24.
LEONARDO VILLAR
My first therapy session happens in the hospital parking garage.
That was not the plan.
The psychologist Olívia chose has an office nearby, but Manuela becomes nauseated an hour before my appointment.
I refuse to leave the Institute.
Dr. Helena agrees to video.
I sit in the back seat of the car.
“Why are you in therapy?” she asks after introductions.
“Because my wife put it in the contract.”
“Why did you agree?”
“Because she asked.”
“Do you do everything she asks?”
“No.”
“What wouldn’t you do?”
I think.
“Stay away from my daughter.”
“Even if your wife asked you to?”
“No.”
“So you have limits.”
“Obviously.”
“What do you hope to get from therapy?”
“Fulfill the clause.”
Helena doesn’t react.
“Anything else?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does your wife hope you get from it?”
“That I stop destroying people when I feel betrayed.”
Saying it aloud makes it sound worse.
“Did she use those words?”
“Not exactly.”
“Are they yours?”
“Yes.”
She leans closer to the camera.
“Tell me what happened.”
I do.
Not every detail.
Enough.
The evidence.
The church.
The rejection.
Five years.
Manuela.
“When you received the accusations,” Helena asks, “what was the first emotion?”
“Anger.”
“Before anger.”
“There was nothing before.”
“There always is.”
I remember the room beside the cathedral.
Catarina’s hands passing me the documents.
The photograph of Olívia with Henrique.
The test.
“Fear.”
“Of what?”
“Being deceived.”
“Was that about Olívia?”
“Obviously.”
“Or about you?”
The question irritates me.
“I don’t understand.”
“What would it have meant about you to be deceived by the woman you loved?”
“That I was an idiot.”
“And that was intolerable.”
“I don’t know anyone who enjoys it.”
“There is a difference between disliking humiliation and destroying someone before she can confirm your vulnerability.”
My jaw tightens.
“I had evidence.”
“You had papers.”
“They appeared legitimate.”
“Your fiancée said they were false.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew that day there was at least some possibility she was telling the truth.”
“Small.”
“But there.”
I look out the car window.
“Yes.”
“So you chose the version that hurt her most.”
“I was angry.”
“And afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Who taught you that the proper response to fear is control and punishment?”
My father.
The answer comes immediately.
I don’t say it.
“I don’t know.”
Helena waits.
“My father.”
“Tell me about him.”
“That has nothing to do with Olívia.”
“It has to do with you.”
I rub a hand over my face.
“My father had no tolerance for weakness. Or mistakes. When my mother died, he turned grief into work. Henrique cried. I learned not to.”
“Because he would punish you?”
“Not physically.”
“How?”
“Silence. Contempt. Comparisons.”
“And when you disappointed him?”
“I had to prove I was still useful.”
The word remains there.
Useful.
My entire life, I turned affection into performance.
Maybe that is why I believed resources could repair anything.
“What do you feel when you imagine Manuela might never love you?” Helena asks.
My body stiffens.
“She said she likes me a little.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I can’t demand love.”
“I also didn’t ask what you can demand.”
Silence grows.
“Panic.”
“What do you do with the panic?”
“Try to become necessary.”
“How?”
“Doctors. Security. Money. Assets.”
“Things any wealthy man could provide.”
The sentence irritates me.
“I’m her father.”
“Exactly. So you need to discover what you offer that does not depend on wealth.”
Manuela calls me the dragon.
Likes my terrible voices.
Held my hand during the blood draw.
“Presence.”
“Presence without control?”
“I’m trying.”
“And with Olívia?”
I say nothing.
“Do you try to become necessary to her too?”
“She doesn’t need me.”
“Does that scare you?”
“No.”
Lie.
“Why?”
“Because if she doesn’t need me, she can leave.”
“And your contract ends in a year.”
“Yes.”
“What do you intend to do when it ends?”
“Keep being a father.”
“And a husband?”
“There won’t be a marriage.”
“Was that what I asked?”
The session ends before I answer.
Perhaps Helena does that on purpose.
I return to Manuela’s room irritated.
Olívia notices immediately.
“How was it?”
“Terrible.”
“Then maybe it’s working.”
“She asks invasive questions.”
“That is literally the job.”
“I’m going to start charging you every time you say that.”
Olívia smiles.
The kiss exists between us.
We never mention it.
“Daniel sent an update,” I say. “Vogel agreed to meet us.”
“When?”
“In three days.”
“Can Manuela travel?”
“Artur cleared her, as long as the travel doesn’t involve too much exertion.”
“Switzerland is not a short trip.”
“We can stop.”
“Leonardo.”
“We can take medical staff.”
“That’s excessive.”
“She had open-heart surgery a little over three weeks ago.”
“And she is stable.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Then I’ll go alone.”
“No.”
She folds her arms.
“You don’t give orders.”
“Vogel required both of us.”
“Then leave Manuela with my mother.”
The idea of crossing an ocean away from my daughter triggers immediate panic.
“No.”
Olívia studies me.
“You’re afraid to be away from her.”
“Yes.”
The admission disarms her.
“So am I.”
“Then we take her.”
“Without turning the plane into an ICU.”
“One doctor.”
“One nurse.”
“Both.”
“One.”
“Deal.”
She realizes we just negotiated.
“You’re improving.”
“At what?”
“Giving in before the tenth argument.”
“Therapy.”
“Maybe I should thank the clause.”
“Thank the therapist. I hate her.”
Olívia laughs.
The sound comes freely this time.
My whole body reacts.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Looking.”
“You don’t laugh enough.”
“I’m increasing it.”
“It can grow.”
She catches the phrase.
“Are you going to recycle everything Manuela says?”
“It works.”
“Not everything.”
The kiss.
The silence changes.
“I won’t do it again,” I say.
“I know.”
“Unless you ask.”
Olívia turns red.
“I’m not asking.”
“Then problem solved.”
“Solved.”
Neither of us believes it.
Manuela comes into the clinic with Marta.
Green dress.
Walking faster than she should.
“Slow down,” Olívia and I say together.
She stops.
“Eight times a day.”
“That was the first,” I say.
“Second,” Olívia corrects. “I asked her this morning.”
“Telling me to walk slow isn’t asking if I’m okay.”
“True.”
“Don’t take her side.”
“She made a valid argument.”
“Cool dad,” Manuela celebrates.
Dad.
She has been using the word more often.
I never asked.
One day she simply started.
The first time, I dropped a cup.
The impact is still the same.
I’ve only learned not to show it.
“We have a trip,” I tell her.
“Where?”
“Switzerland.”
“Is there snow?”
“Maybe in the mountains.”
“Can I ski?”
“No,” Olívia says.
“Because of my heart?”
“Because you just had surgery.”
“Everything is because of my heart.”
Manuela frowns.
I crouch in front of her.
“The trip isn’t because of you. We need to collect some documents Henrique left behind.”
“Secret?”
“A little.”
“Adults like secrets.”
“Some of them cause a great deal of trouble,” Olívia says.
My daughter touches the scar over her chest.
“Can I swim?”
“Not yet.”
“Run?”
“A little.”
“Go back to school?”
“Next week.”
“Then what can I do?”
“Travel to Switzerland on a private plane,” I say.
She considers.
“That’s okay.”
Olívia rolls her eyes.
“You’re spoiling our daughter.”
“I haven’t bought her anything.”
“Yet.”
“She’d refuse it.”
“True,” Manuela says.
That afternoon, Catarina calls.
I take it in my office.
“Happy?” I ask.
“About what?”
“The successful surgery of the child you tried to exploit.”
“I didn’t know she was sick.”
“Would it have mattered?”
“I’m not a monster.”
“The investigation is ongoing.”
“You’re going to Switzerland.”
The confirmation alerts me.
“How do you know?”
“I have friends.”
“Vogel is under protection.”
“So you found the box.”
“Stay away.”
“Henrique didn’t want you to know.”
“Henrique died because everyone around him kept secrets.”
“He died in an accident.”
“After someone followed him?”
Silence.
“What are you implying?” Catarina asks.
“The car’s brakes were serviced two weeks before the crash. The original maintenance report is missing.”
“There was nothing wrong with the brakes.”
“How do you know?”
She realizes.
“That was the police conclusion.”
“I didn’t mention the police conclusion.”
Catarina hangs up.
I stare at the phone.
Maybe the fraud was not the worst crime.
And perhaps Henrique did not die by accident.