EPILOGUE 2
DANTE
It was an ordinary Tuesday until late afternoon.
Bento, now seven years old, had gone to spend a few hours with Dalva after school. I was going to pick him up later. I got home early, with a shopping bag and two work messages that could wait.
Cecília was in the kitchen.
She was standing by the table, with a glass of water in front of her and her purse on a chair. She looked up when I walked in.
“Hi,” I said. “You’re home early.”
“I am.”
I set the bag down on the counter and looked at her more closely.
“Everything okay?”
Cecília held out her hand.
I took it.
“I took a test today,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”
I kept looking at her face.
She took a deep breath, her eyes already moist.
“I wanted to tell you now. I couldn’t imagine keeping this to myself until dinner or the weekend. I needed you to know.”
I listened until she finished.
Then I walked over and hugged her.
“I’m here,” I whispered in her ear.
She pressed herself against me. I felt her breathing change and held her close, without searching for a phrase capable of capturing what was happening inside me.
There was joy. There was fear. There was a memory that neither of us needed to name in that first second to know it existed.
That memory stayed with me as I held her. Cecília’s face was hidden against my neck.
When Cecília pulled away a little, I touched her face.
“How are you?”
She started laughing and crying at the same time.
“I think I’m happy. And scared. And I want to sit down.”
I pulled the nearest chair closer. She sat down, still holding my hand, and I knelt down beside her.
“I’m so happy,” I said. My voice faltered in the middle. “So happy.”
Cecília ran her hand through my hair.
“I wanted to hear that.”
I kissed her fingers.
Then I stayed quiet and let her tell me the rest.
She’d spoken to her healthcare provider and would arrange the next steps in her care. It was still early. There were unanswered questions, dates to confirm, and a life beginning as a possibility before it took any recognizable shape.
I drew a chair closer. I wanted to hear what that morning had been like.
“We’ll figure it out together,” I said.
She nodded.
***
We stayed in the kitchen until the light changed.
I put away the groceries while Cecília talked, then sat beside her again.
There was no rush to decide on names, rooms, or how to tell everyone.
We agreed to wait until the next conversation with her healthcare provider before sharing the news further.
That night, she only wanted the two of us to know.
I agreed.
When it was time to pick up Bento, I asked if she’d prefer some company or if she wanted to rest while I went.
“I want to stay here a while,” she said. “Come back with him and we’ll have dinner.”
I kissed her forehead, then her lips.
In the car, it took me a few seconds to start the engine.
My son would be seven years older than his brother or sister. I thought about that and felt such joy that I had to laugh to myself. Then I thought of Cecília sitting in the chair, saying she needed to tell me, and the emotion ran even deeper.
I would never have another chance to be there in those early hours of January 2020.
That absence would remain. A new baby wouldn’t fill it. Bento was my son, with seven years of life, drawings we’d kept, questions of his own, and a relationship with me that we built every day. He wasn’t a rehearsal for a fatherhood that would only truly begin now.
I was already a father.
And the woman I shared my life with had just asked me again to be beside her from the beginning.
I took a deep breath and went to get him.
***
Bento got into the car talking about a school project.
He asked if I knew how to draw a map that wasn’t crooked. I replied that it would depend on the map. He explained that he needed to show a path, not the whole world, which seemed like a reasonable request to me.
On the way back, he told me that Dalva had let him choose buttons from a box to sort by color. He’d disagreed with his grandmother about a button she called blue and he considered green.
I listened to his entire defense of his classification.
When we arrived, Cecília was on the couch. Bento went over to her, got a kiss, and began explaining the map before taking off his backpack.
I stood in the doorway for a moment.
My wife looked up at me over his head.
I smiled.
We didn’t need that night to be anything out of the ordinary to recognize what it held.
We made dinner. I helped Bento with the map.
Cecília chose the colors for one section and was corrected with the same firmness with which Dalva had been.
Then we got things ready for the next day, brushed our teeth with him, and listened to one last question about the distance between school and our house.
When he fell asleep, I left the bedroom door ajar.
Cecília was waiting for me in our room.
I sat down next to her and pulled her close. Her hand found mine, and we stayed that way, without needing to turn the news into a speech.
“I thought I’d be able to talk without crying,” she said after a while.
“You told me.”
She lifted her face.
“Crying.”
I smiled and used my thumb to wipe away the tear that was forming again.
“I heard everything.”
Cecília closed her eyes for a moment, resting her forehead against mine.
Then she laughed softly.
I kissed her and stayed close.
On the table next to the bed was a glass of water, the book she’d been reading, and our wedding rings on the small ceramic dish. From the other room came Bento’s peaceful breathing. There were chores to do around the house the next day, and we still knew almost nothing about the baby.
We knew what we’d do that night.
I would stay.
She could keep talking.