first thing you came here to ask?”
“No. I…”
“Four years later and you still need confirmation?”
“I know they’re mine.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I don’t know how to speak to you.”
“That was never a problem for you before.”
“Aurora…”
“They are biologically yours.”
The word struck him.
Biologically.
Not a father.
Not a family.
Only blood.
“What are their names?”
I considered refusing to answer.
But the names belonged to the children, not to him.
“Elisa, Cecília, and Tomás.”
Dante repeated them silently.
As if he were attempting to carve them into himself.
“How old are they?”
“Three years and seven months.”
He became even paler.
He did the calculation.
The premature birth.
“They were born early.”
“Thirty-two weeks.”
“Why?”
“Because they were triplets.”
“Were there complications?”
I laughed again.
This time, I could not conceal my anger.
“You don’t have the right to come here and ask questions as if you missed a meeting.”
“I know I don’t have any rights.”
“Then leave.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You did it very well the first time.”
Dante inhaled deeply.
“I was wrong.”
“You were.”
“The evidence was fabricated.”
“It was.”
“Otávio arranged everything.”
“Yes.”
“And I believed him.”
“Exactly.”
He took a step toward me.
I stepped back.
Dante stopped immediately.
“I came to ask for your forgiveness.”
“No.”
“You haven’t even let me…”
“I don’t accept.”
The silence between us grew heavy.
“I didn’t expect you to accept today.”
“I didn’t accept yesterday. I won’t accept tomorrow.”
“Then let me repair what I did.”
“You can’t.”
“I can try.”
“Not with me.”
His eyes returned to the side of the studio.
“With them.”
My entire body tightened.
“You are not entering my children’s lives because you feel guilty.”
“They are my children too.”
“You rejected them before they were born.”
“I didn’t know there were three.”
“Oh, so rejecting only one would have been acceptable?”
He closed his eyes.
“No.”
“You said you would never acknowledge a child being used to trap you.”
“I regret every word.”
“I remember every one of them.”
“Aurora…”
“They are not your chance to feel like a better man.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I don’t care what you meant. What matters is what you do.”
Dante remained still.
I could see the conflict on his face.
He was accustomed to acting.
Solving.
Buying.
Ordering.
At that moment, none of those skills were useful.
“What do I need to do?” he asked.
“Leave.”
“I will not abandon my children again.”
“Don’t turn your continued presence into a virtue. You haven’t even stayed twenty minutes yet.”
“I will stay as long as necessary.”
“You have an entire group of companies to manage.”
“I can manage it from anywhere.”
“You have hotels, employees, and commitments.”
“I’ll reorganize everything.”
“And when it becomes difficult?”
“I won’t leave.”
“You don’t know what difficult is.”
Dante looked at the vase.
At the slice of bread still trapped inside it.
Then at the oil spilled across the floor.
“I suppose I don’t.”
“You don’t.”
The side door opened.
Elisa appeared with a purple popsicle stain around her mouth.
“Mommy, Cecí dropped hers.”
Behind her, I heard Cecília begin to cry.
Tomás shouted that he wanted another.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
When I opened them, Dante was still there.
“Go to the hotel,” I ordered. “Don’t come back today.”
“May I see them tomorrow?”
“I haven’t promised anything.”
“Aurora…”
“Don’t come back today.”
He nodded.
For the first time since I had known him, Dante Ferraz obeyed without arguing.
He turned and began walking down the street.
I watched until he disappeared behind the church.
Only then did I realize my hands were trembling.
Elisa tugged at my dress.
“The man is sad.”
I looked at my daughter.
“He’s just a man I knew a long time ago.”
“Did he cry?”
“No.”
“Looked like it.”
I knelt in front of her.
“Elisa, listen to me. You, Cecília, and Tomás are not to go anywhere with that man. You don’t open the door for him. You don’t accept anything he offers. Do you understand?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Is he bad?”
My throat tightened.
I looked in the direction Dante had disappeared.
“I still don’t know what he is now.”
But I knew exactly what he had been.
The man who abandoned us.