To My Daughter Melanie (September 2026)

 11/08 Chapter 601: Standing Your Ground

I’m going to summarize things quite a bit because I’m very behind again, and I don’t want this to turn into a snowball that keeps getting bigger and bigger. And honestly, there isn’t that much to tell or add anyway.

After almost finishing your ten-day course of antibiotics, today, at Miguel’s birthday party, we noticed that you had started sneezing and coughing again. And that sent me straight into a spiral. I couldn’t believe it was happening again because you were STILL taking antibiotics. I had always felt calmer whenever you were on antibiotics because, somewhere in my head, I had convinced myself that they protected you from getting sick. Last week, after you had already been taking the antibiotics for a few days, you spent some time with Rafinha, who was sick himself and had a fever and everything. Because you were on antibiotics, I felt more confident that you wouldn’t catch whatever he had. But I think you did...........

Today, we actually had two birthday parties. Manoela’s started at 6 p.m., and Miguel’s started at 8 p.m. I made a point of going to both because, since one started at six, there was enough time to show up and celebrate both of them. I try to do for other people what I would want them to do for me—or for you. I know that if your birthday ever fell on the same day as another little friend’s, I would be happy if that child’s parents made the effort to come to your party, even if the other child had invited them first. Of course, going to two parties wasn’t easy: two presents, twice the gas, driving across the city during rush hour, and spending time somewhere where I didn’t know a single person. But Manoela’s mom was happy. I could tell she was genuinely grateful that we had made the effort.

I didn’t manage to get there right at six, but we arrived around 6:45. You were happy to see her, and she was happy to see you too. I didn’t know anyone there, so I sat alone at a table near the play area, watching you girls play. It was a small rented space with very few children, and Manoela’s mom had bought some snacks herself and was serving them to the guests. It was a very simple little party. None of the other children from your class came because everyone went to Miguel’s party instead. I understand—they had invited everyone first, and six o’clock is a difficult time for a party. But I still think people could make a little more effort to put themselves in someone else’s shoes. Then again, who am I to judge? I did what I could and made my own effort. Like I told you, it wasn’t exactly fun for me to spend money on two presents, use twice the gas, sit in traffic, and spend time in a place where I didn’t know absolutely anyone.

You also felt like a bit of a fish out of water for much of the time because Manoela was the only person you knew. But there were moments when you girls played together, and honestly, those moments alone made it worth going.

You didn’t want to leave without having a little sweet first, but I explained that you couldn’t take one before the birthday song, and her birthday song wasn’t going to happen yet—we wouldn’t be able to stay long enough to see it. Somehow, I managed to convince you, and we left for Miguel’s party. We found your dad at the entrance, and we all went in together.

You had more fun there, although at first you still didn’t want to let go of your dad and go mingle with the other children. It took you a little while to finally go and play. I’ve noticed that you WANT to play, but sometimes, for example, when you’re playing with Maya and then Marina comes along and takes her attention away, you simply give up on playing. You feel pushed aside and replaced, and you get sad. And I’ve experienced that feeling so many times myself that I know exactly what it feels like. It’s frustrating. And watching you go through it without being able to do much about it makes me sad. If you’re already encountering situations like this now and struggling to navigate them, I can only imagine what elementary school will be like, and then middle school, high school... Friendships are complicated. But I hope you learn to stand your ground. When you start feeling pushed to the sidelines, I hope you learn to find your way back to the center instead of becoming intimidated or disappearing. I noticed those moments tonight, and this wasn’t the first time I’ve seen them.

Miguel, on the other hand, was such a sweetheart with you the entire party. He kept asking if you were okay, holding your little hand, calling you over to play, and trying to make you feel comfortable and included. He was absolutely adorable!!!

We left the party almost at midnight, but midnight actually struck while we were already in the car. So I started singing “Happy Birthday” to your dad at the top of my lungs, pulling you into it and making you sing along in both Portuguese and English because your daddy was turning 34! We all sang together, and then I dropped you off at his house so you could celebrate his birthday with him and spend a good part of the next day together. Enjoy your time with Daddy. I can’t be there with you, but I hope you make him feel special.

 12/08 Chapter 602: I Ain't The One

Today I woke up without you, since you had slept at Daddy’s house the night before to celebrate his birthday with him. We had agreed that I would pick you up at 6 p.m., and since it was his birthday, I couldn’t be late or fail to show up for him and leave him upset.

Before going to get you, I went to buy the sofa for my apartment. And, in the end, my mom was the one who bought it for me as a gift. First the dining table, and now the sofa... look at that! What amazing gifts, huh? I spent quite a while struggling with the color because nothing seemed to look right in the room. I put several different options into AI, but I didn’t like any of them. Eventually, I settled on one, although I have no idea whether it will actually look good in the living room. I can only hope it does. The salesman told me those were basically all the sofa colors available and that I wouldn’t find anything different, but that’s just salesman talk. I’m sure of it.

Anyway, at 6 p.m. I went to pick you up. Your dad had made plans to go bowling with Matheus, Marcela, and a couple they’re friends with. Before I got pregnant, we used to get together at Matheus’s house and play all kinds of games with that same couple who went bowling with your dad.

I tried not to take it personally that he didn’t want to celebrate his birthday with me—to go out for dinner or do something together. And, honestly, in a separation, that makes 100% sense. The painful part is that this was already happening even before we separated.

Birthdays are special. Usually, we want to spend them with the people who are special to us, the people we love, especially the person who makes our heart beat a little faster. In my case, I feel like no one has ever really wanted me beside them on their birthday. I have never felt wanted in the way I have wanted certain people. I have never felt essential to someone on that day in the way some people have been essential to me. And your dad was no different. Once again, even before we separated, he always wanted to spend his birthdays with friends and family, but never with me.

There is something deeply painful about not feeling indispensable, about not feeling wanted. And the worst part is that if you have to ask someone for that kind of gesture, it becomes even sadder, because someone wanting your company on their birthday should never have to be demanded. It should come naturally. It should be something they want to do, not something they do because you asked them to.

Realizing that your dad never really wanted me there on a special day like that hurts. But, at the same time, it also forces me to face reality.

I think what hurts the most isn’t that he chose to spend his birthday with his friends. It’s the realization that, in all those years, I was never the person he naturally wanted beside him on a day like that. I didn’t want an invitation because it was expected of him, or because I had asked, or because we were a couple and therefore he thought he should include me. I wanted to be the person he looked at and thought, Of course I want her here. It’s my birthday, and I want to spend it with her. There is a huge difference between being included and being wanted.

And maybe that is why this hurts more than it should. Because birthdays are just one day, but what they represent is much bigger. They show you, sometimes without anyone saying a word, where you fit in someone’s life. I wanted to feel like I belonged there naturally, without having to ask for my place. I wanted to be one of the first people they thought of, not someone they had to remember to include. And realizing that I apparently never occupied that place in his heart is a painful kind of clarity. Not because I believe I should have been the only person he wanted around, but because I wanted to be someone he genuinely wanted there. Someone whose presence would make the day feel more complete, not someone whose absence made no difference.

Maybe that is the part I have to accept now: sometimes you can love someone deeply, make them a priority, and still not hold the same place in their world. And there is no amount of asking, explaining, or trying harder that can manufacture that feeling in another person. You either naturally want someone beside you, or you don’t. And as painful as that truth is, I think there is something freeing about finally seeing it clearly.

To My Daughter Melanie (August 2026)

 03-04/08 Chapter 587: Tic Tac Boom

These past few days, watching life slowly settle back into its normal rhythm has brought me a sense of peace. Vacations are wonderful, but after spending too much time away from your routine, you start to miss the ordinary things. Seeing you put on your little ballerina outfit this morning before school and knowing you were going to celebrate Caio's birthday with your classmates made me smile. There was something comforting about it. Life was returning to normal. More than ever, I can't wait for our apartment to be finished so we can finally move in and begin our new chapter there.

Speaking of birthdays, every child in your class is turning four this year, and you're the very last one—the baby of the class. 4 years old... who would have imagined that already? As I've mentioned before, birthdays are magical when you're a child. At least they were for me. I'd say that feeling lasts until you're around 16, maybe a little longer. Then something slowly changes. By your 20's, birthdays begin to lose a bit of their magic, and after 30... well, they're not nearly as exciting anymore. Instead of celebrating another year, you become increasingly aware of everything that comes with getting older: mammograms, colonoscopies, more medications, aches and pains that never existed before, the first gray hairs, weaker bones, teeth that aren't quite as strong as they used to be, menopause somewhere on the horizon, and more responsibilities with every passing year. If childhood feels like one long upgrade, adulthood sometimes feels like a gradual downgrade.

But for me, none of that is what scares me most. What truly frightens me is watching my 30's slowly slip toward my 40's without having a second child. I've made peace with the fact that love and even marriage isn't meant to be part of my story. That doesn't hurt that bad anymore. What has always mattered to me is being a mom, and in my mind I never imagined having just one child. Please don't misunderstand me. I will spend the rest of my life grateful that I was blessed with you. But I always pictured our family differently. I never imagined you growing up without a brother/sister, without cousins, without ever becoming an aunt. I wanted so badly to give you that gift because I can picture you so clearly as a big sister—gentle, protective, patient, and overflowing with love. I know you would have been wonderful. But what am I supposed to do with the life I'm living now? My U.S. immigrant visa has already been approved, and I have up to three years to move there. By then, I'll be 36/37. After I arrive, I'll need to work for at least a year before receiving my Green Card, which means I'll be around 38. By then, pregnancy becomes riskier, fertility declines significantly, and starting over with a newborn becomes much more physically demanding. Besides, you would already be so much older that the relationship I always imagined between you and a younger sibling simply wouldn't be the same. Instead of growing up side by side, your little brother or sister might feel more like someone you helped raise than someone you truly grew up with.

Which means that if it's ever going to happen, the time is now. Right now. But how? I'm not with anyone, and your dad doesn't want another child—I even asked him, despite us no longer being together. So maybe it's time to accept that this isn't meant for me. The problem is that my heart has never been very good at accepting reality just because it's true. That's why birthdays no longer feel like celebrations. To me, they feel like a clock ticking louder every year, reminding me that time keeps moving whether I'm ready or not. Sometimes it feels as though my biological clock is leaning over my shoulder, whispering the same cruel sentence again and again: Your time is running out.

 06/08 Chapter 588: Think Things Through

Your aunt has actually been back together with Rafael for a while now, and today she went one step further—she got a tattoo with his name. When she first mentioned it, I honestly hoped it was in honor of her son, who also happens to be named Rafael. But no. It was for her husband.

Getting a tattoo of a boyfriend's, girlfriend's, husband's, wife's, or partner's name is, in my opinion, one of the worst tattoo decisions a person can make. I've never even considered it. In the moment, it may feel like the ultimate declaration of love and commitment, but if you stop and think about it rationally, it's also one of the most impulsive choices you can make.

The problem isn't believing your relationship will fail. It's understanding that people change, relationships change, and none of us can predict who someone will be in our lives five, ten, or twenty years from now. You're taking something that may be temporary—even if it doesn't feel that way today—and turning it into a permanent mark on your body. It's almost like taking a beautiful moment in time and carving it into stone, assuming nothing about the future will ever change.

And perhaps the strangest part is that a tattoo doesn't prove you love someone any more than someone who never gets one. Love isn't measured by how much skin you're willing to sacrifice, how much pain you can tolerate, or how large someone's name is across your body. Loyalty, respect, trust, companionship, and years spent choosing each other every single day say far more about the strength of a relationship than any tattoo ever could. If a relationship needs a tattoo to prove it's real, then perhaps the tattoo isn't the biggest issue.

What makes the decision even more irrational is the balance between risk and reward. If the relationship lasts forever, you'll simply spend the rest of your life looking at a tattoo that reminds you of something you already know—that you're together. But if the relationship ends, you'll spend years looking at the name of someone who may no longer belong in your life. That's an enormous risk for almost no real reward.

But then again, thinking things through has never exactly been my sister's greatest strength, and by now I'm completely convinced it never will be.

My cousin Giovanna is another example. She only ever had one serious relationship, with Murilo. He wasn't exactly someone with a promising future, but she loved him anyway. He tattooed the letter G on his arm. They've been broken up for years now, and he still carries that giant reminder on his skin. It's unbelievably foolish.

Ironically, I'm probably not the best person to lecture anyone about tattoos because I have six of them myself.

The first one was a tiny star on my right wrist, done the same day I got another tattoo on my lower back. I've always been in love with the night sky—the moon, the stars, everything about it. I got that tattoo when I was seventeen, and to this day I don't regret it for a second.

The second tattoo was the one on my lower back, and it hurt more than any other. It was a slightly crooked heart with a peace symbol inside it, copied from a necklace my mom had given me. More than the heart itself, I loved the peace symbol because I genuinely believe peace is what this world needs most. The meaning still resonates with me today, but the tattoo itself doesn't. It's fairly large, colorful, and placed just above my butt, which, if I'm being honest, isn't exactly a location I find appealing anymore. I can't help laughing at the thought of myself as an old woman still walking around with a colorful tattoo there. If I could erase one without hesitation, that would be it.

The third tattoo was for Toddy, my cat. When he died, I was devastated. Getting that tattoo somehow brought me a sense of peace that I desperately needed. My grief became much lighter afterward, and for that reason alone I'll never regret why I got it. What I didn't think about at the time was that Toddy wouldn't be the last pet I would ever love. I had no idea that one day I'd have many more animals in my life. You can't realistically get a new tattoo every time one of your beloved pets passes away. That was something seventeen-year-old me—or however old I was then—never stopped to consider. The tattoo is also the biggest one I have and it's full of blue ink. Blue is one of the hardest colors to remove with laser treatment, and as far as I know, there's only one clinic here in São Paulo that specializes in it. It costs well over a thousand reais per session, and there's no guarantee of how many sessions it would take. Today, I would do something much simpler and much smarter: a tiny paw print with a little halo above it, representing every pet I've loved and lost—Toddy, Snowbell, Achilles, and all the ones who will sadly come one day. It would tell the same story in a much more timeless way. So that's tattoo number two I would gladly replace.

The fourth tattoo came from something I saw online. A woman had a beautiful moon-and-star design on her leg, and since I've always loved the night sky, I decided to get something similar. Looking back, the first mistake was copying someone else's tattoo. None of my other tattoos were copied from anyone. Either they were my own ideas or they were custom-made by the artist. I think tattoos should feel personal. The second mistake was that I already had a star representing exactly the same thing. I didn't need another one. The third mistake was making it colorful, which once again made removal much more difficult and expensive. And finally, I never considered something completely unrelated: years later I began laser hair removal treatments over almost my entire body. The laser can't be used over tattoos. So now I have smooth skin everywhere except for that one patch on my leg, where I constantly have to shave because the hair remains. It annoys me far more than I ever imagined it would. I don't hate the tattoo—I just think it serves no purpose anymore. That's number three I'd happily remove.

The fifth tattoo was for Snowbell. His death was so sudden and heartbreaking that I felt exactly the same need I had felt after losing Toddy. I wanted something permanent to honor him, and strangely enough, the moment I got the tattoo, I felt lighter. The grief became easier to carry. Unfortunately, the tattoo artist made a mistake. She added a little mark on his forehead without ever asking me. Snowbell never had a mark there. I was furious at the time because it was such an obvious detail to get wrong. Eventually I got used to it, but it still reminds me of how careless some professionals can be. Today I would replace this tattoo for the exact same reason as Toddy's. Instead of two separate portraits, I'd rather have one delicate paw print with a halo representing every pet who has ever left a permanent mark on my heart. That brings my total to four tattoos I would erase if I could.

The sixth—and hopefully last—tattoo I ever got was the one I shared with your dad. When he started getting tattoos, I felt like I wanted to support him, so I spent a long time thinking about what I could get that would still feel meaningful to me. I chose a design inspired by San Diego, the city I love so much, where your dad and I met, and ultimately the place that led us to you. It's a tribute to him, to me, and to you, without needing to write anyone's name. That's the thing—if you want to honor someone, there are countless ways to do it without tattooing their initials or their full name across your body. Mine sits on my right arm, it's beautifully done, and I still love it. It reminds me of a place that changed my life forever.

When I look at all six tattoos together, I realize something interesting. Four of them I would remove today without much hesitation. Two I would absolutely keep. I would probably replace the portraits of Toddy and Snowbell with one tiny paw print behind my neck, honoring every pet I've ever loved. That would leave me with just three tattoos, each one simple, timeless, and deeply meaningful.

That's why people always tell you to think ten times before getting a tattoo. It's permanent. You have to think this through. Even your dad, who is a tattoo artist himself, only has one tattoo, and as far as I know, he has never regretted it.

So, my love, when you're old enough, you can absolutely get tattoos if that's what you want. Just think carefully. Think about the design, the size, the colors, the placement—every detail matters. As I'm writing this in 2026, tattoo removal is expensive, painful, and requires many sessions. Maybe by the time you're grown, technology will have evolved. Maybe there will be painless lasers or even creams that erase tattoos easily. I hope so. But today, removing a tattoo is far more difficult than getting one.

That's why the best tattoo decision you'll ever make is the one you don't rush into.

 07/08 Chapter 589: The Truth Is Out

Today was Maya’s little birthday party, and I was so excited to watch you have fun. Lately, you two have been getting really close—going to several swimming lessons together, spending more time together at school, and even going to Disney On Ice. And because of that, her mom and I have been getting a little closer too. We’ve been talking here and there on WhatsApp lately.

Somewhere between one conversation and the next, I ended up telling her that your dad and I are no longer together. I told her that no one at school knew, except Aunt Marili, because I had never actually said it out loud before. But with her, it just felt natural. I told her.

I think part of me had always been afraid to say it out loud because somehow, saying the words makes everything feel more real, more definite. And this time, I finally said them. Maybe that was the first little step toward truly moving forward. It certainly felt like it.

But what surprised me even more than my own decision to finally tell someone—someone I wouldn’t even consider a friend, at least not yet—was Natalie’s response. She told me that we had more in common than she’d realized. It wasn’t just that our names were so similar, or that we both had daughters the same age whose names started with M. She and her husband were separated too. They had been for a year, and hardly anyone knew.

I was honestly shocked. At the party we had for you and the other kids from school, Maya’s dad had been there, and he seemed so affectionate toward her mom. I had even seen him hug her. So hearing that they had actually been separated for a year completely caught me off guard.

And there it was: a pretty powerful reminder that we never really know what happens behind closed doors. We never know what another family is going through, or what might be hiding behind a smile. Everyone looks happy on social media, but that doesn’t mean it’s an accurate picture of what their real life looks like.

So I sent her a few voice messages, she sent some back, and little by little, we started opening up to each other. This all happened over the course of the week, not today. But I’m telling you about it today because it’s Maya’s birthday—and because I wanted to point out that you two aren’t the only ones who have been getting closer lately. LOL.

Back to today: I picked you and Rafinha up from school and we went to Grandma Bisa’s house, which is just nearby, to wait until it was time for the party. I was going to change you and Rafinha there, and Tayna would come pick us up so we could all go together. She was coming with your dad because she had gone to get another tattoo today. This time, she decided to get the letter P—for Pietra, my cousin.

My cousin and Tayna have gotten very close lately. They’ve been going out together, and apparently they share a love for the same silly things, like funk music and saying ridiculous things. They fight a lot too, though. And I don’t even need to explain what I think about getting people’s names or initials tattooed, right? I already dedicated an entire chapter to that, so we can skip that part.

The tattoo took longer than I wanted, so we arrived late to the party. In fact, we were the last ones there. But we still got to enjoy ourselves.

Just as Maya’s mom had told me, she kept the party very simple—a small venue, simple food—but the kids had an absolute blast. There’s something so joyful about watching you all together, playing, running around, and hugging each other. That’s what childhood is supposed to be.

And I want you to soak up every second of it, because it goes by in the blink of an eye. For the child living it, maybe it doesn’t feel that fast. But for the parents… it flies by so quickly it almost feels absurd.

This time, I didn’t even get a chance to talk to the other mothers because all the tables were already full. Since we were the last ones to arrive, the four of us ended up sitting together—me, your dad, Tayna, and Rafael. And honestly, it worked out perfectly for Tayna, because she always says she hates sitting at a table with the other moms. She says there’s never anything to talk about and that she likes different things… The thing is, most people who like the things my sister likes and are interested in the things she’s interested in are probably still in high school, but that’s a little hard for her to understand.

Anyway. Maya’s dad was at the party, and they both seemed genuinely happy to see their little girl turn four. If you saw them from a distance, you would never guess they were separated. But that’s exactly what I was talking about—everyone knows what happens inside their own home. What we see from the outside doesn’t always reflect reality. And I was actually glad that Natalie opened up to me, because in doing so, she made me feel understood too. I felt less alone.

At your school, for example, all of your little friends have married parents. I used to feel like I was the only one who had failed—that I was the only one who had somehow failed at marriage, who hadn’t managed to keep things together the way they were supposedly meant to be. Now, I don’t feel quite so alone anymore. There’s something deeply comforting about hearing from someone who is going through something similar. You don’t feel so isolated when you know someone else understands what it’s like.

Their story is different from ours. He’s ambitious; your dad isn’t. But his ambition—to grow, study, and build his career—meant that he stopped making them a priority. And that is something I could never say about your dad when it comes to you. You have always been his priority.

Natalie told me that he gradually left them on the sidelines while he focused on moving forward in his career, and little by little, everything fell on her shoulders. He never had time for anything. And she was living with him in Rio de Janeiro, far away from her own family, without much of a support system from his side of the family either. She felt completely alone.

Different reasons for ending a marriage, but both completely valid. And even though our stories are different, we found common ground in realizing that neither of us is alone—and that we aren’t the only ones facing the complicated reality of raising a daughter outside the traditional family structure. We both had to admit that this wasn’t the life we had imagined or wanted, but it was the reality we found ourselves in, and we had to learn how to deal with it.

And there’s something about finding another person who is living through the same kind of situation that brings people surprisingly close.

 10/08 Chapter 590: Do It With Love

This week, I noticed that Pérola didn’t want to eat and seemed unusually lethargic. And for such a tiny little thing, she absolutely loves food, so by the second day of her refusing to eat, I knew something was wrong. She also had diarrhea with a little blood in it, so I figured it was probably because she had been eating the other cats’ food. She has gastrointestinal issues and needs to eat her special food. She actually loves it, but sometimes we forget to put out enough, and when she gets hungry, she ends up eating the regular food meant for the other cats.

I took her to Dr. Juliana, the veterinarian who takes care of all our animals, and one injection was enough to get her feeling better. But while we were at the clinic, we also discovered that she had fleas. In fact, the doctor actually caught two live ones crawling around on her. Disgusting. Which, of course, made us realize that the other cats probably had fleas too. They had never had them before because they had never been outside, but my sister’s cat, Flash, did go outside, and most of the cats had been staying with my sister. So we figured he must have brought them home and passed them around. Nothing too dramatic. My sister bought the medication we needed and treated all the cats with flea medicine.

Two days later, I started noticing that Simba was showing the exact same symptoms Pérola had. Unfortunately, it was the weekend, which meant no Dr. Juliana. On Friday, he didn’t want to eat either, but I didn’t realize until Friday night that something was really wrong and that it seemed to be the same thing Pérola had. Then Saturday came, and he didn’t eat all day. During the night, I saw him vomiting, and I started to worry.

So, being the completely neurotic person that I am, at six in the morning I decided to take him to the emergency hospital. I know—it’s exhausting, inconvenient, and probably a little over the top. But if something happened to him because I had been careless or too lazy to take him in, I would never be able to forgive myself. So I listened to my gut and took him.

Unfortunately, my bad luck was that I got a very young doctor who was clearly half-asleep during her shift. She saw us quickly, but she seemed to know absolutely nothing. I even had to explain that he had been given the flea medication two days earlier and that I thought that might have something to do with what was happening. Believe it or not, she actually opened Google right in front of me. She clearly had no idea what she was doing, and then told me she wouldn’t give him the injection because it could be something else, blah blah blah. None of it made much sense—not to me, and I’m pretty sure not even to her.

I left with a prescription for Novalgina and Prelone, along with orders for an ultrasound and blood work. I assumed they would do the tests right there—because, you know, it was a HOSPITAL—but apparently not even that. And I didn’t want to take my chances with that doctor anyway. She clearly wasn’t very good and didn’t even seem to know how to draw blood properly. I wasn’t about to let her hurt you.

So, by the end of the day, I realized I had taken you there for absolutely nothing. She COULD have simply given you the injection. But she didn’t. And because of that, you went days without eating and continued feeling sick.

Today, I took you to Dr. Juliana, who thought the whole thing was absolutely ridiculous and gave you the injection. Was it really that hard? If that doctor had done it Sunday night, Simba would probably have already started feeling better and eating again.

And this is something I want you to remember, sweetheart: in life, in every kind of service or profession, so much depends on the person you happen to get. My lesson for you is this: do whatever you want with your life, and choose something you genuinely love. But whatever you choose to do, do it with love. Do it with care. Do it thoughtfully. Whatever you decide to do, do it properly, with pride, and never half-ass it.

Treat other people the way you would want to be treated. Give to others the same care you would give to yourself.

 11/08 Chapter 591: Here And Gone

Simba has started eating a little again and seems to be doing better. He’s no longer vomiting or having diarrhea. Unfortunately, yesterday it was your turn to scare me. I went to pick you and Rafinha up from school. Now that I’m living here with my parents, I help my sister out from time to time by bringing him along with me. But as the two of you were walking upstairs hand in hand with your teacher, I noticed you were crying—and that never happens.

As soon as you got close to me, I crouched down so I could be at your level and asked what was wrong. You didn’t even have time to answer. You vomited right there in the school parking lot, leaving me, your cousin, your teacher—everyone—completely startled.

Your teacher told me that you had been perfectly fine all day and had only just started whining and asking for Mommy, which happened at exactly the moment I arrived. Then you came up the stairs crying, probably because you were already feeling sick or nauseous. Seeing you vomit scared me. I immediately thought, Oh no… she’s getting sick again.

When I took you to school this morning, Grandma Bisa was with us, and you complained that your tummy hurt a little. But you complain about a stomachache fairly often, and usually it passes quickly. Then you said you felt nauseous, although you only mentioned it once. But afterward I started wondering whether maybe you hadn’t actually felt well throughout the whole day before, poor thing, even though your teacher had said you seemed fine.

I put you in the car, and the school principal gave us a little bag. Thank God she did, because ten minutes later you vomited again. And being the organized, clean, careful little person you are, you somehow managed to throw up everything into the bag without getting a single thing dirty.

Even though you had vomited when we got home that night, you curled up next to Grandpa and didn’t want anything or anyone else. But before going to sleep, you asked for something to eat, which I took as a good sign. You ate a whole plate of chicken and rice and seemed to be feeling better.

That night, you wanted to sleep with Grandpa and Grandma, but you woke up several times. By this morning, I could tell you looked very pale and worn out, so I didn’t think it was a good idea to send you to school.

Then, shortly afterward, I saw a message in the moms’ group from Manu’s mother. She said Manu had woken up vomiting and asked whether any of the other children were experiencing the same thing, trying to figure out whether it was a stomach bug or something they had eaten. I immediately replied that you were sick too, and we figured it was most likely a stomach virus. None of the other children seemed to have anything wrong with them, though.

Your dad offered to stay with you today so I could work. But as I drove you to his house, I became really worried when I saw how pale and lethargic you looked. Even before getting into the car, you were lying on the couch with the TV on, staring blankly at the ceiling across the room. You clearly weren’t feeling well. It was written all over you.

And yet, despite looking so sick, you kept asking for food. That confused me a little because normally, when we’re sick—even with something as simple as a stomach bug—the last thing we want to think about is food. And you were complaining about feeling nauseous too, which should make food even less appealing. So I didn’t give you anything to eat right then, but I brought some fish for your dad to cook in the air fryer later, hoping you might be able to have it for lunch.

 14/08 Chapter 592: Crystal In A World Of Glass

Today I went to see my friends, Nadia and Girleide. It had been such a long time since I’d seen them. I honestly can’t even remember the last time. I think it was when we had planned to go to Penha to meet Nadia, but for some reason, that day you absolutely refused to let me go. You begged me not to leave, and I just couldn’t bring myself to walk away while you were so upset. So in the end, I only saw Girleide, since she had already been there before all of that happened.

We had tried to get together several times since then, but something always got in the way. This time, though, it finally worked. Girleide and I went to Nadia this time, because she’s usually the one who comes to us. Now that she’s moved farther away, we have to make the effort to go to her sometimes too. Friendship is a two-way street, after all.

I left you with your dad and planned to pick you up on my way home because Stan’s parents were arriving tonight. They were going to be exhausted after the trip, and there was no way you could sleep at his place anyway. There’s only one bed for three people—add you to the mix and we’d have four. Completely impossible. Hahaha.

So I dropped you off around 6:30 p.m. and planned to pick you up around 9. Your dad even joked, “Wow, that’s one long hamburger.” But I had done the math. If I left at 6:30, it would take about an hour to get there because it’s far, it was rush hour, and it was Friday, which only makes everything worse. Then we’d need at least an hour to eat and actually catch up, which already put us at around 8:30. So, really, the timing made perfect sense.

It took us about fifty minutes to get there. Once we arrived at the burger place, we ordered burgers and fries, and I got a lemonade. I was absolutely starving. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, so I could barely wait for my burger to arrive.

As we talked—and eventually ate—we slowly caught up on everything that had been happening in our lives. When it was my turn, we talked mostly about your dad and how worried he’s been about his health lately. Nadia told us more about her job, her exhausting routine, and her mother, who unfortunately has been ill. And finally, when it was Girleide’s turn, we talked about Luísa, because right now, her entire life seems to revolve around her. And I completely understand that feeling. I really do. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

Nadia was even a little harsher with her, and eventually she made Gi cry. But it wasn’t really because of the harsher words themselves. It was because of all the pain Girleide is going through. I told her in the car earlier that it’s a fucking awful feeling. Heartbreak can feel almost unbearable. You can feel an overwhelming urge to see the person, talk to them, check your phone, replay memories, imagine what they’re doing, or desperately search for some way to get them back. It can become obsessive and completely irrational. It can even resemble the craving and withdrawal associated with addiction. Research has found that romantic love activates dopamine-rich reward pathways in the brain, and studies of people experiencing romantic rejection have shown activity in brain regions associated with craving, reward, motivation, loss, emotional regulation, and even areas previously linked to cocaine craving.

I’ve been through this twice, and I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy the kind of pain you go through—the desperation, the humiliation of feeling so small as you chase after someone and try to fix something that only you are interested in fixing. That said, I completely understand Girleide. And there were things Nadia said, certain phrases she used, that I would never use because I know they don’t work. So instead, I used the words and phrases that helped me, the things I wanted—or needed—to hear at the time, whether they were actually true or not. I needed those words just to keep breathing.

Na has only ever dated Thiago, and it worked out, so for people who haven’t really been through this kind of heartbreak, everything seems much easier than it actually is. And even among people who have experienced it, some are able to move on much more quickly. Most people eventually do. There are just a few people, like me and Girleide, who can remain stuck in something like this for a very long time.

But I understand Nadia too. She thinks and speaks the way most people do. Girleide and I are the exceptions. We don’t work quite like the majority of people, and we need to understand that when other people say things we don’t want to hear, they usually aren’t saying them to be cruel. They’re saying what seems normal to them. We just can’t take it personally.

For example, Girleide told us that she and Luísa only communicate through email because Luísa doesn’t want to talk on WhatsApp because it gives her “anxiety,” but they still keep in touch through email.

At one point, Girleide mentioned that she had just sent Luísa an email, and almost immediately, she replied. Literally the same second. Nadia and I tried to explain that this probably showed just how desperate she was. It seemed like she was sitting there with her phone in her hand, waiting for the message so she could answer immediately. I told her she should disappear for a little while, that maybe if she stopped being so available, something might change. Or maybe it wouldn’t. But it was worth trying.

I told her that if I could go back and do things differently, I would. I would say different things, react differently. But for me, it was already too late. She still had a chance, though, to at least try to fix things if that was genuinely what she wanted. But replying within the same second probably wasn’t helping her. Of course, it’s very easy to give advice when you’re standing outside the situation. Living through it is much harder.

Nadia, being the more blunt one, said that Luísa only replies to those emails because she feels bad about the whole situation. And that is exactly the kind of thing I told her you shouldn’t say to someone when they’re already hurting, no matter how much you believe it or how true you think it might be. She doesn’t want to hear it, and she doesn’t need to hear it. Take notes!

I, on the other hand, told her that maybe the fact that Luísa still keeps in touch means something. And I genuinely believe it might. It could mean something. Or it might not. The truth is, none of us—me, Nadia, or Girleide—can know. The only person who knows the answer is Luísa.

But I knew that hearing what I said might give Gi’s heart a little bit of comfort, and right now, she needs that. I try very hard not to give her false hope, but there’s a difference between giving someone false hope and giving them a little comfort when they’re hurting. It’s hard to explain.

After a burger, fries, and a delicious milkshake that I ordered because I had been craving one, and despite how good the conversation had been and how much I had missed my friends, your dad was already texting me, reminding me that his parents were tired. So I left as quickly as I could, but I didn’t get home until 10 p.m. I took even longer than I had calculated, but honestly, it had been so long since I’d seen my friends.

On the way home, I told Girleide about a quote from the show I’ve been watching, Everwood. It had really moved me and felt like it had been written just for me. I told her I wanted to share it with her because, after everything we had been talking about—how long it takes us to move on, and how much we seem to have in common when it comes to love—I thought it might bring her some comfort too:

“A heart is a fragile thing. That’s why we protect them so vigorously, give them away so rarely and why it means so much when we do. Some hearts are more fragile than others, purer somehow, like crystal in a world of glass.”

In other words, our hearts are fragile, perhaps even a little purer in some way. We have crystal hearts in a world where most people have hearts made of glass.

There’s something incredibly powerful about that quote. And just as deeply as it moved me, it moved her too. She had that same feeling of being understood, of being comforted by the idea that maybe there was nothing wrong with the way our hearts work. Maybe we’re simply a little more fragile, a little more sensitive, in a world that isn’t always built for hearts like ours.

I hugged your grandparents, who had come downstairs to greet me, and then we went home. I was exhausted, and I still had to pack your little bag and get all your things ready because tomorrow you’re going away with your grandparents and your dad until Wednesday.

I’m going to have a few days to work like a maniac and binge-watch some shows, but it will also mean five days without you, four nights, three full days without seeing you. That is absolutely the limit of my limit. And I’m already suffering in advance.

15-17/08 Chapter 593: Time Falls Away

On Saturday, we woke up a little earlier because your dad wanted me to bring you over by 11 so the two of you could go to the beach. And my heart felt a little heavy. You left on Saturday, and you’re coming back tomorrow, Wednesday. Five days. Four nights. Three full days without touching your little face. I think that was about the same amount of time you spent at the beach with your grandparents before. And that was my limit. Five days is my limit. I simply cannot handle more than that.

I gave your dad all the freedom in the world. I didn’t keep texting to ask what you were doing, what you were eating, what you were playing with—nothing. I wanted him to enjoy his time with you completely. I only insisted on calling once a day, just so I could hear your voice for a little while and ease the ache of missing you. But you never stayed on the phone for very long. You’d get excited when you first saw me, but you were always busy drawing, building things with your blocks, or even reading the books your grandparents had brought you as presents. I realized you weren’t missing me nearly as much as I was missing you. And I noticed something else too: when you were with your grandparents, as much as you love them, by the end of the day you would eventually start whining for Mommy. This time, with your dad, you seemed to forget about me a little more. And I’ll admit it—it gave my heart a little pang.

Saturday, the 14th, went by surprisingly quickly. After dropping you off with your dad, I went to the store and worked late getting all the customers’ packages ready. I didn’t get home until after 8 p.m. I worked like a maniac, taking advantage of the fact that, for once, I had both the time and the freedom to get everything done without having to worry about the clock.

On Sunday the 15th, my mom had a little celebration for her birthday, which was actually on the 18th. Since she had decided to travel with my dad to a nearby state to celebrate, she moved the celebration up so the family could all get together. The house was full, everyone was there, and yet there was one person missing: you.

My mom had made this delicious baked Brie with honey and nuts to put on toast, and I absolutely devoured it. I have a weakness for Brie with anything sweet—pepper jelly, passion fruit, honey. Put something sweet next to Brie and I’m done for. It actually reminded me of Letícia’s wedding. I was about six or seven months pregnant with you, and there was an incredible spread of cheeses and cold cuts, including Brie, so of course I ate it. Then, afterward, to my horror, I read that pregnant women aren’t supposed to eat Brie because soft cheeses like Brie tend to have a higher moisture content, which can make it easier for certain bacteria to grow. The main concern during pregnancy is Listeria monocytogenes. Listeriosis can be mild—or even cause few noticeable symptoms—in the mother, but during pregnancy it can lead to miscarriage, premature birth, infection in the baby, or other serious complications.

Then I read that 🧀 Brie made with unpasteurized milk should be avoided, but I had no idea whether the Brie I had eaten was pasteurized or not. So naturally, I completely freaked out. Thankfully, everything turned out fine. But now you know: no Brie during pregnancy. Consider yourself warned.

Back to my mom’s early birthday celebration, I also had a glass of rosé, and there were my grandmother Celeste’s famous esfihas, so it was a lovely little gathering. Later, I went upstairs to watch The Mother’s Keeper, the movie adaptation of a book I had read. The adaptation was actually pretty good and fairly faithful to the book, but neither the book nor the movie really grabbed me. I’ve read other books and gotten completely lost in fantasy worlds that were much more captivating. Still, I LOVE reading a book and knowing there’s a movie adaptation waiting for me afterward. There’s something magical about it, almost like watching everything you imagined while reading slowly become real, unfolding in front of you piece by piece. You spend hours creating an entire world inside your head—the characters, their faces, the places, the way everything looks—and then suddenly you get to see someone else bring it to life. That’s why it’s so frustrating when a movie isn’t faithful to the book. When you’ve already built an entire world inside your head, you want to see that world come alive, not some completely different version of it.

19/08 Chapter 593: When It Unfolds, You Get In A Hole

Today was the day you were finally coming home, princess, and I could hardly wait.

I was surprised by a message from your dad saying they would be arriving around 1 p.m. and asking if I could pick you up. I told him I couldn’t because I was taking my broken-down car to the mechanic that morning, and from there I was going downtown to buy the light fixtures for the new apartment. I told him this was something that should have been discussed and arranged beforehand, but he explained that he had only found out at the last minute that he needed to go into the office in person. I understood, of course, but I still couldn’t pick you up. So I told him he could take you straight to school, even though you wouldn’t have your uniform, and I would pick you up later.

And honestly, it worked out pretty well that you went, because today was Manu’s birthday at school. Today was her actual birthday, and her little party will be on Saturday.

Even though I was dying to see you, I still went ahead and did everything I needed to do. My mom came with me downtown, and we spent the morning running errands for the new apartment. I couldn’t find any of the cute children’s light fixtures I wanted for your room, and it was surprisingly difficult to find the exact pendant light I had in mind for the dining room. We finally found one at the last store, but even then, it wasn’t quite what I wanted. I wanted gold, and the guy somehow convinced us that the rose-gold one he was selling us was “matte gold.” Matte gold was the eye of his fucking ass. But whatever. The light is so pretty that I decided to let it go. Rose gold it is. What can you do?

I wanted gold because the entire floor has these beautiful gold streaks and details running through it, and even the dining chairs have gold accents, so I thought a gold light fixture would tie everything together perfectly. But fine. Rose gold it is. I’ll survive.

Afterward, my mom dropped me off at the store so I could work for a little while while she took Rafinha to the pediatrician for a routine checkup. In the meantime, though, I got a message from my friend in the U.S. asking me for the receipts for the products we had bought. That had never happened before, so naturally, I found it strange. She explained that the suitcase had been diverted in Panama and would arrive in São Paulo the following day. Still, this had happened several times before, and we had never needed to provide receipts, so I asked whether this was something that had definitely happened or if she was just being cautious. She told me it was only a precaution.

But I’m not exactly clueless, so I decided to casually fish for information from my other friend. She told me it was actually confirmed—that customs had already opened our suitcases, and she thought we were probably going to be charged taxes. There weren’t any electronics or anything particularly expensive or unusual in the bags, but she told me not to worry and just wait and see what happened.

And honestly, we’ve been through this before. We got taxed some time ago, and yes, it hurt, but we still managed to recover everything we had invested. And if you don’t lose money, I consider that a win. Maybe you didn’t make a profit, but at least you didn’t take a loss—and sometimes, that’s good enough.

Finding the receipts for everything was a huge pain, but I stayed on the case. While I was waiting for my mom to come back, I was also messaging your dad about possibly going out to dinner that night with him and your grandparents, since they were leaving the following day for Paraty and would be staying there for a week. Your dad liked the idea, but said he would be getting home late because he had so much work to do—that was actually why he had come back from Juquehy earlier than planned. I told him that was fine. The plan was for me to drive my mom and Rafinha home first, since we only had one car, and then head back into São Paulo so we could all go out to eat. He thought it was a good idea.

Then, finally, it was time to pick you up from school. I was so excited to see your little face and, honestly, a little curious to see how you would react to seeing me again after so many days apart. I was expecting you to come running into my arms, yelling “Mommy!” like you usually do. Instead, you came out happy and excited, but apparently I wasn’t even the most important thing on your mind.

You immediately wanted to show me your Paw Patrol watch.

It was strapped to your little wrist and had a flashlight-like light that projected an image of one of the characters. It was a little party favor you had gotten at Manu’s birthday celebration that day, and you were absolutely fascinated by it. You were so excited to show me how it worked that, for a moment, you seemed to completely forget that we hadn’t seen each other in days—that we had been apart and that I had missed you like crazy.

Apparently, the watch had stolen my moment.

We went home, and I kept coordinating with your dad about going to the pizzeria because I had already promised you, and you were really looking forward to it. But once I got to my parents’ house, I started losing motivation. First of all, we had just gotten home, and the thought of getting back in the car and spending another hour driving there and back, on top of having the whole customs situation at the airport constantly running through my mind, made me want to stay home. As much as I love pizza—and especially sharing it with you—I just wasn’t feeling it anymore.

Your dad eventually convinced me to go, partly because getting out of the house might help clear my head and give me a break from all the thoughts spinning around. So it would be me, you, your dad, and “Papu.” Laura was already asleep, so it was just the four of us.

When we got to the pizzeria, your dad and I chose the all-you-can-eat option, which you don’t pay for, while Armand decided to order à la carte. I found that a little strange because he actually eats a decent amount. You wanted bacon and tuna pizza, so I started with the bacon and your dad ordered tuna, figuring you could happily have both of your favorites.

Your grandfather, despite having ordered à la carte, couldn’t resist trying a few slices from my pizza and your dad’s. And I was mortified because, technically, you’re absolutely not supposed to do that. Once you choose à la carte, you don’t start eating slices from someone else’s all-you-can-eat order. It’s simply a matter of common sense and basic manners.

I would expect something like that from just about anyone in Brazil because, honestly, Brazilian people can be pretty shameless when it comes to these things. But your grandparents are supposed to be sophisticated, refined people, so I was genuinely surprised. I was embarrassed, but at the same time, I secretly wanted him to try a few slices too. 😂 And the funniest part? The difference between the all-you-can-eat price and the à la carte option wasn’t even R$10. Ten reais! Would it have killed him to just order the all-you-can-eat? LOL. They have the money, for crying out loud. Please. 😂

But anyway, there are some things in life that, no matter how wrong you think they are, simply aren’t your place to correct or teach someone about. Sometimes all you can do is silently judge and move on. 😂

After a while, it started getting a little chilly, so we moved inside the restaurant to finish our pizzas. That was when I got a phone call from my friend Miel in the United States that made the floor disappear beneath my feet. She started by telling me that customs had sent an email and a letter listing all the items they had found. And as she was talking, I could literally feel the color draining from my face. Something along the lines of $5,000 in taxes, plus a 60% fine for not declaring the goods.

My brain immediately went into emergency-calculator mode, trying to convert everything into Brazilian reais as quickly as possible. When I got to a number somewhere around R$50,000, I was already completely pale—and suddenly, I had absolutely no appetite left. And this was happening while we were eating our very last pizza: the Oreo pizza, my favorite.

I had been thinking about ordering another one. Instead, I couldn’t even finish my second slice.

Your dad noticed something was seriously wrong and even tried offering me a third slice because he knows chocolate usually makes me happy. But not even the best chocolate in the world could have touched the panic and desperation I was feeling in that moment.

Thankfully, the pizza eventually came to an end, but I was so completely dazed that I barely even noticed the bill had arrived. Your “Papu” ended up paying for everything, and afterward I thanked him and apologized for being so distracted. I could barely focus on anything anymore.

The mood in the car was heavy. Your grandfather and your dad kept stealing glances at me, probably trying to figure out when I was going to break down—or whether I already was. But I held it together.

Fifty thousand reais? Was this some kind of joke?

Do you have any idea what R$50,000 means in 2026? You can buy a nearly new car with that kind of money. A car. R$50,000 is a lot of money. So much money that just thinking about it made me feel dizzy and completely lost, like I had no idea what I was supposed to do next. And, of course, this had to happen at the worst possible time, right in the middle of our apartment renovation.

There were four suitcases coming from the United States to Brazil. Two were supposed to arrive with one girl on the 17th, and the other two with another girl on the 18th. The bags arriving on the 18th made it through without a problem, but they contained only about six of my things—basically nothing. That almost never happens. There’s usually a lot more of my stuff coming over. But, in a spectacular twist of bad luck, almost everything I had sent ended up packed into a single suitcase—the one being brought by the girl traveling on the 17th, whose luggage was diverted and somehow became the center of this entire nightmare.

An entire 23-kilo suitcase was basically mine.

If my things had at least been divided between the two girls, half of them would have arrived safely and I wouldn’t be facing this disaster with everything at once. But no. Of course not. And, naturally, the suitcase that got diverted had to be the one carrying my stuff, while the other girl’s suitcase arrived perfectly fine.

Typical.

When we dropped your dad off at home, he asked me to get out of the car for a minute so he could talk to me, give me a few words of encouragement, and try to understand what was actually happening. He even gave me a hug. But I was completely numb by then. I managed to hold myself together until I got home with you in my arms. That was when I finally started crying—barely able to get the words out between sobs.

My dad was startled when he saw me like that. He asked what had happened, and I tried to explain everything as best I could, stammering and crying through the whole story. He was angry too, especially at the thought of having to deal with these damn white-collar criminals, and finally told me to just leave all the merchandise with those assholes.

I spent the entire night going over the numbers. In total, I had spent around R$17,000 on merchandise, not even counting everything I would have to refund to customers who had already bought things and had them delivered to Luciana. And, of course, that particular suitcase contained some of the most expensive items: a Dyson hair dryer worth around R$3,000; several vitamins from the doctor that added up to roughly R$2,500—although all of the suitcases usually contain quite a lot of his vitamins; a handbag that cost more than $600, worth over R$3,000 in Brazil; and three ridiculously expensive creams that together cost more than R$1,200. I was really, really screwed.

My choices were basically this: pay the fine to get the merchandise back and take a massive financial hit of around R$25,000, or lose the R$17,000 worth of merchandise altogether—which, financially speaking, would still be cheaper than paying the fine. Seventeen thousand reais. I could do so much with R$17,000 in the apartment. Just thinking about all the things I could buy, fix, or finish with that money made me want to cry all over again. I couldn’t even process what was happening. I just wanted to cry. My eyes felt heavy, my heart was racing, and I kept trying to find a way out of a situation that seemed completely impossible.

And then I remembered something even worse: all the prizes for my giveaway on the first of the month were in that suitcase too. Which meant I wouldn’t even have the prizes for the next giveaway. And without prizes, people stop donating. And without donations, I can’t keep selling things online through my bazaar. So what exactly was I supposed to live on? And if Luciana decided this whole suitcase arrangement was too much trouble and stopped bringing merchandise to Brazil altogether, I wouldn’t just lose the income from the imported products. I would eventually lose the bazaar income too, because without the prizes, there would be nothing encouraging people to donate their things. I was completely screwed.

There was nothing left to calculate, nothing left to plan, nothing left to fix at two in the morning. So I did the only thing I could think of: I went to sleep. I slept to forget, slept to shut everything off, slept so I wouldn’t have to feel the panic anymore. I slept because, for a few hours at least, I could escape from it all. Sleep became my refuge.

20/08 Chapter 594: The World Moves On

Today, thankfully, despite yesterday’s slap in the face from life, I woke up feeling better. It’s one of those situations where what’s done is done. I can suffer, and I have every reason to, but it won’t change the outcome. What I really need to do now is find a way out. And somehow, I always find one.

I checked in with Luciana, and she was feeling better too. Yesterday was the shock, the moment when everything came crashing down, but today is a new day, and we have to start figuring things out again.

Everything is still very confusing, and we don’t actually know how much the fine will be. What we think happened is that customs determined that we had purchased around $5,000 worth of goods, while the permitted allowance is only $1,000. So we exceeded the allowance by $4,000—but that doesn’t necessarily mean that $5,000 is the amount of the fine itself. We also don’t know whether they will add another 60% penalty for failing to declare the goods, because once the suitcase was diverted and held by customs, how exactly were we supposed to declare anything?

So today has basically been spent gathering every receipt we can find and sending everything to the girl who brought the suitcases, so she can take the documentation to customs and try to challenge their valuation of the items. Because there’s another very important detail: when you buy something in the United States, especially at department stores, there can be two completely different prices attached to the same item. You might have the original retail tag showing the brand’s price—for example, a Tommy Hilfiger dress marked at $190—and then the department store’s actual selling price, like $20 at Ross. Customs, however, may look online and see the original retail value instead of what we actually paid.

For example, they valued a Victoria’s Secret backpack at $60 based on their online research. But we bought it on sale for $15. LOOK AT THAT DIFFERENCE! And we have the receipt to prove it, which will now be presented to Brazilian customs. And it isn’t just the backpack. There are several other items they valued at far more than we actually paid for them.

So now we have at least a little bit of hope. Maybe, with all the receipts and proof of what we actually spent, we can get their valuation reduced, negotiate the amount we owe, and—hopefully—find a way to get our merchandise back instead of losing everything.

The problem is that going there requires an appointment, and she could only get a time slot on August 31st, the very last day of the month—next Monday. And in the meantime, what am I supposed to do with all this anxiety? It’s hard. There’s nothing quite like having a problem hanging over your head with absolutely nothing you can do about it yet.

Still, I’ve learned that the best remedy for anxiety is to keep your mind occupied, even if that means finding other problems to worry about. So this week, I’m going to throw myself into the apartment renovation, which is finally entering its last phase. The stone countertops are finally arriving to be installed, so that will give me plenty to obsess over. I’ll also focus on selling clothes and taking some of the nicer, more expensive designer pieces I have to a specific consignment shop to see if I can make a little extra money. Even if it’s not much, every bit helps.

I’m also getting my eyelashes done this week. I decided to get extensions again because, seriously, they completely change a woman’s face and make such a difference to her eyes. I used to have them done every month, but eventually stopped because I was afraid of damaging or losing my natural lashes. Now I’ve decided to go back to them.

And I need to focus on buying some prizes here in Brazil for my giveaway on the first of the month. Even if we do end up paying the fine and recovering the merchandise, the prizes from the suitcase obviously won’t make it back to me in time.

So that’s the plan: keep myself busy, shift my attention to other things, and hopefully make the waiting a little easier. There’s nothing else I can do right now. I’ve done everything that was within my control, and now I just have to wait until Monday to find out what happens. Until then, I’m putting the imported merchandise business on hold. No more sending money, buying things, or taking any chances. For now, I’m pressing pause and focusing on what I can actually control.

22/08 Chapter 595: The World Moves On

Today we had another birthday party for one of your school friends: Manu. I’ve already mentioned how much I love kids’ birthday parties, right? So naturally, I was a little disappointed when I realized Manu’s party and Maria Alice’s—Letícia’s daughter—were on the exact same day. I really wanted to go to both, but they were far enough apart that it simply wasn’t possible. In the end, I decided to go to Manu’s because her invitation had come first, and I had already confirmed that we would be there. And honestly, when I thought about you, it made even more sense. You would have so much more fun surrounded by all your little classmates than at Maria Alice’s party, where you wouldn’t know anyone and would probably spend the entire time sitting down asking me to put on a cartoon.

Tayna and Rafael, of course, weren’t taking Rafinha. It was Saturday night, after all, and ever since Rafinha was born, Tayna seems to have decided that she is only a weekday mother. Weekends, apparently, belong to the grandparents—or really, to anyone willing to take him. Just not them. And unbelievably, I can’t think of a single weekend when the two of them have spent the entire weekend together with their own son. Not one. Somehow, that is genuinely how things have been.

All of your classmates were going to be there, which meant Rafinha would be the only one missing. So yesterday, the night before the party, my mom and I arranged for her to take him instead of Tayna and Rafael. I had even asked Manu’s mom if it was okay to bring him, and she said it wouldn’t be a problem at all. Of course, I checked with Tayna first, and she said that as long as we picked him up from his grandmother Sueli’s house—which is about thirty or forty minutes from my parents’ house—she was fine with it.

But this afternoon, when my mom texted Tayna to confirm that she was going to pick Rafinha up from his other grandmother’s house, my sister suddenly changed her mind. She said to just leave him there, that he was missing his grandmother, and that missing one birthday party wouldn’t be a big deal. Naturally, she said it in the most abrupt way possible.

That’s just how my sister is. You have to figure out which version of her you’re going to get that day: the reasonably pleasant one, or the one who seems to have transformed into an angry pit bull. And if we’re being honest, the angry pit bull makes considerably more appearances. It’s basically a matter of statistics at this point. So the safest strategy is to avoid talking to her, avoid looking at her, and, ideally, avoid being within striking distance altogether. Waiting for her to come talk to you on one of her good days is a much safer bet.

Sometimes I look at your aunt and genuinely wonder what is missing. She has so much. More than many people could ever ask for: her health, a husband, a child, a beautiful home, a good car, a stable financial life, a career, and, whether she realizes it or not, beauty too. And yet, somehow, none of it seems to make her happy.

She is constantly stressed, irritated, worried, jealous, dissatisfied with something. Even when everything around her is fine, she rarely seems at peace. And that is what I find so strange about life: having everything you once thought would make you happy does not necessarily mean you will actually be happy once you have it.

Even her beauty, which is so obvious to everyone else, doesn't seem to make her feel beautiful. She can be incredibly insecure despite having nothing to be insecure about. It makes me wonder if happiness really has as much to do with what we have as we think it does. Maybe peace isn't something you can buy, achieve, build, or collect. Maybe it has to come from somewhere else entirely.

Because you can have the husband, the child, the house, the car, the money, the beauty, the health, the career—and still wake up angry at the world. Still compare yourself to everyone around you. Still feel like someone else has something you don't. Still be unable to simply sit down and enjoy the life you've built.

I don't know what happens inside her head, and maybe I never will. But watching her has taught me something I hope you learn much earlier than I did: having a good life and feeling good about your life are two completely different things. You can have every reason in the world to be grateful and still be miserable. And, sadly, no one can give you peace if you don't know how to find it within yourself.

Anyway, my mom called me and said she wasn’t going anymore, telling me what had happened with Tayna. She was visibly upset, but said she hadn’t even replied to my sister and that it was probably better to just let it go instead of pushing the issue. Shortly afterward, I got in the shower and started turning it over in my head, wondering whether I should send my sister a message and finally tell her exactly what I thought of all of this. I wanted to tell her that I thought she was a complete narcissist, always putting her own needs ahead of her son’s, and so much more. But I held myself back. Not because I didn’t want to say it, but because I’m exhausted, you know? I’m tired of my sister. It’s no secret that we’ve never been particularly close, not even as adults, but I’m tired of constantly trying to argue with her, trying to make her see reason, trying to get through to her. It’s simply exhausting, and I know it wouldn’t change anything. It would only create another conflict, and she could very well decide to keep me away from Rafinha for who knows how long. So I let it go.

After I’d been in the shower for a while, my mom called me again, this time talking about how unbelievably unpredictable my sister could be. Apparently, some time later, Tayna had regretted her decision and apologized. She said that if my mom wanted, she could call her mother-in-law and ask for permission to pick up Rafinha and take him to the party after all. My mom then asked what I thought she should do: go get him anyway, or tell Tayna that she wouldn’t anymore because she had already changed all her plans? And she really had. I told her to forget all of that and go get the boy. Think about him, not about her. This was going to be such a fun party, all of his little friends would be there, and knowing Manu’s mom, she had probably even hired the Paw Patrol dogs. Rafinha would be absolutely enchanted. He deserved to go, and that was what mattered. So my mom went to pick him up.

I’d bought some temporary hair color that creates little colored streaks, and since you were wearing a red Minnie Mouse dress, I decided to put red streaks in your hair. It looked ridiculously cute. I remember that for the longest time, when I was a kid and even a teenager, I desperately wanted blue highlights in my hair. Back then, though, the only real option was actually dyeing your hair, and there weren’t all these temporary colors and fun little products there are now. If there had been, I would have had an absolute blast with blue and pink streaks. You had the same reaction when I showed you the colors yesterday, and you ended up trying all sorts of shades in your hair. Thankfully, they wash out pretty quickly, which is probably for the best. But today, we were all about the red.

Of course, I also put a little white faux-fur jacket over your dress because it was cold. What I failed to consider was that the temporary red dye might, perhaps, transfer onto a white jacket. And naturally, it did. Half the color came off onto the thing. :) Applause for your mother, who apparently doesn't always think things through.

We were once again among the very last people to arrive at the party. Your little friend Manu saw you and immediately hugged you, and you were so happy to see her. You two really like each other, and it’s so sweet to watch that friendship growing, even though you’re both still so little.

The mothers’ table was already packed because, once again, we arrived late, so my mom and I found a table in the corner and sat by ourselves. But my mom barely sat down because she was constantly worried about Rafinha, and honestly, for good reason. Her biggest fear was that he would somehow wander outside the buffet area, which could very easily happen. So, from the beginning of the party to the very end, if my mom sat down for ten minutes total, I’d be surprised. Poor thing…

As for the food, I expected much more. The buffet was pretty ordinary. I thought Manuela’s parents were filthy rich, but I guess I was wrong lol.

Maya’s mom, who is such a sweetheart, came over and sat with me, and we spent pretty much the entire party chatting. She told me about her ex-husband, I told her about your dad, and we exchanged all kinds of motherhood stories. We’ve gotten pretty close lately, and I really like her. I like Maya a lot too! She kept me company throughout the party.

You, on the other hand, had moments when you played a lot and others when you would come over and say you wanted to go home. I couldn’t quite understand it. But I think I figured out what was happening. From what I noticed, you would be playing with Marina, for example, and then when Maya came over, Marina would start giving Maya more attention. You would kind of end up on the sidelines, and that would really bring you down. And as someone who has experienced A LOT of that myself, I know exactly how it feels. It’s awful to feel discarded, replaced, or invisible. So I would quickly try to get you involved with another child.

You absolutely adore Manu, for example, but during the kids’ activities, Manu wanted to participate and you didn’t. You were much more interested in playing on the buffet’s indoor playground, so for a while you two weren’t playing together, and once again you felt alone. But get ready, sweetheart, because elementary school and high school can make this whole thing a lot worse.

You had two vanilla ice cream cones and absolutely devoured them. You didn’t even care about the sweets afterward because those two little cones had already filled your tummy.

And just as I predicted, the Paw Patrol characters showed up and made all the kids absolutely ecstatic, especially Rafinha, who wanted to be held by every single one of them, held their hands, and even tried to feed the poor humans dressed up as dogs. That boy is guaranteed to make us laugh!

The only ones missing were the twins, Laís and Isabela. Sadly, they didn’t come. But that was another successful little party checked off the list. The next one is Miguel’s, and then, finally, to close out the year on a high note, yours, my princess.

It’s a shame that my sister thinks so much about enjoying her weekends and misses moments like these. Time goes by so quickly, and childhood is something magical. If you blink, you miss it, and once it’s gone, wishing you could go back won’t change anything. Enjoy the present. Always enjoy your children, and try to truly enjoy life BEFORE having children, so that once they’re here, they can become the priority.

25/08 Chapter 596: Suddenly Nothing Feels The Same

Your routine is finally starting to settle down. You’re going back to sleeping around 9:30/10 p.m. and waking up around 10 in the morning again. Today, you actually woke up earlier on your own, which was perfect because today was ballet day. And my heart always melts when I see you dressed as a little ballerina, with your hair pulled back into a bun and your beautiful ballet slippers on. It’s enough to melt even the coldest person’s heart. You are 100% made for ballet. You’re delicate, you love to dance, and your little face seems like it was perfectly designed for it. Your nose, especially, is the most delicate and adorable thing. It’s different from your dad’s and mine, and especially from your paternal grandfather’s, so considering the genetics involved, I’d say your nose got very lucky and saved us from having to invest in a future rhinoplasty. Lol.

The only thing that makes me sad about ballet is that the school has never sent us a single photo or video of you during class, even though we keep asking. They always promise they will, and then nothing ever comes. Maybe your teacher doesn’t allow it and wants to save everything as a surprise for the end-of-year recital? I don’t know. Maybe that’s it. And honestly, I hope it is, because I would love to see even a little bit of what you do during those classes. For now, I’m left imagining you there, completely focused, with your little bun, your ballet slippers, and that delicate little way about you that makes it seem like you were born to dance.

Let me start by saying that yesterday we took a shower together and stayed in there for quite a while. I usually use those Victoria’s Secret or Bath & Body Works body lotions, liquid soaps, shower gels, and scrubs, and there’s a honey scrub from Victoria’s Secret that I absolutely love. Apparently, you do too. Ever since we lived in the apartment, you would always get so excited whenever I took that little jar out. I’d let you dip your little hand into it and spread a bit over your body, but I didn’t let you do it all the time, only every once in a while. Yesterday, after quite some time and with the jar already almost empty, I let you use it again. Only this time, you decided to smell it from your own hand and apparently found it so delicious that you actually licked your hand afterward. I let out a little laugh that I couldn’t hold back because, honestly, it was just too funny. But I immediately washed your mouth and explained that even if a soap smells like honey, a candle smells like chocolate, or anything else smells delicious, that doesn’t mean we can eat it or put it in our mouths. Those things aren’t made for that, no matter how good they smell. At first, you thought I was scolding you, but once you realized I was just explaining it to you, you understood perfectly. But I have to admit, it was pretty damn funny. <3

I’ve been noticing that your immune system seems to be getting stronger. I don’t know if it’s because you’re getting older, because of the vaccine, or some combination of the two, but over these past two months I’ve seen you come down with a cold around three times, coughing, sneezing, and all that fun stuff, but recovering without it turning into anything more serious. And honestly, that makes me incredibly happy. Seeing you feeling well and recovering just like other kids do is one of my greatest joys.

While you’re getting stronger, I have to admit that I’m deteriorating. Lol. There are so many things I’ve noticed changing since turning thirty, things that either never happened to me before or simply weren’t an issue. And apparently, this is what my thirties have decided to bring me:

I feel much colder.

As I’ve mentioned in previous chapters, I’ve always been a cold-weather person. I’ve always preferred winter a thousand times over summer. But lately, that has changed. Now I get cold much more easily, and I don’t love it nearly as much as I used to. I’ve actually started appreciating warmer weather too. Nothing extreme, of course, because nothing extreme is ever good. :)

My lips crack in the cold.

Another little surprise that apparently comes with age: cracked lips in cold weather. I used to feel invincible whenever I saw friends or complete strangers in cold places walking around with horribly cracked lips, secretly feeling superior because mine stayed perfectly intact. Apparently, all that internal judgment was enough for karma to come kick my ass. The problem is that I absolutely hate putting anything on my lips. Lipstick especially. It disgusts me. But I also don’t like lip balm, cocoa butter, or anything creamy or greasy on my lips. Basically, I’d rather suffer with cracked lips than put something on them. Lol.

Excessive itching in my eyes.

This is something that hasn’t just changed, but has actually started affecting my daily life in a very negative way: my eyes itch constantly. I’ve already been to an ophthalmologist, and she says it’s allergic conjunctivitis. I do use the eye drops—although definitely not as often as I should—but saying they’ve made the problem completely disappear would be a lie. They still itch, and a lot, especially along the inner corners of my eyes. And apparently, constantly rubbing your eyes can even be dangerous, with complications such as retinal detachment being a concern. So this is something I now have to learn to live with every single day, and I honestly have no idea what else I can do to make it better or prevent it. Even getting eyelash extensions has become more complicated because my eyes feel heavier and the itching seems to get worse. Contact lenses? I don’t even feel like wearing them anymore. So here I am, trapped in these ridiculous glasses.

General allergies.

On top of the eye allergies, I’ve also apparently developed allergies to all sorts of things: insects, dust, dust mites, you name it. And it’s not just my eyes that itch like crazy. My nose joins the party too, which means I have to take antihistamines and use nasal spray. Such a pain in the ass.

Waking up congested.

These days, most mornings I wake up with my nose completely full of mucus, as if I’ve caught a cold. I sniffle, clear everything out, and eventually feel fine throughout the day, but so many mornings now start with a congested nose. It’s incredibly annoying. I never had anything like this before.

Back pain.

Last disc in my spine officially compromised.............

Memory loss.

The fact that my memory has never been particularly good is nothing new, and today it makes a lot more sense considering my ADHD diagnosis. But the fact that it keeps getting worse is also undeniable. There are times when I actually forget the names of completely ordinary words, and I start wondering if I’m going to develop early-onset Alzheimer’s. Seriously. What the hell is happening to my brain?

It might not look like such a long list, but considering I’ve only been in my thirties for three years, I feel like I could at least get one new problem per year, right? Apparently, my body has decided to speed-run the aging process. But I suppose I should be grateful that I still don’t have wrinkles or gray hair, which plenty of people my age already have. And, according to most people, I still look twenty. So there’s that. Lol.

27/08 Chapter 597: Just Whistle While You Work

Today, my parents and I went to Juquehy to meet up with you, your dad, and his family, just as we had been planning for a while. Ever since your dad arranged for your paternal grandparents to come here, he had already mentioned that it would be nice for all of us to spend a night or two together, so that’s what we planned. We were going today, Sunday, and coming back Tuesday, just two nights. You had already been there since Wednesday.

You had actually been sick with a cold since Wednesday, and I kept asking your dad to keep me updated on everything. Some days he said you were worse, other days you were better. But to my surprise, when I arrived at the beach, you had a very chesty, phlegmy cough, and he told me that you’d had a 39°C fever the night before. And he hadn’t told me. I think he didn’t want to worry me, but still... he should have told me. My biggest fear is always that it will develop into pneumonia because you’ve already had it three times. Before that, everything used to turn into bronchiolitis, and now it seems to always become pneumonia, so I get nervous about it, and so does my mom. But he said everything was under control.

We arrived sometime after 4 p.m., and of course, it was raining, so the day was basically a lost cause. It was already late, plus the rain made going to the beach completely impossible, even just for the end of the afternoon, so we stayed at the house.

When we arrived, everyone welcomed us, and there was a little gift bag for each of us with a piece of paper bearing the initial of our name, drawn and colored by you. Your grandparents always bring little treats and presents whenever they come. My mom got a small leather bag, my dad got the Parma ham he loves, along with a large box of Lindt chocolates for them. I got a large box of Lindt too, and of course you weren’t forgotten either. You had your own little gift bag with a beautiful, cozy cat sweatshirt inside. Anyone who says getting presents isn’t wonderful is lying. I stand by that.

Later that night, you and I played princesses. I brought your Ariel costume like I’d promised, and I brought my Snow White costume too, which is the only adult costume I still have. And to think I used to have about ten different princess costumes because for every monthly milestone of yours, I would dress up alongside you as the same character. I eventually sold them all and somehow ended up with only Snow White. If I had known how much you would love princesses, and how much we would play together, I never would have sold any of them.

You wearing that Ariel wig is the funniest thing in the world. You actually look a little like E.T. when he dresses up as a woman in that very old classic movie. You’re so tiny, and the wig is so huge and bulky on your little head that the whole thing is absolutely hilarious. We danced, we sang, and, by the way, we’ve been doing a lot of that lately: dancing and singing. Especially songs from Encanto, which is also going to be the theme of your birthday. My little princess, my mini-mini-me. I see myself in you in so many ways. Sometimes it feels like I’m watching my own childhood happen all over again, except this time I get to watch it, live it with you, and make the memories alongside you. I had missed you so, so much.

Since we didn’t go anywhere or really do much, there isn’t much else to tell about today. Except that the night was an absolute nightmare because you didn’t stop coughing for even a minute, and we slept terribly. Really, really terribly. I don’t know... I was so happy that you had recovered on your own from the last two or three colds, but I have a feeling this time you might need antibiotics again. I really hope I’m wrong.

28/08 Chapter 598: The Sound Of Night

After a pretty rough night with all your coughing, when we finally got up, I asked my mom and your dad to stay with you so I could sleep for two hours. And that’s exactly what I slept—but those two hours already made a huge difference in my mood and energy. The truth is, when I’m really sleep-deprived, I become completely useless, like a sack of potatoes that can’t manage to do anything.

Waking up to croissants and a pain au chocolat on the table was such a nice surprise. It wasn’t even the kind of chocolate bread I actually like—the Swiss bread, which is almost impossible to find—but it still made me happy. We discovered that Swiss bread is basically like winning the lottery around here. Your grandma Laura told me I could have the two little pieces of pain au chocolat and half of the croissant. And when I finished the chocolate one and warmed up the croissant in the air fryer (yes, I started with dessert. I’m all wrong!), your dad came over and questioned whether I was really going to eat everything. I told him your grandma was the one who had said I could, but that I had absolutely no problem sharing with him, and that’s what I did. I don’t even feel like creating problems anymore. I’m at a point in my life where all I want is lightness and happiness.

Soon after that, we headed down to the beach because the weather didn’t look very promising and we were afraid it might rain. So, before that happened, we figured we could at least enjoy a little bit of beach time all together. But as we were leaving and had already gotten close to the pool, your dad asked me if I had grabbed your toys and a towel. I said no, and the reproachful tone in his voice immediately made me turn around and hurry back to the house to get them. I didn’t even bother blaming my memory or my ADHD, because to him that’s just an excuse, a form of playing the victim, something I use to justify my behavior. He has no idea how much I hate being this way, how much I hate forgetting things so easily. He doesn’t know how much it slows my life down and how frustrating it is for me, but to him it’s simply another excuse and another way of playing the victim. And I’ve already learned that he’s not going to change his mind about it, so I don’t even try to convince him anymore.

What does irritate me, though, is that during all those days he had been at the beach with you, he was the one grabbing everything you needed. Then the moment I arrived, suddenly the responsibility was 100% thrown onto me? Would it really have been so hard to remind me? And besides, I usually play with you at the beach without any toys at all. We make castles with our hands, and we have fun just like that. As for the towel, I wouldn’t have even taken one because, with weather like this, I don’t think you SHOULD be getting into the ocean anyway, and I honestly didn’t think you would. So, in my mind, those things weren’t exactly essential. But am I going to argue about it? Nah. I simply turn around, walk back to the house, and get whatever I’m supposed to get. That's it.

When I got back with the bag of toys and the towel, they had already left, but you were waiting for me with my parents, and we walked to the beach holding hands and talking. These days, walking around with you is such a delight because we can actually have conversations. You speak in complete sentences, we interact so well, and we can genuinely talk to each other. I don’t even know exactly when this stage arrived, but somehow it did—and if you want to know the truth, I think everything is happening way too fast.

When we got to the beach, we settled down, and shortly afterward a woman came by offering to make a tererê, a traditional Brazilian beach hair decoration made by braiding colorful threads, ribbons, or cords into a small section of hair. You wanted one. For a while now, whenever we go to the beach, you’ve been undecided about whether you wanted to get one, but after seeing Lívia get hers, you finally decided you wanted one too. I convinced you to choose different colors so yours wouldn’t look exactly like hers, and you picked purple, pink, and blue, along with four little charms that would hang from the end of it.

When I was your age, all the way until I was about fourteen, I used to get tererês all the time. Every school vacation—January and July—when we went to Caraguatatuba with the whole family, I would get one. I absolutely loved them. But the tererê from my childhood was completely different from the ones they make today. Back then, they would make a very tiny, thin braid using a small section of your hair, and at the end of the braid they attached a little metal piece. The tererê itself would hang from that little metal piece. Usually it was some kind of decorated hanging ornament—there were ones with beads, feathers, and all sorts of different designs. You would eventually take it out when your hair started growing and the little braid began to look awkward and messy. Nowadays, it’s completely different. They use colorful threads or ribbons that are actually braided directly into a strand of hair, and the technique is much more intricate. And honestly, I liked the tererês from my time better, but you simply can’t find them made that way anymore.

And here is a photo of me with a tererê in my hair when I was fourteen. See how there are no sewing threads or anything braided into my hair? It’s simply a little decorative ornament hanging from the end of the braid. Now look at yours—yours is made entirely by braiding those colorful threads directly into your hair. Such a tiny detail, but somehow it makes me feel like I’m looking at two completely different generations of the same little beach tradition.

But anyway, your very first tererê—such a beautiful little thing!!!! You looked like such a little lady, sitting there so patiently while the woman finished it. And that woman definitely made a good deal with us! My mom spent R$100 on necklaces, including one for your grandma Laura, who fell in love with a specific one, and my dad spent R$50 on your tererê and a double Moana necklace. The necklace came as two pieces: one for you and, supposedly, the other one for you to give to your best friend. And, without even hesitating, you immediately said, “Lívia.”

Your relationship with Lívia is actually pretty funny. Sometimes you absolutely adore her, and other times you come whining to me saying you don’t want to invite her to your birthday party anymore because she’s not your friend anymore. From what I’ve noticed, and from talking to the other moms, Lívia is definitely the alpha of the group, and everyone seems to like following her lead. I’ve already noticed that whenever she pays attention to you, you get so incredibly happy, but when she ignores you, you become so sad and disappointed. Your little heart is already being broken by friendships at such a young age. I’ve had my heart broken plenty of times too, of course, but I was much older when it happened. Watching you experience these little heartbreaks already is such a strange feeling. You’re so tiny, and yet you’re already learning that friendships can make you feel on top of the world one minute and completely miserable the next.

At the beach, you were also absolutely obsessed with getting ice cream. You were asking for it before we had even properly reached the beach. You were so desperate for ice cream that you picked the very first cart that passed by and didn’t want to wait for the Kibon cart, which is your favorite because they sell that colorful unicorn ice cream you love. Unfortunately, this one didn’t have any kid-friendly options, so I let you choose whatever you wanted, and you picked açaí. I told you that you had never tried açaí before and that there was a chance you might not like it, but you insisted. And thank God you liked it! You couldn’t finish the whole thing, but you ate almost all of it. I was happy about that because I think it’s always good to try new flavors. I never had the courage to do that when I was a child, and honestly, I’m still like that today. But I think people who are willing to try things discover flavors and experiences that those who never dare to try will never know, simply because of fear or a lack of courage.

Açaí itself is a perfect example. I never used to eat it, and I never even wanted to try it because it’s purple, and for some reason I’ve always assumed that if something is purple, I probably won’t like the taste. Then, when I was seeing a guy, he insisted that I try it. I finally did, and I liked it. Today, I absolutely love açaí. If I hadn’t tried it that day, I could have gone my entire life believing I didn’t like it without ever actually knowing, and I would have missed out on one more thing to add to the list of little pleasures I enjoy.

Sometimes it’s the smell, the shape, the color, or simply the way a food looks that makes us afraid to try it. But we can end up completely surprising ourselves. Açaí was one of the very few things I actually took a chance on, and luckily, it turned out to be something I loved. I hope you learn this much earlier than I did: sometimes you have to be brave enough to take the first bite before you can discover that something you were sure you wouldn’t like might actually become one of your favorite things. And sometimes I find myself wondering just how many foods there are in this enormous world that I’ve never tasted, foods that could have ended up on my list of new loves if only I had been brave enough to try them.

Afterward, we walked along the beach hand in hand, still talking, and I felt so incredibly happy—the wind on my face, holding my little girl’s hand as we walked together by the ocean. This was the dream. This was always the dream. I need to remember that more often on the days when I’m stressed, frustrated, overwhelmed, or simply having a hard time. I need to remind myself that there was a time when I dreamed of exactly the life I am living today. Today was given to me. It is here. I am living it. And it exists in the form of you.

Everything that comes after you will always be secondary. No matter how many dreams I still have left to accomplish, no matter how big or exciting they may be, none of them will ever be greater than the dream I had of having you. A little girl. My Melanie. A beautiful, well-behaved child with such a pure heart, who reminds me so much of myself. A little girl completely immersed in dreams, princesses, and the magical world of Disney. Yes... this was always the biggest dream of all.

We ended up not staying at the beach for very long because the wind suddenly picked up like crazy. It was so strong that it was tearing apart our beach tent and sending the chairs flying, and when that happens, everyone just starts running around trying to save everything. You were already scared by the wind, and when you saw the tent and chairs flying around, you started crying. So while everyone else was trying to contain the damage, you and I started making our way back to the house, and you calmed down pretty quickly once we were away from all the chaos.

We stopped by the pool, where you found a tiny ladybug in the water and brought it to me. It was still alive, and I told you that you had saved it. It kept crawling back and forth between us, exploring both my skin and yours, while you looked so incredibly proud of yourself for having rescued the little ladybug. Later, when your dad came back and joined us, you shared that little moment of happiness with him too, especially because you always find ladybugs at Daddy’s house.

During the day, you’re completely fine and barely cough at all. It’s at night that things really get bad. But that night you coughed so much and seemed so miserable that I knew it was time to start the oral steroid, which is usually given for three to five days. As much as I know how hard this medication can be on your little body—it’s basically a massive dose of steroids—I also know that sometimes it’s a necessary evil. And I’m scared. I’m scared that this cough might get worse, even though, for now, it only seems to show up at night.

We ended the day with my dad making a barbecue to please your paternal grandparents, because we know how much they love garlic bread and picanha. Actually, the original plan had been to go out for burgers tonight, with your grandparents paying for the restaurant for all of us—which is something we almost always do when we get together. But my parents insisted on changing the burger place for a barbecue because your grandparents only come here a few times, and they felt they deserved to eat the things they love so much but don’t often get the chance to have.

In the middle of dinner, you asked to watch TV, and your dad and I said no. You kept insisting over and over again, to the point that you were starting to make both of us angry with how persistent you were being. Then, after a while, your dad showed me that you had turned the TV on by yourself and were already putting on a cartoon, because you’ve learned how to use the remote control, even though both of us had clearly told you no. It bothered me, but I tried not to get angry. Instead, I explained to you that what you had done wasn’t okay and that this wasn’t how we behave when our parents tell us no. You had never really been stubborn or deliberately disobedient like that before, but this time you were, so we sat down with you and tried to talk to you and teach you why it wasn’t right.

When a child starts showing this kind of behavior, I think it’s important to address it quickly, before it becomes a habit or gets worse. You’re growing up, and with that comes testing boundaries, learning what you can and can’t do, and sometimes trying to see how far you can push us. It’s our job to teach you where those boundaries are, even when it means having the difficult conversations. I don’t want to raise you through fear or anger, but I also don’t want to let things slide simply because you’re little. So we talked, we explained, and we tried to turn that little moment of disobedience into a lesson. After all, raising you means teaching you not only how to be kind and loving, but also how to respect limits—even when you really, really don’t like the answer.

Afterward, we went out for ice cream. You really wanted to go to Rochinha, the self-serve ice cream shop where you pay by weight, but your dad and your grandparents don’t like that place, so we went to the ice cream shop at the mall instead. And then you cried quite a bit, which made your grandparents feel sorry for you. They started asking why we couldn’t just go to the ice cream shop you wanted first and then go to the other one afterward. But I picked you up, stood my ground, and told you that you didn’t get to choose everything and that we couldn’t simply give you everything you wanted. I told you that you would come with us first, and if afterward you still wanted to go to the other place and didn’t want ice cream with us, then we would go there with you. But your grandma is impossible sometimes—she didn’t like that and started arguing back, but I decided to let it go.

Laura came over and asked why you didn’t want to go to this ice cream shop and wanted to go to the other one instead. I explained that you liked a particular blue ice cream there. She immediately pointed out that the place we were going to also had blue ice cream, and that they had taken you there two or three times over the past few days and you had gotten that same blue one. But sometimes the flavor is different, even when the color is the same. Pistachio ice cream, for example, can taste completely different depending on the ice cream shop.

There was something else I thought about but never even said to your dad. Fine, we didn’t do what you wanted. But if he already knows you like the other ice cream shop better, and you’ve been here all these days, couldn’t they have made an exception and taken you there just ONE day? Wouldn’t that be what flexibility is about—finding a way to make both sides happy? He seems to think that simply going out for ice cream should already be enough of a treat. But come on... if you’re going out for ice cream three, or now four, days in a row, couldn’t just ONE of those days be at the place you actually like? I thought about it, but I didn’t say anything. We just went where they wanted to go.

When we got there, you chose the blue ice cream. I got two flavors, and your grandparents got some too. Your dad didn’t have anything, your grandma didn’t have anything, and I think your grandpa was the only one who actually ate ice cream besides you and me. And if they weren’t even going to have any, couldn’t we have just gone to the ice cream shop that you, I, and my parents actually like better? Anyway, in the end, your grandparents paid for the ice cream, and that was that. The burger restaurant plan that never happened had simply turned into ice cream instead.

Your dad already had that annoyed look on his face, clearly angry, and I had absolutely no idea why. Even though I had picked you up and firmly made you go to the place they wanted, apparently that still wasn’t enough. I honestly don’t know what he was angry about, and it’s exhausting having to constantly try to guess what’s going on in someone else’s head. I ended up going back to the house earlier with you, already preparing myself for another difficult night, because your cough was coming back with a vengeance. And this time, it sounded different. It had changed into a sound that immediately alarmed me—a sound I call a “wet-dog cough.” The sound of pneumonia.

29/08 Chapter 599: Down To The Wrong Road Tonight

Well, I’m going to classify the previous night as extremely difficult. You actually slept with your grandparents until around 4:30 in the morning. At four, I set my alarm and went upstairs to check on you, and to my surprise, your grandma told me that you hadn’t coughed once and hadn’t woken up, and that I should let you rest. So I went back downstairs and wrapped myself in a blanket, but it wasn’t long before you woke up with a coughing attack and started crying and calling for me. I immediately went back upstairs to comfort you.

Since the coughing attack wouldn’t stop, we gave you some Aerolin through your inhaler. Because you didn’t want to let go of me, my mom asked Grandpa to go downstairs and sleep in my room. Not long afterward, your dad came upstairs, and my mom gave up the bed so the three of us could sleep there, while she also went downstairs to my room. So it ended up being you, me, and your dad in the bed.

Your dad asked how long I had been upstairs, and I told him since four, because that was basically what had happened. I had set my alarm, gone upstairs, you were sleeping, I came back down, and then shortly afterward I went back upstairs because you were calling for me. He said that was impossible because it was already five o’clock and he had gone upstairs as soon as he heard you calling for me. But that wasn’t exactly what happened, because I had already been upstairs for a while, we had given you Aerolin, my dad had gone downstairs, and some time had passed. For some reason, he decided I was lying to him. Then he questioned why I had given you Aerolin if you were having trouble breathing, and I told him that you were breathing a little harder than usual—not badly, but a little—and that I had also given it because of the coughing attack, since Aerolin usually helped with that. Your breathing was getting more labored precisely because of the coughing. But he thought it was appropriate to tell me that I shouldn’t give you Aerolin for a cough, only when you were having a respiratory crisis. I argued back that you were, in fact, having a little difficulty breathing, and once again, he acted as though I was lying to him.

But I swear I was so exhausted that I didn’t even waste my energy arguing. There were already so many things to worry about. As time passed, you were asleep peacefully in my arms, but my arm had gone numb and I couldn’t sleep, so I gently placed you on the bed, taking the weight of your little body off my arms. When I did, you mumbled something, still half asleep. But when I moved you from my arms and you made a little gesture, your dad didn’t say anything, but he made hand gestures asking me, basically, “Why the hell did you move her? She was fine like that.” I was already starting to get more and more nervous because it was obvious that he didn’t care about my well-being, or whether my arm was hurting, or whether I was uncomfortable. It felt like even the simple act of me breathing was bothering him. I needed to be completely invisible so that his discomfort would disappear.

Eventually, he asked whether I had set the twenty-minute timer in case we needed to repeat the Aerolin cycle. I said no, because you weren’t breathing heavily enough for me to think you needed a rescue cycle, and I felt that the four puffs I had already given you were enough. And then he started lecturing me about that, saying that whenever you use Aerolin, you have to set the twenty-minute timer to monitor whether the breathing improves, and so on. But that isn’t true. Usually, a rescue cycle is recommended when a child is very tired and breathing heavily and one round isn’t enough. You weren’t breathing heavily enough for that, and I had given it partly to calm your coughing attack. And then he started saying that this was further proof that I was lying, that I had given it only for the cough and not for your breathing, blah, blah, blah. I was already at my limit.

After I stopped even responding to him, I started checking your breathing to make sure everything was okay. I unbuttoned a few buttons on your pajamas so I could see you better, which made you move around a little and mumble something in your sleep, and that irritated your dad all over again. At that point, I was almost crying. I am your mother. If my arm hurts and I move you, it’s because I’m in pain. If I check your breathing, it’s because I’m worried and I think it’s necessary. If I said I gave you Aerolin because of both the coughing and your breathing, that’s why I did it. But even if I had given it only for the cough, it was because I’ve done it before and I know it helps calm the attacks. Question after question, judgment after judgment... No matter how hard I try to let things go and keep a cool head, sometimes it feels simply impossible.

The final straw came when, about five minutes after the whole pajama incident, I realized that he had gone back downstairs to the bedroom where he had been sleeping earlier and left me there with you. I mean, my mom had been there helping me, as she always does. He came upstairs to criticize me, judge me, and take my mom away from there—even though he hadn’t asked her to leave; she had offered, and he could have simply refused if he wanted to—and then, in the end, he left me there alone anyway. A huge knot formed in my throat, and a wave of anxiety tightened around my heart. It felt as though the room we were in was beginning to shrink, closing in around me until it became a tiny box and I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to leave. I wanted to get in the car, drive to São Paulo right then, and get out of that environment as quickly as possible. I have never hated myself more for not having come in my own car. I regretted coming so much. I know I came mostly because of your grandparents and because I love them, but I shouldn’t have come. All of us had been worried about coming, and we were right. It was a bad idea.

With my heart racing, desperation and panic settling inside me, and an overwhelming desire to disappear, I was crying uncontrollably but trying to muffle the sound as much as I could. I placed you between two pillows so you would be protected from falling and went to the bedroom where my parents were. I knocked on the door crying, “Mom? Mom?” My plan was to beg her to leave with me, explain what had happened, and tell her that I couldn’t stay there anymore. I didn’t want to cause a scene, but at the same time, I simply couldn’t remain there. But when I called for her a second or third time, your dad appeared at the door, worried about why I was crying like that, and tried to talk to me, reaching out to touch me. I pulled away and told him not to touch me. I was extremely nervous. He stepped back, trying to understand what was happening, although I think deep down he knew.

As awful as I felt, I tried to breathe deeply and think about what calling my mom and leaving would do to everyone. It would make everything horrible between all of us. Everyone would feel terrible, and the atmosphere would become unbearably heavy. I couldn’t do that to my parents, who would be furious with your dad, and I couldn’t do that to your grandparents, who had come from so far away. It wasn’t fair. So I pulled away from your dad, went downstairs, and sat on the couch. I grabbed a pillow, pressed it against my face, and cried as though there were no tomorrow, every single tear I had inside me coming out. I cried so much. Really, truly, so much. It was a sad, painful, heavy, exhausted, broken kind of crying. The kind of crying where you pull the pain from the very bottom of your stomach, your ribs, your pancreas, and drag it all the way up into your chest and then your throat. A rare kind of crying, the kind I can count on my fingers how many times has happened in my entire life. A worn-out, desolate kind of crying. The kind where you can barely breathe because there is simply too much pain.

I stayed there with my face buried in the pillow, crying without stopping and being careful not to wake anyone. Now I didn’t even want my mom to see me like that.

I don’t know what time your dad came downstairs. I didn’t see him because I was completely lost in my pain. I only heard him ask if he could hug me. I didn’t answer. I just kept crying there. But I wasn’t angry anymore, and I wasn’t repulsed by his touch. I was simply sad. So incredibly sad. Slowly, with him sitting beside me, I began to calm down until eventually I could form complete sentences and words without being interrupted by tears. I told him everything that had bothered me upstairs, that my presence always seemed to be a burden to him, and that I couldn’t do absolutely anything without somehow bothering him.

Your dad argued that he was angry because he had “realized I was lying to him.” He tried to reconstruct this entire timeline of when I went upstairs, when you called my name, when my dad went downstairs, when I went back upstairs, the footsteps he had heard on the stairs, and how, based on this entire “timeline of staircase footsteps,” I had lied to him about having been upstairs since four in the morning. I argued that the exact time might not have been one hundred percent precise, but it had been around then, and, in the end, why the hell was that so important? He concluded by saying that lying to him was a big deal, and that it wasn’t the first time I had lied.

For some context, there was one time when we were talking at our old apartment after we had broken up, and I noticed that my mouth was dry and I might have had bad breath. At one point I said I was going to the bathroom, and I did go, but while I was there I took the opportunity to spray some mint spray that temporarily gets rid of bad breath. When I came back, he asked if I had used the spray, because your dad has the nose of a damn bloodhound. I was embarrassed and said no. Then he kept insisting so much that I eventually said I hadn’t wanted to tell him because, I don’t know, even though I was obviously very comfortable with him, nobody likes admitting they have bad breath and sneaking off to spray something to make it better. It’s embarrassing. That’s all. And he gave me such a hard time over that lie, over something as ridiculous as a breath spray. That was one of the lies he was talking about when he said it wasn’t “the first time.” Your dad knows how to be very strict when he wants to. Very! He does not let things go.

And that made me cry even more, because he said that we had known each other for so many years, had been in a relationship for so long, and yet he didn’t recognize me anymore because of these lies and because now he saw me as a “diva.” I have no idea why the hell he used that word, and I cannot understand why your dad sees me that way. How can these tiny things—the exact time I was upstairs not being one hundred percent accurate, a breath spray, or whether I said you went to school when in fact you didn’t—be so serious that he can say he doesn’t recognize me anymore and that I am someone who causes him “fear”? His word was “fear.” My heart shattered. An entire movie played in my head: our whole relationship, from the beginning, how we met, the things he used to say to me, the way he used to treat me... and the way he sees me today. How? Why? Is it irreversible? Can I really not change the way he sees me or the way he feels about me? That was what I realized in that moment, and it made me cry even harder. It was irreversible. There was absolutely nothing else I could do. He had developed such a deep resentment toward me that it felt impossible to undo.

I tried to defend myself several times, but your dad is relentless. By then, the sun had been up for a long time. We could hear footsteps upstairs, doors opening and closing, and we were both trying to keep our voices low so we wouldn’t wake anyone, but the conversation seemed endless. Eventually, he said he needed to work, that it was already time for him to get up, and he went upstairs.

Trying to process everything that had happened, with my eyes and my entire body feeling as heavy as lead, I went upstairs to my parents’ bedroom, where you were. Your dad was lying there with you. I went to the bathroom and then lay down on your other side. For another hour, we stayed there talking in bed, only without looking at each other. There were things I took in and learned from, moments when I simply listened and barely said anything, and there were things he took in as well.

One of the things we talked about was how incredibly sad it makes me that he is always criticizing and speaking badly about my parents, your grandparents. It wasn’t occasional. It was constant, and it destroyed me. I even told him that I hoped he would never experience something similar someday, when you were older, if you and Grandma Laura ever clashed and didn’t get along. That would break your dad’s heart because you and your grandmother would be two of the people he loved most in the world. Seeing two people you love so deeply not love or like each other is a very bitter kind of pain. And that was exactly what I felt about the relationship between him and my parents: watching people I love so much being unable to get along, with most of the hostility coming from him. Because it is extremely rare for my parents to speak badly about your dad, or to speak about him with anything close to the same level of criticism that he directs toward my parents. He argued that this situation would probably be very difficult to happen with you and Grandma Laura because, by the time you were older, Grandma Laura would probably already be dead because of her age, and he could probably count on one hand how many times he would still see or spend time with his own parents.

I understand that his parents are much older than mine, but that doesn’t mean anything. One of my parents could just as easily die before his parents do. Age is not a death sentence. And whenever he talks about how he can count on one hand how many times he’ll still see his parents, and things like that, I always feel an accusatory tone underneath it, as though somehow I am responsible for it.

Maybe he blames me for coming to live in Brazil for a year and getting pregnant? I don’t know. Maybe even unconsciously. But when he came back during the second half of my pregnancy, he stayed there for months and didn’t know whether he would return or not. And he did return because he chose to. That was his decision alone, especially because by then we weren’t even speaking anymore.

I understand that living far away from your parents is painful. It will probably be one of the few things that hurts me about living in the United States too. But it isn’t my fault. And I gently told him something that he didn’t respond to, because I think he knows I have a point. I said something along the lines of:

“Look, your parents have spent their entire lives doing what makes them happy, and for them, that has always been traveling. You even told me yourself that they used to leave you and your siblings at summer camp and go traveling. I’ve never met anyone who has traveled as much as your parents. They’ve been to almost every country in the world, and that’s what makes them happy. And that’s okay. Everyone lives their life looking for the things that make them happy.

“My parents, for example, you say that what makes them happy is being with their grandchildren. Living for their grandchildren. You say they don’t live for themselves or because of themselves, but for their grandchildren. But I always feel a little judgment behind the way you say that. And yet that is what makes them happy. Different people find happiness in different ways, and that shouldn’t be something we judge.

“I could judge your parents and say that they left their own children behind to go live their lives, but I’m not going to do that. Because even though their choices were a little different from what most parents might do, they raised three children who became decent, respectful people with good character. It worked. In their own way, whether other people judge them or not, it worked. And all three of you were happy.”

And he stayed quiet. We talked about a few other things while lying there, until eventually he went downstairs to work and I fell asleep for a little while beside you. About two hours later, you woke up. And when you did, I was obviously completely wrecked from exhaustion. Everyone could see how tired I was just by looking at my dark circles and my half-closed eyes. And beyond the lack of sleep, when you go through a level of stress and emotional distress like I had just experienced—crying that hard and for that long—it may not look like much from the outside, but it completely drains your body and your mind. It’s like your entire system simply shuts down.

As much as I wanted to function, I really didn’t. I barely functioned properly the entire day.

Your grandparents and your dad were the first to leave, and we left about an hour later. You came with us because my mom and I were taking you to the hospital. By then, I was already certain you had pneumonia because of your cough. I know the sound of it by now. I can hear it in the tone of your cough. And so, even though I was completely exhausted, I knew I still had a long day ahead of me—and an even longer night to face.

We were all starving, so we stopped in Riviera to eat at McDonald’s. I love it when my dad is with us because he pays for everything without even thinking twice. We all got burgers, and I even managed to convince you to try a little bit of a hamburger for the first time, because you never want to try one. You only eat nuggets and French fries. My dad ordered his usual burger, while my mom and I tried one from their new line, and it was actually really good. It was huge, though, so we ended up completely stuffed. In the end, you got a vanilla cone, which is my favorite too. It’s basically my medicine whenever I feel nauseous. When I’m feeling sick to my stomach, it has to be that ice cream.

After what felt like an eternity of a drive because I was exhausted and couldn’t sleep—and I have never been able to sleep in a car—we finally arrived. We went to pick up the box of merchandise that had been seized by customs. The day before, I had found out that we would have to pay an R$8,500 fine each, but even so, it was still worth it, and honestly, it was good news compared to the previous scenario, which was losing all the merchandise and taking a loss of more than R$17,000. Even with the fine, the total loss ended up being around R$5,000, which, in my current situation, is a lot of money. That was basically enough to pay the final installment for your bedroom.

Anyway, after picking up the merchandise, we got into my car, and my mom, you, and I headed to the hospital. This time I decided to go to Beneficência Portuguesa. When you were hospitalized there before, the hospitalization itself wasn’t exactly a walk in the park because there were some mistakes from the staff, communication issues, and things like that. But the doctors who saw you before you were admitted were not residents. They were more experienced physicians, and I really liked both of them. The waiting time there also tends to be shorter, there usually aren’t that many people, and overall, I consider it a good hospital. So, off we went.

We arrived at around 8:30 p.m and were seen pretty quickly, but unfortunately, we ended up with a very young doctor. She wasn’t unfriendly, but she didn’t really have much of a way with children either.

When it was time to examine you, you were once again such a little lady. You let her do everything without putting up a fight, and you don’t even cry anymore during these examinations. The doctor said she couldn’t hear anything abnormal when she listened to your lungs, but she wanted to order an X-ray and an influenza test, which she said was necessary. My heart immediately sank. Just the thought of having to get blood drawn from you already made me sad. So I started talking to you, explaining that you would have to have some blood taken, which immediately made you start crying. But the doctor interrupted me and said it wasn’t a blood test at all—it was just a swab with a little cotton stick inside your nose. That instantly made both your mom and me feel relieved. You still put on quite a show for the influenza test, though, and of course, it came back negative, as always.

The X-ray really irritated me because you had to have it done twice, and having to take unnecessary radiation is awful. According to the radiologist, the machine was broken and they were using some kind of temporary workaround. WTF......................................... Private hospitals, huh? I don’t even want to imagine what goes on in the public healthcare system.

The only thing that was really worrying me was your oxygen saturation. At triage, it was 93–94%, and before we went back to see the doctor, they checked it again and it was still 93–94%, which is low. What I found strange was that your oxygen level was that low and the doctor didn’t ask them to give you Aerolin, which had happened at EVERY SINGLE hospital visit we’d ever had. Every single one. Even at São Camilo, which was by far the weakest hospital we had been to.

So, after what felt like forever waiting to have the X-ray done twice, getting the influenza test, and doing this, that, and everything else, we were finally called back into the doctor’s office. My hope was that we would get a different doctor this time, but of course, by some cruel twist of fate, it was the SAME ONE. Every hospital we go to seems to change doctors every five minutes, but not today! Nope. Today, we got stuck with the same one. Anyway, she called us in, asked whether your oxygen saturation had remained low, and we said yes. Then she showed us the X-ray, which showed pneumonia. We weren’t surprised at all and told her that was always how it went with you. But then she said she was going to admit you to the hospital. And I couldn’t help myself. I kind of laughed and said, “Oh, Doctor, you’re not going to do that!” I know I probably shouldn’t have said it that way, but it caught me completely off guard. I was already almost certain you had pneumonia, but your overall condition was completely different from all the other times. You were happy, playing, running around, laughing, asking to eat every five minutes, telling us you were hungry—in other words, you were ACTIVE. You weren’t apathetic, lethargic, weak, or anything remotely like that. You have to evaluate the whole picture, not just one number, especially when that doctor hadn’t even asked you to do an Aerolin cycle to see if your oxygen saturation would improve.

Every single time we’ve gone to the hospital for a respiratory problem, Aerolin has been part of the treatment. You had three hospitalizations for bronchiolitis and three for pneumonia before this one—which now made four pneumonias—and that’s not even counting all the less serious visits I’m leaving out, when they still asked you to use Aerolin. And many of those times, it worked. Your oxygen saturation went up, and you were able to go home. So why, this time, was this doctor not even going to TRY the most basic thing—the Aerolin inhaler—BEFORE admitting you? Was she clueless? Reckless? Careless? Did she simply not have much experience with children who have asthma or respiratory episodes? Or did she want to make money for the hospital by admitting you? What was the answer? Do doctors think hospitalization is a joke? A piece of cake? Do they think admitting a child is no big deal and everything will be fine? No. No. NO! The first time you had pneumonia, I agreed to the hospitalization, with the two doctors at Beneficência Portuguesa. The other two times, I refused. And this time, I wasn’t going to agree either unless it was absolutely necessary. Before you even did the Aerolin cycles, I was not going to let you be admitted.

So I told her I was going to call your pediatrician. She allowed me to take a picture of your X-ray so I could show it to him and told me to come back and speak to her afterward. She did make one thing clear, though: if your pediatrician recommended hospitalization and she disagreed, or if he disagreed with her recommendation to admit you, she wouldn’t be able to prescribe antibiotics or anything else for you to take home. Your pediatrician himself would have to do it. I already knew that because I had been through exactly the same thing at Sabará.

I called Dr. Humberto, and thank God, he answered the phone. He later called me back, looked at your X-ray, and agreed that you could be treated at home and that there was nothing alarming about the pneumonia itself. He also said it didn’t make sense that she hadn’t asked you to do Aerolin, and that the ideal thing would be to give it to you and see whether your oxygen saturation went up. If it didn’t, then hospitalization would be the right thing to do.

So, very humbly, we went back to the doctor and explained that we didn’t understand why she hadn’t wanted to try Aerolin to bring your oxygen saturation up. And she agreed with us, which was a huge relief. She said she would order three Aerolin cycles, ten minutes apart, with five puffs in each cycle. Then, twenty minutes after the last cycle, they would check your oxygen saturation again, and if it had improved, we could go home. And we were almost certain it would improve because you were not sick enough to be admitted. You weren’t even showing signs of respiratory distress.

And with that, we settled in for yet another endless wait at the hospital. It was one of those nights that seemed to have no end. Especially for me, since I had slept for about three hours and had already been through an absolutely exhausting night. But, to cut a very long story a little shorter, after what felt like an eternity, they finally checked your oxygen saturation again and it was 99%.............. Yes. You read that right. 99%. The exact same child this woman had wanted to admit to the hospital. And the worst part? After that entire endless night, it was STILL HER who was our doctor. Mercy.............. this had to be a joke!

But thank God, she only prescribed your antibiotic, and we were finally allowed to go home. We were completely wiped out, knowing that we still had to stop at the pharmacy to buy all your medications. We finally got home at THREE IN THE MORNING. THREE IN THE MORNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I couldn’t even feel my body anymore. I gave you your first dose of the antibiotic, and then all of us climbed into bed together and finally, mercifully, went to sleep.

And somehow, that night, we really did go down the wrong road. We left the beach after a few days that were already emotionally exhausting, and instead of simply heading home, we ended up taking a detour through another hospital, another pneumonia, another sleepless night. Funny how the same road that had brought us to the beach could take us somewhere completely different on the way back. By the time we finally drove home at three in the morning, I think we were all more than ready to find our way back to the right road.

30/08 Chapter 600: What Lies Beyond?

Whenever you start an antibiotic, I feel a little calmer. My heart feels more at peace, as if at least we are finally doing something to fight whatever is making you so sick.

Today you stayed home resting while I went to work early. I hadn’t worked at all since we went to the beach, and consequently, no money had come into my account. So my mom helped me so much by taking care of you while I ran around trying to catch up on everything that had piled up.

Before that, I stopped by your dad’s house to give him the gift from your grandparents that my parents had sent with me, and to give everyone a goodbye hug since they were already getting ready to head to the airport to fly back to Barcelona. I always get sad when your grandparents leave. They are very different from each other, and from us, but I really like them and I love having them around. And I feel sad for your dad too, because he is devastated every time they leave. I swear, in a dream scenario, we would all live in San Diego—you, me, your dad, and all four of your grandparents. I honestly don’t think anything would make me happier.

After the scare of your fourth pneumonia, I started going after answers. One thing is certain: we can’t just keep sitting around doing nothing. I’m going to have a whole battery of tests done on you and turn that little body of yours inside out. We need to investigate this. It is not normal for a child your age to have had four pneumonias, three episodes of bronchiolitis, and to be sick practically every month, even while taking weekly vaccines that are supposed to help boost your immunity.

So I asked Dr. Humberto for a whole bunch of blood tests—a complete blood count and everything else, including calcium, vitamin D, magnesium, zinc, and all the rest. I also asked for a sweat test to investigate cystic fibrosis, a CT scan, and several other things that, honestly, we probably should have investigated a long time ago. And if, after all these tests, we truly find NOTHING, then at least we’ll have some peace of mind knowing that, unfortunately, it really is just your bronchitis, that this is the treatment, and that there isn’t anything else going on that we can treat.

But deep down, I still have this feeling that there is something we are all missing. Maybe it’s something tiny, something that by itself wouldn’t seem important, but that could be contributing to how easily and quickly your bronchitis gets worse. I could be completely wrong. I know that. But I would rather investigate too much than hold back because I feel sorry for putting you through tests, only to end up watching you suffer in other ways—going to the hospital, taking antibiotics, getting vaccines every week, and going through all of this over and over again.

The fact that you have bronchitis is undeniable. But I had it too. Grandma had it too. And neither of us used to get as sick as you do. So I still believe there may be some external factor making your bronchitis flare up more intensely and progress so quickly. Maybe there isn’t. Maybe all of these tests will come back perfectly normal. But I need to know that we looked everywhere we could.

It’s time to investigate what’s going on inside that little body of yours.