46
DANTE
Bento turned five in January.
In the party photo, I had a napkin stuck to my cuff and a startled expression because he’d blown out the candles before we finished singing. Cecília stood beside me, laughing. He’d chosen the cake, in colors no adult would have willingly put together.
It was a birthday I’d remember because I’d been there.
I helped serve the food, washed a serving platter, and looked for a toy car that had gotten lost under the couch. When my son asked me to stand next to him for the next photo, I did.
That night, after the guests had left, Cecília showed me the photo from January 2020.
We were sitting on the living room floor, with scraps of wrapping paper near the door. She opened the photo on her phone and placed it in my hand.
Bento was yawning, wrapped in the light-colored blanket. Cecília’s arm was visible at the edge of the frame. I’d known about that photo since the phone call months earlier, but seeing it took my breath away in a way I hadn’t expected.
I didn’t speak for a while.
“He was so tiny,” I managed to say.
“He was.”
I ran my finger over the screen without touching his face—a pointless precaution I couldn’t help but take.
Cecília rested her shoulder against mine.
“I can send it to you, if you want.”
I nodded.
When the picture arrived, I saved it on my phone. I didn’t send it to anyone else.
***
In March 2025, the board decided to reinstate me as president.
I received the conditions for my return: division of responsibilities, review of purchases, and disclosure of conflicts of interest. Approvals would no longer depend on the same chain of personal trust. I read every item, including those that would slow down a decision I would have previously resolved with a single phone call.
Some of the changes had begun during my leave and were functioning without me.
I had to acknowledge how uncomfortable that discovery made me before I could be glad of it.
Augusto would not return as financial director. Proceedings over the irregularities continued under the people responsible for them. He was still submitting challenges. The family wouldn’t get a simple summary that could settle everything over lunch.
Eunice remained in her position.
In our first conversation after the decision, she handed me the schedule of planned reviews. I looked at the dates and almost commented on the excessive number of meetings.
She waited.
“I’ll get organized,” I said.
The corner of her mouth twitched, almost a smile.
“Great.”
During my first week back, a contract I wanted finalized stalled over a discrepancy in the paperwork. My impulse was to make a call and get it moving. Instead, I asked what was missing, who needed to respond, and when we’d have what we needed to decide.
It took longer.
The world didn’t end.
***
Cecília celebrated my return with a dinner at home, with no guests.
I recognized the smell of the food before I even reached the table. Cecília asked how my day had been and waited for my answer, spoon in hand.
I told her about the contract waiting on documents. She laughed at my expression when I admitted I was impatient.
“You’ll survive.”
“Is that the bakery’s opinion?”
“Unanimous.”
Bento wanted to know what we were talking about. I explained that I needed to wait for a response to do something at work.
“Just like when the dough rises?” he asked.
I looked at Cecília.
“More or less.”
“If you mess with it too soon, Mommy gets mad.”
We both laughed.
The following weeks required organization.
My return to work had increased my commitments, and the time I spent with Bento was no longer something I could fit in only after everything else was done.
We divided up the pickups, coordinated our mornings, and adjusted the days when I was responsible.
When a schedule needed to change, we discussed it beforehand.
It wasn’t always easy. Cecília wasn’t available to absorb every scheduling conflict on my end. I had real commitments, too. We learned to talk about them without treating every negotiation as a threat.
One Wednesday, she needed to switch our arrangements because of a delivery, and I couldn’t. We looked for another solution ahead of time. She was annoyed, I was frustrated, and that evening, after working out what we could, we talked about a movie.
I kept that Wednesday in my memory.
It was the kind of day I’d almost lost forever.
***
In early April, I asked if she wanted to spend a Sunday just with me.
Dalva had already invited Bento to an activity they were both looking forward to. Cecília said she was free until mid-afternoon. We decided to head out early, have breakfast, and go for a walk without a to-do list.
It was a clear day. We came across an antique market and spent way too much time debating the usefulness of a kettle with a narrow spout that seemed impossible to clean.
Cecília bought a small ceramic dish to store her rings in while she cooked.
I didn’t buy anything, but I wanted to take the whole morning with me.
We sat on a bench afterward.
She took off her shoes for a moment to adjust a strap. Her foot brushed against mine, and I thought about how much I already knew about her routine and how much still lay between our two homes.
“I’d like to talk again about moving in together,” I said.
Cecília looked up.
“As a question this time?”
I smiled.
“As a question this time.”
She finished adjusting her shoe and turned to face me.
“Go ahead.”
I said I wanted to share the ordinary days.
Not just the nights when someone set aside time for a date.
I wanted to wake up there when the morning was rough, know where Bento’s socks were, discuss a purchase before finding the bag in the kitchen.
I wanted a life where my presence meant chores, not just visits.
“I know your place isn’t just temporary,” I added. “I’m not suggesting that you guys just move into mine. We can look for somewhere else. Or figure out if it makes sense for me to move in with you for a while. I want to talk about what would work for everyone.”
Cecília looked out at the antique market.
I waited.
“I want him to stay in his school,” she said.
“Okay.”
“And I don’t want a much longer trip to the bakery or to be far from my mother. I want a home where I’ve chosen things too. I don’t want to walk into a finished place and be afraid of scratching the table.”
I thought of the table in my apartment, already marked by a toy that Bento had let slip. I’d never said anything to him about it. The mark didn’t matter. But Cecília’s feelings did.
“Let’s look for a place within those limits,” I replied.
She looked at me.
“Are you willing to move too?”
“I am.”
I thought about the commute to school and the space I’d have to give up. I still didn’t know which apartment we’d both like.
“Then I want to think about it with you,” she said.
I took her hand.
We felt the same joy for a few seconds, without rushing it with a list.
“And I’m not asking you to marry me for that,” I said. “I don’t need a ceremony to start sharing a life.”
Cecília squeezed my fingers.
“I heard you.”
She smiled in a way I couldn’t quite figure out. I didn’t ask.
On the way back, we started talking about neighborhoods, rooms, and windows. We disagreed on a distance that I thought was short until she reminded me of how bad traffic was at the end of the school day.
I opened the map and checked.
She was right.
I put my phone away and continued the conversation, interested in what we’d still discover together.