Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
ENRICO FERRARA
Pacing in front of her door wasn’t going to change anything.
But I still couldn’t force myself to knock.
Valentina Muniz—now Ferrara—had always possessed a unique talent for turning me into something pathetic. And before I ruined everything, I had loved being pathetic for her.
Afterward, what was left of me—the pieces I gathered and forced into something that walked, breathed, ate, but didn’t live—was pathetic in a way that disgusted me, even if I could convince anyone else otherwise.
And the kind of pathetic I was now?
It didn’t just disgust me.
It pissed me off.
My heart beat too fast, nerves bordering on paralysis. I’d been avoiding this moment for days, delaying the inevitable conversation we needed to have.
But there was nowhere left to run.
Since Clara had been discharged, I hadn’t allowed myself to get close to them. My presence seemed to bring tension, discomfort, and I’d retreated into the safe distance my office offered—giving them space.
Especially Valentina.
But I couldn’t keep hiding.
I owed her more than space.
I owed her the truth, and at the very least… a real apology.
I stopped in front of the closed door and lifted my hand.
For a second I hesitated.
Then the door opened.
Valentina stood there, cool and guarded, her eyes distant with caution. It looked like I’d caught her on her way out.
“Can we talk?” I asked quietly, holding her gaze.
She hesitated, then nodded, opening the door wider and stepping back to let me in.
The room was silent and meticulously organized—like she was fighting to keep control of her life through order.
“What do you want, Enrico?” she asked directly, no softness, arms crossing into defense.
I swallowed, forcing courage into my lungs.
“I came to tell you I paid off all your debts,” I said. “You don’t need to worry about that anymore.”
Her eyes widened slightly—genuine surprise—before she rebuilt her mask. Distrust returned fast.
“Why?” she asked.
I exhaled, glanced away for a moment, then looked back.
“Because it’s the least I can do after everything.” My voice hardened into resolve. “And I also officially ended Dreamland. There won’t be any more threat to Tiradentes or to the people here.”
Valentina studied me in silence, weighing my words with suspicion and shock. She stayed rigid, but I saw the faint tremor in her hands—emotion she tried to bury.
“That doesn’t fix what you did,” she said finally. Low, firm. “It doesn’t erase what I went through. It doesn’t erase what I lost because of you.”
I nodded.
“I know,” I said. “I never imagined I could repair the damage completely. But I had to do something right—however small.”
She held my gaze for a long beat. Her expression softened just a fraction, as if she was absorbing the reality of what I was saying.
“It doesn’t change anything between us,” she said, colder again, but less sharp.
“I know,” I whispered. “I don’t expect it to.”
Silence pressed in.
Her eyes stayed on me, reflecting emotions I couldn’t fully name.
I drew in a breath. There was no space left for cowardice.
“I’m not here only to talk about debts and Dreamland,” I said. My voice stayed low, but my heart hammered hard. “I’m here because I need to say things I’ve never said—and you deserve to hear them from me.”
Valentina lifted her chin with that stubborn dignity that made me hate myself for admiring her even now. She crossed her arms tighter, a physical barrier.
“Then say it,” she said. “I’m listening.”
My hands trembled slightly at my sides. I looked down for a heartbeat, searching for strength, then met her eyes.
“I was wrong,” I said. “Wrong in a way that’s unforgivable.
” My throat tightened. “I never should’ve believed something so blindly without questioning, without listening to you first.” My voice broke at the edges.
“There is no excuse for what I did. For that day. For how I treated you. For everything you suffered because of me. I was cowardly. I was selfish. I was cruel.”
The words came out heavy with remorse.
Valentina didn’t move, but I saw her hands tighten around her own arms, and her eyes shone with contained emotion.
I inhaled again, forcing myself to say the part I’d never told anyone out loud.
“I trusted Eloá blindly,” I said, voice strained.
“I’m not trying to justify what I did—but you need to understand.
” I swallowed. “When my parents died, she was all I had. She took over everything. My life. My brothers’ lives.
She raised us.” The confession tasted bitter.
“I grew up with that debt in my bones. I never believed she was capable of—” I shook my head. “I just…”
Valentina watched me closely. Her expression softened slightly, though pain still lived in her eyes.
“But I was capable?” she asked quietly. “I was capable of betraying you, Enrico, but your grandmother wasn’t capable of lying to you?”
I closed my eyes.
“It doesn’t excuse anything,” I said. “I know.” My voice turned raw.
“But when Eloá brought those fake ‘proofs’ of your betrayal, I believed her instantly because it was her.” My jaw clenched.
“She wasn’t just the woman who raised me.
She was the only person in the world I believed I could trust without question.
” I looked at Valentina again. “The idea that she could lie to me—manipulate my life like that—it never even crossed my mind.”
“I’m not telling you this to lessen my guilt,” I added quickly. “I just… I want you to understand why I was that coward.”
Valentina’s voice trembled when she answered.
“You have no idea what those years were like for me, Enrico.” Her eyes shone. “No idea what I faced. How humiliated I was. How despised I was for something I never did.”
“I know,” I cut in softly, and the weight of the words hit me like a blow. “I read the reports, Valentina. I know exactly what happened after I left you.”
A bitter laugh escaped her—tears gathered now.
“Reading reports isn’t living it,” she said.
“It’s not lying awake night after night trying to understand what you did wrong.
” Her voice broke. “It’s not surviving day after day while carrying public shame for something you never did.
” She swallowed. “It’s not feeling our daughter kick in your belly while you wonder how you’re going to tell her that her father rejected her before she was even born. ”
Each word struck like a hammer.
I wanted to look away.
I didn’t deserve the relief.
“I will never be able to forgive myself,” I said, voice heavy, brutal with truth. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me.” My throat tightened. “What I did is unforgivable.”
Valentina wiped a tear quickly, almost angry at herself for letting it fall.
“And what do you plan to do now?” she asked, voice direct. “Besides paying debts and ending Dreamland?”
I held her gaze, feeling the weight of the answer.
“I plan to leave you both in peace,” I said. “As soon as the psychologist says it won’t harm Clara anymore.” My chest tightened painfully. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need, but then I’ll disappear from your lives completely.” I forced the words out. “Because that’s what you deserve.”
I braced for relief.
For rage.
For cold indifference.
Instead, Valentina’s eyes widened and she took a step back like I’d struck her.
“I don’t want that, Enrico,” she said—fast, startled. “I don’t want you to disappear from our lives.”
I stared at her, shocked, my pulse spiking.
“You don’t?” My voice cracked with disbelief. “After everything I did to you—you don’t want me to step away?”
Valentina inhaled, fighting conflicting emotions, looked away for a heartbeat, then met my eyes again with renewed firmness.
“This isn’t about what I want or what you deserve,” she said, voice trembling but steady.
“It’s about what’s best for Clara.” The truth in her words cut deep.
“As much as I hate being forced to live with you right now, I never wanted my daughter to grow up without her father. I never wanted Clara to carry the pain of our mistakes.”
The weight of her generosity crushed me.
“She doesn’t want me,” I said. “You saw her in the hospital. She rejects me.” My throat worked. “And I deserve that.” I swallowed hard. “But you can’t force me to keep causing her pain.”
Valentina exhaled, frustrated, and walked to the window, staring out for a moment before turning back to me.
“She’s a child, Enrico,” she said. “She doesn’t understand everything.
” Her voice turned sharper with truth. “All she knows is you made her mother cry, and since you showed up, her life has been confusing and hard.” She held my gaze.
“She doesn’t trust you because you’ve never given her a reason to. You haven’t earned that trust.”
The words hit me clean.
A painful, suffocating truth.
I drew in a breath, feeling responsibility settle on my shoulders like a weight I’d never carried before.
“I don’t know if I’m capable,” I admitted quietly. “I don’t know if I deserve it—or if I have the right to earn it after what I did to you and to her.”
Valentina was silent for a moment, then her eyes found mine with a sincerity that left nowhere to hide.
“If you want to be capable,” she said, “you will be.” Her voice was calm but unyielding.
“With patience. With care. With respect. That’s how you do it.
” She shook her head once. “You can’t expect it to change overnight.
It won’t.” Her gaze hardened. “You’ll have to prove every day, with every small action, that you deserve to be her father. ”
I nodded slowly.
Doubt still lived in my chest.
But something else did too—something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years.
A hope that terrified me.
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” I said. “For you and for Clara.”
“For me, no,” Valentina corrected immediately, voice hard.
“Don’t confuse yourself.” Pain flickered behind her eyes.
“I’m not asking for anything for me. You owe me nothing except the peace you never gave me.
” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you.
I don’t know if I even want to.” Her voice steadied.
“But for Clara, I’ll try. For my daughter, I’ll try to coexist with you because she deserves that.
” She held my gaze. “That’s the only promise I can give you right now. ”
I nodded, accepting the boundary.
“I understand,” I said quietly. “For Clara, then.”
Valentina studied me for a long beat, then nodded once—barely.
“It’s good you’re willing,” she said. “Because this is probably the only chance you’re going to get.” Her voice sharpened. “And if we’re doing this, we’re going to need rules.”