48 #3
But I was also the man sitting on that bench, with a son who knew his way back and a woman who didn’t need to make herself smaller to stay beside me.
Cecília looked up.
“Shall we go home in a little while?”
I looked at her.
Home.
The place where the bookcase had a repaired shelf, toy cars turned up inside shoes, and two people had to decide who would buy bread the next day.
“Yes.”
She kissed me and rested her head on my shoulder again.
I stayed there until she was ready to get up.
EPILOGUE 1
CECíLIA
A year after the wedding, Joana sent me home from the bakery at four in the afternoon.
It wasn’t the first time. The difference was that I’d left almost everything ready so I could obey.
“The meeting’s over, the delivery’s gone out, and you’ve already checked tomorrow’s order,” she said, counting on her fingers. “What’s left?”
I looked at the counter.
There was always something. I knew that. I also knew it didn’t have to be done by me right then.
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
Joana smiled.
“I like that line. Say it again when you get back.”
I grabbed my bag.
By September 2026, A?úcar de Dentro had a reorganized kitchen, more work outside the hotels, and a routine that no longer depended on me being everywhere at once.
We’d completed the phase we’d put off during the accusations.
Someone new helped at the times when production and serving customers used to compete for our attention.
Ivo still worked with us on deliveries, with schedules and pay agreed in advance.
We hadn’t grown overnight.
Some months were better, others tighter. Some customers hadn’t returned, and others came because they’d tasted a sweet at a party. The opportunity we’d lost during the publicity hadn’t magically turned into an order. We’d found other ways forward.
I was still working very hard.
I just no longer confused exhaustion with proof that I deserved what I had.
***
Bento, now six, was finishing an activity that afternoon.
Dante and I had agreed that I would pick him up. When one of his meetings ended early, he asked if he could come with us. I said yes and met him on the sidewalk, with our son’s jacket folded over his arm.
Bento came running out and stopped in front of us.
“Did both of you come?”
“We did,” Dante replied.
My son seemed to find this abundance convenient. He handed his backpack to his father, a crumpled sheet of paper to me, and began a story that required our attention in turns.
On the way, he asked to stop by the park.
The sky was still light. I didn’t have an order tucked away in my bag, Dante didn’t need to go back to the office, and dinner could be simple.
So we went.
The kite had finally become more than a plan months earlier, after one lopsided attempt and another decent one. We hadn’t brought it that day. Bento found other things to do without minding its absence.
He ran, came back for water, tried to talk his father into a race, and complained when Dante slowed down far too obviously.
“That’s not fair.”
I started laughing.
“He noticed.”
Dante put his hands on his knees, pretending to be more tired than he actually was.
“I wasn’t faking it.”
Bento looked at me, waiting for my verdict.
“I think we need another race,” I replied.
Off they went.
I sat down on a bench. Bento called out for me to watch the route he’d chosen, and I raised my hand to show I was following along.
***
At home, we disagreed about dinner.
I wanted to use up what was in the fridge. Dante had promised Bento they’d make something different without checking what was missing. My son clung to that promise and declared that the rest of the food wouldn’t work for the idea he had in mind.
I looked at my husband.
He looked at the fridge.
“I should have checked.”
“You should have.”
We talked it over. There was one option that worked with what we had, and another that would require going out to buy supplies. Dante went to buy what was missing to keep his promise, and I made it clear that I wouldn’t take on the extra work that the promise had created.
“I’ll do it,” he replied.
He did.
I still wished we could have eaten earlier. I moved Bento’s backpack out of the way and left the two of them in the kitchen.
I was annoyed for a few minutes. Then I took off my shoes and went to take a shower while the two of them worked in the kitchen.
When I came back, there was a bowl out of place, a countertop that needed cleaning, and a son proud of what he’d helped prepare.
I ate heartily.
Dante looked at me over the rim of his glass.
“Is it good?”
“It is.”
“Even with the planning?”
I smiled.
“In spite of it.”
Bento wanted to know what “in spite of” meant. We tried to explain and ended up using dinner as an example. He seemed pleased to have discovered an expression that might be useful in future arguments.
***
Later, I received a message from Leda confirming lunch for the following Sunday.
The visits had become part of our routine. Leda had a place of her own that didn’t erase Dalva’s. Bento knew both apartments, knew one grandmother kept thread and the other had the noisy clock. They’d grown closer gradually. No one had asked him to like anyone to prove that the adults had healed.
Marina would come on Sunday too, if she finished a project in time. I’d learned to hear the “if” without treating it as a lack of love.
I answered and set the phone down on the table.
Dante was in Bento’s room, listening to him read a few words from a book. My son would stop, try again, and sometimes make up words he thought fit the picture. His father waited.
I leaned against the door for a few seconds.
That night, after Bento fell asleep, we sat on the couch with our legs intertwined. Dante’s wedding ring brushed against my hand as he told me something about work.
The group still had its controls in place. Some decisions took longer, some questions couldn’t be settled in a conversation between brothers, and consequences continued to take their course. Augusto wasn’t part of our daily life. I didn’t need to know where he was every day to get on with mine.
When Dante finished speaking, he asked about the meeting at the bakery.
I told him that a client wanted something not in our catalog, and I’d managed to say no, offering what we knew how to do well.
“Did she accept?”
“She agreed to think about it. She might not place the order.”
He nodded.
I settled in more comfortably against his shoulder.
I wasn’t sure about every order, every month, or every choice we’d make. I had a home where I could say that without feeling ashamed.
Dante kissed my hair.
“I’ll pick up Bento tomorrow,” he reminded me.
“I know. It’s settled.”
And I really did know.
I didn’t check again before going to sleep.