Chapter 3
Oliver Ferraz
The week feels like it will never end. I'm rushing to wrap up my coursework—without it, they won't issue my certificate, and I can't return to Brazil empty-handed after all these years. I'm typing up a case study when my phone rings. I glance at the screen: it's my mother. I answer.
“Good afternoon, Mom. How are you?”
“Hello, sweetheart, I'm well. And you?” she responds in that calm voice of hers.
“Swamped with assignments. I had to move everything up to leave as soon as possible. My professors loaded me up with work—I'm racing against the clock,” I explain, sighing. Lately, studying is all I do.
“Do everything right, my son. Your father expects the best from you.”
Hearing his name, I feel a weight settle in my chest. “Your father expects…” It's always like this. My whole life I've been chasing this “best” he demands.
“I know, Mom. That's why I came to study here. Don't worry—I'll give my all to take his place. I won't disappoint him.”
“I can't believe you'll be coming home soon. I miss my baby so much,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. My mother is a fountain of tears; anything can make her cry.
“Mom, I'm not a baby anymore—I'm a grown man. I even have a beard,” I respond, laughing, trying to lighten the mood, but inside it hurts. Deep down, I love when she calls me that. It's as if, for a few seconds, I can just be her son, not the “heir.”
She laughs at my comment.
“For us mothers, children never grow up. You'll understand when you have your own.”
I choke on the words. Have children? A family? I promised myself never again. Andréa destroyed me. I run my hand over my beard and close my eyes, remembering the sting of betrayal. I don't want that, and I won't make that mistake again.
“You know I don't plan to get married. What Andréa did to me was more than enough. I felt worthless—it took me a long time to recover,” I say coldly.
I told them days after it happened—there was no way to hide it anymore. I was leaving soon, and how would I show up without a fiancée? Not to mention my mother called almost every day. I never liked lying to her. It was hard, but necessary.
Silence on the other end. I know she's suffering as much as I am, maybe more.
“Son, your father won't give up on this relationship.
They have an agreement. You know how he is about these things.
I understand your pain—we suffered together, me even more, because I always considered Andréa part of the family.
I respect your decision, but you can't spend your whole life alone, dear.”
That word—agreement—makes me sick. Once again, it's not about love, but business. As it always has been.
“If my father insists on this, I'll go back to the United States and never leave,” I snap. I won't let them decide for me again.
“I'll try to talk to him, my love. Your father is stubborn, but he loves you, as do I. We only want what's best for you. Now go, finish your studies. I miss you so much. I love you!”
“I love you too, Mom. Talk to you later.”
I hang up but keep holding the phone. My chest tightens. I love my mother, but sometimes I feel torn in two: her voice pulls me closer while my father's weight pushes me away.
I think about Andréa. The bitter taste of the past still haunts me. I trusted, planned, gave myself completely… and was betrayed. I won't go through that again. I won't let her back into my life. Not anymore.
And with that, an idea strikes me—I need space, my own place. My mind made up, I call César, a friend who's a realtor.
“Well, well, my great friend Oliver! To what do I owe the pleasure?” he answers cheerfully.
“I need an apartment. I'm returning to Brazil on Saturday and I want to move in right away.”
“Tell me what you're looking for and I'll send you the photos.”
“Penthouse. Spacious, with a pool and a good view.”
“I have exactly what you're looking for. Give me a few minutes.” He sends me the images by email.
I open them on my computer to get a better look: sprawling penthouse, two floors, glass-walled living room with a stunning view, open-concept kitchen, four en-suite bedrooms. It's massive.
It even looks cold, but it suits me. Spacious, prime location, upscale building with security. Perfect—this is exactly what I need.
“That's the one. Close the deal. Is it furnished?”
“Fully furnished. It belonged to a couple who called off their wedding. They're selling everything. But… didn't you already have a house with Andréa?” César asks, curious.
I let out a deep sigh. Andréa again.
“We broke up. That house was going to be a gift from my father, but without a wedding, it doesn't make sense. I'd rather buy my own place.”
“You broke up? I was already picking out which bridesmaid I'd walk down the aisle with!” César says, indignant.
“Hate to break it to you, my friend, but you can keep that dream apartment all to yourself. Finalize the contract and send it over for me to sign. We’ll meet up Saturday and I’ll tell you everything. Right now I need to finish up my work. I want to get back as soon as possible!”
“Alright, Oliver. I’ll send it to your email in a moment—the contract and the account details for the deposit.”
“Perfect. Thanks, buddy.”
I hang up, satisfied. One less problem to deal with. The apartment is beautiful, spacious, and close to the office. Maybe too empty, but empty is exactly what I need. Just add a personal touch and it’ll be perfect.
I receive the email, sign it digitally, and send it back. Transfer complete.
I take a deep breath. Another thing off my list. And another step forward.
Now back to my college work. I need to finish everything by the end of the week. Only then can I leave with peace of mind. Or at least try to believe it’s peace.