Natascha Martins

quarta-feira, 20 de maio de 2026

To my daughter Melanie (May 2026)

06/05 Chapter 544: Running Fast Along The Sand

You are not going to believe what happened today…

I’ve been a little absent lately because ever since I finally got the keys to the apartment, life has turned into complete chaos. The renovation with Thiago—the contractor I hired after hearing so many recommendations about him around here—has officially started. So now it’s demolition here, demolition there, paying people to haul away debris, meeting with the carpenter to measure all the custom furniture, deciding whether we’ll replace every door or keep some of them, shopping for flooring with my parents, choosing wall finishes, taking care of you, working…

My life is absolute madness right now.

But the good kind of madness.

Today I was at the apartment waiting for the workers installing the safety screens on the balconies, so I had to stay there supervising the whole process. And while I was sitting on the dusty floor of our completely empty new home, I opened my email.

And my heart practically jumped out of my chest when I saw the subject line:

“Congratulations! DOL has approved your Labor Certification.”

There was NO way.

I genuinely thought it would still take at least another two months.

And the best part?

IT WAS APPROVED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I reread the email carefully about ten times because I couldn’t even process what I was seeing.

The first person I called was your dad. He was happy for me—for all of us, really—but of course he immediately told me to calm down because this was only one step of the process and there could still be surprises ahead and blah blah blah.

I know he worries about me getting my hopes crushed again because, when it comes to the United States, life has already disappointed me more than once. But this time… I really believe it’s going to work out.

Then I called my mother, who immediately panicked and thought I was about to move there right now—especially with the new apartment and all. I had to explain that no, it would still take time, I was just incredibly happy that this first major stage had finally been completed and that everything now felt more real. More concrete.

Like this is actually happening.

IT’S HAPPENING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I still can’t fully believe it.

My dream of living in the United States suddenly feels tangible now. Solid. Like something slowly moving forward instead of just a distant fantasy.

And for once, the news was good. Hopeful.

When I got home, I paid the remaining balance—the biggest payment yet—which was a little over seventeen thousand dollars. I also paid for premium processing, which was another little over one hundred dollars. With premium processing, you get a faster answer regarding whether your I-140 petition gets approved or not, which is another major step in the immigration process.

I had to decide and pay for the premium option that same day if I wanted it, so I barely had time to think.

But now that I’ve had a moment to breathe… I honestly don’t know if I made the right decision.

And not only because of the money—though yes, that too, because right now every cent matters with the apartment renovation happening at the same time—but because I’m suddenly terrified that the process might move too fast now.

I remember when Andreia Miel first recommended this company to me, it was because of a Brazilian man she met living legally in Orlando who also used BDV Solutions, and his entire process only took about a year and a half.

And the truth is… I don’t want ours to move that quickly anymore.

Not now.

I want at least ONE full year to enjoy our new apartment. We’re spending so much money, so much time, so much emotional energy building this home. I want to actually live in it for a while.

And honestly, I’m not psychologically or emotionally ready yet to move countries.

In my mind, I still had at least another three years before everything became real. But what if things suddenly start happening within months now? Especially applying with the Italian passport.

It would feel so fast. Too accelerated. Too rushed.

And rushed things usually end up messy.

Now I have to gather a mountain of documents and paperwork before the lawyer contacts me, and I find myself secretly hoping the process still takes somewhere between two and three years so we can truly enjoy our new home a little before starting an entirely new life somewhere else.

07/05 Chapter 545: Can't You See All We Can Become?

I forgot to finish telling you about my sister’s situation—the whole story about my father threatening to cut her off financially in an attempt to “save” her.

Well… unsurprisingly, it didn’t even last two full days. Actually, it lasted only one, which, honestly, was still longer than I expected. After everything, they all sat down and talked again, and somehow things settled down because my sister agreed to start taking the medication. And in the end, that was all my father really wanted but at least she finally agreed to do something he asked instead of him simply forgiving everything and going back to normal without any change whatsoever.

Now… whether she’ll actually take the medication correctly every single day? That’s another story entirely. Because consistency has never exactly been my sister’s strength. She literally got pregnant because she was taking birth control pills in the most careless way possible by taking two pills one day, forgetting the next three. Basically a perfect recipe for disaster.

So when it comes to medication and responsibility… let’s just say history doesn’t make any of us feel very optimistic.

My parents were always very soft when it came to parenting, especially my mom. But sometimes, if you truly want a better future for your child, you have to be firm about certain things, even when it hurts you too.

Take the whole situation of teaching you to sleep alone, for example. Those first two nights were absolute hell. The very first night was honestly one of the hardest nights of my life. Seeing you cry like that, feeling your disappointment in me, watching you not understand why things were suddenly different, it really broke my heart. But in the end, it took only TWO very difficult nights for us to gain peaceful, calm nights for the rest of our lives afterward. So yes, it was painful. For both of us, but it was a temporary sacrifice that ended up being worth it.

A lot of my friends told me they would never have the courage to do something like that. They said it was cruel, that they couldn’t handle hearing their child cry. And some of those same friends now have eleven-year-olds still sleeping in bed with them precisely because they never found the courage to go through that difficult phase. But then I wonder… doesn’t that become harmful too, eventually?

I think one of the hardest parts of motherhood is learning to think long-term. Sometimes love means enduring a painful present because you know it will create something healthier, calmer, and better for your child in the future.

Let’s take another example: taking away a child’s pacifier.

Of course it’s going to be awful at first. There will be difficult days, tears, frustration for both the child and the parents. But what’s the alternative? Let your child turn 7 years old still attached to a pacifier like I’ve seen happen with so many kids, simply because you didn’t want to deal with temporary suffering in the present?

At some point, the discomfort comes either way. Sooner or later. And honestly, I think the same logic applies to my sister.

Yes, the idea of cutting her off financially and forcing her to stand on her own sounds painful. Extremely painful. But what if that’s exactly what she needs in order to finally grow up?

To find a job that doesn’t involve working for her dad. To understand what it means to wake up early every day, follow schedules, answer to a boss, manage a smaller income responsibly, deal with real-life pressure and accountability. Maybe that’s the only thing that would force her to mature and finally become an adult. But do my parents actually have the strength to follow through with something like that? No. And unfortunately, they end up living with the consequences of that softness too.

People always say, “But your parents raised you the same way, and you didn’t turn out like that.” But that’s exactly the point: I am me, and she is her. Every child requires a different approach, and motherhood taught me that very quickly. Some children respond to punishment, others don’t. Some react better to being grounded, while for another child grounding changes absolutely nothing. There’s no universal manual for raising kids.

You learn through experience. Through observation. Through trial and error. Because even with the exact same upbringing, children are still completely different human beings, with different personalities, emotions, temperaments, fears, desires, and ways of processing the world. So as a parent, you eventually realize you cannot treat every child exactly the same. You have to learn how to speak to each one differently, guide each one differently, reach each one differently.

And honestly? I feel like I matured so much when I ended up alone in San Diego after my breakup with Caique. For the first time in my life, I was truly on my own. No one cooking for me. No one cleaning for me. No parents nearby to physically rescue me if something went wrong. And financially, I refused to ask my father for money because that adventure had been my choice, and I felt I had to deal with the consequences myself. That experience changed me tremendously.

I still remember the day the toilet overflowed and started flooding the apartment. I was completely desperate. But I had to handle it myself. There was no father coming to save me.

Honestly, all the situations I went through while living abroad could probably fill an entire book. But that’s not the point. The point is that Tayna needed a dose of real life too. She needed that painful injection of reality that, unfortunately, she has never truly received and probably never will.

Maybe, just maybe, life itself will force her to grow up someday when my parents are no longer here to protect her from every consequence. And God willing, that day is still very, very far away because I don’t want my parents’ absence to become the bitter lesson my sister finally needs in order to mature. That wouldn’t be fair to any of us.

08/05 Chapter 546: Rush Rush

Another important thing I forgot to mention is that on the 1st—shortly after I finally got the keys to my new apartment—my father casually came to me and said that since we had managed to sell the current apartment thanks to the sign I placed in the building saying buyers could contact the owner directly, the new buyer wanted us to hand over the keys on the 15th.

And of course… I completely panicked. The 15th? WHAT do you mean the 15th? That would give us barely two weeks to pack up our entire lives and leave. Absolutely unbelievable.

My dad genuinely thinks it’s easy to pack your entire existence into boxes within 15 days. Everything we own is here. Our whole life is here. The time frame was insanely short. And knowing him, I’m sure either the idea of delivering the apartment so quickly came from him, or if the buyer suggested it, he probably didn’t even think to negotiate for more time on our behalf.

But how could I even complain? The apartment belongs to him now, and after everything he has done to help me finally get my own apartment, complaining would feel unbearably ungrateful. So instead, I swallowed the tears and started mentally trying to figure out how on earth we would make it work.

Thankfully, my mom—being the incredible mother she always is—stepped in. Whenever my dad was calmer and in a good mood, she kept trying to explain how absurd it was to expect someone to completely move out in less than a month, especially considering the buyer knew my apartment keys had only recently been released. Everyone knows that after getting the keys to a new apartment, there’s still flooring to install, custom furniture to build, renovations to finish… it’s not like you can simply move in overnight.

And honestly, the buyer could afford to have a little empathy considering the incredibly generous way my father was already handling the sale. My dad allowed him to buy an apartment worth nearly five hundred thousand reais with an absurdly low down payment of only R$150,000, and instead of forcing him into a bank financing process, he even agreed to let him pay the rest little by little in installments.

And don't get me wrong tho, I understand his side. Just like I’m desperate to finally move into my new home, I know the buyer also wants his sister—an older woman and my father’s adoptive sister—to settle into the apartment as soon as possible. But still… a little patience would’ve been nice.

In the end, after a lot of insistence from my mom, my dad managed to negotiate with the buyer and extend our deadline until the 30th.

Thank God. I know it’s still not ideal, and maybe we could’ve pushed for even more time, but compared to the original fifteen days, those extra two weeks already made me breathe a little easier.

So now the mission is clear: Rush the renovations in the new apartment while simultaneously packing up our entire lives in the old one.

Everything is happening at the exact same time. New apartment. Leaving the old apartment. Renovation chaos. Immigration process moving forward. Honestly… life has been asking for Olympic-level emotional stamina lately.

sábado, 7 de março de 2026

To my daughter Melanie (March 2026)

02/03 Chapter 511 A Price To Pay

Today I had to stop by a client’s house to deliver a few pieces of clothing she had already paid for but hadn’t received yet. As I drove up her street, there was a white car ahead of me that looked a little lost, picking up two passengers. I assumed it was an Uber.

I followed behind it as we went up the hill, planning to turn at the next street. But it was obvious the driver was trying to turn around and head back the way he had come. The street ahead has been blocked off for months, so you have to make a U-turn sooner or later.

The problem was that instead of waiting to turn around further ahead, where there was space, he decided to do it right in the middle of the curve.

He simply stopped in the curve, threw the car into reverse—and backed straight into mine.

For a moment I just sat there in disbelief. He had known there was a car behind him for several minutes. Otherwise he would have tried to turn around right there earlier. So how on earth did he not check his mirrors before reversing? Looking at your mirrors is basic driving instinct—especially when you’re backing up.

Everything happened so quickly that I didn’t even have time to put my own car in reverse to get out of the way. All I managed to do was honk. But even that wasn’t enough time for him to stop before the collision happened.

In the car with me were you and my grandmother.

It wasn’t a violent crash, but it did quite a bit of damage to my car, leaving the bodywork badly dented. The worst part came when my grandmother tried to open the passenger door and realized it wouldn’t budge. The entire door had been damaged. When we forced it open, it made a loud, awful grinding noise.

The driver got out of the car. He looked like he was in his early twenties.

Trying to stay calm, though still in disbelief, I asked him,

“Didn’t you check your mirrors before reversing?”

He tried to defend himself by asking whether I hadn’t seen him putting the car in reverse. But that wasn’t my responsibility—it was his. And yes, I had seen the reverse lights. I had even honked seconds before the impact. But there was no time for me to react and move my car.

At first he seemed reluctant to accept that he was in the wrong. Maybe it’s hard on a certain kind of male ego to admit you crashed into a car driven by a woman—and that you were the one at fault.

He politely canceled the ride with his passengers. They got out of the car, and one of them gave me a look that seemed to say, I’m really sorry this happened.

We stood there for quite a while trying to figure out what to do next.

My grandmother got upset when he suggested my car had already been damaged before. It’s true that it had some damage—but on the back of the car, not the front. One thing had nothing to do with the other. I told him clearly that the accident had been entirely his fault.

Eventually I asked if he had insurance.

He didn’t.

So I called my father to ask what I should do and put him on speakerphone. The young man looked nervous, though that wasn’t my intention.

My father said I would need to file a police report. He asked again if the driver had insurance, and when I said no, my father replied that the only option would be to take the matter to court.

Immediately the young man said that wouldn’t be necessary—that he would cover the costs himself. I asked my father if I still needed to file the report, and he said that if the young man truly intended to pay, then it might not be necessary.

At that point the driver finally gave in. He apologized and stopped trying to shift the blame onto me.

And that was when something in me softened.

His eyes were watery, and it was clear he was deeply worried—not just about the situation, but especially about the money. His car looked old and worn, and he was out there trying to make a living driving for Uber.

Later, still upset about everything, my mother did what she always does and helped me. She took my car to get repair estimates.

The damage from today’s accident would cost about R$2,500. The old damage on the back of the car—also R$2,500. Five thousand reais in total. We agreed he could pay it in four installments.

To be honest, I had expected the part he caused to cost much more, especially because of the door. So I sent him the estimate and told him it would be four payments of R$650—not as terrible as it could have been.

He replied with several voice messages. Even though the amount didn’t seem that high to me, he said it was still very heavy for him financially. He promised he would do everything possible to pay the debt.

But I couldn’t say I felt completely confident.

So I forwarded the messages to my father.

Looking again at the driver’s profile picture, I realized something else: he probably wasn’t in his twenties after all. The beard had made him look older. In reality, he was just a kid—maybe nineteen.

And clearly very humble.

My father replied that he would file a lawsuit. I told him it might not even be worth it, since legal costs could end up being higher than the repair itself. But my father said he could file the case in small claims court, where there would be no cost.

He simply didn’t want me to absorb the loss.

Still, I felt sorry for the boy. It was obvious he didn’t have the money—and probably no way to get it.

Later I messaged him again. I told him I understood his situation, but that it was complicated for me as well. I explained that I would still need to file a police report—not as something personal, but simply to document what had happened. And that if he couldn’t pay, my father, being a lawyer, would likely want to pursue legal action.

After a while he asked if he could call me.

I said yes.

To my surprise, it wasn’t him who spoke when I answered—it was his mother.

She was very kind and polite. She told me she had raised him since he was little and that he was her son in every sense. She asked me not to worry, because she would take responsibility for the entire cost. He would repay her little by little.

She even said that she knew the owner of one of the repair shops I had contacted and could pay him directly if that would make me feel more comfortable.

Then she asked me not to file the police report.

She explained that her son was still in the process of getting his driver’s license. In other words, he wasn’t even legally allowed to drive yet—which would make the situation much more serious, even criminal.

That explained the amateur mistake of reversing without checking the mirrors. Imagine if someone had been walking behind the car. A child.

She told me he was a good boy, that he knew how to drive, that he was just finishing the process of getting his license. He had started driving to earn money to pay for college. But if I filed the police report, the consequences for him could become much worse.

She even said that if necessary, I could file the report in her name instead, as if she had been the one driving.

I told her I would speak with my father, but I also tried to reassure her.

My father later said not to file the report. He had no desire to ruin anyone’s life either. But he did add that if the boy didn’t pay, then I should file the report in his name—and that would be their problem.

But then something surprising happened.

That very same day, the boy’s mother managed to get a loan for him.

That night he sent the full R$2,500 to me via Pix.

If it hadn’t been for his mother, I don’t know if I ever would have received the money. And maybe the situation with him driving without a license also played a role.

Still, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

But the truth is, sometimes this is the only way people learn—to be more careful, more responsible, more aware of the consequences of their actions.

Most of us only learn when something hurts.

In one way or another.

As for you, today you had your first trial class in judo. When I told you about it earlier, you didn’t want to go. But when you came home from school, you were smiling and said you loved it.

Tomorrow you have your first trial ballet class.

My little girl is starting her extracurricular activities.

And my heart could not be prouder.

07/03 Chapter 512 It's Going Down

From the 7th to the 12th we decided to go to the beach to celebrate my birthday, which would be on the 11th. At first it was going to be just you, me, your dad, Camila, Matt, Lucca, and Camila’s mother.

My mom wasn’t sure if she should go. She didn’t want to be a burden or make us feel like we couldn’t relax and enjoy ourselves. But since my birthday was on the 11th, it was obvious she wanted to be there. If it had been any other random date, she probably wouldn’t have insisted. I didn’t see a problem with my parents coming along, even though I knew it might make things a little more complicated because of the dynamic with your dad.

Then my mom asked what I thought about bringing Rafinha so the three kids could play together. My first reaction was no. I was thinking about your dad again. But a few seconds later I stopped and reconsidered. Three kids playing together sounded fun. And after all, it was my birthday. I wanted to spend it surrounded by the people I love. I love my nephew, and I love seeing you having fun together. I don’t only love your father.

So I decided that this was the kind of birthday I wanted. I did warn your dad ahead of time, though, because being caught by surprise is something he absolutely hates.

I thought that with a few more people, and with the trip not being that long, everything would work out fine and I’d have a lovely birthday.

We planned for Rafinha to come with us, but since I wanted to leave at 10 a.m., my sister asked if he could sleep over. Coming from Serra that early in the morning would be too much. So Rafinha slept at our house for the first time.

The night before, I put both of you to bed around 10:30 p.m., and you slept together in your bed. My only concern was that he might wake up in the middle of the night crying for his mom. When Rafinha melts down, he really melts down—screaming at the top of his lungs with no way to calm him.

But the night went smoothly. At some point you came to my bed like you usually do, and at 6:40 a.m. Rafinha came too—without crying. I could tell that once he got into my bed he was fully awake, though. I watched him try to fall back asleep for about twenty minutes, but it was useless. Eventually he started trying to wake you up.

I didn’t even mind much at that point, because I was already doomed anyway.

I tried putting cartoons on for you both so I could sleep a little longer. I tried several—some even from my own childhood—but it didn’t work. Rafael isn’t the kind of child who sits quietly watching cartoons for long the way you do. He gets bored, restless, hyperactive. He just can’t stay still.

I finally accepted defeat. My day had officially begun at 6:40 in the morning.

Your dad arrived around 10:30. I had made American pancakes for you both. You ate yours with strawberry jam. Rafael had some with honey and then some with pistachio after I convinced him it was “Hulk’s green chocolate.” He loved it. I ate mine with honey.

I saved two pancakes for your dad. He seemed surprised that I had made them and said they were good, which made me quietly happy. Recognition, even for small things, feels nice.

Since the day before you had already been coming down with a cold—your nose was a little stuffed and you were sneezing mucus. We had already started giving you some medicine, hoping to prevent it from getting worse. Still, you both woke up full of energy, jumping around the house, shouting happily about going to the beach.

Camila and her family had arrived the evening before, but I had thought it would be better if we traveled in the morning. If we had left the night before, you would have fallen asleep in the car and then only gone to bed in the middle of the night at the house, probably making a lot of noise. From what I know, they go to sleep much earlier than we do. I don’t know if Lucca still goes to bed at 6:30 p.m.—I hope not—but even if not, it certainly wouldn’t be very late.

So we hit the road.

Rafael slept much more than you did. You barely slept, which surprised me considering how early you had woken up. But what really bothered you was your nose. A stuffy nose drives you absolutely crazy. When that happens you get extremely irritated, cry a lot, complain nonstop, and simply cannot accept it. It’s always a challenge.

You cried so much that we had to pull over in Riviera just to calm you down and talk to you. Rafinha woke up during the stop too.

Eventually we managed to soothe you enough to keep going, and by then we were already close to the house.

As soon as we arrived, we unpacked quickly and went straight to the pool.

But you were already a little whiny, saying you were cold and wanted to get out—even though the water was quite warm.

At one point Lucca and Rafinha were jumping into the shallow end. Lucca reached out his hand and invited you to jump with him. But you were hesitant and didn’t want to jump. Everyone kept encouraging you.

“Jump, Mel! Jump!”

All three kids were standing on the edge of the pool when suddenly Rafinha pushed you.

Matt and Camila were shocked. Your father and I, of course, were angry.

I grabbed Rafinha and took him to the other side of the pool to sit on a chair as punishment. Meanwhile my parents tried to explain that he had pushed you because he heard everyone telling you to jump and thought he was “helping.”

I don’t think that’s true. And even if it were, it still needs to be corrected.

The right thing to do would probably have been to take him out of the pool completely and not allow him to swim anymore that day. Your dad even said that. But with my parents there—and them defending him—I didn’t feel like I had the authority to do that.

I reminded them that this wasn’t the first time. Not long ago, in Serra, you two were playing in the shallow part of the pool when he pushed you toward the deep end. You sank for a few seconds until Pietra saw what was happening and my sister pulled you out of the water.

Situations like that can turn tragic very quickly. Even if the other child has no intention of hurting anyone.

So the moment left a certain tension in the air.

Since you were still complaining that you were cold and wanted to get out, I took you upstairs to take a warm shower.

And that’s when everything changed.

In the shower, you suddenly vomited twice—forcefully, in large amounts.

We got worried immediately. Soon after that you developed chills and a fever. With the vomiting, it was clear you had some kind of stomach virus.

It’s funny how when we look forward to a special day for so long, things seem to go wrong along the way.

That evening Matt and Camila wanted to go out for pizza. Before you got sick, your dad had planned to go too, but he changed his mind and decided to stay with you.

I still went. You were lying quietly in bed upstairs with your grandparents. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, and I knew I could step out for an hour while they watched you. The restaurant was just a short walk away, so if anything happened they could call me and I’d be back immediately.

We tried convincing your dad to come along, but he refused. He wanted to stay in case you woke up crying.

So it was just me, Matt, Camila, and her mother who went out.

I had eaten pizza at that place once before and remembered loving it. But this time the menu didn’t have the unusual flavors I remembered, and the pizza wasn’t nearly as special as I thought it would be. It was just… normal.

Matt ordered and paid for two large pizzas for all of us. Then we walked back to the house.

You were still very weak. I put you to bed, but during the night you vomited twice again. That’s when everyone started worrying about dehydration. You hadn’t eaten anything all day—just a few crackers during the drive—and everything had come back up. The vomit during the night was only liquid now, because there was nothing left in your stomach.

And so the concern grew.

I couldn’t believe you were actually getting sicker. We even started wondering if we might need to go back home. You had been so healthy lately. It felt like such terrible luck for this to happen right now.

When I stopped to think about how quickly things can change, it was frightening. Even with the cold and the runny nose, you had woken up that morning so full of life—bright, energetic, joyful. And then, after the pool, everything seemed to unravel far too quickly to even process.

And we all know that whenever you get sick, that’s when your father and I tend to argue the most and clash over everything—especially under your grandparents’ roof, with everyone together in the same house.

God protect us from the days ahead.

I felt completely discouraged.

08/03 Chapter 513 Myth And Mystery Everywhere

That night, while you were already asleep, you developed a fever. Your dad didn’t want me to give you Novalgina, but you were clearly feeling awful—whimpering, restless, unable to sleep. So I gave it to you anyway.

Not long after, you vomited.

And just like that, the tension between your father and me grew again. It’s incredible how this happens every time you get sick. We simply can’t seem to understand each other. I think it’s because of the trauma we both carry from the past. Things had actually been better between us lately, precisely because you had been healthy for months. But the moment your health wavers, we start clashing again, arguing, losing our patience with each other.

And there you were, sick, with all of us under the same roof with your grandparents.

Of course I gave you the medicine because I genuinely wanted to help you feel better. I had no way of knowing you would throw up. But you didn’t just vomit the medicin, you vomited again later that night. That’s when the worry deepened. It meant your stomach wasn’t tolerating anything anymore, not even water.

The next morning your dad called Dr. Humberto. I thought he would tell us to take you straight to the hospital, but instead he gave us what turned out to be golden advice. He told us about a medication called Ondif, something that looks almost like a little strip of plastic wrap that dissolves under the tongue. It’s specifically made for children and adults who are vomiting and can’t keep anything down, not even medication.

He said the medicine would likely stop the vomiting and that we should give it every six hours. Only if you continued vomiting even after taking it should we go to the hospital.

I love Dr. Humberto.

We decided to buy the medication but hold off on giving it right away because, for a while, you seemed stable. But at 11 a.m. you vomited again.

I had read that after vomiting you shouldn’t give water immediately, because the stomach contracts and that can trigger another episode. The recommendation is to wait about 30 before offering fluids, and then give just a tablespoon every ten minutes.

So that’s what we did. And it worked beautifully. You stopped vomiting.

But what worried me most was how weak you looked, more than I had ever seen before. (Except when you were in the ICU, but that doesn’t count.) You barely spoke. You seemed apathetic, responding mostly with little nods instead of words, and you didn’t want to leave my arms.

My parents thought we should take you to the hospital. My mother and grandmother always say the real warning sign is when a child becomes extremely lethargic. But your dad argued that it was normal because you had thrown up a lot and hadn’t eaten, so of course you were exhausted.

He also pointed out that you were still urinating, which meant you weren’t dehydrated yet. And he was right about that.

We managed to keep the vomiting under control for hours, all the way until around 6 a.m.

At one point your dad and I took you outside to get a little fresh air. And something surprising happened: you seemed to perk up a bit. You started talking again, just a little. You looked more present.

Your dad gave you a small piece of bread to throw to the birds, and after nearly 48 hours without eating anything, you suddenly took a bite. We were so happy. The hunger was coming from you, not us forcing you. It felt like a sign of improvement.

But that was our mistake.

We had avoided giving the medication the doctor recommended because we had been managing things well with the small spoonfuls of water. But we shouldn’t have let you eat solid food yet.

Because soon after, you vomited again.

Even though we knew the vomiting had been our fault—that it happened because of the bread and that you should only have eaten solid food the next day—we gave you the medicine the doctor had recommended. After that, the vomiting finally stopped.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

But that night, while everything had grown quiet and you were finally resting, something else kept my mind wide awake.

I found myself thinking about an idea that has been haunting me for a while now. I can’t remember exactly where I first read about it, but once the thought entered my head, I started researching it. One article led to another, then another, and the more I read, the more unsettled I felt.

It’s called the Simulation Theory.

The theory suggests something both fascinating and deeply unsettling: that the reality we experience might not be the ultimate, fundamental reality at all. Instead, what we perceive as the world could actually be a kind of simulation, an artificial environment created by a highly advanced intelligence, perhaps something like an unimaginably powerful computer.

In other words, the idea proposes that everything we see and experience might exist inside some kind of cosmic program. As if someone or something built this world the way programmers build a virtual universe.

And we would simply be characters inside it.

What fascinated me most is that this doubt about reality is much older than computers. Long before technology existed, philosophers were already asking the same unsettling question: How do we know that what we perceive is truly real?

One of them imagined a strange possibility. What if there were some powerful force—a deceptive intelligence—manipulating our senses? Something capable of making us see a world that might not actually exist.

In that scenario, everything we experience could be nothing more than a carefully constructed illusion.

You see a table.
You feel your body.
You hear sounds around you.

But what if all of it were just signals, impressions, something projected into your mind from the outside?

That radical doubt led the philosopher René Descartes to one of the most famous conclusions in the history of philosophy. If everything around him could be an illusion, there was still one thing he could not doubt: the fact that he was thinking.

And from that came the sentence that has echoed through centuries:

“I think, therefore I am.”

Because even if everything else were false—even if the entire world were an illusion—the simple act of thinking proves that something, somewhere, must exist.

As technology advanced, that old philosophical doubt took on a new shape.

In 2003, the philosopher Nick Bostrom published a famous paper called Are You Living in a Computer Simulation?. In it, he proposed three possible scenarios about the future of intelligent civilizations:

1) Civilizations destroy themselves before they ever become technologically advanced enough to create extremely realistic simulations.
2)Advanced civilizations exist, but they have no interest in running simulations of entire universes or conscious beings.
3) We are almost certainly living inside a simulation.

His reasoning is largely statistical.

If a highly advanced civilization had the technology to create simulations of entire universes—perhaps millions or even billions of them—then the numbers would become strange. In that case there would be only one original, “base” universe, but potentially countless simulated ones.

So purely from a probability standpoint, Bostrom suggested something unsettling: if simulated universes vastly outnumber real ones, then statistically it would be more likely that we exist inside a simulation rather than the original reality.

Some people summarize this idea by saying that the probability could be around 50% or higher, depending on certain assumptions.

The idea has also attracted attention from people in technology circles. For example, Elon Musk once said publicly that the odds we’re living in “base reality” might be extremely small, suggesting a probability as high as one in billions, meaning that the chance we’re in a simulation could be close to 99%.

When someone surrounded by some of the world’s most advanced engineers and scientists says something like that, it naturally makes people curious. It raises the question: is there really something about our universe that points in that direction?

Some researchers are intrigued by the idea because certain aspects of the universe seem strangely precise.

For example:

The universe follows extremely elegant mathematical laws.
Nature behaves according to equations with remarkable precision, something that makes some physicists wonder why reality appears so deeply mathematical in the first place.

The physical constants seem finely tuned.
Values like the strength of gravity, electromagnetism, or nuclear forces are balanced so delicately that even tiny changes would make stars, planets, and life itself impossible.

And finally, there’s an idea that has been gaining attention in modern physics:

Reality may resemble information more than matter.

Some physicists suggest that at the deepest level, the universe might not be made of solid “stuff” at all, but rather of information structures, almost like a vast cosmic code.

Ideas like this don’t prove that we’re living in a simulation. Not even close. But they do make people pause and wonder whether reality might be stranger than it appears.

And once that thought enters your mind, it’s hard not to lie awake at night turning it over and over, asking yourself the same unsettling question philosophers have asked for centuries:

What if the world we experience isn’t the ultimate layer of reality at all?

The simulation theory suggests that our universe might be something like an extraordinarily advanced video game where the reality we see and experience is simply the virtual environment in which everything unfolds.

Then I started researching it more, and the more I read, the more I realized that some people actually take this idea very seriously. That’s what frightened me the most because I had never even heard of this theory before.

At first, when I began searching, I assumed I would find the usual reactions: “What a crazy idea.” I thought it would be another conspiracy theory created by people who wanted to sound mysterious but had no real arguments behind it. I expected something easy to dismiss.

But instead, it felt like we might be closer to an episode of Black Mirror than I had ever imagined.

So I started asking AI questions that suddenly seemed impossible to ignore—questions that, to me, had never really made sense before:

What does death mean inside a simulation?
What about Down syndrome or autism?
What about homosexuality?
Why do we feel pain if we’re just characters?
What does déjà vu mean?

And many other things you could imagine.

What shocked me was that within this theory, people seem to have explanations for almost everything. Some of them even sound strangely logical at first glance, which left me staring at the screen in disbelief.

But I can’t deny that some of the ideas were unsettling. One explanation suggested that death could simply be like being unplugged from a machine as if the character disappears while the “player” logs off. Another comparison said that when we die it might be like a file being deleted from a computer.

Our experiences would feel completely real to us, but that wouldn’t necessarily mean they exist in the deeper sense we imagine.

In a strange way, it reminded me of faith. You can feel faith deeply in your heart, but that feeling alone doesn’t prove the existence of something divine. The experience is real to you, but it doesn’t automatically become a universal truth.

So the idea that we might just be files running in some system, maybe even vulnerable to glitches or “viruses,” felt depressing to me.

But then another thought crossed my mind.

I’ve never been someone who firmly believes in God, and I’ve always found it difficult to imagine that something truly exists after death. My rational side often assumes that when we die, everything simply ends. Darkness. Silence. Nothing more.

And if that’s the case, then maybe there isn’t such a huge difference between the two ideas—between being a character in a simulation or simply disappearing into nothingness.

Either way, the result would be the same: we wouldn’t see anything, feel anything, or know anything anymore.

Still, somehow the simulation idea feels more disturbing, more distorted, though I’m not entirely sure why.

Maybe it’s because, deep down, a small part of me still hopes that there might be something else waiting on the other side and that maybe, just maybe, I’m the one who’s wrong.

When I first heard about the story of Erin Valenti, my thoughts spiraled even further. Almost every article about her death describes it as strange or mysterious, and that only made the whole subject feel more unsettling to me.

Erin Valenti was an American tech entrepreneur who worked in the field of virtual and augmented reality. She was the CEO of a company developing immersive technology and was known for being intelligent, successful, and deeply engaged in discussions about technology, consciousness, and the future of humanity.

In October 2019, she was in San Jose attending meetings and tech events. During that trip, according to her family, her behavior suddenly became unusual. She called her parents and her husband several times. They said she was speaking extremely fast, swinging between a kind of euphoric excitement as if she had “figured out the universe” and deep fear.

At one point she reportedly said:

“It’s all a game. It’s a thought experiment. We’re in the Matrix.”

Her family became very worried because this was completely out of character for her. Shortly after those phone calls, Erin disappeared. Several days later, she was found dead inside her car, which was parked on a street in San Jose.

Because of those statements she had made before disappearing, the case sparked a lot of speculation online. Some people connected her death to simulation theories or suggested she had discovered something mysterious.

What disturbed me the most was the detail that she was found in the back seat of the car, 5 days later, in a place that police had reportedly already searched.

The autopsy did not find a clear external cause of death. Authorities ultimately classified it as natural causes, suggesting that she had experienced an acute manic episode that led to physical complications, something that can happen in rare cases when the body is under extreme psychological stress or exhaustion.

Her husband, who worked in the mental health field, said that she had always seemed completely normal and had never shown signs of that kind of episode before.

When you read about it late at night, it’s easy for the mind to wander into darker explanations, almost like she had discovered something dangerous and someone simply “pulled the plug.”

But in reality, there is no evidence that anything like that happened. Cases like hers are tragic, and sometimes medical or psychological events can appear sudden and confusing, especially when we only see fragments of the story through headlines.

More recently, you probably saw news about a scientist proposing something called the Second Law of Infodynamics, suggesting that information might follow patterns similar to physical laws. Some articles frame it dramatically, connecting it to ideas about the universe behaving like a computational system. That’s interesting from a theoretical perspective, but it’s very far from being proof that we live in a literal simulation like in the movie The Matrix.

A lot of brilliant people enjoy exploring these ideas because they’re fascinating thought experiments. Philosophy and theoretical physics often push questions to the edge of what we understand about reality. But curiosity about strange possibilities doesn’t mean scientists believe they’ve proven we’re inside a computer program.

Even many researchers who discuss simulation theory see it mainly as a philosophical argument, not as established science.

And the most important thing is this: regardless of whether the universe is made of particles, energy, information, or something we still don’t understand, the experiences we have inside it are real to us.

Love is real in the way that matters.
Care is real.
Pain is real.
Joy is real.

Your last thought in what you wrote is actually something many philosophers end up concluding too: if we are here—however the universe works—then the only meaningful thing we can do is live fully inside the life we have.

To care.
To love.
To build memories.
To hold the people who matter close.

And the love between a parent and a child is one of the most real things a human being can experience, no matter what the deeper structure of the universe might be.

09/03 Chapter 513: Do You Have Time To Listen To Me Whine?

The medication Dr. Humberto recommended worked. The fever disappeared, and so did the vomiting. It was three days of a virus—this time, a real stomach virus, different from anything you’d had before. As scary as it was, there’s something almost reassuring about it too: it comes fast, it hits hard, and then it goes away just as quickly. Unlike a flu that lingers, evolves, turns into something worse, sometimes ending in antibiotics and worry.

Even though your overall condition improved, your mood hadn’t caught up yet. For most of the day, you were still fragile, irritable, complaining about everything, quieter than usual. Not as apathetic as the day before, but still not yourself.

And I’ll be honest, I felt frustrated.

This trip I had planned so carefully, to celebrate my birthday, to spend time with my friend, to enjoy the kids… it almost felt like it was slipping through my fingers. You got sick from Saturday to Monday, and now it was Tuesday and your mood was still off. On top of that, the weather had turned gray and heavy, rain pouring nonstop since the day before.

Nothing was going the way I had imagined.

But then again… life rarely does.

I had pictured a peaceful trip with three children playing together, long days at the beach, laughter, lightness. We haven’t even stepped foot on the sand yet. I had also dreamed of visiting one of the little islands in Juquehy, the ones people say are breathtaking. But it doesn’t look like that will happen either.

Still, I was glad I brought Rafinha. He became a companion for Lucca. The two of them exist in that funny space between love and chaos—they play together endlessly, and then, just as quickly, they fight. A rhythm that feels very familiar, because you and Rafinha are the same.

You and Lucca, though… you seem softer together. It’s hard to know for sure, since you haven’t really been yourself these past days, but I have a feeling that the two of you—both a bit calmer—would clash less.

Yesterday, Rafinha and Lucca were dancing to “Gummy Bear,” wiggling their little hips back and forth. It was so funny. Sometimes they hug each other, and other times one of them bursts into tears—usually Lucca, who would complain in his serious little voice,
“I’m not happy with him.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Lucca is interesting—he’s a bit uncoordinated physically, a little clumsy when he runs, but his speech… it’s impressive. His vocabulary is wide, he understands everything, and you can actually have a conversation with him. In that sense, you and Rafinha are still catching up. But then again, each child grows in their own rhythm—he’s ahead in words, and a little behind in movement.

Things only started to feel lighter again in the evening, when I noticed you improving.

Over the past couple of days, whenever you were quiet and withdrawn, Lucca would come over and gently stroke your arm, trying to comfort you. It was such a tender thing to witness.

I found myself hoping that your friendship might grow—quietly, naturally—the way mine did with Camila. Who knows what time does with bonds like that? Maybe one day, years from now, something even more beautiful could come from it.

There it is… the mind of a hopeless romantic, raised on Disney stories, always imagining possibilities.

But you never really know, do you?

I had promised that tomorrow I would take you, Rafinha, and Lucca out for ice cream—a small celebration, something light and happy. But your grandfather wanted to take you today, and he didn’t like it at all when I said no.

And that’s where I see how much he still needs to grow.

You had just spent three days dealing with a stomach virus. Was it really so hard to wait one more day, just to make sure you were fully recovered? The ice cream would still be there. Sometimes, patience is also a form of care.

And in moments like that, I understand your father’s frustration.

Your father tends to go too far in one direction—too strict, too rigid. My father sometimes goes too far in the other—too relaxed, too permissive. One is an 8, the other an 80.

And there I am, constantly trying to stand somewhere in the middle, searching for balance.

Anyway… I’m holding on to the hope that tomorrow will feel different.

A new day, lighter than the last.

10/03 Chapter 514: If The Road Gets Rough, Hanging tough

Today it rained all day again. It almost feels like these little vacation days were doomed from the start. The only bright side is that you were better—you finally started playing with the other kids, and we even spent some time in the pool despite the rain. Still, no beach… I keep wondering if we’ll manage even one single day there together.

And then, just when things seemed to be improving, Rafinha got sick.

Tonight he vomited.

I ran upstairs to see what was happening and found him in my mom’s bathroom, covered in vomit, standing there in just his little underwear. When he saw me, he looked up with tears in his eyes, holding out his tiny hands and said, in that broken little voice:

“Dinda, I threw up everything… I threw up everything…”

My heart just broke for him.

He caught your virus.

Now I can only hope Lucca doesn’t get it too, otherwise I think Camila might truly regret coming. Honestly, with this awful weather, she might already be regretting it. If her son gets sick on top of that… oh dear.

I felt so sorry for Rafinha. I helped my mom get him into the shower and told her to do things properly now—no solid food, no milk, just keep him hydrated and start the medication right away.

My dad stayed upstairs with him, and while that was happening, at 11:55 p.m. my mom came downstairs. At 11:59, she hugged me and kissed me ahead of time, already wishing me a happy birthday.

She told me to go upstairs so my dad could wish me too, but I said he could do it the next day—it didn’t matter.

Right at midnight, your dad came in from outside—he had been smoking—wanting to be the first one to wish me a happy birthday. But he was a little too late. Your grandmother had already beaten him to it.

He said she cheated, that it was supposed to be exactly at midnight.

I think your dad has officially joined our tradition now—waiting for the exact moment the clock turns to celebrate.

I hope tomorrow—my birthday—will be a happy one.

Amen.

11/03 Chapter 515: Where's My Happy Ending?

My birthday has had its share of little disasters ever since I turned sixteen, and this year it seemed like the rain would be the problem. At least, that’s what I thought.

I wish it had been.

We woke up around 10:30. It wasn’t raining, so we rushed to get ready, hoping to make it to the beach as early as possible—to salvage at least one good day, all of us together.

But of course, leaving the house with children is never simple.

Sunscreen here, towels there, swimsuits, snacks, bags—while trying to keep an eye on three kids at the same time. The house quickly turned into chaos. And the kids, as always, were playing and almost fighting in the same breath.

At one point, you and Rafinha were by the front door. He was teasing, pretending he might close the door on your hand. And you—of course—didn’t move away. You stayed there until the very last second. When he slammed it near your hand—without actually touching you—you burst into tears as if it had really hurt.

That’s something about you. You feel things deeply. Even when nothing actually happens, you react as if the world just ended.

Your grandfather, who was sitting nearby working, said it hadn’t even touched you. But your father, hearing you cry, immediately rushed over to protect you, asking what had happened. My father explained, but your dad kept insisting, saying things like, “Rafinha can’t do that,” and going on and on.

And my father… well, he already feels like your dad is always criticizing Rafinha. And since Rafinha is his grandson too, he takes it personally.

So, as expected—and honestly, it even took longer than usual, considering his temperament—he snapped.

“Then you take care of him, for f***’s sake. Judging is easy.”

Your dad clearly wasn’t expecting that. He went quiet for a second, a bit embarrassed. But then, in a low voice—so low I’m almost sure my father didn’t even hear—he replied:

“He’s not my son…”

I think almost everyone in the house witnessed that moment.

Except Matt and Camila’s mother.

And something about it broke me in a way I can’t fully explain.

You know those levels of sadness I once told you about? I reached the worst one again—the kind that burns in your throat, where the tears feel trapped until they spill over. The kind that leaves you numb, heavy, wanting nothing more than to curl up under a blanket like a burrito and disappear for a while.

My birthday ended right there.

The first real clash between your father and my father—on my birthday.

Of course, your father couldn’t just let things go for one day. Not even for me.

There’s something deeply painful about watching two people you love slowly lose their ability to tolerate each other. I understand my mother now, when she used to say how much it hurt her to see me and my sister fight.

It hurts. It really does.

I went to the bedroom to change you, and I cried. A lot.

Your father tried to talk to me, but I couldn’t even stand the thought of him coming close. I pushed him away, told him I didn’t want to talk, my voice still shaking with tears.

My mother tried to calm me down, telling me not to let it get to me, that it was between them and they would sort it out.

But I needed air.

I took your little hand and walked to the beach with you.

Just us.

I decided I wouldn’t let anything ruin my day completely. I would celebrate my birthday with the person I love the most in this world—the one who, at least for now, cannot hurt me.

You.

As I walked out, I saw your father trying to explain himself to mine. They were already talking, already making peace. But for me, it was too late. The damage was done.

You were happy just to be going to the beach with me. And somehow, that was enough.

At first, we collected seashells together. Then we started building a sandcastle, carving a little stream around it. That’s when your father arrived.

I still didn’t want to talk to him.

He tried anyway—placing his hand gently on my neck, telling me to relax, that it had been nothing, that only I had made it into something bigger. That men are like that, that it’s normal.

I nodded. But I said nothing.

Silence stayed between us.

Later, I left you with him while he covered your legs in sand, turning you into a little mermaid. I walked away to collect more shells—to decorate your tail, and also to put some distance between us.

But eventually, he followed.

Camila, Matt, and Lucca arrived not long after, and your father used that moment to come closer again. He told me it was time to change my mood. That my birthday may have started badly, but it could still end well.

He hugged me.

And I let him.

I can’t stay angry for long. It’s just not who I am. Still, something inside me remained quiet… and a little sad.

I sat with Camila for a while, talking, venting, while your father played with you and Matt dug a giant hole in the sand with Lucca.

Later, my mom, Nena, and Rafinha arrived, and you lit up immediately.

You and Rafinha played together, but Lucca didn’t really join you at the beach. And just like that, my little dream of the three of you running and laughing together dissolved into the sand.

At some point, Camila gave Lucca corn to eat and put a cartoon on her phone for him. I noticed your father watching. Maybe—just maybe—he would realize that other parents do the same things I do sometimes. Even though I rarely do it, he still paints me as the villain.

Then my father arrived and pulled me aside, explaining that men are like that, that it wasn’t really a fight, just his stressed way of speaking. His “Italian DNA,” he said.

I nodded again.

That was my mood for the day—just nodding.

I stayed a little longer, but I couldn’t find my way back to happiness. So I quietly got up and walked back home alone to take a shower.

My body was begging for it—especially after holding you for so long, my legs covered in sand, aching.

On the way, I passed two workers. Before getting into the shower, I grabbed a knife and brought it with me.

Being a woman—especially in Brazil—means thinking about things men rarely even consider. There are so many stories, so many headlines… you learn to protect yourself in ways that might seem extreme to others.

Not because they were workers.

But because they were men.

An empty house. A woman alone.

Sometimes that’s all it takes.

Nothing happened. No one came in.

But even then, part of me imagined that your father might notice I was gone. That he might come looking for me, try to talk to me. Even while I was in the shower, I imagined it.

I’ve always lived a little too much inside my own imagination.

And of course… he didn’t come.

After almost an hour in the shower, waiting for something that never came, I went to the living room, didn’t even bother drying my hair, and turned on The Middle. It’s a show I started watching this month—a light, funny family series. It talks about motherhood and family life in a way that feels both chaotic and comforting.

I lay there on the couch, drained.

Everyone could tell.

My father came over and said that wasn’t how I should spend my birthday. Then he told me not to be upset with Stan, that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

I nodded.

That was all I had left in me.

We fed you and Rafinha a little before heading out, knowing you wouldn’t really eat at the restaurant. Then we all went to that great burger place in Juquehy to celebrate.

While everyone settled at the table, I stepped out to check one of those claw machines across the street. That’s when I heard shouting:

“LUCCA! RAFAEL!”

My father was yelling, scolding Rafinha.

Apparently, he and Lucca had been fighting, and Rafinha slapped him across the face.

It’s hard… all of it.

Soon after, Rafinha fell asleep. He was exhausted—and getting sick too.

We ordered food. Everyone loved it. You, even after eating earlier, still filled your belly with fries—your favorite.

We stayed there for about two hours.

At the end, your father surprised me. He insisted on paying for everything—over five hundred reais. He wanted to be generous, to thank Matt for everything he had done for us in San Diego, to make a good impression.

And it was a beautiful gesture.

But not for me.

That’s the part I struggle to understand. He can do something so generous for others… but when it comes to me, I’ve never seen that same kind of gesture. Not really.

We ended the night with ice cream.

And of course, not without your father making a face when your grandfather gave you bubblegum and cotton candy ice cream—full of artificial colors. And then, to top it off, some M&M’s.

These things wear me down.

When Matt bought M&M’s for Lucca, I caught myself thinking: Why can’t Stan be just a little more like that? Why does everything around sugar, food, and treats have to be such a battle? Will it always be like this?

Later that night, I asked your father to watch a movie with me. But my mom and Nena stayed downstairs, and even if they hadn’t… I don’t know if anything would have been different.

He fell asleep halfway through the movie anyway.

So…
Happy birthday to me, I guess.

12/03 Chapter 516: Trying To Hold It All Together

The plan was to leave early so you could still make it to school today—but this time, it wasn’t me who delayed us. It was your dad.

We ended up leaving closer to 11:30.

Before heading out, we stopped at that little place that makes those incredible croissants and pain au chocolat. We sat down, and I ordered two—one for me, and one for you to share with your dad. I also got a toasted bread with butter and a slice of carrot cake with chocolate frosting, just to try later.

A small pause before getting back to reality.

You slept through most of the drive while your dad and I talked.

Or maybe “talked” isn’t the right word.

We went over everything—the argument, my birthday, what happened with Rafinha at the pool. Back and forth, circling the same points, trying to make sense of things that, somehow, no longer seemed to make sense at all.

And somewhere along that road, between one sentence and the next, I realized something quietly, painfully clear: whatever we had started to rebuild at the end of last year… was gone again.

Just like that.

The possibility of us—the one that had once felt so real—no longer seemed to exist.

I was already feeling heavy when we got home. I dropped your dad off and rushed to take you to school. Even if you only stayed for two hours, it would be enough for me to get the house in order and then take you to your swimming class.

But as soon as we arrived, everything shifted again.

You were hungry—the snack time at school had already passed—and on top of that, you were trying to go to the bathroom. You were crying, crying, crying, saying your poop was hard and it hurt.

The way you cried… it wasn’t just discomfort. It was desperation.

So I made a decision.

I used the Minilax.

It’s a suppository that helps stimulate a bowel movement almost immediately. I had only used it once before, back in Riviera with your grandparents. This was the second time.

And even knowing what to expect… it didn’t make it any easier.

The way you screamed—it broke me.

It sounded like you were being hurt in a way I couldn’t protect you from. Like something unbearable was happening to you, something I had caused. Your cries were so intense, so raw, that they physically hurt me to hear. I found myself crying too, feeling like I was the one hurting you.

And even then… it barely worked.

Just two tiny little pellets.

The correct thing would have been to use two doses. But there was no way you would let me. Getting even one in had already felt like one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

Afterward, through tears, you made me promise I would never do that to you again.

After all that stress and exhaustion, I even called your dad just to vent. Later, he spoke to you gently, explaining that you had just gone through a stomach virus, that we hadn’t given your body enough time to recover, and that we had let you eat too many things you shouldn’t have yet. After all, that day you had practically eaten a pain au chocolat by yourself.

And he was right.

I was the one now facing the consequences—watching you suffer like that.

After everything you went through, there was no way I could send you to school. We went straight to your swimming class instead, and that’s how we ended the day.

I never want to see you crying and hurting like that again.

Even knowing how expressive—how dramatic—you can be, it still broke my heart.

14/03 Chapter 517: Where Will It End?

After another terrible night of sleep, I turned to artificial intelligence for help.

Somehow, you’ve created a kind of nighttime rhythm of your own, a biological clock that doesn’t work in your favor, or mine, or ours. It disrupts your sleep, my sleep, and any chance we have at truly resting.

And yesterday, after barely sleeping, I was in a terrible mood. I could feel it in everything—my patience, my tone, the way I spoke to you. Something inside me was already cracking, but I didn’t fully realize how bad it had gotten until you looked at me, through tears, and said:

“Mommy… you’re being very mean to me today. Very mean.”

My heart sank.

Hearing that from you hurt in a way I can’t even explain. And in that moment, I knew that something had to change.

Every night, when I put you to bed around 9:30 or 10:00, you fall asleep beautifully. For two, sometimes three hours, you sleep deeply, peacefully until around one in the morning.

That’s when it starts.

Your first cry.

And from that moment on, it’s as if your body forgets how to return to deep sleep. You begin waking up again and again, needing me beside you every single time.

I lay you down, wait fifteen minutes for you to fall asleep, quietly leave the room… and just as I finally lie down in my own bed, hoping to rest, you call for me again.

And again.

All night long.

It’s exhausting in a way that seeps into everything.

Because those first two or three hours—the only stretch where you sleep soundly—are the exact hours I’m still awake, finishing everything from the day. By the time I finally go to bed, your restlessness has already begun.

And the night becomes a cycle I can’t escape.

So after explaining your nights in detail to the AI, I asked for help—real help. I even mentioned melatonin, hoping there might be some easier answer.

But the response was clear. Firm.

You need to put her to bed once. And after that, you cannot keep going back and lying down with her.

If she wakes up and calls you, you can go check on her but you cannot stay. You cannot lie beside her. You have to explain that she has her bed, and you have yours, and that she needs to learn to sleep on her own. Leave a light on so she feels safe. Create comfort, but keep the boundary.

It sounded simple.

It wasn’t.

The AI warned me that it would be hard. Painful. That children usually resist at first. That they cry, they scream, they get scared. That it requires patience, consistency, and strength.

And that it would hurt the mother more than the child.

But that by the third to fifth night, things would begin to improve.

So I decided to try.

And I can honestly say it was one of the hardest nights of my life.

Watching you cry, not understanding why things were different… hearing you say you were scared, calling for me over and over again for hours, it broke something inside me.

You woke up around midnight, and from then on we were caught in this endless cycle until after 3 a.m.

Three long, exhausting hours.

A battle of tears, pleading, frustration—mine and yours. I kept explaining, over and over, that you needed to stay in your bed, that you could do it, that you were safe.

But you didn’t understand.

And I had to be stronger than I wanted to be.

There were moments when I had to threaten to close the door if you kept getting up or turning on the lights. And it was only when you realized that things could get worse—that I wouldn’t give in—that something shifted.

Little by little, through exhaustion more than acceptance…

You gave in.

And you fell asleep.

Alone.

A victory, I suppose.

But one that came at a cost.

I placed a small light in your room and surrounded you with your princess dolls, trying to create a sense of comfort, of safety, something that could hold you when I couldn’t.

Still, when I finally lay down, all I could think was:

When will this end?

Because it’s been months like this—months where neither of us truly rests.

And yet… tonight, despite everything, you did it.

You fell asleep on your own.

So maybe tomorrow will be better than today.

16/03 Chapter 518: The Toughest Role I Ever Played

Last night was still hard… but it was already easier than the one before.

A small step forward. Still painful, though.

My love, hearing you cry, seeing you think I was being mean to you—that I was somehow hurting you—was, and still is, one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But I know, deep down, that it’s for your own good.

And even though last night was still a storm… Today brought something I almost couldn’t believe. And you why? Because you slept. Peacefully. Without crying.

You only called me once—and just because you were thirsty and wanted some water. That was it!

You slept straight from 9:30 p.m. until 4:30 in the morning. Such a huge step.

After that, I could tell your sleep wasn’t as deep anymore, and you waited for morning for permission to come into my bed. I'll take care of the mornings in the next months, for now, baby steps.

And the truth is… We did it!

It was hard—so hard—but just like the AI said, by the third night, everything started to shift. And it will be good for both of us. I promise.

When I went to quietly check on you, you were curled up, hugging your Elsa doll. And my heart filled with pride.

You are such a smart, understanding little girl. You truly listen, you try, you grow. And I couldn’t be prouder of you.

17-18/03 Chapter 518: Feel The Vibe

quarta-feira, 20 de maio de 2026

To my daughter Melanie (May 2026)

sábado, 7 de março de 2026

To my daughter Melanie (March 2026)

@nati_nina