Chapter 28
I knew our relationship wouldn’t be simple.
I knew that standing by Fernando’s side—a man who carried the weight of government on his shoulders—meant putting myself out there, giving up any anonymity, and accepting that my life would never be just mine again.
But I wasn’t prepared for the dirty war that came with the reelection campaign.
At first, it was just comments. Whispers behind the scenes, journalists insinuating that my involvement with Fernando could hurt his image.
But soon those whispers became direct attacks.
Articles started appearing, sensationalist headlines popping up all over the internet.
“Glória’s scandal: the mistress who became first lady.
” “The real villain of the story: did Glória scheme to get Rita out of the way?” “Did Glória manipulate Fernando for political gain?”
The accusations were completely absurd, but that hardly mattered. Truth meant nothing in a political war.
Fernando tried to downplay it all. He talked to me every night, assuring me they were just trying to destabilize his candidacy. But hatred, once it spreads, becomes uncontrollable.
The first time I realized how big the problem was came when I went to the grocery store. I refused to go anywhere with security guards—my stubbornness, the pride of someone who’d always lived independently. But that day was different.
I was in the checkout line when a woman with her hair pulled back and a hard expression turned to me and spat the words like venom:
“Aren’t you ashamed? A murderer walking around like she’s one of us?”
The silence was deafening. I glanced around and saw other people staring at me with disapproval. Some whispered among themselves; others didn’t even bother to hide their contempt. My heart raced.
“Excuse me?” I managed to say, a lump in my throat.
“Dona Rita died because you showed up in his life. Everyone knows it. What did you do? Poison her? Pay someone to cause that accident?”
Rage flared up inside me, but the pain was even greater. How could anyone believe such a lie?
“That’s ridiculous,” I murmured, swallowing hard, trying to get out of there.
But then another voice chimed in—a tall man holding a cart full of groceries:
“Opportunist. You’re using Fernando to climb the ladder. And he still falls for this farce.”
I could have reacted. I could have shouted, faced down those cruel stares. But I froze. Because for the first time, I understood that it didn’t matter what I said. To these people, I was already guilty.
???
I came home devastated. Fernando found me sitting on the couch, still holding the shopping bags, my eyes fixed on nothing. He frowned when he saw the state I was in.
“What happened?”
I raised my eyes to him, feeling the weight of each word before letting them out:
“People really believe I had something to do with Rita’s death.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if taking my pain into himself. Then he came closer and sat beside me.
“Glória…”
“They called me a murderer. A manipulator. They said I’m only with you to help you win the women’s vote.”
His jaw tensed. Fernando hated injustice. But when it involved me, I knew his pain doubled.
“This is just dirty politics, Glória. They’ve got nothing on me, so they’re trying to destroy you.”
“But it’s working.”
My voice cracked. I wanted to be strong, but this was breaking me inside.
He took my hand and held it tight.
“Look at me.” When I raised my eyes, I saw the intensity in his gaze. “I know who you are. I know what we have. They can say whatever they want, but I won’t let them destroy you.”
“And how do we fight a lie that’s already spread?” I whispered, feeling helplessness tighten around my chest.
Fernando took a deep breath, his eyes blazing with determination.
“With the truth.”
???
Two days later, we went to a public event together. It was an important rally, one of the biggest gatherings of Fernando’s reelection campaign. The party was nervous. They advised me not to show up, to let the dust settle, but Fernando wouldn’t have it.
“If you hide, they win,” he said, squeezing my hand.
The crowd was divided. As we walked across the stage, some people applauded while others booed. The boos were deafening. A woman shouted from the front:
“Murderer!”
The word cut through the air like a knife.
Fernando stopped walking. He stepped away from the advisor beside him and grabbed a microphone. The audience fell silent when he began to speak:
“I’ve never been a man who runs from the truth. And the truth is that I love this woman.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Fernando ignored it. His eyes were fixed on me, his voice firm and steady.
“Glória is not a murderer. Glória is not an opportunist. She is the woman who helped me get back on my feet when I thought I had no strength left. And she is here, by my side, because that’s where I want her to be.”
The silence was absolute.
Fernando took a deep breath before continuing:
“You have the right to judge me. You have the right to decide whether you want me to continue as your governor. But if you're going to do that, do it based on the truth. And the truth is that I love this woman. And nothing is going to change that.”
I was paralyzed. Because in that moment, in front of thousands of people, Fernando wasn't just defending his candidacy. He was defending me.
Someone started clapping. One person, then two. Soon, the applause grew. The boos didn't disappear completely, but they were drowned out by the clapping and shouts of support.
Fernando turned to me, took my hand, and squeezed it tight.
“It's going to be hard,” he whispered, his voice meant only for me.
“But we'll make it through,” I replied.
He smiled.
And in that moment, I knew it was true.
They tried to destroy our love. But in the end, our love was stronger.