03/08 Chapter 428 Let's win this thing
For the first time in my life, I went to a political protest. And this time, it wasn’t about supporting Bolsonaro, it was about calling for amnesty and the impeachment of Alexandre de Moraes.
Even under the weight of the Magnitsky Act, the man hasn’t stepped down, and he won’t. Now the other Supreme Court justices are in the crosshairs too. According to Donald Trump’s administration, anyone who helps Moraes—whether they’re fellow judges or outside allies—not only loses their U.S. visa (which most already have) but also gets hit with the full force of the Magnitsky Act. And that’s far more devastating than losing a visa. It wipes you out financially—banks won’t take you, credit cards are off-limits, and you’re stuck living on cash. And that’s just the beginning; there’s a long list of other consequences that come with it.
I’ll admit, I enjoyed seeing him publicly humiliated and added to a list reserved for tyrants and terrorists. But I don’t believe he’ll give up power. He’s a psychopath and psychopaths double down, and they fear nothing. Venezuela’s entire Supreme Court was sanctioned in the exact same way, and they’re still clinging to power. They’ve found ways to keep their lives comfortable, and our corrupt judges won’t be any different.
One of them in particular—one of the most corrupt of all—was even exposed abroad for working with the Biden administration and the CIA to interfere in Brazil’s 2022 elections. He owns a $22 million property in the U.S., along with offices and speaking engagements at Harvard. Losing his business and his luxury home will be a blow. Losing his visa already hurt him. If the Magnitsky Act comes for him, he’ll be the one hit the hardest.
But Brazil is infamous for corruption, it’s been that way since my grandparents’ time. Our politicians are a disgrace, and the Supreme Court is no exception. They’ll fight tooth and nail to hold on. That’s why, even though I’m glad these sanctions are in place, I don’t think much will change for Brazil unless Moraes is actually removed from power. And the moment is now—either we bring him down, or a full-blown dictatorship will take hold, just like in Venezuela or China. And then… it’s over.
This is the time for the people to rise, to protest, to shout, to make themselves heard. And this time, I was there. I went with my parents, Aunt Ro, her idiot husband, my sweet grandma, and Cheila (the mom of Noah and Sophia).
You stayed with your godmother, who took you to Uncle Rafael’s parents’ farm, where you had the time of your life feeding the horses.
While you played, I was fighting for a better country, not just for you, because you might not even be here, but for my nephew and for the family who will remain.
We took the subway, and at first, I thought the crowd wasn’t that big. But as we got closer, I realized there were enough people to make noise and be impossible to ignore.
Being so short, I found something to climb on so I could actually see. And to my surprise—and absolute joy, there he was: Nikolas Ferreira. I hadn’t even considered the possibility of seeing him; he’s from Belo Horizonte. But when he appeared, I probably looked like a crazy person.
Nikolas is young—about four years younger than me—but he’s done more than most people twice his age. He doesn’t bow to the system, he’s razor-sharp, he says exactly what needs to be said, and he gets under the skin of every corrupt figure in his path. One day, I believe I’ll see him as the president of Brazil—if we still have clean elections by then, and if we haven’t fallen completely into a dictatorship.
Seeing him there, surrounded by so many people standing up against the absurdity we’re living through, made it all worth it.
I just hope he never disappoints me like the others have, and that he keeps being one in a million.
07/08 Chapter 429 All About You
Daughter, here are a few things about you:
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You’re unbelievably affectionate and fiercely protective. Once, my sister pretended to pull my hair and you burst into tears. That’s just one of many little moments that showed us how deeply protective you are.
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Like me, you inherited your mom’s sweet tooth. You’re a little sugar bug—much to your dad’s despair—choosing chocolate and candy over anything savory, every single time.
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You’re a little fashionista. I never was. You like feeling beautiful and love when people notice and say so.
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Dresses are your weakness—especially the twirly ones. You can’t resist spinning around just to watch the skirt swirl.
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And shoes. Oh, you love shoes. I never cared for them, but you light up when you get a new pair. When I was a kid, I hated getting shoes as gifts—I only wanted toys, nothing else.
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The way you love your grandparents is beautiful, but your bond with your grandfather… that’s something out of this world.
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You and Rafinha are like siblings—right down to the arguments. But you can’t seem to exist without each other.
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Even though we set stricter screen limits for you, you’re far more hooked on cartoons than Rafinha ever was (and he didn’t have any screen limits). I think you take after me in that. I’ve always loved losing myself in shows—cartoons, soap operas, series—more than your Aunt Tayna ever did. Many times I’d skip other plans just to sink into that imaginary world. Maybe the real one always felt too heavy for me, so I found shelter in fiction to face it better.
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You’re already so close to your little school friends. One afternoon when I came to pick you up, you were at the playground. As you left, your friends called out, “Bye, Mel!” and you, grinning from ear to ear, answered, “Bye, kisses!” blowing kisses their way. Then you turned to me and said, “They’re my friends.”
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You’re already excited for your birthday. Seeing your classmates celebrate theirs has you constantly asking when yours will be. I think you’ll enjoy your third birthday party more than any before.
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You adore princesses—your current favorites are Cinderella and Elsa—but you can’t resist singing along to Moana’s songs.
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You learn things so quickly. You mastered riding a bike with training wheels right away and figured out how to swing all by yourself, pushing your legs forward and back. But when you can’t do something, you get so frustrated—angry at first, and then in tears.
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You hate being held down. Whether it’s taking medicine, doing an inhalation, or putting something in your nose—you’d rather do it yourself, like a big girl, than have anyone hold you still. I think that might be a shadow left from your hospital stays.
Just like your mom, you’ve loved sleeping since the day you were born. You enjoy going to bed late, waking up late, and you love sleeping in your own bed. In fact, your bed is bigger than mine, and somehow you still manage to claim every inch of it—arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish. Sometimes you even spin in a full circle from the position I originally placed you in.
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You’re not the type to get cold easily.
You’re very shy—a trait that seemed to appear out of nowhere at a certain point in your life. Now, the moment you see unfamiliar faces, you retreat, hiding between my legs or curling into your own arms, your head bowed. Take the doorman at school, for example: every single day, without fail, he greets you with a cheerful “Hi, Melanie,” and you walk past in complete silence, eyes down.
Even with relatives you see fairly often, if too much time passes between visits, it takes a while before you finally warm up.You love to pretend you're driving my car.
You love to run, but just like me, you’re a little uncoordinated. Your stride tilts slightly to the side, giving your run a quirky, almost playful crookedness.
Strangely enough, you’re always thrilled when I come to pick you up from school—but the entire car ride home, more often than not, you end up fussing or crying for no reason at all, and out of nowhere.
You’re incredibly bossy—incredibly. My sister always jokes that you’ve got the soul of a mom.
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You constantly mix up green and red. Whenever I ask you how to say “green” in English, your answer is always “red.”
09/08 Chapter 430 All About You
Today was Father’s Day at your preschool, and they’d planned a little celebration—gifts for the dads and a special dance from you all.
We were the second to arrive, right after my sister. A few minutes later, the teachers whisked the children away while the parents were led to the school gym. After about five minutes, you all came in to perform your Father’s Day song. But right when it was your class’s turn, the speaker stopped working. Suddenly, there you all were—frozen in front of a crowd of parents, waiting for music that never came.
To make things even more awkward, instead of fixing the speaker, they played the song on a phone. We couldn’t hear a thing. Poor Teacher Alice ended up singing loudly to try to save the moment. Most of the kids barely danced, probably because of the sound issue—they just wiggled a little. You, though, turned into a statue. I could tell you’d been ready to perform at first, but standing there so long, staring at a sea of adults, made you shut down. At one point, I honestly thought you might cry. You just wanted it to be over. And when it finally was, you ran straight into my arms.
Then came the English song performance, and this time, your dad had to go up and stand with you—otherwise, you wouldn’t have gone back in front of everyone.
It was different from the June Festival dance. Back then, all the kids danced more (including you) and seemed so much more at ease. Maybe it helped that the space was bigger and the audience was farther away.
After the music, the children handed out the standard little personalized gift for their dads. Then we all had hamburgers the school had prepared, while you happily ran around the playground with your friends.
The event was held at Unit 2, not your usual school building. Your current unit is for kids from nursery to age three. From age four onward, classes are at Unit 2. Which means, my little flower, next year you’ll be moving there—right now, you’re the oldest in your unit, and next year you’ll be the youngest in the new one. I actually really liked Unit 2; it’s bigger and has lots of fun spaces for you to explore.
After all that, you and I curled up and napped together in the afternoon. Later, your dad came to pick you up so you could spend the night with him and wake up tomorrow to celebrate Father’s Day together—because he truly is a wonderful dad to you.
11-15/08 Chapter 430 There's no coming back
This week flew by in the blink of an eye. You went to school every day, but on Tuesday you slept at your dad’s, and on Wednesday your grandma asked to take you home with her so you could spend the night with her and grandpa. Luckily, your dad swapped Thursday for Friday so you could sleep there again—otherwise, it would’ve been three nights in a row without you. I don’t think we’ve ever gone that long, haha.
It was such a happy, wonderful week with you. We played with blocks, played with your little monkey (you love when I grab him and make him “talk”), played with Noah and Sophia, watched cartoons, snuggled up to sleep, talked… just enjoyed each other.
Then today—Friday—before your dad came to pick you up, the package from the U.S. finally arrived, and inside were the Elsa dresses I ordered for your third birthday. They’re a bit big, but you adored them. In fact, getting you to take one off was an ordeal—you threw yourself on the floor, cried, and put on the biggest show. I had to take it off so you could leave with your dad and bundle you up in a jacket because it was freezing. But even with all the drama, I couldn’t help feeling happy, seeing how much you loved your dresses and didn’t want to let them go.
The only thing weighing on me right now is the surgery. Today I had my second and final appointment with Dr. Rafael before the big day, and my mom and sister came with me. Everything is now paid and set, and it’s less than two weeks away… I’m trying to savor every single moment with you, as if each one were the last. And I promise that even when everything goes well (and it has to go well), I’ll keep making the most of our days together. Because every day with you makes me happy—you’ve completely changed my life.
