09-13/07 Chapter 421 Kiss away the difference
We spent some lovely days at the beach with Grandpa, Grandma, your aunt, Rafinha, and I even invited Mommy’s friend Camila, who came with her daughter, Maria Fernanda.
But the truth is, traveling with people or staying in someone else's house is rarely simple. Everyone has their own routines, and it’s hard to find someone who likes to do things exactly the way you do.
Take Camila and Maria Fernanda, for instance. They liked waking up earlier (around 9 a.m.) while we woke up around 11ish. But oddly enough, I think they actually felt more comfortable that way. It gave them the space to have breakfast however they wanted, and instead of waiting around for us to wake up, they’d head out to do their own thing.
Every morning, they’d go for a walk—sometimes exploring the beach, sometimes checking out the little town nearby. There were days they walked nearly 10 km along the shore. Definitely not my thing. I don’t like walking, hiking, and absolutely hate running. Now, if it were a bike ride, maybe. The truth is, people have different preferences, hobbies, habits… and when you’re traveling together or staying in someone else’s space, those differences become real. That’s why, the first time we traveled as a family to San Diego, we rented our own place instead of staying a whole month at Camila’s. Back then, I didn’t understand what could possibly go wrong if we stayed at her place. Now I do. I get how much it would throw off my own rhythm to have someone—no matter how dear—in my house for a month.
Especially back then, when you were a baby. Camila would put her son to bed at 6:30 p.m. sharp, lights out until the next day. You, on the other hand, were just winding down around 9:30 or 10 p.m. Can you imagine? Her baby waking up crying at 6:30 a.m. and waking you too or you crying at midnight and waking him. Traveling with friends is already a delicate dance… throw babies into the mix, and it’s total chaos.
I personally love games: ping pong, paddleball, even tennis. Camila and Maria Fernanda, though? They don’t play anything, much like my sister. That’s why I love going to the beach with your dad. We play, we laugh, we have fun together.
I actually only learned to appreciate the beach when I lived in San Diego. Beaches there are peaceful. No crowds, no blasting music. I’d go after work or after class, sit on the sand, and read. That’s how I fell in love with the beach. And later on, when I saw how much you love it, I fell in love all over again. But I still prefer quiet days, mild weather, fewer people. I like to sit and read while you play by my side, because you’re so sweet and well-behaved. You dig in the sand for ages, and that gives me space to enjoy a moment to myself.
Camila, though, isn’t really a beach person. And I get it because I used to feel the same. I loved the cold. I loved the mountains, the countryside. Winter always made me feel good. I loved layering clothes, cuddling up under blankets, watching a movie. But lately, something's changed. I’ve started to suffer in the cold. My hands and feet freeze, and some days it’s so cold I avoid showering just because I can’t bear stepping out of the warm water. Our shower at home doesn’t help either, it’s temperamental. So yes, I’m changing. And I’ve realized people do change. I was once just like Camila: couldn’t stand the beach.
Still, we had a great time together. We talked, we laughed, and I know they had a peaceful few days here too.
There’s just one thing I want to do differently in how I raise you: I don’t want to overprotect you. I’ve tried bringing this up with Camila a few times. She struggles to let her daughter grow up, to accept that she’s entering adolescence. She’s extremely strict with school performance and was furious when her daughter scored a five on a test, considering that the passing grade is six. She ended up canceling her daughter’s school trip over that one grade.
She told me she was disappointed, said they pay a lot for that school and it’s not easy for them. That lately, her daughter has been hanging out with a lot of friends and doing worse in school. But honestly, twelve is exactly when girls start to form friendships and step into that adolescent world. It’s normal. She insisted her daughter should tell her friends to stop talking during class and focus. I said that’s just not how it works. No pre-teen turns to her best friend and says, “Hey, don’t talk to me, I’m trying to pay attention.” That’s just not real life, it would sound so out of place to them.
She disagreed and said her daughter is there to learn, that school is a place to study. And sure, I want you to do your best in school too. But I won’t make it the sole focus of your life. I want you to have friends. These are the best years to have them. Friends might betray you or hurt you later, but right now, it’s still all innocent.
When Camila said she wanted her daughter to prioritize studies over friendships, I couldn’t agree. The truth is, almost no kid goes to school solely to study. We’re forced to go, so we try to make the best of it. We spend six hours a day there, it can’t be all about books. It’s fun to have friends, to look forward to recess, to laugh and play. Of course, you might enjoy some classes more than others, maybe even have a favorite subject and pay extra attention. But expecting full academic focus 100% of the time? That’s just not realistic. Kids will drift, joke around, make friends. That’s how it is. If a child didn’t do those things, if they didn’t socialize and only thought about studying, that would be more worrying to me.
One evening, my parents and everyone else in the house went to Caraguatatuba for a party, and we decided to stay behind. I wanted to pick a movie they’d enjoy, so I chose Love, Rosie. It’s such a sweet romantic comedy. Didn’t expect much from it at first when I first watched, but ended up loving it. I think the age rating is 12+. As soon as the word virgin came up in the dialogue, Camila gave me a look asking me to turn it off. There was no sex scene, no bad language, just that one word. When I was 12, I was watching things way more mature than that, and it never messed me up. I didn’t turn into a reckless kid, I wasn’t obsessed with sex. I was just… normal.
And her daughter is the same. It’s precisely at this age that we start hearing these things from friends, from school. Not that she’s ready for anything serious. Twelve is still very much a child, but hearing a word or two in a movie won’t hurt. It shocked me, honestly. But when it comes to someone else’s parenting, we stay out of it, just as we wouldn’t want someone meddling in ours.
14-15/07 Chapter 422 Fighting myself
While I was at the beach that week, my grandmother shared something that’s been haunting me ever since—consuming my thoughts, weighing heavily on my chest. She asked if I had heard about the businesswoman who died during a liposuction procedure. I hadn’t. I was stunned. I immediately looked it up, and the story shattered me.
She was 40, successful, beautiful, married. She had even received awards for her achievements and mentored other women on how to run their own businesses. And now... she was gone.
But what truly broke me was learning she left behind a three-year-old daughter, the same age as yours. Her little girl was born in August; you, in October.
As I read more, I saw that she had chosen a renowned surgeon—expensive, well-known, with celebrity clients. And that hit even harder, because I understood her logic. When something deeply bothers you about your body and you decide to change it, you want to do it safely. She was careful. She made sure to find someone experienced, likely thinking just like I did: “It’s a big investment, but it’s worth it.” Especially when you have a small child and can’t afford to take risks.
At first, I tried to discredit the surgeon, 'cause it says he’d been expelled from the plastic surgery board. But no, he hadn’t been removed for malpractice, but for posting before-and-after photos without patient consent. That doesn’t make him a bad surgeon, just unethical in that regard.
The more I read, the more devastated I felt. She died during the final stage of the surgery, during the fat transfer to the glutes. That exact procedure my sister had done.
People say doing three procedures at once is reckless, but they don’t understand the reasoning. If you’re already under anesthesia, already having fat removed, it makes sense to complete the enhancement then and there. It’s the same logic I’m applying with mine—once you’re in the operating room, why not make it worthwhile? I’d never undergo surgery just to fix one small thing if I wasn’t already doing something more significant like liposuction.
My sister, by the way, underwent seven procedures. Much riskier than what this woman—Natália—had.
Natália suffered a cardiac arrest during the gluteal fat graft. They tried to revive her, but she didn’t make it. She died right there on the table.
Many rushed to blame the doctor, but others—more level-headed—acknowledged the truth: plastic surgery carries risk. And we, as patients, are made aware. We sign the papers. We hope for the best, but deep down, we know something could go wrong.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I searched for her name, her photos, her family. I found pictures of her smiling with her husband, playing with her daughter on vacation and it just broke me. I started questioning everything. Was I being selfish? Was this a sign not to go through with it?
Then I stumbled upon an old post of hers that she was pregnant, glowing, saying she had always dreamed of having a daughter. That’s when the tears came. Because that was me. I had always dreamed of you. And when I finally held you in my arms, it felt like everything I ever wanted had come true.
And then the guilt crept in. Did God punish her? Was the surgery seen as vanity placed above motherhood? Was that the cost? And if so, will I pay the same price? I asked for you. I longed for you. And now, I’m asking for something else, something smaller... but what if that’s enough to lose you?
She died from a fat embolism. And while it’s considered rare, about 1 in every 3,000 to 5,000 liposuction procedures—suddenly that number didn’t feel so small. Especially not when I could name two people off the top of my head, one of them someone I knew personally. How rare can it be?
This story hasn’t just taken space in my mind, it’s practically built a penthouse suite and refuses to leave. I try to calm down, remind myself that everything will be fine. But how can I, when I keep seeing her face? She was beautiful, accomplished, surrounded by love and still, she took one step too far.
I can’t stop picturing her daughter calling out for her... and never getting an answer.
I know you’re still little. If something happened to me, you’d suffer deeply for a while, but with time, the memories would fade. That’s what makes it even more painful. Knowing how quickly I’d be forgotten. Children heal fast. That’s a blessing and a curse.
And then there’s our specific situation, so much more complicated than Natália’s. Your father is from another country. If something happened to me, I know he’d take you to Spain. You wouldn’t just lose your mother, you’d lose your grandparents, your cousin, your whole world. Everything you know and love would be stripped away. And yes, that adds to my fear.
I’ve always been the one who adds color to your world. Your dad and I separated because we’re so different. Your life with him would be structured, rigid, and far less joyful in ways I can’t even describe. So yes, maybe I’m being selfish. If I were truly putting you first, maybe I’d cancel the surgery. Maybe I’d learn to love myself as I am.
But motherhood is a paradox. From the moment we give birth, we start giving ourselves away. Piece by piece. We put our children first so often, we forget who we were before them. And that’s not healthy either. Children deserve happy mothers, mothers who feel good in their own skin.
And to be honest, I’ve already paid part of the surgery. A deposit. And they don’t call it a “deposit” for nothing, it’s a sign of commitment.
But the scariest part isn’t the surgery day itself. It’s the fifteen days that follow. Fat embolisms and thrombosis, those are the true dangers. Natália’s death on the table was rare. Most women who die do so days later. One friend of Gabriela’s died on the seventh day. My boss’s sister died on the third.
So yes, surviving the surgery is only the beginning. What terrifies me is the recovery, the constant fear, the paranoia, every minor symptom sending you into panic. Fifteen days of living on edge.
And I know where all of this stems from: years of low self-esteem. When I got breast implants, it changed everything. I had never felt beautiful before. And I wasn’t scared back then. I just wanted to feel better about myself, and I did. That surgery changed me in ways I never imagined.
This isn’t about obsession. I don’t chase every trend. I’ve avoided fillers, fake lashes, all of that. But my stomach has always made me feel insecure. The shape of my waist, the stubborn fat that no diet or workout can touch.
I’ve tried everything: gym routines, pills, fat-burning devices. I even bought a cryolipolysis machine in the U.S., spent a fortune. But this... this is the one thing that might finally work.
Still, I’m terrified. I keep researching the doctor, the hospital, anything to reassure myself. I’m trying to schedule extra tests, get opinions, take every precaution. But the fear of losing you... of us losing each other... it paralyzes me.
If anything happens to me, my love, it will have been the greatest mistake of my life. Please know that I’ve loved you since before you existed. And I’m so sorry if I let vanity steal me away from you. We never know what tomorrow holds. I’m scared, overwhelmed, unsure.
Forgive me if something goes wrong. Don’t let this story scare you from doing things for yourself in the future, but always remember, vanity must have limits.
I chose a good doctor, a reputable hospital, a solid team. That greatly reduces the risk, but we both know there are no guarantees. And for some reason, rare things always seem to find me.
The woman’s name was Natália Cavanelas. And I can’t stop thinking about her. A life cut short. A little girl left behind.
I don’t even know what else to say. I’m scared. Deeply scared. There’s this emptiness inside me I can’t shake.
I came back to São Paulo today with Camila and Maria Fernanda because they needed to return and I had my endoscopy scheduled. Your father agreed to take me in the morning, and you stayed with your grandparents. He and I were supposed to return the next day together.
Funny thing is, I wrote to you about my fear of endoscopy in the first book. Back then, I was terrified something might happen and I’d leave you behind. But now, with liposuction and three procedures on the horizon, the endoscopy felt like nothing. I wasn’t even nervous. And truly, it was nothing. Everything went fine. I even napped the whole afternoon.
16-21/07 Chapter 423 Another day might be too long for me
We came to the beach, and just as your dad and I arrived, I spotted you, your cousin, Grandma, and your aunt walking back from the shore. You saw me and ran into my arms with the sweetest hug, one of those that melts your heart instantly.
Everyone told me how much you’d been calling for me while I was away. Especially when something didn’t go your way, when you got hurt, or at bedtime you kept asking for “Mommy Natascha.” You’ve been so attached to me lately, and honestly, it’s been breaking me in the softest way. Sometimes, you look at me with those deep eyes and gently touch my face, stroking it with such tenderness. I’ve been so anxious about the surgery that I can’t help but wonder if, somehow, you’re sensing it. Are you asking me not to go through with it? Are you trying to soak up every moment we have together before it happens? Is this some kind of sign? Or maybe, maybe it’s just love. Maybe you’re just being you, and I’m the one reading too much into it.
But I can’t help it. My mind is so wrapped up in the surgery that everything seems to orbit around it now. And the truth is, this tenderness of yours—this quiet, recent habit of looking into my eyes and holding my face—it started just now, just recently. Maybe it’s just coincidence. God, I hope so.
You hugged me so tightly and wouldn’t let go, not even to let me park the car. I ended up leaving it right there on the street, stepping out barefoot just to hold you. When I tried to go back and move it into the driveway, you clung to me like you hadn’t seen me in years, like you couldn’t bear to let me go. Grandma and Tayna ended up parking the car for me while your dad, you, Rafinha, and I walked down to the pool for a bit of fun.
We missed each other so much. And those days at the beach with you were truly special. Almost all of Grandma’s family came too: her parents, Andrea, and Júnior’s whole crew. And while Júnior may have his flaws, like anyone else, he’s full of life and energy. He’s that fun uncle type: playful, upbeat, always willing to engage. His good qualities tend to outweigh the bad.
Even Débora, with all the things I’ve already mentioned about her, has her strengths. She was very affectionate and especially sweet with the kids. She’s always been a dedicated mom, and during those days, she helped out a lot and played with you both.
Marina is turning into a young woman. She’s planning her 15th birthday party at her building’s clubhouse and seems genuinely happy. She’s a full-blown teenager now.
Cauã is a beautiful boy, but honestly, he’s in that awkward phase. There’s no other way to put it. It’s just a weird age. He’s not quite a little kid anymore, but he still tries to get attention the way small children do, and it doesn’t quite land the same way. Especially around younger kids, he seems to compete a bit, as if he’s trying to reclaim a spotlight he once had. It’s that tricky moment where the once-pampered “baby” in the family starts to grow up and loses that title to the newer little ones. Still, you and Rafinha really admire him, it’s sweet to watch.
As for your dad… this little beach getaway was nothing like the first.
That first time, he came with a different mindset, he made an effort not to criticize, tried to let the small stuff slide, and because of that, he was lighter, happier. This time, though, he was back to finding fault in everything. He’d get annoyed over the smallest things, and the tension was obvious to everyone. It brought down the mood. Not just for him, but for all of us.
Sometimes, I didn’t even know what had upset him. I’d try to figure it out in my head, like a game of mental chess, retracing every step to guess which move had triggered his frustration. Was it A? B? C? D? I’d run through every possible scenario from the day, trying to find the one that had hit a nerve. And that’s exactly what I told him that there are so many things that seem to bother him, it’s hard to keep track.
One thing he took issue with this time was something as simple as my dad saying some toys were for boys and others for girls. You and Rafinha were fighting over your Mickey trike. You're in a phase where you don’t want to share anything, which I’m trying to correct, but it’s been tough. Rafinha just wanted a quick turn because yours was a bit different from his. He has a blue one at home, but yours was the one brought from the U.S.—we had originally bought it to give to Camila’s son, not even intending to bring it back. You liked the princess one, but since this one was meant for a boy, we chose a more neutral design. And now here you are, using the one that was meant for him, and that’s totally fine. We don’t mind.
So when my dad told Rafinha to use his “boy one,” it wasn’t because girls can’t use yours or boys can’t use pink toys. It was just a quick way to stop the fighting, to redirect the situation. And that intention matters.
I don’t care if Rafinha plays with dolls or if you play with cars. You love toy cars, and sometimes he picks up your dolls. We’re not the kind of family that polices playtime by gender. Of course, we encourage things appropriate for your age and your stage of development, but if a child wants to explore something else, we’d never stop them or make them feel wrong for it. And your dad should’ve seen that. He should’ve seen the heart behind what my dad said, not just the words on the surface.
But it wasn’t just that. There were little comments like that all the time, and eventually, I just hit my limit.
Speaking of sharing, there was a moment when I asked you to let Rafinha ride your trike, mainly because you weren’t even using it. That’s what’s been hard about this stage: your reluctance to share something you’re not even playing with. It’s one thing if you were actively using it and didn’t want to give it up, that would still be wrong, but at least more understandable. But you were off doing something else, the trike was just sitting there, and still, you refused. You would rather no one use it than let him enjoy it. That’s something I’m working on with you. It’s not okay, and I’m trying my best to teach you better.
And between your dad and me, I end up playing the role of “bad cop.” I’m the one who raises my voice, who’s firmer, who delivers the consequences. I’m the one who gives a little smack when necessary. And since he’s not always there, he gets the easier side of parenting, the fun parts, the gentle moments. But real discipline? That often falls on me.
So when you refused to share the toy you weren’t even playing with, I had to be firm. I told you to let your cousin use it or I’d “cut your wings”—a common phrase here in Brazil, which means t's a warning, that someone is going to stop you from acting too freely, boldly, or mischievously — like someone is getting too confident or out of control, and the speaker is saying they will put a stop to it. So in tone, it's similar to: I’ll put you in your place."
When I said it, you started crying. You let him play, but not because of my warning, you cried because I spoke firmly and told you to share. You would’ve cried either way.
Your dad, however, got upset. He thought the problem was the phrase. But he doesn’t realize you don’t even understand what it means. He didn’t see that what upset you was simply being told no, being held accountable.
And that’s when I broke.
I started crying. Really crying. Another moment your father pushed me to that point again.
I raised my voice, overwhelmed, not just by him, but because earlier that day, my mom had also told me I was being too hard on you. That I needed to be calmer, more patient. And I just… snapped. I said it was too hard to be a mother on my own and still try to get everything right, to discipline with love, to avoid spoiling, to teach the right values. Even my own parents had said I needed to do something about your selfish behavior, and now that I was trying, suddenly I was the villain.
It’s exhausting. And in that moment, I felt like a terrible mother.
But then my mom saw it—saw me unravel—and told me not to cry, to calm down. All neighbors were looking at me. And my mom tried to call me down, reminding me I’m not a bad mom, that guilt is part of motherhood, that finding the balance between nurturing and correcting is one of the hardest things there is.
The truth is, my breakdown wasn’t just about her comment or your dad walking away like I had gone too far. It was everything. The buildup. The constant criticism. I’ve hit my limit.
We left the beach late—almost 9 p.m.—and as soon as we buckled you into your car seat, you fell asleep. I panicked. You had just taken a 2.5-hour nap, so I was sure you wouldn’t sleep at night. But when we got home a little after 11, you drank some milk, cuddled up to me for a bit, and then slept through the entire night. I could hardly believe it.
But during that whole car ride, while you slept peacefully, your father and I argued the entire time.
And something in me changed.
I’m done.
I’ve always been the one to reach out, to invite him to family things, to try to make things better. I did it because I still cared—because I hoped that the version of him I once loved would show up again. The man I fell in love with. And sometimes, he does appear. He’s there in fleeting moments—like that first beach trip, or Letícia’s party. But most of the time, I’m met with the other version. The post-fatherhood version of him that’s tense, rigid, perpetually irritated.
Everything is a problem. Nothing is brushed off. He sees everything through a lens of discomfort and criticism. And I can’t live like that anymore.
I told him exactly that. If being around me and my parents is so unbearable, if everything we do offends or frustrates him, then he shouldn’t be near us. He left our home because he couldn’t handle the way we are. So he shouldn’t accept invitations. He shouldn’t insert himself back into our lives only to judge and tear it all down again. And I won’t invite him anymore. I meant it.
It’s easy to live in your own space, undisturbed, while I do the hard part—bath time, bedtime, school runs, meals, groceries, everything. He sees you maybe twice a week, for a few hours in the evening, while I hold the emotional and logistical weight of raising you. Of course he doesn’t want to come back or rebuild anything—that would require effort. Sacrifice. This setup is too convenient.
He also brought up how my dad sometimes speaks harshly to my mom. And I know—it’s true. My dad has always had a blunt, rough way with words. It’s why I’ve always been nervous to approach him, to ask for things. I’m the kind of person who shuts down when someone raises their voice—I cry, I crumble. But my mom… she’s used to him. They’ve been together since she was 14. She knows his ways, and most of the time, it doesn’t even faze her. Sure, sometimes it stings. But she lets it go.
Your dad threw that in my face—said my mom teared up, and asked if I thought it was okay. I told him it’s not ideal, of course, but that it’s not frequent. My dad has improved a lot. And while my mom might’ve been upset that day, she often shrugs it off and puts him in his place. But your dad… he might not shout or raise his voice—but what he does to me is still damaging. It’s emotional. Psychological. He brings me to tears in other ways. He wears me down. You don’t need to yell to hurt someone.
So we argued, the entire drive home. And I think—for the first time—he realized I was truly done. I told him he knows how much I care. That I still try. That I’ve always made an effort to fix things. But I also told him that lately, I feel manipulated. Like he uses my love for him as leverage. Emotional blackmail.
We got home late. You ended up sleeping between us, and later I moved to my bed and left him there with you. He never stays over. But that night, he did. And he was visibly upset by everything we’d said.
But the truth is, I’m ready to start a new chapter. To let go. To focus on me and you.
Because even one more day of this—of him—might be more than my heart can take.
24/07 Chapter 424 Fly little bird
This week, ever since we got back from the beach, you’ve been glowing with happiness. Almost every morning, you woke up in a good mood—singing, jumping around... your joy is infectious.
Today was your field trip to the zoo, and my heart was nervous—but I let my little bird fly.
I was more anxious than I was during the museum trip. The zoo was farther away, part of the drive included a stretch of highway, and it’s such an open space, so different from the enclosed, controlled environment of a museum. I kept worrying that with so many little ones running around, the teachers might lose sight of you. And of course, there was the bus... the thought of an accident always lingers, especially since there aren’t proper car seats.
In the end, everything turned out fine. You didn’t want to go at first. You cried a lot, but later the teachers sent me photos of you playing, and that brought me some peace. Still, in the videos, you seemed a bit withdrawn. Not quite yourself. You looked sad, quiet, holding the teacher’s hand instead of playing with your friends. They said you felt a little intimidated being outside your usual school environment.
And I hated myself for not putting the tracker on you. I had bought it for you, but ended up using it in my dad’s car instead, mostly because he always leaves his phone behind and gives us all a scare. But if you’d been wearing that tracker today, I would’ve felt so much calmer. Then again, that’s just how I’ve always been—always worrying about everyone I love. I’ve lived with this deep fear of losing my parents, and now it’s you I fear losing. Maybe it all started with Disney where every story seemed to begin with the mother dying. Maybe that stuck with me. Who knows? But it sounds like a good enough explanation, doesn’t it? Haha.
Only four kids from your class went today, out of eleven. So it was far fewer children than the museum trip. And once again, I don’t judge the moms, I completely understand. You are our most precious treasures. We know we can’t keep you in a cage, but we also know how little and fragile you still are. It’s okay to hold on just a bit longer. A mother’s heart never knows rest again after giving birth.
And oh, looks like Stitch and Cinderella have officially lost their spot, you're completely hooked on Frozen and Elsa now. And of course, just my luck: I already booked the table for your Stitch-themed birthday party. Last year I went with Cocomelon, and right around that time you suddenly fell in love with Stitch. And now that I’ve planned everything around Stitch… you’ve moved on and fallen head over heels for Frozen. Figures. Time to roll with it... again.
26/07 Chapter 425 Within the darkness, you're the light
I just remembered something I forgot to tell you about our beach trip.
One night, it was me, you, Camila, and Maria Fernanda—we decided to go out for gelato. At the table next to us sat two couples, each with a child who looked to be around five or seven years old.
Out of nowhere, one of the men started yelling at his partner. She was sitting a couple of chairs down from him, and he barked:
“Sit here. Now.”
She ignored him, trying to keep her composure, but he kept going.
“I said SIT HERE. NOW.”
She finally replied in a quiet but firm voice, clearly embarrassed, “Don’t make a scene.”
“Oh, so now you’ve got an attitude? You’re really getting out of line with me.”
The other woman—who was probably her friend and had been sitting next to him—rolled her eyes, got up, and quietly moved to sit by her own partner.
I just sat there, stunned. I’d never seen anything like that up close. A man screaming at his partner like that, in public, in an ice cream shop, no less... I couldn’t believe it. I was genuinely rattled.
Camila and I exchanged glances, but she didn’t seem quite as shocked or tense as I was.
Eventually, when the woman refused to move closer to him, he stood up and said he was leaving.
He was tall, tan, with a tattoo on his neck—didn’t look like a criminal or anything, but the way he spoke made my stomach turn. It wasn’t what he looked like—it was the energy. The control. The humiliation.
I tried not to stare—there’s something deeply wrong about gawking at other people’s pain—but I couldn’t help casting quick glances at the woman. She looked like she wanted to disappear. Her hands were shaking, and her expression was frozen. That kind of face we make when we’re too shocked to react—stone-faced, burning with embarrassment. Poker face. But your cheeks are on fire and your body doesn’t know what to do.
A few minutes later, the other man at the table—maybe trying to ease the tension—started talking to the woman, asking her some light questions. Trying, maybe, to bring her back.
What struck me most was how unaffected the kids seemed. They kept watching the cartoon playing on a phone or tablet, completely unfazed. And that’s what scared me. That level of calm doesn’t come from innocence—it comes from familiarity. From already knowing how to tune it out. That wasn’t the first time they’d seen something like that, not by a long shot.
I couldn’t stop wondering: What makes a woman stay in a situation like that? It can’t be love. You don’t love someone who treats you like garbage—at least not real love. Maybe it’s emotional dependence, which is something else entirely. Maybe it’s for the child. Maybe it’s fear—of being hit, or worse. Maybe financial dependence. Maybe she doesn’t work, maybe she doesn’t see a way out. I don’t know. But I do know one thing: I could never tolerate that. I simply couldn’t. The moment someone speaks to me like that—it’s over.
And let’s be honest, if he talks to her like that in public, he’s probably done worse in private. You don’t just start yelling in front of people one day out of the blue. That’s not new behavior. That’s someone who’s been violent, someone who already knows how far he can go.
She looked like someone silently crying for help. Or maybe not even crying. Maybe she’s stopped crying a long time ago. Maybe she doesn’t even want help anymore. We never really know the lives people are living behind closed doors.
I told Camila how I’d never witnessed anything like that before, and she said, sadly, that she had—at least twice. And that it was always heartbreaking.
It made me think of you. Of how much I want to protect you—not just from people like him, but from ever believing you have to accept that kind of treatment. So listen closely, because this matters:
A relationship should never make you feel small.
If someone raises their voice at you in anger, mocks you, controls your choices, or makes you feel afraid or ashamed, that is not love. That is not passion. That is not "a phase." That’s the beginning of something dark. And it always starts with little things. A sarcastic jab that stings. A jealous question disguised as “caring.” A demand that seems silly at first. Those are red flags. Never ignore them.
Sometimes, our hearts betray us—making us believe it’s love, when in truth, it’s just emotional dependency
I need you to understand: love should never feel like walking on eggshells. You should never feel like you're constantly trying not to "set someone off." A healthy relationship feels safe. It feels warm. It feels like coming home to peace, not like preparing for war.
And I know... leaving can be scary. Speaking up can be scary. But staying in something that destroys your light little by little? That’s far more terrifying.
If you ever, ever find yourself questioning your worth because of how someone treats you—run, not walk.
You are not hard to love.
You are not meant to be controlled.
You are not meant to shrink so someone else can feel big.
Love should never hurt you.
And if it does, it’s not love.
Your father and I have always treated you like a princess. I hope you find someone who will carry that legacy forward, and help you rise to your next chapter: becoming a queen.
27-29/07 Chapter 426 Before the light goes out
This week, you had two birthday parties back to back—first for the twin sisters Isabella and Laís, and the next day, Caio’s. And ever since, you’ve been buzzing with excitement for your own birthday in October. I’ve been juggling a million things to make sure yours is absolutely magical.
Mommy booked a bounce house, a lady who does face painting and balloon art, and we’re inviting all your little friends from school. And guess what? I even managed to swap the Stitch party setup for Frozen—your latest obsession.
The party planner sent me six different Frozen-themed table options, and I showed them all to you. You picked the prettiest one. You’ve got good taste!
Now everything’s ready. All that’s left is for me to get through my surgery and come out safe and well, so I can be there to celebrate that beautiful, unforgettable day with you.
Last year, you had way more fun than you did on your first birthday, and I just know that this one—your third—with all your friends around, will be even better. You’re going to have the time of your life, and every single cent I’ve put into this celebration will be worth it.
As long as I’m alive and by your side, I’ll do everything I can to make your birthdays unforgettable—filled with smiles, wide-eyed wonder, and pure childhood joy. I want you to soak in every bit of your childhood and youth, because once adulthood arrives, birthdays are never quite the same. So I’ll hold on to that magic for you, and keep it glowing in your heart for as long as I can.
31/07 Chapter 427 Payback is a bad bitch
Today I'm here to talk to you about Alexandre de Moraes.
As you know, I’ve mentioned him before. For years, it was win, win, win — every battle, every dispute, every ruling seemed to go his way. But now, things have taken a very different turn.
Back in 2022, he took control of controversial investigations, like the “Fake News Inquiry,” which was launched without a request from the Attorney General’s Office — something unprecedented in Brazilian legal history. This inquiry allowed him to simultaneously open investigations, act as prosecutor, and issue rulings — combining powers in a way critics say violates Brazil’s own Constitution.
During the tense political climate leading up to and after the 2022 presidential elections, Moraes used this inquiry and others to:
- Order censorship on social media platforms, forcing the removal of posts from journalists, politicians, comedians, and influencers critical of the Supreme Court or the electoral process.
- Ban public appearances from certain opposition figures, prohibiting them from giving interviews or speaking at rallies.
- Authorize arrests without trial of individuals accused of so-called “anti-democratic acts” — including peaceful protesters and online commentators.
- Freeze bank accounts and block payment platforms like PIX for targeted individuals, often without full transparency or due process.
Then came January 8th, 2023, the day of mass demonstrations in Brasília, when government buildings were invaded and vandalized. Moraes responded with sweeping orders for arrests, not just of those caught on camera, but also of people accused of “inciting” the protests online, some of whom weren’t even in the city. Elderly citizens and entire families were detained in temporary facilities under harsh conditions.
His orders went beyond individuals. He blocked Telegram nationwide after the platform refused to hand over private user data, cutting off millions of Brazilians from the service overnight. He pressured tech companies like Twitter, YouTube, and Facebook to comply with broad censorship demands, threatening them with fines and suspension.
Throughout 2023 and 2024, Moraes became both a symbol of “defending democracy” for his supporters and of “authoritarian overreach” for his critics. Multiple human rights groups — both in Brazil and abroad — began issuing reports warning about abuses of power, lack of judicial restraint, and suppression of political opposition.
By late 2024, his name was circulating in international legal and diplomatic circles as an example of a judge exercising unchecked authority in a supposedly democratic nation. The United States, which had sanctioned judges and politicians from other countries for similar actions, started gathering evidence.
Then, in early 2025, the U.S. government officially sanctioned Alexandre de Moraes under the Global Magnitsky Human Rights Accountability Act. The announcement accused him of serious human rights violations and corruption tied to the misuse of judicial power.
The Global Magnitsky Act isn’t just a symbolic slap on the wrist. It’s designed to hit where it hurts most: money and mobility.
When someone is sanctioned under this law, every bank, payment platform, and financial institution that operates in U.S. territory (or uses the U.S. banking system) is legally required to freeze their assets. And since the vast majority of global financial transactions pass through U.S.-linked systems at some point, this effectively blocks them from moving money anywhere in the world.
That means no bank transfers, no investments, no access to funds held in foreign accounts that rely on the U.S. dollar, no international credit cards, and no use of payment processors like PayPal. Even trying to route money through a third party can trigger penalties for whoever helps them.
On top of that, they’re banned from entering the United States, and any business or individual in the U.S. — or tied to the U.S. financial system — is prohibited from doing business with them. In practice, it can turn someone into a financial ghost on the global stage.
It’s a global humiliation to be sanctioned under this law, and it’s going to make this man’s life a living nightmare. Sure, it might not fix the country overnight, but I won’t lie: watching him get hit with it was pure satisfaction.
To make things even sweeter, most of the corrupt justices on Brazil’s Supreme Court have now lost their U.S. visas and so have all their family members.
Our hope now is that the rest of them, or at least a good number, start abandoning ship and leave Moraes stranded, too afraid of finding themselves next on the Magnitsky list.
And maybe — just maybe — this will be the turning point. The kind of wake-up call that makes the other justices think twice before standing shoulder to shoulder with him. The Magnitsky Act isn’t the kind of law you can charm your way out of; it’s ruthless, unforgiving, and once you’re on that list, there’s no easy way back. On top of that, Trump is not exactly known for letting things slide. He’s vindictive by nature, and if he sees an enemy, he doesn’t just aim to beat them — he aims to crush them. If Moraes thought this was the end of his troubles, he’s in for a very rude awakening.
So here’s to hoping the tide turns, the alliances crumble, and the ship he’s been steering finally starts to sink.
