25.
DANTE FERRAZ
Aurora left at seven twelve.
At seven thirteen, Tomás asked when she would return.
“After you’re asleep.”
“I won’t sleep.”
“Then it will feel as though she takes longer to return.”
“Why?”
“Because time passes slowly when you are awake.”
“Don’t want slow time.”
“Then sleep at bedtime.”
Elisa laughed.
“You tricked him.”
“I did not.”
“A little.”
Perhaps.
Dinner continued.
Aurora had prepared everything.
I only needed to serve it.
Even so, Elisa spilled beans on her dress.
Tomás refused rice because one grain was dark.
Cecília barely ate.
“Your mother said you need three spoonfuls,” I said.
“She’s not here.”
“But she said it before.”
“Now she’s not.”
“The rule remains.”
“No.”
“Three.”
She closed her mouth.
I did not force her.
I waited.
“Can I do one, then two?” she asked.
“That equals three.”
“No.”
“It does.”
“One and two is five.”
“Not today.”
She looked at me.
She recognized her mother’s phrase.
She ate.
At eight, Aurora sent a message.
I arrived.
I answered:
Everything is fine. Eating dinner. No emergencies.
She read it immediately.
She did not reply.
She was probably trying to work.
I put the telephone away.
Bath.
Pajamas.
Teeth.
The routine I had practiced while Aurora was present.
Without her, every detail seemed more important.
I could not call her over every difficulty.
She needed that evening.
Elisa attempted to escape naked again.
This time, I locked the bathroom door first.
She was outraged.
“Prison!”
“Bathroom.”
“Want out.”
“After the towel.”
“Mommy lets.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Sometimes.”
“Not tonight.”
Tomás splashed water outside the tub.
Cecília got her hair wet and cried.
I finished without flooding the entire house.
Only half of it.
While dressing, Tomás began scratching his arm.
My heart stopped.
“Where does it itch?”
“Here.”
I examined it.
A mosquito bite.
“Your mouth?”
“No.”
“Tongue?”
“No.”
“Are you breathing normally?”
“You talk a lot.”
I breathed.
It was not an allergy.
I needed to control my fear so I did not transfer it to him.
I applied ointment.
We continued.
At eight forty, we were in the bedroom.
Elisa chose the fox story.
Cecília wanted the moon.
Tomás wanted dinosaurs.
“Two stories,” I said.
“Three children, three stories,” Elisa argued.
Difficult logic to combat.
“Your mother said two.”
“She’s not here.”
The sentence appeared as an opportunity to test boundaries.
“The rule continues even when she is absent.”
“Why?”
“Because it is still the rule.”
Elisa pouted.
“Then fox and dino.”
Cecília began crying.
“Moon.”
“We can read the moon tomorrow.”
“Want today.”
“Then moon and dinosaur.”
Elisa protested.
The conflict grew.
I could choose.
Every choice would leave one unhappy.
“Each of you chooses one favorite page,” I decided. “Then I read one complete story that I choose.”
“You choose bad,” Elisa said.
“Probably.”
It worked.
Partially.
At nine twenty, they lay down.
At nine twenty-five, Elisa asked for water.
At nine thirty, Tomás wanted the bathroom.
At nine thirty-four, Cecília heard a noise.
At nine forty, all three were standing again.
“Enough,” I said.
My voice came out firmer.
They stopped.
“Now it is time to sleep.”
Tomás frowned.
“You mad.”
“I’m tired.”
“Like Mommy.”
“Perhaps.”
“She talks loud.”
“Sometimes.”
“Then says sorry.”
I breathed.
“I’m sorry for my tone. But you still need to lie down.”
They returned to bed.
I sat on the floor between them.
I had not intended to stay.
I stayed.
Cecília held my hand.
“Where Mommy?”
“At the museum.”
“Has monster?”
“No.”
“You know?”
“Museums contain old objects. Not monsters.”
“Dinosaur?” Tomás asked.
“Perhaps bones in another museum.”
“She see?”
“I don’t know.”
Elisa lifted her head.
“Call.”
“We will not interrupt her.”
“But she’s ours.”
“And she is working.”
“You ours too?”
The question stopped everything.
“I’m your father.”
“Then you’re ours.”
My chest tightened.
“A little.”
Cecília repeated her own phrase.
“I like you a little.”
“I know.”
“Now more.”
I looked at her.
“How much more?”
She opened her arms only slightly.
“This much.”
It was enough to destroy me.
“Thank you.”
Cecília closed her eyes.
Tomás fell asleep next.
Elisa resisted.
“Daddy Dante.”
“Yes?”
“You going to marry Mommy?”
My body became still.
“I don’t know.”
“You want?”
Aurora had said children completed stories.
I needed to be careful.
“I want your mother to be happy.”
“With you?”
“If she chooses.”
“She chooses everything.”
“Almost everything.”
“Then ask her.”
“Not now.”
“Why?”
“Because I still need to repair many things.”
“Like paint on floor?”
“Much more difficult.”
“You clean.”
“I’m trying.”
Elisa yawned.
“Then marry.”
“Go to sleep.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“I know.”
She closed her eyes.
At ten, they were all sleeping.
I sent a message.
They are asleep. Difficult bath, three stories negotiated, no emergencies.
Aurora replied:
Are you certain they are asleep?
I looked.
Tomás breathed deeply.
Cecília held my hand even while sleeping.
Elisa appeared unconscious.
Almost.
That means no.
It means I have not moved to verify it.
Three dots appeared.
Thank you.
I put the telephone away.
At ten twenty, Cecília woke screaming.
Not gradual crying.
A scream.
I stood.
“Cecília.”
She thrashed in bed.
“Mommy!”
“I’m here.”
“No!”
She attempted to get up.
I held her only to stop her falling.
“It was a dream.”
“Mommy disappeared!”
“She is working.”
“Didn’t come back!”
“She will.”
“Want now!”
The panic grew.
Tomás woke.
Elisa sat up.
“Cecí is scared.”
“I know.”
I picked her up.
She struck my chest.
“Want Mommy!”
“I can call her.”
Aurora was working.
I had promised not to interrupt over an ordinary difficulty.
But this was not merely difficult.
Cecília trembled.
I picked up the telephone.
Before I called, she screamed:
“Don’t go away!”
I stopped.
“I’m not leaving.”
“You get phone and go.”
“I’ll stay here.”
I sat on the floor.
Cecília in my lap.
Tomás joined us.
Then Elisa.
All three pressed close.
“Mommy comes back,” Elisa told her sister.
“She said.”
“Daddy stays,” Tomás added.
Cecília cried.
“Everybody goes.”
The sentence did not belong only to that night.
Perhaps it came from something even she did not understand.
Learned absence.
Fear without a clear memory.
“I left before I knew any of you,” I said.
Aurora probably would not approve of such a conversation.
But I did not want to lie.
“It was wrong.”
Elisa listened.
“Very.”
“Very.”
“Now you come back.”
“I come back whenever I can.”
Cecília gripped my shirt.
“Don’t want can. Want always.”
My chest hurt.
“I cannot promise that I will never work far away or that no problem will happen.”
She cried harder.
“But I can promise one thing.”
All three watched me.
“I will never choose to forget you.”
Elisa frowned.
“Nobody chooses forget.”
“I chose not to search before.”
Silence.
“Now I will not do that.”
Cecília remained attached to me.
“And if I need to leave, I’ll tell you. If I’m delayed, I’ll warn you. If I cannot return at the expected time, you will know why.”
“Don’t disappear,” she whispered.
“I will not disappear without explaining.”
It was the most honest promise I possessed.
Cecília began to calm.
“Call Mommy,” she asked.
I made a video call.
Aurora answered quickly.
She wore gloves and a mask lowered around her neck.
“What happened?”
“Nightmare.”
I showed her Cecília.
“Mommy.”
The girl’s voice broke.
“My love, I’m here.”
“You disappeared.”
“I went to work. Remember?”
“Come back.”
Aurora looked at me.
“How long?”
“Perhaps one hour.”
“A lot.”
“You can sleep with Daddy Dante.”
Cecília went still.
Aurora also appeared to hear her own words.
“He stays?”
“He does.”
“Until you?”
“Until I return.”
She looked at me.
I nodded.
“I promise,” I said.
Concrete.
Possible.
Cecília accepted.
Aurora spoke to all three.
She showed part of the museum ceiling.
Elisa asked about skeletons.
Tomás wanted to see a dinosaur.
The call ended.
I returned everyone to bed.
Cecília did not release my hand.
I remained sitting.
At eleven fifteen, I heard the door.
Aurora entered quietly.
She came to the bedroom.
Stopped when she saw us.
I sat on the floor leaning against the bed.
Cecília slept with her hand closed around two of my fingers.
Tomás lay across my feet.
Elisa hugged my shoulder.
I did not know when she left her bed.
Aurora covered her mouth with one hand.
“I’m back,” she whispered.
Cecília opened her eyes immediately.
“Mommy.”
Aurora knelt.
“I came back.”
The girl released my hand and embraced her mother.
“Daddy stayed.”
“I know.”
“He didn’t disappear.”
Aurora closed her eyes.
“I know.”
Tomás woke.
Then Elisa.
For several minutes, there were embraces, questions, and complaints.
Then Aurora placed them back in bed.
I went to the kitchen.
I was exhausted.
More than after any meeting.
Aurora appeared.
“How was it?”
“Difficult.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“I want to sleep for two days.”
She smiled.
“That is normal.”
“There was a nightmare.”
“I saw.”
“I spoke about leaving.”
Aurora became serious.
“What did you say?”
I told her.
I omitted nothing.
She listened.
“You promised not to disappear without explaining.”
“Yes.”
“That is a large promise.”
“But possible.”
“Most of the time.”
“I will do everything I can to keep it.”
Aurora nodded.
“She called you Daddy.”
“She has before.”
“Tonight was different.”
I knew.
It was not a title.
It was security.
“Was the work worth it?” I asked.
Her eyes changed.
“Yes.”
“Then I’m glad.”
“I didn’t ask whether you were glad.”
“I know.”
“You made it possible.”
“You trusted me.”
“A little.”
Cecília’s word.
“A little is good,” I said.
Aurora looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
We were close.
Alone.
The house silent.
Desire appeared.
Not only physical.
The urge to touch.
To remember.
To bring my face closer.
Aurora noticed.
Her lips parted.
I could take one step.
I did not.
She had entrusted me with the children.
That was not an invitation.
“I need to go,” I said.
Disappointment crossed her eyes so quickly that perhaps I imagined it.
“Yes.”
I picked up my keys.
“Good night.”
“Dante.”
I stopped.
Aurora approached.
My body became still.
She raised her hand.
Touched my face.
Only her fingertips beside the scar on my eyebrow.
The contact lasted seconds.
“Thank you for staying.”
I closed my eyes.
“Whenever I can.”
She removed her hand.
“Do not ruin this.”
“I won’t.”
I left.
Inside the car, I remained for several minutes without driving.
The skin still burned where she touched me.
I wanted more.
But for the first time in my life, wanting did not mean taking.
It meant knowing how to wait.